In the Magus world, a person's natural talent was determined at birth—an unchangeable truth that dictated their fate.
For some, sensing mana in the surroundings was as easy as breathing, their potential blooming effortlessly like a divine gift. Others, however, could toil for years, yet never manage to grasp even a flicker of power.
Supreme genius or worthless trash—destiny was decided the moment one took their first breath.
Many decried this as unfair, but fairness had no place in the pursuit of strength.
Yet, there were those who refused to accept their predetermined fate, those who would walk any path, break any rule, and commit any atrocity to defy this fundamental truth, trying to beat th sole master of their existence.
The user's of forbidden strength were known as Warlocks.
To them, the lives of others were merely fuel for their ambitions—millions could perish if it meant a single step forward.
Healer Kurtas was one such Warlock.
Once, he had been an honest man, filled with hope and compassion. But the truth had been a cruel teacher.
His talent was mediocre at best, his path to Stage 2 permanently sealed.
At first, he resisted. He trained harder, believing effort could surpass limitations. But as the years passed, reality crushed him.
Despair turned into bitterness.
Bitterness turned into hatred.
And hatred… led him to this path.
Now, he had returned home, not as a healer, but as a reaper.
He sat alone in his dimly lit hut, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced an ancient rune carved into the wooden table.
"If I can extract the bloodline essences of every single villager," he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion, "there is hope of breaking through."
His dull, lifeless eyes gleamed with a cold, unholy light.
---
Far from the village, deep within the Emerald Green Forest, Ricky's antennae twitched violently.
A deep, inexplicable unease settled in his core, sending ripples of instinctual warning through his body.
Something was wrong.
Something very wrong.
His crimson compound eyes scanned the dense foliage, his senses stretched taut like a bowstring. Then, in the distance—
A familiar figure.
A massive boar sat crouched on the forest floor, its iron-plated hide glistening under the dappled sunlight.
With its each breath surrounding foliage seemed to shook slightly.
Ricky's gaze narrowed.
"This boar…" he muttered. "It's getting stronger?"
He recognized it instantly—the same Ironhide Boar from which he had stolen his Iron Frame Skill.
But now, something was different.
The air around the boar shimmered, a pressure rolling off its body in invisible waves. Ricky had felt this sensation before—the exact same aura that surrounded Dark Shadow when she was on the verge of transformation.
And then—
Another presence.
Perched on the twisting branch of an ancient tree, a sleek, black-furred forest cat lay lazily, its narrowed golden eyes locked onto Ricky with keen interest.
Its gaze was playful, yet filled with a cruel edge.
The cat had never seen such an absurdly oversized mosquito before.
And it was curious.
Would it be able to crush him with a single paw?
Ricky felt his exoskeleton itch with unease.
"That damned cat…" he muttered darkly, a shiver running through his body.
The memory of being swatted to death by one of these forest cats was still fresh in his mind.
But his confusion deepened.
Why were two Stage 2 creatures appearing at the same time?
Stage 1 monsters were already rare in this vast forest—Stage 2s were practically unheard of.
A sinking realization hit him.
"Could it be…?"
His mind flashed back to the mysterious corpse in the stone courtyard.
The moment he had absorbed its blood, he had evolved.
If the cat and boar had also encountered similar situation everything could be easily explained.
Could there be other corpses like it?
His thoughts raced, possibilities forming and shattering in rapid succession.
If his deduction was right—
His heartbeat quickened.
He had to find it.
The cat and the boar were forgotten.
Buzzing furiously, Ricky zipped through the trees, his wings slicing through the cool air as he scoured the forest floor.
He had to find the source.
---
Meanwhile, in Harrier Village, the once peaceful air was thick with fear.
Children wailed, their cries cutting through the chilling silence like shattered glass.
"Let me go, you demon!"
"Mommy, save me! Healer Kurtas is a villain!"
The ground was painted red.
Bodies littered the streets—men, women, children—all reduced to mutilated husks, their lifeblood pooling together into a sickly, writhing mass.
A torrent of thick crimson liquid slithered unnaturally toward the center of the village, coalescing before the unmoving figure of Warlock Kurtas.
He stood at the heart of the carnage, his black robe soaked in blood, yet his expression remained unmoved.
His lips moved soundlessly, chanting in a language long lost to time.
A tongue only those with the blood of ancient magi could hear.
His knowledge of this forbidden spell had come from a long-forgotten ruin, an opportunity that had changed everything.
A spell that could shatter bottlenecks—One Hundred Years of Blood Essence Extraction.
Today, after years of meticulous planning, he was at the final stage.
A brilliant red light flashed—
BOOM!
The remaining villagers burst all at once.
Their bodies dissolved into raw blood essence, as if some unseen force had plucked their very souls from existence.
The thick, scarlet tide surged forward, climbing higher and higher, forming a colossal crimson wall before Warlock Kurtas.
A twisted smile crept onto his lips.
The ritual was complete.
---
Above, hovering on silent wings, Ricky arrived at the edge of the village.
The moment his eyes landed on the scene below—
His entire body froze.
What in the world…?
His breath stagnated.
He had expected to find a lifespan-rich being.
He had not expected… this.
An entire village… gone.
Not just killed—consumed.
His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his body refused to move.
For the first time since his rebirth—
Ricky felt true terror.