The Quiet Before the Abyss
Time flowed strangely within the Forest of Phorashia.
Ever since Valtherion awakened High Fire, the world around him seemed slower—yet harsher. Days blurred together beneath the oppressive canopy, the forest breathing, watching, adapting.
High above the ground, nestled on a thick, ancient branch far beyond the reach of most monsters, Valtherion sat cross-legged, eyes closed.
Heat pulsed faintly from his chest, steady and controlled. His breath was slow, measured. Mana flowed through his veins like a quiet river of embers, no longer raging, no longer wild.
Meditation had become a necessity—not for peace, but for survival.
When he finally opened his eyes, the forest greeted him with silence.
Too much silence.
His stomach twisted.
"…I'm out."
He scanned his surroundings. The berries he had gathered days ago were gone—picked clean. The smaller beasts that once wandered nearby had either fled… or learned better.
No food. No easy prey.
Valtherion exhaled slowly, gaze lifting toward the vast, darker stretch of forest beyond.
"The deepest zone…"
No one survived there long. Even monsters avoided it unless forced.
Which meant only one thing.
"There'll be food."
---
A Three-Week Descent
He began his journey at dawn.
Leaping from branch to branch, he moved with practiced ease, flames blooming beneath his feet only when necessary. Below him, shadows shifted—creatures lurking, watching, calculating.
He didn't slow down.
When he found clusters of wild berries, untouched and ripe, he ate them on the move, staining his fingers crimson. When thirst gnawed at him, he stopped by a narrow river, cupped water in his hands, and ignited it gently.
Steam rose.
He drank without hesitation.
At night, the forest tested him.
Something lunged from the dark—burned.
Something stalked him—cooked.
Something screamed—became meat.
Monsters that dared approach became fuel, their flesh seared clean by controlled flames. It wasn't mercy. It was efficiency.
Three weeks passed like this.
By the time he reached the deepest reaches of Phorashia, his body was leaner, sharper—his eyes colder.
And the forest… was wrong.
---
The Deepest Part of Phorashia
It was night when he arrived.
Moonlight filtered weakly through twisted branches, revealing a clearing filled with untouched berries—clusters upon clusters, vibrant and full, as if deliberately preserved.
Valtherion froze.
"…No one's been here."
He didn't question it.
Hunger overtook caution. He ate until his stomach ached, until warmth returned to his limbs and strength flowed back into his muscles.
When exhaustion finally hit, he searched for shelter.
A massive branch hung at the perfect height—wide, sturdy, old.
"This'll do."
He climbed up, flames tracing precise lines as he carved the wood, shaping it carefully into a flat surface, something resembling a bed.
When he lay back, staring at the distant canopy, a thought surfaced unbidden.
What if I live here?
Food. Water. Monsters.
This place could work.
Then—
Hrrrrraaaahhh…
A sound echoed through the forest.
Not a roar.
Not a growl.
A yawn.
Deep. Massive. Wrong.
Valtherion's body went rigid.
The sound came from beyond a wall of towering bushes.
He dropped silently to the ground.
Pushing through the foliage, the world opened into a vast, murky expanse—
A gigantic swamp, stretching endlessly, its waters black and still.
And rising from its depths—
Six massive heads.
Golden slit-pupiled eyes opened one by one.
The Abyss Hydra had awakened.
One head turned.
And saw him.
The swamp exploded.
---
DING!
⟢ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
[High-Tier Threat Detected]
[Enemy: Abyss Hydra]
[Level: 70]
[Class: Dragon]
[Threat Level: Extreme]
[Warning: Target Possesses Regenerative Ability]
[Warning: Survival Probability — Extremely Low]
[Reward: Exp +70,000]
---
The Hydra That Would Not Die
The hydra lunged.
Water detonated outward as six necks struck simultaneously, fangs tearing through air where Valtherion had stood a heartbeat earlier.
He vanished in a burst of flame.
Flare Step—Quad Burst!
Explosions ripped across the swamp as Valtherion reappeared mid-air, fire spiraling around his limbs.
"Burn."
White fire surged.
Infernal Nova erupted, engulfing two heads in a blinding explosion. Flesh burned. Scales cracked. One head screamed—then collapsed into ash.
The swamp hissed.
The remaining heads roared.
And then—
The stump writhed.
Black flesh regenerated, bone reforming, scales sealing shut.
A new head emerged.
Valtherion's eyes widened.
"…So that's how it is."
The hydra attacked again.
Venom sprayed like rain. Tails lashed. The swamp boiled.
Valtherion fought relentlessly—White Pyre Fist shattered skulls, Heat Domination scorched flesh beyond recognition, Immolation Veins turned his entire body into a living furnace.
Heads fell.
And rose again.
Again.
Again.
Hours passed.
His breathing grew ragged. His mana thinned. Burns crept across his skin.
The hydra grew slower—but it would not die.
Then Valtherion smiled.
"So you regenerate…"
White fire compressed inward.
"…Let's see you recover from nothing."
He slammed both palms together.
The heat collapsed.
Then—
Everything detonated.
A miniature sun bloomed at the center of the swamp, vaporizing water, flesh, mana—existence itself.
Six heads screamed as their cores ignited simultaneously.
There was no regeneration this time.
Only annihilation.
Silence fell.
---
DING!
⟢ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
[Enemy Defeated: HP And Mana Restored]
[Class: Dragon]
[Exp Gained: +70,000]
---
DING!
⟢ SYSTEM ALERT
[Warning: Exp Processing Delayed]
[Exp processing continues until completion.]
[Exp gained from defeated enemies will be temporarily halted.]
Valtherion froze.
"…What?"
His heart pounded.
"Then how am I supposed to level up?!"
No response.
Only silence.
Slowly, he clenched his fists.
"…Then I'll keep killing."
The forest trembled.
And far above, unseen, the system continued counting.
The Century-and-a-Half of Relentless Climbing
The Forest of Phorashia changed with him, a testament to his enduring will.
What was once a maze of monsters, a terrifying landscape of death and despair, became a battlefield carved by one boy's relentless determination to survive.
Decades passed, blurring into a relentless cycle of violence and adaptation.
Then a century, the weight of years pressing down on him like a physical burden.
Then more, the relentless passage of time eroding his memories of the world he had lost.
Valtherion stopped counting the years, the numbers losing all meaning in the face of his endless struggle.
But the forest did not stop trying to kill him, its ancient heart beating with a cold, unyielding malice.
---
The Second Plateau — Years 1 to 50
After acquiring High Fire, Valtherion's battles grew more brutal, the stakes higher, the consequences more severe.
He hunted to survive, driven by the primal need to feed his body and fuel his flames. He fought to grow, pushing his limits, honing his skills, and mastering his powers. He bled to endure, his pain a constant reminder of the price of survival.
Every day became repetition, a relentless cycle of violence and adaptation.
Burn, incinerating his enemies with white-hot flames. Evade, dodging attacks with lightning reflexes. Strike, delivering precise and deadly blows. Learn, analyzing his mistakes and adapting his strategies. Burn again, repeating the cycle, pushing himself to the brink.
The beasts evolved too, their bodies mutating, their powers growing, reacting to the mana storms that Valtherion's presence triggered, their very existence shaped by his influence.
Some mutated, their forms twisting into grotesque parodies of nature. Some fused with corrupted mana, becoming twisted abominations of darkness and fire. Some grew stronger simply because he existed, their bodies adapting to his power, their instincts honed by his presence.
The forest wanted him dead, its ancient heart beating with a cold, unyielding malice.
He refused to die, his will a defiant flame against the encroaching darkness.
On the fiftieth year, while suspended upside-down in the coils of a Titan Constrictor Vine-Beast, its grip crushing his bones, his flames exploded in a spiral of crimson, a desperate act of defiance.
The vines evaporated, reduced to ash by the intense heat.
He landed on the ground, coughing and panting, his body bruised and battered, but smiling for the first time in decades, a flicker of hope in his weary eyes.
"I'm getting closer… I can feel it…", he whispered, his voice hoarse, his words carried away by the wind.
His fire was sharper, denser, alive, a burning testament to his enduring will.
But it wasn't enough, not yet, the path to power stretching before him like an endless climb.
---
The Third Plateau — Years 50 to 120
Valtherion built shelters, seeking a semblance of comfort, but abandoned them when the forest absorbed them, reclaiming its territory.
He built weapons, forging them from stone and bone, but they burned from his own mana, becoming useless tools.
He tried meditation, seeking inner peace, but found only the echoes of his pain. Tried silence, seeking solace in the void, but heard only the whispers of the forest. Tried rage, seeking power in his fury, but found only fleeting bursts of uncontrolled energy.
But Mega Element remained out of reach, a distant horizon he could never touch, a tantalizing promise that always eluded his grasp.
Still, he pushed forward, driven by an unyielding determination.
Every kill honed his instincts and refined his fire, even as the system denied him any measurable growth. Every evolution of monsters forced him to adapt, honing his skills. Every failure carved experience directly into his bones, etching the lessons of survival into his very being.
He didn't know that normal Element Users took thousands of years to reach Mega, their progress slow and arduous.
He didn't know that the power he was accumulating through endless battle was monstrous, unnatural, far beyond what any child should be capable of, his growth accelerated by his unique circumstances.
He only knew he wasn't strong enough, not yet, the hunger for power driving him onward.
On the 120th year, while battling a Mana-Tyrant Basilisk that dwarfed the trees, its gaze capable of turning flesh to stone, his flames finally changed again, shifting from crimson to white-hot for a brief instant, a glimpse of the power that lay within.
The forest trembled, its ancient heart sensing the shift in his power.
But the flame flickered out almost immediately, leaving him panting, bloodied, and exhausted, collapsing to his knees.
"Almost… that was almost it…", he gasped, his body trembling, his spirit unbroken.
He still didn't know—he was standing on the edge of something unimaginable.
The power he should have earned piled up in silence, denied form or number, pressing against his body like an unseen weight.
Yet the system did not respond—Not because he had failed—Not because the power was insufficient.
The magnitude of his growth was simply… too vast, too unprecedented.
The system paused, overwhelmed, as if it needed centuries to process what a single lifetime could barely contain.
To Valtherion, it felt like stagnation, a cruel void mocking his effort.
In truth, the system was catching up, counting the power that his body had already mastered, waiting for the final spark to ignite what it could barely comprehend.
The evolution was not denied. It was simply… waiting for the world to be ready.
---
The Final Plateau — Years 120 to 150
Silence ruled this part of the forest, a testament to his dominance.
Everything that lived here now fled at his presence, their instincts warning them of the danger.
Valtherion did not celebrate, he saw it as weakness, a sign of complacency.
If monsters ran, he would chase them, hunting them down with relentless determination.
If danger hid, he would drag it out, forcing it to face him.
The forest became a wasteland of battlefields scorched white, a testament to his power.
He was a ghost drifting through endless hunts, driven by the unwavering belief that:
"If I just evolve one more time… I can leave, escape this prison. I can return to the world, reclaim my life. I can stand, tall and proud, avenging my parents."
He didn't know that he already surpassed what most could achieve in a thousand years, his power eclipsing that of legends.
He didn't know that the Mega Element threshold was so insanely high that even he, with his near-perfect growth, still hadn't triggered it, the system demanding more than just power.
He didn't know that the system was silently preparing something beyond Mega, a transformation that would shatter the very foundations of his being.
He only knew that the fire inside him demanded more, a hunger that could never be satisfied.
---
The 150th Year — The Moment Before the Cataclysm
Valtherion stood at the center of a scorched crater, breathing like a beast, his chest heaving, his muscles trembling.
Dozens of high-tier monsters lay around him, burned to ash, their bodies reduced to smoking skeletons.
His eyes were sharper, his gaze piercing, his aura heavier, his presence enough to make space itself ripple faintly, distorting reality around him.
He clenched his fist, focusing his will, channeling his power.
Nothing, still no evolution, still no Mega.
He ground his teeth, frustration building within him.
"Why… why can't I reach it…?!" he roared, his voice echoing through the silent forest.
The forest remained silent, its ancient heart indifferent to his struggles.
But deep inside his soul, something shifted, a subtle change that resonated through his very being.
Something clicked, a lock disengaging, a mechanism finally triggering.
A dam, holding back a torrent of power.
A limit, preventing him from reaching his full potential.
Something enormous and ancient cracked open, a hidden counter finally reaching its threshold.
The power accumulated from a century and a half of unacknowledged battles—a reservoir of untapped power—began to ignite, a chain reaction that threatened to consume him.
The forest trembled, its ancient heart sensing the impending cataclysm.
The ground shook, the earth groaning under the strain.
Mana spiraled upward like a cyclone, a vortex of raw energy tearing through the sky.
Valtherion's eyes widened, a mixture of awe and terror as a glowing notification finally began to form, its words shimmering in the air—
And then—after one hundred and fifty years of silence—the system finally responded.