Chapter 14:My first Mega-Evolution
Percy and the gang had gone to the island to deal with Polyphemus and get the Golden Fleece, while I was left on the ship with a crew of ghost sailors and a profound sense of "why am I even here?"
They gave me a mission: guard the ship.
Right. Because clearly Lionel, the future God of War, was better suited to babysitting a haunted warship than actually throwing down with a man-eating cyclops.
So yeah. I sulked for a solid thirty minutes. I paced the deck, kicked a couple of barrels, threatened one of the ghost sailors when he whistled too loudly, then leaned dramatically on the railing like a tragic anime protagonist.
But then something happened.
The weight of the chains on my arms pulled me back to reality.
My chains.
Blades of Chaos—well, not the Blades of Chaos. Not yet. But the chained weapons I'd been using since I got here, forged in the forge of Beckendorf, with my own blood and some celestial bronze original Lionel found. They felt… incomplete.
They were strong, but not alive. Not yet.
I stared at them. The edges gleamed in the sea light, the links rattling softly with every movement of the ship.
Then I heard it.
A whisper.
No, not a literal whisper. More like an itch at the back of my head. A feeling. A call.
"Train," it said. "Burn. Break. Reforge."
I blinked.
Okay. That was either divine inspiration or I'd finally gone insane.
Either way, I wasn't about to waste the opportunity.
So I walked to the center of the deck, nodded at the ghost crew, and said, "Clear the deck. I'm about through with my mega-evolution."
The ghost captain raised a translucent eyebrow. "Mega-evolution?"
"Uh, Yes. I'm becoming the guy. The final boss. The reason monsters double-check their health insurance before picking a fight."
He looked unimpressed. "Right."
But they backed off. Mostly because my insane, off-the-charts aura
The sea breeze blew cold across my face as I closed my eyes and let the chains dangle freely from my arms. I slowed my breathing. Slowed my thoughts.
And for once, I didn't think about fighting.
I thought about flow.
The way Kratos moved in the games—relentless, destructive, but graceful in his brutality. Every swing a dance, every spin a statement. Not just anger. Technique.
I wanted that. No—I needed that.
I lowered my stance, back straight, arms loose. The chains clicked softly against the wood. I moved slowly at first, spinning the blades in circles beside me, feeling their weight, the way they cut the air, how the links stretched and retracted with each motion.
The wind caught the tips, and I adjusted. My body remembered. The muscle memory kicked in—not from me, but something deeper. From my bloodline.
I grunted and swept my right arm outward. The blade arced with it, the chain pulling taut before snapping back into my palm.
Again. Faster.
Then the left.
Faster.
Then both.
Sweat beaded on my brow. I dropped low and spun, dragging the chains in a wide circle around me. Then I launched one forward—imaginary enemy—twist the chain—pull—reel back—jump—slash down—
THOOM.
The deck rattled slightly beneath me.
I didn't stop.
I couldn't stop.
The world faded.
No ocean. No ship. No ghost crew.
Just me. The blades. The chain. The rhythm.
I began to move faster. My breathing matched the swing. My muscles didn't scream—they sang.
Something clicked in my chest.
Then again.
A third time.
And then—
The world snapped.
I stood in a place of nothing. Black. Empty. My chains glowed faintly, floating around me. My body felt light. The wind was gone. The world had stopped moving.
And before me stood…
Me.
But not just me.
Kratos.
He looked older. Wiser. His beard thick, eyes hard. He looked down at me with something between disappointment and recognition.
He didn't speak.
He just moved.
A single slash.
A sweep.
A twist of the chain.
And I knew.
I saw the pattern. The opening. The technique. Not brute force—design.
I imitated. Slowly at first. Then faster. I mimicked every move, every step, until I wasn't copying—I was doing.
The Kratos figure nodded once. Dissolved.
And the nothingness shattered.
I was back on the ship.
The ghost sailors had gathered near the edges of the deck, watching with varying degrees of concern and awe. One of them was sketching something on parchment, muttering, "Aye, that spin was nice…"
I stood in the center of the deck, blades humming, chains swaying.
And I felt it.
New power. Clean. Controlled.
I swung the right chain—Flame Whiplash I. A burning arc exploded in front of me, the blade igniting mid-swing. The fire didn't burn the ship. It obeyed me.
I spun—Scorched Sweep I. The chains curled low and sent a circle of flame bursting outward like a ring of power.
Then I focused. Cold air around me. I lashed both chains in opposite directions—Vaporize Frost. A blast of heat collided with the chilled mist, sending steam exploding outward in a sharp hiss.
I stood still. Breathing hard.
Then—ding.
[Berserker System Notification]
Skill Tree Update: BLADE OF CHAOS Unlocked
– Flame Whiplash I
– Scorched Sweep I
– Vaporize Frost
I felt my heart pounding—not from exhaustion, but from purpose.
I had created something. This wasn't a gift. It wasn't a handout. This was me, hammering my soul into the forge and pulling out a weapon worthy of the war god.
And speaking of which…
Far away, in some corner of the mortal world, Ares was revving his motorcycle down a desert highway, a storm of dust in his wake.
The god of war snarled suddenly and pulled over.
He took off his sunglasses, frowned, and sniffed the air like a bloodhound catching a scent.
He felt it.
A pulse.
A beat.
Another change in fate from his blood.
He looked toward the east.
"...That little punk, Messing with the fate again." he muttered. "Hmph. Hopefully the old hags won't complain to father"
He revved the engine again. "Guess I'll have to drop in sometime."
Back on the ship, I collapsed onto the deck, limbs shaking.
The ghost captain walked over, looking faintly impressed.
"You done setting the world on fire?" he asked.
"For now," I wheezed.
"Good. Because you owe me a new railing."
I chuckled.
I didn't care.
I felt alive.