He had a singular goal. He had to survive in this world, no matter the cost.
Years slipped by in the blink of an eye.
A young man now sat on the edge of a jagged mountain ledge, overlooking a land that felt fundamentally wrong. He stood five feet seven inches tall, his frame lean and hardened by years of relentless conditioning.
This was not Earth, nor was it their prevoius settlement.
The sky burned in a deep, oppressive shade of red, as if the heavens themselves were wounded. Below, the ground stretched outward in vast, fractured plates, cracked and scarred by forces long forgotten.
Strange vegetation thrived in the broken terrain, plants unlike anything known, twisted yet stubbornly alive. From within the distant forest came echoes of roars and low, resonant groans, the voices of alien creatures that ruled this land.
The young man's white hair swayed gently in the wind, stark against the crimson sky. Despite the hostile appearance of the world, the air was calm, even pleasant.
Habitable, if one was careful.
His violet eyes caught what little light existed, gleaming with quiet sharpness as they surveyed the horizon.
He exhaled slowly, drawing in a deep breath.
This world was cruel.
This world was dangerous. But this wasn't new. It wad a repeated process he had faced over a hundred quintillion times.
But he was still alive. Just like he would always be.
"It's been two years since we moved to the forbidden region ever since the attack. Quite pleasant here to say nonetheless." Axiros sighed.
Two years ago-
---
The entity remained seated upon her magnificent throne.
Her finger tapped rhythmically against the armrest, each sound measured, deliberate. The memory of that incident lingered in her mind as vividly as if it had happened only yesterday.
She was bored.
And boredom, for someone like her, was dangerous.
"I wonder how that person is doing now," she mused softly, a faint chuckle escaping her lips. "We can't have him growing complacent, can we?"
Her gaze drifted into the distance as she made her decision.
Thyra would send pawns, disposable ones, to Axiros's place of residence.
It was a test.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The beings she selected were already marked for death, condemned for the crime of betrayal. Their sentence had merely been… postponed. She had spared them not out of mercy, but convenience, preserving them for a moment exactly like this.
If they succeeded, she would gain insight into Axiros's current strength.
If they failed, she would lose nothing.
Either way, the outcome pleased her.
She was certain of one thing, if that person had truly perceived her gaze back then, truly brushed against her presence, these pawns would never return alive.
Thyra leaned back against her throne, satisfied.
Cruel.
Decisive.
And utterly amused.
---
Axiros was jolted awake by a sudden, thunderous sound.
His gut twisted into a tight knot before his mind could even catch up. Instinct screamed at him, something was terribly wrong.
He sprang up instantly, senses flaring, every ounce of his focus sharpening. His body moved before thought fully formed.
"Mom?" he called out, voice tense. "Are you there? What's going on?"
There was no immediate reply.
Instead, the night erupted.
Explosions echoed in rapid succession, followed by deafening impacts and unfamiliar screeches. The air itself trembled, heavy with violent intent. The sounds came from outside, too close.
Axiros rushed out.
What greeted him froze his breath.
The ground was littered with mangled flesh, twisted, torn, and utterly inhuman. Limbs lay scattered, ichor staining the earth in thick, dark smears. This wasn't human carnage.
Nullspawn.
His eyes narrowed instantly as recognition set in.
The battlefield stretched outward in every direction, chaos incarnate. Energy clashed violently, tearing through the air in blinding flashes. His mother stood alone at the center of it all, a solitary figure holding back the tide.
She was fighting them, all of them.
Axiros couldn't track her movements at all. They were far beyond his perception. To him, the battle was nothing but fractured afterimages and residual energy trails tearing across space. Each clash left behind ripples that distorted the very air.
From his perspective, the world had become a storm of light and blood.
Nullspawn flooded the area as far as he could normally see, hundreds of thousands of them. And they weren't weak. The fact that they could even engage his mother was proof enough of their terrifying strength.
There were even more of the weaker ones. Weak but each of them was lethal to a mortal like Axiros
His chest tightened.
'Shit… I can't do anything,' he realized grimly. 'I'm too weak. If I stay, I'll just become a liability.'
He turned, intent on retreating, back toward the fragile safety of the house.
Too late.
Space warped in front of him.
A Nullspawn materialized instantly, bypassing distance as if it didn't exist. Its form was larger, more compact, muscle packed with lethal intent. A beast-type.
Its claws flashed.
'Fuck, block!' he screamed internally.
Axiros raised his hand on pure instinct.
"Axiros! Hang on!" His mom screamed from the other end of the battlefield field.
Pain exploded.
The claws tore straight through his palm, puncturing flesh and grinding against bone. The impact nearly sent him flying. His cloak flared faintly, absorbing part of the force, just enough to save his life.
Without it, he would have been dead on the spot.
The cloak began stitching itself back together almost immediately, its presence seamless once more.
His wound did not.
Blood dripped freely from his shattered hand, but Axiros didn't cry out. He didn't even hiss. Pain was nothing new to him, just another sensation, dull and familiar.
The cloak erased his presence only as long as it had energy to fuel it.
Existential energy didn't work.
Its foundations were based on an entirely different system, one he couldn't access yet. In his current, unawakened state, he was effectively exposed.
His gaze locked onto the Nullspawn.
Cold. Focused. Absolute.
'I need a weapon,' he thought calmly.
'I already have one.'
He plunged inward, diving deep into his soul space.
There, embedded within the vastness, rested a sword.
A weapon he had forged long ago using existential energy, created not for glory, but for moments exactly like this. Since the incident with the entity, he had grown meticulous. Paranoid. Every contingency planned for.
This sword was one of them.
Axiros grasped its hilt.
The world snapped back into place.
The blade manifested in reality as a shifting haze, its form unstable to untrained perception. Runes etched along its length shimmered faintly, anchoring it to existence. Without them, no one would be able to see it, let alone touch it. It would remain as an undefined energy without them.
Axiros steadied his stance.
The Nullspawn lunged again.
This time, it aimed straight for his head.
Axiros didn't hesitate.
He raised his sword with flawless timing, his movements sharp and deliberate—reflexes honed by countless lifetimes of battle. The clash rang out as claw met blade, a violent shriek of metal and force tearing through the air.
He didn't just block.
He redirected.
The momentum of the Nullspawn's strike was twisted aside, turned against it in a single, seamless motion.
"Lethal Convergence."
The blade flared.
Existential energy stored within the sword ignited all at once, flooding its length in a violent surge of light. Runes burned brighter as the weapon screamed under the strain. Axiros's muscles twisted and coiled unnaturally, squeezing out every last fragment of strength his body could produce.
Pain tore through him, but he ignored it.
He poured everything into that single strike.
The attack was precise. Merciless. Perfectly aimed.
Straight at the Nullspawn's weak point.
Before the creature could even register what had happened-
Its head collapsed into a formless mass.
Bone, flesh, and ichor exploded outward as the blade passed through. The body staggered once, then dropped with a dull plop, hitting the ground like discarded meat.
Dead.
Axiros staggered back, breath tearing from his lungs in ragged gasps. His vision blurred as exhaustion crashed into him all at once.
His arm hung uselessly at his side, mangled, blood-soaked, barely holding together.
But he was alive.
And for now, that was enough.
He was thankful that the truly powerful ones were being held back by his mother. Her presence alone dominated the battlefield, forcing the strongest Nullspawn to remain locked in combat with her.
Only a few had slipped through her control.
And even those few were enough to kill him if he lingered.
With what little strength he had left, Axiros turned and ran.
His breathing was ragged, each step sending jolts of pain through his mangled arm, but he didn't slow down. He knew that once he reached the house, he would be safe. It was made from a forbidden material, not even these creatures could scratch it.
Behind him, the ground shook.
Several Nullspawn gave chase, their distorted forms tearing through the terrain with terrifying speed. He could hear them closing in, claws ripping into earth, shrill cries scraping at his ears.
They almost caught him.
A claw swiped past his back, missing by inches, the force of it sending a sharp gust of air against his spine. Another leapt, its shadow stretching over him-
Axiros crossed the threshold of the house.
The moment he did, the Nullspawn slammed into an invisible boundary, their bodies snapping back violently as if struck by an unseen wall. They shrieked in fury and pain, pounding uselessly against the structure.
Axiros collapsed just inside the house, chest heaving, vision swimming.
He had made it.
Barely.
"Fuck! What is this? Why am I getting deathbanged by hundreds of thousands of Nullspawns in the middel of the night?" He questioned.
He was worried about his mother's safety, even though he knew she was powerful beyond reason.
Still, worry crept in unbidden.
The atmosphere outside was filled with shrill cries and distorted screams that refused to fade. The ground had been drenched in Null blood, staining the cracked earth in dark, viscous streaks.
The battlefield was a grotesque canvas of mangled flesh and severed limbs, bodies twisted in unnatural ways. It was horrifying to look at.
But not unfamiliar to Axiros.
He had seen worse. Far worse.
The battle dragged on for hours, each passing moment heavy with violence and destruction. Eventually, the cries began to die out, one by one, until only silence remained.
In the end, his mother stood alone.
The IGU had sent backup, detecting the influx of nullspawns. But they were delayed, midway.
She had suffered injuries, deep gashes, burns, wounds that would have been fatal to anyone else. But at her level, such damage healed rapidly, knitting itself back together in moments.
Unless the injury struck a specific weakness.
Unless it was inflicted by a particular technique.
Only then would it truly matter.
Axiros watched in silence, his expression unreadable.
She had survived.
And that, for now, was enough.