Gor woke up that morning and stood up immediately as soon as he was able to open his eyes. His body felt weak, clearly not yet ready to leave his bed, but he paid it no mind. He placed his feet on the ground and walked straight to have a bath and prepare himself. It didn't take him long to get ready. Afterward, he walked to a small box in the corner of his room, opened it, and stared at its contents with a determined look.
He had won the armor in his fight against Ija. Although he had lost and failed to obtain the Aktel, he still received a reward. In his battle against Cana of Balor, he discovered that bonding with the armor unlocked certain abilities. However, he couldn't fully grasp what they were—perhaps because Ares wouldn't allow him to. Gor often wondered whether he controlled the curse or if the curse controlled him.
Now, though, he could finally harness the ability granted by the Royal armor forged by Ija. It was a reward for fighting that royal guard a while back.
What was his name again? Gor thought as he stared at the armor.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary piece of armor. However, it wasn't forged from mere metal—not that many such armors existed anyway, since most were crafted using crystals.
Each crystal had its own unique properties. Red crystals were primarily known for generating heat, blue ones for their cooling abilities, and black crystals for their extreme hardness. As he stared at the armor, Gor couldn't help but wonder what would happen once he wore it. Well, he was about to find out.
Sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his small chamber, he stared at the polished surface of the armor before him. Then, without hesitation, he took it out and put it on.
Immediately, Gor felt a shift in the air around him. No, not just around him—within him.
The first change was the most obvious. The armor had once been plated silver, and Ija's runes had gleamed seamlessly across its surface. It was a flashy and noble design, one favored by the palace guards and royal warriors.
Now, though, it was black—its luster swallowed by the curse coursing through his veins. The once-bright runes had turned dark purple, pulsating ominously.
Gor smirked. He didn't hate it. In fact, it felt perfect for someone like him.
His fingers traced the smooth curves of the chest piece, feeling the faint etchings of hidden runes beneath the surface. They pulsed slightly in response to his touch, alive in a way that unsettled him. The armor was impossibly light, as if woven from air rather than forged from metal.
"It will always fit you."
A cool and subtle voice echoed in his mind—words spoken by Ija when she had given it to him.
He had never been close to the former princess's guard, but he knew of her. She was adored not just for her skill as a warrior but for her status as a champion of one of the most ancient gods. Ija was both a warrior and someone blessed by the divine.
Looking at the armor she had crafted, Gor couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. No matter how much he grew, no matter how his body changed, it would mold itself to him like a second skin. Yet, even now, as he prepared to wear it once more, he wondered—would it change him in ways he could not yet comprehend?
The moment the chest piece settled against his body, the runes ignited with a faint, dark glow, whispering in a language older than time itself.
A shiver ran down his spine. And then—power.
It coursed through him like lightning, tightening his muscles, steadying his heartbeat. The weakness in his limbs vanished, replaced by an unnatural ease, as though his body had shed its former limitations.
He clenched his fists, testing the strength that now pulsed beneath his skin.
Taking a step forward, then another, he noticed something different. His movements were smoother, faster. The air itself felt thinner—less of an obstacle.
He jumped.
His body shot upward, and he nearly crashed into the ceiling before landing with force.
Gor immediately steadied himself. Exhaling sharply, he looked down at his hands.
The armor was no longer just something he wore. It had become a part of him—a shadow stitched into his very being, shaped by the curse that had darkened its once-pristine silver.
He smiled.
He had been given strength. He couldn't summon Ares fully—not yet, at least. The dark armor and its abilities had eluded him ever since he had first invoked the curse. He knew Ares was powerful, but just how powerful, he did not yet understand. The fiend was uncooperative, and Gor's own body had always been a limitation.
But this…
This would definitely work.
He didn't yet know the full extent of the new armor's power, but he intended to find out. And he had the perfect way to do just that.
Without hesitation, Gor walked to the door of his room and stepped out, clad in the dark rune-etched armor.