The three Raiders had long departed, their laughter and scornful remarks still faintly echoing in the wind. Silence reigned in the dungeon now—a deep, heavy silence that pressed against the ancient stone walls like a lingering ghost.
What remained behind was devastation.
Scattered across the dungeon floor lay the shattered remains of countless Living Armours. Chestplates torn from greaves, gauntlets bent backward, helmets split in jagged halves. Here, a breastplate cracked down the middle. There, a rusted sword embedded in a lifeless husk. The aftermath of the raid was as cruel as it was thorough—mockery mixed with massacre.
And yet, something strange began to stir among the wreckage.
The remnants of the Living Armours started to shimmer faintly. Not with light, but with distortion—as if they were glitching out of reality. One by one, the fragments flickered, their textures twisting unnaturally, like corrupted code in a video game. A chestplate shimmered, then vanished. A gauntlet flickered rapidly before disappearing into nothingness. As if they were being absorbed—drawn back into something unseen.
All around, the dungeon held its breath.
The environment remained unchanged: broken castle structures loomed like hollow skeletons of a forgotten kingdom, crumbling towers and shattered stained glass windows veiled in creeping vines. Time clung to every stone. The air smelled of damp stone and age-old dust, and the moist earth that had once been solid was now churned into a thick field of mud from the Rain.
The sun began to break through the dungeon's high cracks and collapsed ceilings, casting golden beams across the ruined battleground. It should have been beautiful. Peaceful, even.
If not for the monsters.
From the shadows of shattered archways and toppled columns, figures began to flicker into view. The Living Armours were returning.
With no sound of warning, they emerged in glitch-like bursts of corrupted space, as though reality itself had forgotten how to properly render them. There was no ceremony, no cries or screams—only the cold, echoing clatter of metal as they took their first steps.
Armour plates collided with dull clangs. Swords scraped against stone as the newly formed monsters rose once again, emotionless and silent. They roamed the dungeon slowly, their movements mechanical, without purpose beyond existing.
But one was different.
Within the heart of the ruined castle—a throne room stripped of all former glory—a single Living Armour flickered into being.
The throne behind him was brittle and half-destroyed, the once-regal seat now nothing more than eroded stone and withered vines. The room held echoes of power long since faded, dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight that broke through the collapsed roof.
The Living Armour that stood here bore no name, no memories, no thoughts. He simply existed.
Rust clung to his joints. His sword, dull and chipped, hung at his side. Like the others, he began to move without aim or emotion. The sound of his boots on stone echoed faintly as he wandered forward, each step dragging him deeper into the forgotten throne room.
Then, something strange happened.
[CREAK!!!]
A sound not of this world echoed through the chamber, and before the Living Armour, a glowing blue panel materialized—a holographic interface that hovered in the air with a faint electronic hum.
[ACTIVATING SYSTEM!!]
Lines of code and light streamed across the panel. The Living Armour stopped.
[PROGRESS - 67%]
His gauntleted fingers clenched tighter around the hilt, the worn leather grip groaning under the pressure. The panel meant nothing—just flickering light—but something deeper stirred. An instinct.
With a guttural whir from his core, he swung.
The sword screamed through the air, a blur of tempered steel and killing intent.
It sliced clean through the glowing panel—
But met no resistance.
No clash. No spark. No sound.
Only silence.
A blade that had shattered shields, severed limbs, and been reforged in the fires of a hundred wars… passed through as if the panel were smoke.
It was untouchable.
The Living Armour froze.
[PROGRESS - 100%]
[SEARCHING FOR HOST'S LIFE SIGNAL...]
[ERROR!!]
A blinding red exclamation mark burst onto the screen, searing through the static. The panel crackled, its glitches sharp with desperation, buzzing like a swarm cornered in a cage.
Still, the Living Armour stared—silent, unblinking.
[ERROR]
[ERROR]
[NO DETECTION OF LIFE FORCE!]
[DETECTING TYPE OF UNDEAD...]
[CREAK!!!]
The panel's hue warped violently—its once-cool blue interface drowned beneath waves of crimson. Text flickered, fractured, and twisted into unreadable code. Even the air around it shimmered, bending like heat haze under pressure.
The Living Armour turned away, unmoved.
But the panel moved too.
Every step, every shift of its helm, the interface shadowed it—relentless, invasive.
It would not be ignored.
[ERROR]
[ERROR]
[ERROR]
[HOST NOT ALIVE. SYSTEM CANNOT INITIATE STANDARD SEQUENCE.]
[APOCALYPTIC SYSTEM...INITIALIZING UPDATE.]
The Living Armour stood still, motionless, sword still in hand. Notifications continued to flash, a rain of corrupted data cascading across the screen.
[UPDATE FINISHED]
[ACTIVATING...]
[SYSTEM RECOGNITION FAILED]
[INITIALIZING APOCALYPTIC SYSTEM PROTOCOLS]
[LINKING TO NON-LIFE ENTITY...]
And finally—
[APOCALYPTIC SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
But the Living Armour did not speak. He did not think. He did not feel.
Instead, The Living Armour had continued to stare at the system panel when..
[AWAKENING TALENT]
[ 'WILL' STRENGTHENING ]
[ ADAPTING TO USER ]
[ USER HAS AWAKENED TALENT ]
[ THY WILL BE DONE ]
Allows the User to Draw Forth 'Will' from the Opponents Vanquished