Chapter 2: The 55 Dances of Destruction
Martial arts were a relic of the past, nearly forgotten since the "Great Day" that reshaped the world. Sure, werewolves and vampires fought with some form of it, but the 55 Dances of Destruction… this was something else entirely. Jamir had never seen moves like these.
After the vision, he felt different—somehow sharper, like his mind and body had aligned in a way he'd never experienced. His thoughts were clearer, yet a strange emptiness lingered, like an itch in the back of his mind. Weird, he thought.
"Oh well," he muttered. "Guess there's no harm in trying out some moves from this book."
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First Dance: Phantom Flare
The description read: "Deliver a series of strikes in quick succession—chest, stomach, knee, head—using only fists, knees, and elbows." Jamir studied the intricate diagrams, noting how every movement seemed both fluid and brutal. How am I supposed to learn this without a teacher?
With a deep breath, Jamir began, attempting to mimic the dance as best he could. Each strike was followed by another—chest, knee, head, elbows—but it was exhausting. An hour in, he felt like his limbs were made of lead. Finally, he managed to complete the sequence, but something still felt off. He was slow. Empty.
Frustrated, Jamir glanced back at the book, noticing a strange script scrawled along the margin. Oddly, he could understand it, as if the words were meant just for him:
"Those who forge the heart of a warrior will face no limits, only endless potential. One must confront the truth within. A life lived oblivious to oneself is like a shadow—a dead, empty existence. Look within yourself, young warrior. Subdue what you lack."
Is this… talking about some kind of meditation? Jamir wondered. He closed the book and sat down, focusing on the Phantom Flare in his mind's eye, visualizing each strike, feeling the energy flow through him.
Unseen, a shadow moved in the corner of the room.
"Come out, you creep!" Jamir's voice sliced through the silence, low and fierce, almost a growl. "I know you're there!"
In an instant, the cloaked figure appeared before him, revealing himself as a man in his mid-thirties. He looked at Jamir with a faint, amused smile.
"You dare to speak with such ferocity when clarity is what's needed?" The stranger's voice was cold, almost mocking. "You're just like your mother—naive and fierce
Says the creep who probably doesn't even know what 'clarity' means," Jamir shot back, smirking. "Look at you—your hair's a disaster, and that cloak? When was the last time you even took a shower?"
The man's mouth twisted into a thin smile. "Amusing, young warrior. But I assure you, I am a man of great importance. I promised your mother I would guide you, teach you our ways, equip you with the knowledge and power of our technology, and grant you access to the arts of true destruction. It is, after all, your birthright."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "Now… let's get started."
"Started?" Jamir scoffed, folding his arms. "You're late to the party, old creep. And what's this talk about my mother? How do you even know her?"
The man tilted his head, eyes darkening with a strange intensity. "I know much about your mother, as I am the Sixth Prince of Jaokan, the Crimson Claw Empire."
"Right," Jamir sneered, "you look like a hobo, Your Highness. Where's your hobo stick?" He smirked. "Gonna give me royal survival tips?"
The man's expression darkened, and a suffocating aura filled the room, making Jamir freeze. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead as the stranger's smile twisted into something dangerous.
"Since you're so confident in the Phantom Flare, why don't you try it on me?" The man casually crossed his arms behind his back. "Go on. I'll make it easy for you."
"With pleasure!" Jamir roared, summoning every ounce of energy he had. "First Dance: Phantom Flare!"
He lunged forward, striking with impressive speed and accuracy—chest, knee, head—but the man sidestepped every blow as if Jamir were moving in slow motion.
"My turn." The man's voice was calm, almost mocking. "Qi Technique: Venom Touch."
Before Jamir could react, the man's fingers blurred in a series of precise strikes, tapping various points along Jamir's joints. To Jamir, the man's movements were a blur, too fast to track. A sudden numbness spread through his body, and he collapsed, his limbs frozen in place.
"Unbelievable," the man said, examining him with faint amusement. "You don't have a dantian, a mana core, or an awakened sphere, and yet you survived the Phantom Flare. A mere human would've shattered their bones—or died trying."
Jamir's eyes widened. "Wait… are you saying I'm not human?"
"Of course not." The man's eyes gleamed. "There's far more to you than you know."