The village woke to whispers of the night's events. Though no one had seen the harbinger, the clash had not gone unnoticed. Villagers spoke of the golden light that had flared near the barn, the distant screeches that had sent chills down their spines. They didn't know what it meant, but they knew one thing: Alaric was at the center of it.
Alaric stood in the clearing behind the barn, the morning sun casting long shadows across the grass. He gripped the hatchet tightly, focusing on the faint warmth that lingered in his chest. The system's message had been clear: Energy Projection Unlocked.
But how did it work?
He closed his eyes, his breathing steady. He thought of the fight with the harbinger, the surge of power that had flared through him. He remembered the golden light that had burned along his skin, the strength that had made him faster, sharper, more dangerous.
"Focus," he muttered to himself. "Adapt."
The warmth in his chest stirred, faint at first but growing stronger. He opened his eyes, watching as the golden lines on his arms began to glow. The hatchet in his hand grew lighter, almost weightless, as if it had become an extension of his will.
Then it happened—a pulse of energy rippled through the air, emanating from his hand. The force struck a nearby tree, splintering the bark and leaving a faint scorch mark behind.
Alaric stared at the tree, his heart pounding. He had done that. The thought sent a thrill of fear and excitement through him.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Not bad at all."
The voice interrupted his thoughts. "Control is key. Without it, power becomes a weapon against yourself."
Alaric frowned. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder. You could've told me this before I nearly blew my arm off."
"You learn best through experience. The next trial approaches, and you must be prepared."
The mention of another trial sent a chill down his spine. "What is it this time?"
The text appeared before him:
Next Trial: The Harbinger's Mark.
Objective: Confront the source of the harbingers.
Reward: Bloodline Awakening Stage 2.
Alaric's jaw tightened. "Confront the source? And where exactly is that?"
The glow shifted, forming a map of the surrounding area. A single point of light marked a location deep within the Blackwood, far beyond the temple ruins.
Alaric sighed. "Of course. It's always the Blackwood."
"The forest hides many secrets," the voice said. "If you wish to survive, you must uncover them."
The villagers weren't happy when they saw him heading toward the gate later that morning. Tarin was the first to block his path, his broad frame casting a shadow over Alaric.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.
"Out," Alaric said simply, his tone cold.
"Out to bring more trouble, you mean," Tarin sneered. "We should've kicked you out for good last night."
Alaric's fingers twitched, a faint glow sparking along his arms. He clenched his fists, forcing the energy to dissipate. "Move," he said, his voice low and steady. "I don't have time for this."
Tarin hesitated, his eyes narrowing. He could sense the change in Alaric, the power that lingered beneath the surface. For a moment, it seemed he might press the issue, but then he stepped aside, muttering curses under his breath.
Alaric didn't look back as he passed through the gate. The whispers followed him, sharp and bitter, but he ignored them. He had bigger problems than the villagers' mistrust.
The Blackwood felt different this time. The oppressive darkness was still there, but now it felt alive, as though the forest itself was watching him. The air was thick with tension, the kind that made his skin crawl.
He moved carefully, his senses sharper than ever. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig set his nerves on edge. The energy in his chest hummed faintly, ready to spring to life at a moment's notice.
Hours passed before he reached the location marked on the map. The trees gave way to a clearing, its center dominated by a massive stone archway covered in glowing runes. The air around it was colder, sharper, and it carried the faint stench of decay.
Alaric approached cautiously, his grip tightening on the hatchet. As he neared the archway, a figure stepped out from the shadows.
It was another harbinger, but this one was different. Taller, more imposing, its runes glowed a deep crimson, and its movements were slower, more deliberate. In its hand, it held a staff carved from blackened wood, the tip crowned with a shard of shimmering crystal.
"Unawakened," the harbinger rasped, its voice low and hollow. "You should not have come."
"Yeah, well," Alaric said, raising the hatchet, "I've got a habit of showing up where I'm not wanted."
The harbinger's eyes narrowed, its form flickering like a dying flame. "Your bloodline is an affront to the master. It will end here."
The air around them shifted, charged with energy. Alaric felt the warmth in his chest flare, stronger than ever.
"Let's see about that," he muttered.
The fight was unlike anything Alaric had faced before. The harbinger's staff crackled with dark energy, sending waves of force rippling through the air. Alaric dodged and countered, his movements guided by instincts he barely understood.
The golden energy coursing through him made him faster, stronger, but the harbinger was relentless. Each strike of its staff sent shockwaves through the clearing, tearing up the ground and splintering nearby trees.
Alaric gritted his teeth, focusing the energy into his hands. He raised the hatchet, and a pulse of golden light erupted from the blade, slamming into the harbinger's chest. The creature staggered, its form flickering, but it didn't fall.
"Persistent," Alaric muttered, lunging forward. The hatchet struck the staff, shattering the crystal tip in a burst of light. The harbinger let out a piercing scream, its body dissolving into ash.
The clearing fell silent, the energy in the air dissipating. Alaric lowered the hatchet, his chest heaving. The text appeared once more, glowing faintly:
Trial Complete.
Bloodline Awakening Stage 2 Unlocked.
Abilities Gained: Enhanced Strength, Defensive Aura.
The warmth in his chest surged, spreading through his entire body. He felt his muscles strengthen, his skin tingling with a faint, protective barrier. The golden lines on his arms pulsed, brighter and more intricate than before.
The voice returned, its tone grim. "You are stronger now. But the master is aware of you. The true battle has yet to begin."
Alaric stared at the shattered staff, a sense of foreboding settling over him. Whatever this "master" was, he knew one thing: it wasn't going to stop until he was dead.
And he wasn't ready to die.