They wove through a maze of broken-down, hastily patched buildings. Moyo often had to crouch, his sheer size making it difficult to fit through narrow crevices and low archways. At times, they stopped abruptly when patrols passed too close. Each time, Moyo's fingers twitched toward Ida, his blade ready to silence the guards before they could raise an alarm. Yet, Martha always placed a calming hand on his arm, shaking her head with serene certainty. Somehow, the guards walked past, oblivious to their presence, and Moyo couldn't shake the strange, otherworldly aura that seemed to emanate from the woman.
Eventually, they crossed the quiet, dusty roads far from the bonfires where guards laughed and whispered drunkenly. Moyo took it all in—the ramshackle homes, the scuffed earth, the complete absence of anything resembling modern technology. There were no broken-down cars, no lingering remnants of what humanity had been. It was as though the system had wiped away all traces of the old world.
He pushed the unsettling thought aside as Martha suddenly stopped. They stood on what seemed to be an empty stretch of land. She glanced around, her gaze unnervingly sharp, as though she could see and hear things beyond Moyo's understanding. Then, with a deliberate motion, she reached out and gripped the air. Moyo's eyes widened as she tore away a shimmering veil, revealing a hidden, heavy wooden door that led underground.
"Follow me," Martha said softly, gesturing.
The door opened noiselessly. Moyo hesitated for only a moment before stepping into the darkness. The door closed silently behind them, sealing off the outside world. A clap of Martha's hands brought torches to life, their flames licking upward to illuminate a wide, subterranean room.
The space was filled with people—haggard, dirty, and frozen in place at the sight of Moyo. Some stared in open terror, others in stunned disbelief.
"Be calm," Martha said with quiet authority. "He's with me."
Moyo raised an eyebrow, arms folding across his chest as he surveyed the room.
"Who's the giant?" a young woman with storm-gray eyes asked, her tone more curious than afraid.
Moyo noted her gaze lingered on him, scrutinizing every detail.
"Moyo, these are my people—the ones who dared to rise against the Alpha," Martha introduced. "The loud one is Annika." She nodded toward the gray-eyed girl, who tilted her chin up in greeting.
"The quiet one is Ayo, a flame user."
"Why did you tell him that?" Ayo hissed in disbelief.
Moyo rolled his eyes. "Relax, I'm not interested in you."
Martha continued unfazed. "The man over there is Boyle, a good blacksmith."
Boyle—a grizzled man with a thick beard reaching his chest—grunted warily in acknowledgment.
"And that's Idris, an aura user who's good with axes. He was a lumberjack before all this."
Idris nodded as well, his frame solid and his grip on his weapon steady.
"As for me," Martha finished, "you already know who I am."
Moyo's curiosity got the better of him. "What aether path did you choose?"
Martha smiled enigmatically. "Mana."
"Bullshit," Annika interrupted, scoffing. "I haven't seen you throw around a single fancy spell."
"I'm inclined to agree with the loudmouth," Moyo added with a faint smirk.
Annika whirled toward him in indignation. "Loudmouth?!"
Martha simply smiled. "There are many paths for those who wield mana. Mine is… different."
"We don't have time for this," Ayo cut in, suddenly tense. Her gaze narrowed. "Wait… where's your collar?"
Martha lifted her chin, unbothered. "He tore it off."
"Without taking your head with it?" Boyle said in disbelief.
All eyes turned to Moyo. Martha gave him an expectant look.
"I'm not yours to command, madam," Moyo said firmly, his voice even. "I'm here to save those being oppressed."
Annika snorted. "Only you?" Idris asked, incredulous.
Moyo smiled faintly. "I'm more than enough."
"This is extreme, even for you, Martha," Annika muttered, shaking her head. "He's just one man. What can he possibly—"
Her words cut off as Moyo's hand shot out faster than the eye could follow. The collar around her neck shattered with a flick of his fingers, the explosion muffled effortlessly in his palm. The room fell silent, all eyes widening in shock.
"That's how," Ayo said dryly, staring at Moyo with newfound respect.
"Quickly, Moyo, if you would," Martha urged. "We have no time. That commotion will rouse the entire settlement."
It took Moyo less than five seconds to tear off the remaining collars, one after the other. Each shattered in his grip as though they were made of glass. Shouts began echoing from outside, the guards realizing something was wrong.
"It is time," Martha said, turning to Annika. "Signal the others."
Annika's storm-gray eyes crackled with energy, faint arcs of lightning dancing across her fingertips as she walked out of the basement. The doors flew off their hinges with a thunderous crash, and the distant clouds above began to rumble ominously.
The group poured out into the open, and Moyo followed at a measured pace. The guards had gathered, brandishing crude weapons laced with weak auras and paltry intent. Moyo snorted in disgust. They weren't even worth the effort of unsheathing his blade.
"What's your path?" Ayo asked, flames flickering in her palms as she prepared to fight.
Moyo smiled faintly, shaking his head. "I'm simply a blade."
He turned, walking calmly in the direction of what he suspected to be the Alpha's home.
Gorrak, alpha of the Blood Blessed, knew only violence. It was his cradle and his teacher, the blood-streaked underground world of drugs, death, and gang brutality shaping him from the moment he could walk. When the Archailect came—cataclysmic, relentless, and uncaring—it swept away the world's old order, a rebirth in fire and chaos. Donovan, the man he used to be, was reborn as Gorrak.
But unlike others who gained power through struggle or chance, Gorrak's ascension was an oddity. He had always possessed… peculiar inclinations, ones his family had tried to overlook. Small animals, household pets—they were his first obsessions, his first tools, and his first victims. His parents had covered for him, appeasing the dark hunger they didn't understand by bringing new animals into the house one after the other. By the time they realized the monster he was becoming, it was too late.
His inclinations eventually led him to darker places, darker people—men who ran the underworld with quiet ruthlessness. Donovan had been molded into their tool of choice: the Alpha. His methods were unconventional, his weapon of choice equally so. Cats, dogs, and beasts of all kinds answered his call, tearing apart targets with eager claws and teeth. He was both feared and revered—a predator among predators.
When the system arrived, it found him crouched over his latest prey, pit bull Gorrak at his side and a feral grin stretching across his face. The system, with its strange and unknowable logic, had seen fit to fuse man and beast into one. The Blessing of the Beast, it called it. Donovan ceased to exist, and Gorrak—the monster he had always been—was born.
Now, clad in rough leather armor and crude weapons forged by scavenged loot, Gorrak had carved a kingdom of filth and fear out of the ashes of the old world. As an initiate, his rise to power had been meteoric. His Blood Blessed cult followed him with fanatical devotion, drawn by his raw strength and aura of dominance. Together, they prowled the wilderness, enslaving survivors to farm dungeons for precious loot while Gorrak and his trusted fighters claimed the riches of the tier 1 dungeons for themselves.
It was a simple system, efficient and cruel, and Gorrak thrived on it. Slaves were expendable—tools to be used, broken, and replaced. The future lay in control of the land, from one corner of the continent to the other. With his strength, his beasts, and his underlings, nothing could stop him.
Except now, something was wrong.
Gorrak lounged in his crude throne, claws lazily tapping the wood of his armrest, his yellow eyes narrowing as his feline instincts prickled at the edge of his awareness. The collars—each slave had one, and their magical bond to him let him sense when they activated, malfunctioned, or broke. It was one of his investments, a costly assurance of obedience.
Then it happened.
One collar exploded. A faint crackle of energy jolted through his link. He growled softly, annoyed. Probably a slave stepping out of line, he thought, teeth bared in a feral grin. Perhaps one of his hounds had dealt with it. A warning to the others.
Then another collar shattered.
And another.
And another.
Gorrak's claws dug into the armrest, splintering the wood as shouts erupted from outside. His ears twitched, his senses screaming danger. Something unnatural washed over him, a presence that crawled beneath his skin and sank into the deepest corners of his feline instincts. He whimpered without meaning to, his tail curling between his legs in a moment of pure, primal fear.
What is this?
Rage boiled away the fear almost instantly, fury replacing it as his yellow eyes glowed brighter, pupils narrowing into slits. He would not be cowed. He was Gorrak, Alpha of the Blood Blessed, the apex predator of this forsaken wasteland. Snarling, his aura flared—raw, wild power that sent his men stumbling back as he burst from his crude wooden home.
He tore through the flimsy door, a monstrous howl ripping from his throat as his power rippled outward. The bonfires flared, guards scrambling to attention, their laughter silenced as the Alpha emerged. Gorrak's gaze locked on the figure standing calmly at the foot of his steps.
The intruder was tall—far too tall—and impossibly broad, a blade sheathed at his side. Even in the flickering light of the bonfires, his features were cut from stone, a quiet and terrifying certainty radiating from him. The very air around him seemed heavy, as though the earth itself bent under his weight.
Gorrak froze, his instincts screaming at him to run. This was not prey. This was not an equal. This was something else, a predator that had no place in his domain.
Gorrak's lips curled back, his snarl rumbling low in his throat as he crouched, ready to attack. He would not kneel.
"You dare defile my sanctuary?" Gorrak howled, his claws unsheathing and his aura flaring like a wildfire, the ground cracking underfoot.
The figure didn't move.
Gorrak launched himself forward, a blur of teeth, claws, and fury.
He would soon wish he hadn't.
Moyo stared down the brute, the so-called alpha of the Blood Blessed, its monstrous form an unsettling fusion of human and beast. The creature's feral yellow eyes glared back at him, its massive frame howling to the night skies in a futile show of dominance. Its aura crackled with power—definitely high initiate rank, Moyo guessed—though the system did not reveal the levels of humans or human-like entities outside dungeons.
It was clear the alpha felt the weight of Moyo's presence, its movements betraying hesitation, but the presence of its underlings seemed to embolden it. Around them, chaos reigned as the settlement erupted into battle. Captives and rebels fought back against their oppressors with the limited powers and weapons they had, desperate and driven by rage.
Before Moyo could utter a word, the alpha launched itself at him, claws and fangs aimed to tear him apart. Moyo sighed, sidestepping the attack with ease, his movement so fast the alpha's claws struck only air.
"You must be the alpha," Moyo said, his voice calm, almost disinterested.
A lackey, emboldened by the alpha's attack, slammed a crude mace against Moyo's back. The weapon shattered on impact, not even earning Moyo's acknowledgment as he casually backhanded the attacker, sending them flying out of sight.
"You dare come into my domain? You'll die for this!" the alpha snarled, its deep voice laced with fury.
Moyo gestured around him, ignoring the threat. "All of this—these people in chains—is your doing, I assume?"
The alpha roared, its claws glowing with yellow aura as it attacked again. This time, Moyo slapped the alpha's side mid-charge, sending it hurtling into a building. The structure crumbled under the beast's weight, dust rising in thick clouds.
Moyo turned toward the largest building in the settlement, the crude structure the alpha had claimed as its seat of power. Drawing Ida, he swung it once, a simple, fluid motion. The building split cleanly in two, collapsing into dust under the weight of his aura, leaving behind a single raised platform. On it sat a weakly glowing dungeon orb, shielded by faint aetheric energy.
His curiosity was interrupted by a deafening roar. The alpha emerged from the rubble, its body visibly larger, its aura now tinged with a sickly green hue. Faster and stronger, the beast lunged again. Moyo caught its claw effortlessly, twisting its arm before grabbing it by the throat and slamming it into the ground with enough force to crack the earth beneath them.
Silence fell across the settlement. The Blood Blessed froze in place, paralyzed by the display of raw power. Even the rebels stopped to stare, their shock mingling with newfound hope.
Moyo's grip tightened around the alpha's throat as it flailed, slashing at him in vain. Its claws skittered harmlessly against his skin, unable to even scratch him.
"Kill them! Kill them all!" the alpha screamed, its voice a choked gurgle.
Moyo exhaled, his titan's presence flaring as his aura washed over the settlement like a tidal wave. The weight of his power drove everyone—Blessed and rebels alike—to their knees, their bodies trembling under the oppressive force.
Realizing his mistake, Moyo eased the pressure, his voice cold but steady. "Anyone who dares harm another will face a fate worse than death."
The alpha, still choking in his grip, grinned despite the situation. "Collars… I can kill them all with a thought…" it croaked.
Moyo's eyes widened, his grip loosening slightly. "Surrender now, and—"
A bolt of pure lightning struck the alpha's skull, cutting its words short. The creature spasmed violently, its body twitching as the current coursed through it. Moyo turned, spotting Annika, her eyes crackling with raw energy as she held a crude, lightning-wreathed spear. Her face was a mask of fury.
Moyo moved to stop her, but Martha appeared, placing a hand on Annika's shoulder. "Let him handle it," she said softly, her voice carrying despite the commotion.
All around them, new faces emerged from the shadows—prisoners who had been hiding, their expressions a mixture of fear, exhaustion, and desperate hope. Moyo caught sight of a trembling child peeking out from the folds of a tattered tent, and a pang of regret tightened in his chest.
Martha approached him, her gaze calm but piercing. The alpha lay unconscious in Moyo's grip, its body limp and smoking from the lightning strike.
"You came to set us free," Martha said, her tone both grateful and firm. "Your actions speak louder than any words."
Moyo frowned. "I don't answer to you," he replied, his voice low. "I'm here to free these people, nothing more."
Martha nodded, her expression understanding. "Of course. But you're the strongest among us, and whether you like it or not, we look to you now."
Whispers rippled through the crowd, shock and curiosity spreading like wildfire. "Strongest…" some murmured, glancing at each other in disbelief.
The alpha stirred, its eyes wide as it met Moyo's cold gaze. "I will—" it began, but Moyo cut it off, slamming it into the ground with enough force to leave it gasping for air.
"He can harm you no more," Moyo said, his voice carrying over the crowd. He gestured to the trembling child, smiling softly. "Come here."
The child hesitated, her fear evident, but Ayo stepped forward, scooping her up and carrying her over. Moyo's anger flared as he saw the collar around the girl's neck. Hot fury surged through him as he tore it off, crushing it in his hand.
Turning back to the alpha, his expression hardened. "I should kill you for what you've done. But your punishment won't come from me."
Gripping the alpha's arms, Moyo tore them cleanly from its body, ignoring the creature's bloodcurdling screams. He did the same with its legs, leaving it a writhing, bleeding mass on the ground.
"he's all yours," he said to the crowd, stepping back as the prisoners surged forward, their crude weapons raised.
Moyo didn't stay to watch the end. He turned and walked away, the sound of vengeance ringing out behind him.