THE FIRST TEST — Update Epsiode
The marine training square lay silent beneath the pale morning sun. Only the distant cries of gulls and the slow breathing of the sea disturbed the stillness.
Morde stood alone at its center.
His shadow stretched long across the stones, thin and crooked, as if it didn't belong to him.
Opposite him stood Vice Admiral Doberman — unmoving, vast, inevitable. His crimson coat stirred once in the salt wind, then stilled again like a banner before execution.
"So," Doberman said, his voice slicing through the quiet, "you're the boy carrying that cursed power."
Morde lifted his chin, dark eyes burning.
"Yeah. And if I were you… I'd worry more about what happens next."
Doberman laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
Just once.
And the sound was colder than steel.
"You think you can defeat me?"
His gaze hardened.
"A hatchling challenging a war dog of the seas… Fine. Come. But be serious about it — or don't come at all."
Something inside Morde snapped.
Not anger.
Not pride.
Something deeper.
With a roar, he lunged.
The seal on his arm ignited, black energy spiraling outward as the air trembled around him. But Doberman had fought monsters, kings, and devils that lived in men's skins.
A boy's rage meant nothing.
He stepped aside.
"Iron Fist."
The strike landed.
The sound was like a cannon firing at point-blank range.
All air blasted from Morde's lungs. His body slammed against the stones and skidded, vision bursting into white static.
"Pathetic," Doberman said calmly. "Power like that… and you swing it like a drunk child holding a stolen blade."
Morde coughed blood, teeth clenched.
"I… won't fall here."
He pushed up.
His arms trembled.
His ribs screamed.
His vision blurred.
Still — he stood.
With a snarl he attacked again, fists flying, shadows snapping like whips. Enough force to kill any normal marine ten times over.
Doberman didn't even step back.
He flowed.
Each dodge was minimal.
Each deflection precise.
Each movement deliberate.
"Power without resolve is nothing," he said.
A palm strike.
Pain shot through Morde's nerves like lightning.
"Rage without control is just noise."
Another strike.
His legs buckled.
"Experience—"
A final blow to a pressure point.
"—is what makes power real."
Doberman whistled.
The square erupted.
Boots slammed stone.
Rows upon rows of marines emerged from hidden positions — rooftops, alleys, barricades — sealing every escape route in perfect formation. Steel and rifles locked into a living wall.
Kai's voice rang inside Morde's skull:
"Never face the Navy alone."
Too late.
"Take him alive," Doberman ordered. "I want that power studied."
For a heartbeat —
fear moved.
Cold. Sharp. Real.
Then—
Something ancient inside Morde woke up.
"Then try!" he roared.
Darkness exploded.
Not surged.
Exploded.
Shadow tendrils lashed outward like living spears. One struck a young marine square in the chest.
No scream.
No struggle.
Just impact.
His armor cracked.
His body hit the wall.
And slid down.
Silence swallowed the square.
Doberman's eyes widened slightly.
"You're using it already…?"
Morde stood shaking, breath ragged, blood on his lips.
He smiled.
"Guess I was born for it."
That smile broke something.
Doberman's hand moved.
Steel hissed from its sheath.
"This is no gift," he said softly. "It's a plague."
The air grew heavy.
"My final attack—"
Morde froze.
Not from fear.
From memory.
Rain.
Smoke.
Kai's voice.
"If they catch you… they'll turn you into a weapon."
Regret pierced deeper than any blade.
Inside him, the darkness stirred again.
Not for pride.
Not for anger.
For survival.
Doberman's sword blazed.
"Judgment Cut!"
And Morde made his choice