Narvel had lost track of time, completely submerged in the thrill of battle. He continued trading blows with the last Uncommon Specter until, somewhere in the chaos, the sensation shifted. It no longer felt like a challenge. It was as if he were sparring with a child.
The tension in the air had lessened and the edge that he felt he had been dancing on was gone. Now it felt as though he was in wide grassland with no danger around.
The Uncommon Specter's movements had grown predictable—sluggish, even. Its attacks had been telegraphed in advance and its strikes were slow and wide in Narvel's eyes.
Narvel's body flowed between them with an almost lazy ease, reacting before the enemy could even finish a swing. It had become monotonous.
Though he hadn't managed to destroy a significant portion of the statue's form, he didn't feel as though it was necessary anymore. The outcome was inevitable at this point. There was no longer a question of if—only when.
His [Deep Thoughts] talent deactivated the moment he sensed this shift, and a wave of disappointment washed over him. He hadn't been able to maintain that heightened state of mind for as long as he had wanted. It had slipped away like water between his fingers.
Still, he understood something important had occurred during that trance-like immersion. While his fists danced against stone and his mind sharpened with each dodge and strike, he had begun learning how to use his body with precision. Not just movements, but control. Efficient, exact, and instinctive.
That wasn't all that was happening, but it was the part he could grasp for now.
Before, when wielding Ebonveil, he was fast, yes, he could dodge, block, and destroy them with ease. But much of that, he realized now, was the weapon's doing. It lent him enough advantages that it covered his flaws.
His stat points—his strength, dexterity, and speed hadn't been applied in true synergy with his body. He had never needed to know how to use them.
Now, he did. And that made him dangerous in a different way.
But it wasn't enough. A hunger stirred in him and he wanted more.
During the fight, while [Deep Thoughts] had been active, it had come at a price. The ability didn't run freely as it drained him. The pressure on his mind had accumulated steadily and fatigue threatened to hold him down, his stamina gradually faded as his thoughts layered themselves deeper and deeper into the rhythm of battle.
He had pushed it aside, ignored it, but the toll was real.
Luckily, he knew relief was within reach.
With Ebonveil nearby, he could restore what had been lost. The energy it absorbed from the Specters, could help him replenish what was taken—mental fatigue and physical exhaustion alike.
He took a glance at his information and, sure enough, saw the fruits of his effort.
Name: Narvel Naver Anderson
Age: 19
Race: Human
Gene Fragment: 2 (Sundered)
Level: Awakened (22%)
Class: —
Gene Class: ???
Title: —
Strength: 27
Speed: 25
Stamina: 60/60
Dexterity: 29
Intelligence: 19
Mental: 14
Wisdom: 13
Charisma: 12
Will: 30/30
Attributes: ??? [Mind's Eye] [True Double]
Constitution: ??? [Realmrender]
Talents: [Telekinesis (weakened)] [Deep Thought]
Skills: [Unnamed]
Comprehensions: —
Pet: Voidscale
His strength had climbed by three points. Dexterity by two. Even his mental stat had ticked upward by a point.
'Understanding how to use my body… my strength… it's bound to make me stronger,' he thought, eyes narrowing slightly.
That state—the immersive focus of combat, he wanted it back. And somehow, he felt like he knew how to find it again. He just needed pressure. Enough strain on both body and mind would push him into it once more.
Looking at the statue still flailing in front of him, he felt nothing but boredom.
The creature struck with the same slow jab, and Narvel dodged it easily, with no effort in his movements. He pivoted and jumped casually back toward Ebonveil, while the statue gave chase behind him.
"Why worry about where to find pressure," he muttered under his breath. "Aren't I surrounded by a heavy one?"
He glanced around the chamber, the place was still lined with dormant statues, faint grey mist hanging like a fog around the edges. "Be done with this one and awaken more. This time, I'll try fighting two at once… without Ebonveil."
As soon as the statue got within reach, Narvel grabbed the scythe's hilt and slashed upward in a single, fluid motion.
Slash!
The statue's head split cleanly, its body crumbling to rubbles as the familiar grey mist surged toward Ebonveil. The energy seeped from the weapon into him quickly revitalizing his limbs, dulling the throb in his mind, and restoring his stamina.
But he had no time to rest.
Not even a full minute later, the air grew tense again.
Four more statues stirred to life with each wielding a massive stone war hammer, easily twice the size of Narvel's.
Without a word, they charged.
Narvel moved instantly. With a snap of his arm, he threw Ebonveil like a boomerang toward one of them. The weapon spun through the air becoming a blur of black steel.
It struck the target square in the chest, slamming the statue backward and off its feet. Before the creature even hit the ground, Narvel was already above it—his movements were ghostlike.
He snatched Ebonveil midair and slashed downward, cleaving its head clean off in a smooth arc.
Using the momentum of the attack, he twisted his body and narrowly dodged a second hammer that had nearly collided with his side. The wind from it screamed past him.
Still airborne, he sailed over the head of another approaching Specter, which had its weapon raised and ready to crush him mid-flight.
But Narvel had already predicted this. It felt natural now.
He placed his palm lightly atop the statue's head and used the leverage to twist out of the path of the hammer while remaining above it. Then, with a quick throw, he sent Ebonveil hurtling downward—this time, not at the creature, but directly at its weapon.
The scythe struck the hammer, shattering the stone in a clean blast of shards, leaving the statue holding a useless handle.
Ebonveil embedded itself in the ground nearby.
As Narvel began to fall, he reached out again with his palm, pressing once more to the statue's head. This time, he gripped it.
With a sharp pull and a timed drop, he yanked the creature downward, borrowing its momentum and redirecting it.
The result was perfect.
The statue's skull struck Ebonveil's exposed hilt, driving its head downward. The weapon pierced through the stone like butter, and the statue collapsed into rubble.
Two down.
Narvel didn't even glance at the scythe. He left it embedded and rushed the two remaining statues barehanded and eager for that feeling.
But almost immediately… he felt it.
Or rather he didn't feel it was he was expecting. His excitement earlier made it seem as though it was about to happen.
There was no pressure from these statues. No danger.
No thrill.
The weight in the air had vanished again.
His smile faded into a frown.
These last two statues together still couldn't push him back into that awakened state of combat. They weren't enough.
Frustrated, Narvel turned and went back to where Ebonveil lay. Without hesitation, he retrieved the scythe and, with two quick slashes, ended the remaining Specters.
Their forms broke apart like dry clay with mist seeping away.
He exhaled.
"I'll keep adding more," he murmured as his eyes swept the chamber, going over the hundreds of dormant statues. "Until one of them… or all of them… can make me feel that pressure again."
Not long after, five more statues awakened.
This time, from the very start, Narvel had no intention of using Ebonveil. Without hesitation, he sent the weapon back into his body.
Narvel charged at the five stone warriors with bare fists, his movements swift and deliberate. He didn't hold back. His body remembered the rhythm, the movements, and the weight of impact, but his heart?
It wasn't in it.
Only moments into the fight, it became painfully clear that these five offered no challenge. No thrill, no pressure. He could dismantle them, and he would—but it wouldn't satisfy the craving that had burrowed into his bones.
Annoyed, he summoned Ebonveil and ended them in mere seconds, and the familiar grey essence drifted to his scythe.
He waited. He didn't need to call out. Another wave would come.
And it did.
Six more statues stirred from their dormant state, rising slowly with weapons gripped in their stony hands as their hollow eyes glowed faintly. The ground trembled beneath their heavy steps as they formed a semi-circle around Narvel.
Still, nothing.
Narvel didn't even bother trying with just his fists this time. His eyes already knew that they wouldn't be enough. He cut them down quickly, almost methodically, unlike a butcher going through meat, he no longer cared to inspect.
Then seven came.
Then ten.
Then twenty.
It continued.
Wave after wave—unrelenting.
He faced down thirty, then forty, and even after being surrounded by over fifty statues at once, Narvel felt nothing. No resistance, no spark no threat. They were obstacles but also like stone puppets acting on scripts too rigid to surprise him.
And with every swing of Ebonveil came a collapsing statue, Narvel's expression darkened. A deep frustration began to set in.
His footfalls grew heavier. His breath shortened, not from exhaustion, but from the tension of unmet anticipation. He moved like an addict chasing a high that refused to return, no matter how much he consumed. His veins throbbed with battle lust with his senses searching endlessly for that pressure, that feeling that had once lit him up from the inside.
Time bled away unnoticed.
What were once minutes became two full hours of endless combat. The air reeked of dust and energy residue. Pieces of broken statues littered the chamber floor like gravel and the fog of their dispersed essence hovered near the ground like creeping mist.
And somewhere in all that… Narvel forgot why he was even here.
He couldn't remember the mission the Librarian had given him. He couldn't recall what he was supposed to retrieve. All that remained was the need to find that feeling again.
After decimating the fifty-first wave, Narvel stood among shattered remains. His chest rose and fell slowly. His shoulders were squared, posture unshaken. But his eyes held nothing. No satisfaction.
Then… nothing.
No new enemies came. No tremble in the ground. No sound.
A long silence filled the chamber, the rest of the statues—hundreds, perhaps more, remained unmoving. They stood in their rows, tall and silent, like guardians in mourning, untouched by whatever force had stirred the previous ones.
Just as Narvel began to think that nothing else would come, a shift occurred.
One statue stirred.
But not just any statue. This one was larger than all the ones he'd faced before—half again as tall. Its body was broader and weightier. Thick gauntlets adorned its hands, and unlike the blunt weapons the others had carried, this one had none. Its fists were its weapons and they looked designed for destruction.
A faint red glow pulsed around the statue's body. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was there causing slight ripples in the air, steady and ominous.
It locked eyes with Narvel, and for the first time in over two hours, Narvel froze.
He felt it.
A sharp, sudden weight pressed against his chest. The air around him thickened, and his instincts immediately screamed in delight.
There was intelligence in that statue's gaze. Not the hollow mimicry of movement the others showed, but some level of presence. The way it looked at him—it knew him. Or at least recognized something in him worth crushing.
Narvel's blood began to boil.
The sensation tingled along his nerves, and ran across his spine like a surge of lightning. The hair on his arms stood. This was what he had been waiting for.
A slow smile spread across his face as his lips curled with satisfaction.
Without rushing, he began walking toward the statue, Ebonveil hidden within him once more. He wouldn't rely on the weapon yet. Not for this.
He wanted to feel everything.