Atwell Orphanage
Lakane district
Pele city
Haumea Nation
13th May 385 Post Global Unification
Eren had no idea what was happening—no idea what Ash was planning—and a part of him was spiraling into panic. He forced himself to breathe, to stay grounded, but everything had gone to hell the moment that Hunter appeared. Even without seeing the Maleficant, Eren felt it. A primal dread coiled in his gut. A pressure in the air. A certainty that something dangerous was close—watching him. Worse still was the unmistakable sensation of murderous intent, sharp and focused, aimed directly at him. He hadn't wanted to believe it. But the moment the Hunter said it out loud, certainty crashed down on him.
It's after you.
Ash grabbed his hand. Before Eren could protest, the world collapsed into darkness. There was no sensation of movement. No wind, no sound—just a violent lurch, like reality itself had been yanked out from under him. One second, he was in his bedroom. Next, he was on his knees in the local park, barely a block from the orphanage. Swings creaked in the storm. Rain hammered down onto muddy ground. The sudden shift made Eren's stomach revolt. He doubled over and vomited, emptying everything he had onto the soaked earth. When it passed, he wiped his mouth and looked up. Ash stood nearby, completely unaffected. Calm. Steady. They were beside a tree—one that bore a faint runic mark carved into its bark.
"That was your ability," Eren said hoarsely. He'd never seen Ash use his power like that before. This was the first time—really the first time—he understood what Ash could do.
"Spatial folding," Ash replied. "My clan's bloodline ability. We control space-time itself. I can move to marked locations—but I need to anchor them first with anima."
"Why the park?" Eren asked.
"It was the farthest I could fire an anima arrow," Ash said simply.
Eren nodded—then slammed his fist into the mud. Once. Twice. Again. And again. Useless. That word echoed in his head as he pounded the ground, mud splashing, earth denting beneath his blows. You're going to be a Hunter. Right. What a joke. What had he actually done back there? Nothing. He couldn't see the Maleficant. Couldn't fight it. Couldn't help. All he'd been was a liability—a weight Ash had to drag away while real fighters stayed behind. He'd wanted to prove himself. Wanted to prove that society was wrong about him. He was such a fool. An Idiot. He struck the ground again, knuckles aching, chest tight. All he had were his fists—and against something like that, they meant nothing.
"Eren. Stop it. Enough." Ash grabbed his arm, voice sharp. "We have to—"
"I have to leave," Eren said suddenly. He stood, breathing hard, resolve snapping into place.
"There's one thing I can do."
Ash frowned. "You mean we have to leave."
"No," Eren said. "I mean me." He met Ash's eyes. "That thing is after me. Staying with me will only put you in danger."
Ash stared at him.
Then he swore.
"Don't be stupid. What in Menes' name do you think you can do?" His voice cracked with anger. "You have no anima, no Magic, nothing special—and your physical abilities won't mean anything against something like that. You need me, so we're going to—"
The explosion cut him off. The ground erupted. Mud, shattered concrete, twisted metal, broken swing chains—everything flew skyward as a shockwave tore through the park. Eren reacted without thinking. He grabbed Ash and turned, throwing his body over him as debris rained down. Metal slammed into his back. Concrete struck his shoulders. The force sent them both tumbling through the mud before they finally skidded to a stop.
Ash shoved Eren off him, scrambling up in panic. "Are you—"
He stopped. Eren was already sitting up. Bruised. Mud-soaked. Breathing hard. But intact. Ash let out a long, shaky breath, realization sinking in. Even now—even this— Eren's durability was as monstrous as his strength.
"What the hell was that—" Eren said, pushing himself upright, only to stagger and fall again. "Damn it."
He gritted his teeth, yanked a jagged shard of metal from his leg, and flung it aside.
"You idiot," Ash snapped. "You could've been killed."
"You're not the only one allowed to protect people," Eren shot back.
He shrugged off his coat, tore a strip from his shirt, and bound his leg tightly, teeth clenched as he cinched the makeshift bandage. Pain flared—but he ignored it. A shrill screech split the air. Both of them looked up.
The Maleficant hovered above the ruined park, its presence warping the space around it. Mother Ruth and the Hunter lay in separate craters where they'd been thrown. Mother Ruth was already forcing herself upright, bloodied, battered—yet moving. Eren's chest tightened.
She had once been a Hunter. Long retired. She'd used her savings to build the orphanage—his home. Eren had never known his parents. He'd been left in her care as an infant. She'd promised him the truth when he was older. On his eighteenth birthday. That day was only months away. She couldn't die.
She wouldn't. Mother Ruth raised her rifle again, jaw set, unaware of the black tide of roaches swelling behind her. Eren's leg moved before his mind did.
"Mother Ruth—Mother—!"
He ran.
No thought for himself. No hesitation. The Maleficant lunged. Everything happened at once. The Hunter burst forward, shoving Mother Ruth aside as the attack crashed into him instead. Flesh tore. Bone shattered. A gaping wound opened through his shoulder as blood poured freely. At the same instant, Eren vanished. He reappeared beside Ash as iron limbs slammed down where he'd been moments earlier, crushing a damaged swing into scrap. Eren stared, realization hitting hard. Ash had swapped his position with the swing's iron pole.
"Are you insane?!" Ash rounded on him. "Are you trying to die?!"
"We need to get to Mother Ruth," Eren said urgently. The Hunter was down, gravely wounded. They couldn't rely on him anymore. Ash's hand tightened on Eren's shoulder; he understood immediately.
"You can't see it," Ash said lowly, eyes fixed ahead, "but the Maleficant's between her and us. I don't know how, but it's dispersing its accursed energy over a wide area. Makes its attacks unpredictable."
Eren nodded. He couldn't see the creature—but he felt it. By training his body and senses, he'd honed something else too: a raw, instinctive danger sense. A sixth awareness that screamed when death was near. He trusted it now. Ash drew his bow. Six anima arrows manifested instantly, hovering in a precise formation.
"This thing's at least Stage III," Ash said. "If I kill it… Namer University will be easy."
Power surged. The air around Ash grew warm. His soaked hair lifted slightly as controlled force radiated from him—focused, disciplined, terrifyingly calm. Ash moved. He sprinted forward, firing arrows in rapid succession, embedding them throughout the park—trees, shattered benches, broken ground. Two more arrows formed. He loosed one.
The Maleficant tried to evade—
Space collapsed.
An invisible pull dragged the creature toward the arrow's tip, the space around it folding inward. A portion of the Maleficant's body was crushed and distorted as it shrieked in rage. Eren watched, fists clenched. Envy burned hot and bitter. Ash could fight. He couldn't. The Maleficant screeched again, violence surging outward as it tore free from the spatial bind. Its movement became erratic—unnatural—scurrying fast enough to vault over Ash. Two additional legs burst from its thorax, jagged spikes extending like blades.
Ash met it head-on. He condensed an anima arrow into a blade and parried effortlessly, metal-like chitin screeching against condensed force. Strike after strike—blocked, redirected, countered. They clashed across the park, their battle tearing through space and debris. Ash deliberately drove the fight farther away—away from Eren.
Eren didn't waste the opening. He ran to Mother Ruth. She knelt over the Hunter, hands glowing faintly as she tried—and failed—to mend his wounds.
"Mother, are you okay?" Eren asked, voice tight.
"I—I can't heal it," she said, shaking. "I can't stop the bleeding."
The Hunter groaned, trying to rise. Mother Ruth forced him back down.
"Don't move. You've lost too much blood."
"This is nothing," the Hunter rasped. "That boy… he's gifted. But even an Adept like him won't last long against a Stage III-"
Eren turned toward the chaos. He couldn't see what Ash was fighting. But he could feel it. And somehow—impossibly—Ash was holding his ground.
"The wound isn't closing," Mother Ruth said, rain streaking down her face as she pressed glowing hands against the Hunter's injury. "It's using its own anima to resist my healing."
"It's part of its accursed technique," the Hunter replied through clenched teeth. "That thing is tenacious. Even my Rejuvenation magic isn't working."
"Then why is it after me?" Eren demanded. "Why me? I thought Maleficents only went after people with anima."
From everything Eren had studied, Maleficents were born from humanity's negative emotions—resentment, despair, hatred—that leaked into the world and festered until they took form. Those entities were naturally drawn to concentrations of anima, feeding on it like carrion.
"They are drawn to anima," the Hunter said, "but not only that. Maleficents are also attracted to those who harbor intense negative emotions."
He glanced at Eren.
"Do you carry feelings such as sadness… hatred… anger…"
"No," Eren said immediately. "Of course not."
"…fear," the Hunter continued. "Envy. Frustration. A sense of inadequacy."
"Alright, that's enough," Mother Ruth cut in sharply. Eren stood there under the pounding rain, eyes fixed on Ash as he battled the spirit. Ash was blinking across the park, teleporting between the anima-marked arrows he had embedded throughout the terrain. Each appearance was followed by a precise volley of anima arrows before he vanished again, denying the Maleficant a clean counter. All his life, Eren had carried a quiet, gnawing sense of lack. No matter how hard he trained, no matter how much he refined the martial art he had built with his own hands, there had always been a hollow space inside him. He had believed strength alone would be enough—that becoming a Hunter without anima would prove something. Now that belief lay in pieces. Ash suddenly reappeared beside them, boots skidding through mud. He was breathing hard, shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. Even with the world's favor, he was still only an Adept-his spiritual reserves stretched thin.
"The damn roach is too strong," Ash said, wiping rain and sweat from his face. The Hunter forced himself upright despite Mother Ruth's protest, dragging his massive sword along the ground with his ruined arm. Blood spilled freely, the wound worsening with every step.
"Get him out of here—now," the Hunter shouted.
No. No, there had to be something Eren could do. Something—
That was when he felt it. A vibration rippled through the air. The fine hairs along his skin stood on end, an itching sensation crawling over him like insects beneath his flesh. He could feel it—another swarm, moving fast, closing in on the Hunter. No one else noticed it. No one but Eren. And then Ash's words came back to him.
The Maleficent can scramble its energy.
Eren wasn't sensing anima. He wasn't sensing anything mystical at all. He was sensing danger. His instincts—sharpened through years of fights, training, and survival—were screaming at him. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. Without thinking—without sparing a single thought for himself—Eren moved. He shoved the Hunter out of the way. The swarm hit him square in the abdomen. The impact was brutal. His body was lifted off the ground and hurled backward, spinning helplessly before slamming into a tree with a sickening crack. The world exploded into pain, then went distant and hollow.
"Eren! Eren—Eren!"
Rain splattered against his face. Voices reached him through the haze, warped and distant. He couldn't move. Couldn't even tell how badly he was hurt. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, surging forward, retreating, then surging again. He fought it—but he had nothing left.
"Mother, heal him!" Ash's voice broke.
"I'm trying—I'm trying," Mother Ruth said, panic threading through her words. "But… it's not working. It's just like the Hunter's wound. It won't heal—"
Useless. So fucking useless. What was the point of all that training? What was the point of beating Onyanko? What was the point of pushing his body past its limits again and again? What was the point of dreaming about becoming a Hunter if, when it mattered, he couldn't do anything? He needed power. It didn't matter what kind.
Power was what he lacked. Power was what he needed.
Eren had learned early that the world wasn't fair. People weren't born equal, no matter how much they liked to pretend otherwise. Fate didn't care about effort or circumstance. He had seen it—seen people crushed simply because they lacked spiritual power. Those without it were discarded, shoved into the lowest rungs of society. Even those with weak spiritual ability were treated better than those with none at all.
Because Magic ruled the world. But Eren was different. His spiritual core was dead—rotted before it ever had a chance to awaken. Instead, he had been given something else. His body. His strength. His speed. His endurance. He had always had to push himself harder than everyone else, tear his body down just to rebuild it stronger. And even now—especially now—he could feel it.
There was more.
Something buried deep within him. A depth of power he hadn't yet reached. Something waiting to be claimed.
Fuck Magic. Fuck this world. Fuck the gods. And Fuck the system.
If power were all that mattered, then he would rely on the only power he had ever truly owned.His body. This was the path he had chosen. The oath he had sworn. He would become a Hunter. Nothing—nothing—was going to stop him.
So get up, Eren.
Get up.
Get up.
Get the fuck up—
—and hunt that fucking roach.
****
A tower of dark-blue light erupted from the ground where Eren Walker lay dying. The column of radiance tore through the rain and slammed into the clouds, ripping them apart for a fleeting instant. Thunder fell silent. The storm recoiled. And at the center of that light—hovering in midair—was Eren Walker.
Ash stared. Mother Ruth froze. The Maleficant recoiled. And Alastor Kinsway collapsed. His knees struck the ground as his body finally gave in. Blood poured freely from his wound, refusing to clot. He had lost too much—too much blood, too much anima. He had tried to invoke recovery arts, but the wound would not respond. Neither his techniques nor Mother Ruth's healing could touch it.
Something was wrong.
The Maleficent's energy lingered inside the injury, gnawing at it, rejecting restoration. Alastor had never encountered anything like it. Even an attack of that level should not have wounded him this deeply.
This Maleficent was no ordinary entity.
Special Rank, he thought grimly.
His leg trembled violently as he burned through the last of his anima just to keep himself conscious. He had enough left for—at most—two attacks. And yet…
Despite the pain, despite the blood loss, Alastor felt something else. Relief. Because the energy pouring from the boy above felt familiar. He had sensed power like this before. A power that went beyond what the world allowed. The World's energy trembled, ambient forces stirring as though the atmosphere itself had begun to boil.
"That power…" Ash whispered, his voice tight. "It feels wrong. I—I don't sense anima from it."
Of course, he didn't.
Anima was normally refined from spiritual essence—drawn from the World, shaped through a spiritual core, condensed within the core, then circulated through internal pathways like the spirit circuit. It was never used raw. But Eren…
Eren was releasing pure spiritual force directly from within himself, the spiritual power pulling and pushing the world energy that surrounded them. The pillar of light vanished. Eren dropped to the ground, landing lightly as steam rolled off his skin in shimmering waves. Heat distorted the air around him.
The Maleficant shrieked and lunged—
—and Eren vanished.
Alastor blinked. The boy was gone. His movement was too fast for him to see. The movement was identical to Eren's final strike against Onyanko.
Reinforcement? Simple Magic?
No. There was no sign of anima reinforcement. No magical fluctuation. And yet—
Alastor's breath caught as realization dawned on him. The boy's spiritual core wasn't dead. It was sealed. A spirit core was meant to connect one to the World. But Eren's was shut—locked away, isolating him completely. An Irregular, yes… but one whose power was only now beginning to surface.
Dormant. Unrefined. And still—
The raw physical prowess Eren now displayed had crossed far beyond peak human limits.
This was true superhuman territory that humans couldn't reach without Anima reinforcement. Then Alastor noticed something else. The wound that no healing arts could mend— Was gone. A thunderous boom shattered the air. Eren appeared above the Maleficent and drove his fist down. The impact was catastrophic. The same technique he had used against Onyanko—but magnified to a terrifying degree. The shockwave flattened the ground beneath them, pulverizing earth and stone as though struck by a falling mountain.
When Eren landed, Alastor knew instantly—
The boy could now see Maleficent—the minimum requirement for one to be a Mage. Half of the creature's thorax had been obliterated, reduced to shattered fragments scattered across the rain-soaked park. A martial technique had done that much damage.
Pure. Brutal. If that strike were ever infused with anima—
Alastor didn't finish the thought.
"Impossible," Ash breathed. "I couldn't even break through its barrier. What kind of power is that?"
Mother Ruth's hands trembled. "I… I always suspected. But I never allowed myself to believe it."
Alastor forced himself upright, blood dripping from his fingers.
"There's no denying it now," he said quietly.
"The boy has awakened an Innate Ability Factor."
"Innate Ability?" Ash breathed. "You don't mean… his physique has awakened?"
"Only an Awakened Physique allows an individual to manifest an Innate Ability Factor," Alastor said.
Another thunderous impact shook the ground, snapping their attention back to the battle. Eren was dominating the exchange. He flowed through the martial art he had forged himself, weaving between the Maleficant's spiked limbs with terrifying precision. Every movement was deliberate—each step, each shift of weight carefully calculated to control the explosive power generated by his body. His stance was flawless. The Maleficant struck again and again, its razor-like legs slamming down with lethal force—but Eren blocked them barehanded. Each impact rang out like steel on steel. Not a single drop of blood. His durability had skyrocketed. As he deflected the final strike, Eren pivoted smoothly and unleashed a front kick, perfectly timed and fully rotated. The blow sent the Maleficant hurtling across the park, its head tearing apart on impact—
—only to regenerate instantly. Alastor's jaw tightened. That was the true terror of Maleficants.
Regeneration.
Especially one of this rank. This was why anima mattered. Raw strength alone wasn't supposed to be enough. Alastor glanced down at his fallen weapon. His arm was ruined. Blood continued to pour from the wound, unhealed. He was useless now—forced to watch as the boy fought a monster even Hunters feared.
Eren vanished. No—he moved. So fast that even Alastor lost track of him. The next moment, Eren slammed his fist into the ground. The earth erupted. Concrete, mud, and debris exploded upward, engulfing the Maleficant in a choking cloud.
What is he doing—?
Then Alastor understood. The Maleficant didn't rely solely on sight. Its antennae detected microscopic shifts in air pressure. The shockwave wasn't meant to blind it—it was meant to fool its senses. Sight gone. Antennae scrambled. Blind. The dust parted. The Maleficant crashed into the ground, carving a massive crater. Eren was already airborne. White lightning coiled around his fist, raw kinetic force distorting the air itself. The energy screamed—compressed, focused, lethal.
Then—
He became lightning. A white bolt tore through the air, shattering the sound barrier as it struck. The explosion flattened the park. The shockwave slammed into Alastor and the others, driving their feet into the ground as debris rained down. From the smoke, Eren emerged—running toward them, concern etched across his face.
"Eren!" Mother Ruth rushed to him, gripping his shoulders, checking frantically for injuries.
"I'm fine," he said, breathless. "I… I feel like I'm overflowing with power."
And he wasn't lying.
Eren didn't understand what had happened—only that something had clicked. Rage. Resolve. Desperation. He had decided that if he was going to die, he would do so fighting—without restraint, without regret. And his body had answered. A sensation had surged through him, igniting every nerve, every cell. His mind had burned—then burst open—and the white light had poured out.
His wounds were gone. His injuries were erased. What remained was power—raw, unfiltered, roaring through his veins. His strikes could destroy. But the Maleficant…
It was still regenerating. And the fight wasn't over.
"I keep hitting it, but it just heals," Eren said through clenched teeth.
"That's because you need Anima to purify a Maleficiant," Alastor said. "Their bodies can be damaged by brute force, but the core can only be destroyed through Anima. Once the core is erased, they're finished."
"Well, I don't have Anima," Eren muttered. Even now—despite the terrifying power surging through him—Anima was the one thing he had always wanted and never possessed.
"Yes," Alastor agreed grimly. "And it appears your Innate Ability alone isn't enough to annihilate the core. Not yet."
"Innate Ability…" Eren echoed. He raised his fist, white light flickering faintly around his knuckles. "You know what this is?"
"I do," Alastor said. "Your Innate Ability is a form of enhancement, originating from the Physique you awakened."
Physique. Eren knew what that word meant. It referred to one's physical constitution—the foundation of genetics, racial traits, and bodily potential. Hyperboreans, for example, awakened special physiques that granted them their legendary strength.
Alastor studied Eren carefully. "Tell me something."
"What?" Eren replied.
"Can you see the Maleficiant?"
Eren turned toward the crater where the creature writhed, its torn flesh already knitting back together.
"…Yeah," he said slowly. His brow furrowed in thought. "I didn't question it at first, but after the white light faded, it was like… I could suddenly see it. And the longer I fought it, the clearer it became."
He grimaced. "And I've gotta say—that thing is disgusting."
Alastor burst out laughing. He collapsed backward, landing hard on the wet ground, laughter tearing out of him despite the pain and blood loss. Now he understood. Everything. Why he had tracked that strange Anima signature here? Why it had led him not to a relic, not to a Maleficiant nest—but to this boy. Alastor had spent the past week quietly investigating Eren Walker. Too many things hadn't added up. Eren had supposedly been born in Haumea during the Halley Incident on Namer Island. But the records were forged—clean, professional, deliberate. Someone had rewritten his existence. Why would anyone go to such lengths for a magicless orphan? And what did it have to do with the missing Azural King? Alastor had suspected an irregularity. Now the answer stood before him.
Eren Walker was...is an Irregular. There was no doubt left. Only Irregulars displayed such extreme physical deviations without Anima cultivation. From what Alastor knew, their bodies awakened in two stages. The first stage mutated the body itself—pushing it to the absolute peak of human potential. That had been Eren's abnormal strength. The second stage extended the mutation to the mind, unlocking heightened perception, instinct, and latent power. Alastor knew this because he had seen it once before. And unlike that person, Eren's power was far from fully awakened. But there was no time to wait. The Maleficiant was still regenerating. And Alastor Kinsway now knew exactly what he had to do.
"Boy," Alastor said, forcing a breath through bloodied lungs, "you want to become a Hunter, right?"
"Yeah. How do you know—Mister… what was your name again?" Eren asked.
"Alastor. Alastor Kinsway," he replied. "You do know that without Anima, one cannot become a Hunter."
"And yet," Eren said evenly, "I still will."
"Is that so…" Alastor winced. His laugh tore at his wound, fresh blood spilling freely now. He no longer bothered stopping it. He was finished. The least he could do—
"Tell me," he said quietly, "do you want to save your family?"
"Yes."
The answer came without hesitation. The despair Alastor had glimpsed earlier—when the boy confronted his own limits—was gone. In its place burned pure resolve. As Eren spoke, Alastor dragged a trembling finger across the soaked ground, carving sigils into the mud with his own blood. A pentagram formed—precise, deliberate—its lines refusing to wash away despite the rain.
"What are you doing?" Ash demanded. "That's blood ritual magic."
"I'm no great caster," Alastor muttered, mostly to himself, "but this will suffice."
He forced himself upright, staggering, greatsword still in hand. His skin had gone pale. His breath came shallow and ragged. Death was close—seconds away, perhaps—but before it claimed him, he had to finish this. The boy's latent power still hadn't manifested properly. Why? A sealed spirit core? A delayed awakening? Alastor wished he had time to find out.
"You know," he said hoarsely, "I never thought I'd encounter an Irregular in a place like this." He smiled weakly. "The world really is strange." Then, with the last of his strength, Alastor drove his greatsword straight toward Eren Walker's abdomen.
Eren didn't understand what was happening.
Blood circled them both, burning with a heat that had nothing to do with fire. Even as rain hammered down, the ritual lines glowed faintly, alive.
"Irregular—what do you mean—"
The blade should have impaled him. It didn't. A black book materialized between them. Its pages burst open as a vortex of shadow spilled out, devouring energy like a starving maw. The Anima flowing through Alastor's sword was ripped free, dragged screaming into the book.
"What are you doing?!" Eren shouted, trying to move. He couldn't. His body was locked in place.
"I'm jump-starting your spirit core," Alastor rasped. "Or I was… trying to."
Another surge erupted—this time bluish-white, flooding Eren's body. Something deep inside him woke up. The hollow emptiness he had carried his entire life was shattered. A luminous sphere ignited within his solar plexus—warm, dense, alive. The energy surged outward, then reversed course, collapsing inward as Eren absorbed it fully. At the same time, the black vortex swallowed a fragment of the greatsword, ripping it cleanly into the book.
"Shit…" Alastor gasped. "Didn't expect that."
He collapsed unconscious as the remnants of his blade dissolved into light. Eren remained standing at the center of the blood pentagram. On his right forearm, an obsidian gauntlet-ring had formed—black metal spreading across his wrist and knuckles like living armor. Tiny runes pulsed along its surface, crackling with restrained force.
The black book hovered beside him. Its cover had changed. A bone-like beast's mouth, lined with massive fangs, gaped open—ready to devour. Words burned into the air before Eren's eyes:
[Your Spirit Core has awakened.]
[You have awakened the Tome of the Devourer.]
[Spirit Circuit formation has begun.]
Eren stared in disbelief. A grimoire. Not just any grimoire—but the same book that had saved his life before. Grimoires were relics of immense power, said to accelerate cultivation beyond normal limits. The Great Families hoarded them. Wars had been fought over them. And now one had chosen him.
The first page turned on its own. Instead of a blade, it depicted a heavy combat gauntlet, layered with runic plates, designed to amplify impact rather than cut. The weapon radiated brute dominance—made not for elegance, but destruction. Eren looked down at the obsidian gauntlet on his arm.
The connection was instant. His newly awakened core responded. Blue light and roaring flames burst outward, condensing around his forearm as the sealed form unfolded. The gauntlet expanded—solid, radiant, humming with power that flowed directly into his muscles and bones. Eren clenched his fist. The strength nearly made him laugh. He turned toward the Maleficiant. It had fully regenerated.
But now— Now Eren could feel it. Its twisted Anima pressed against his senses like a crushing weight. It should have terrified him. It didn't. For the first time in his life, Eren Walker felt unstoppable. Eren flexed his right hand, the obsidian gauntlet rotating slightly as he rolled his wrist, catching its weight with casual ease—as if it had always belonged there. He felt incredible. He had no idea what Alastor Kinsway had truly done, but from Eren's perspective, the Hunter must have poured whatever remained of his power into him as a final gamble. A last resort.
Whatever the truth was, Eren wasn't about to waste it. A strange sensation coursed through his body—not the same power as the white light from before. That energy had been light, warm, almost ethereal. This was different. This was heavy. Dense. Thick—like compressed pressure flowing through his veins. Eren understood immediately.
I need to destroy the core. As long as it existed, the Maleficant would keep regenerating. Then how do I do it? Again, doubt crept in—but he crushed it just as quickly. He didn't have a library of techniques or refined spells. He had one real attack. So it had to count. Eren lowered into a fighting stance, the gauntlet angled forward as the Maleficant's antennae clicked sharply. The creature tensed, ready to lunge. But Eren was already ahead of it. He could see it now—feel it—the point where the cursed Anima was densest. The core.
There.
"Let's go," Eren muttered.
The gauntlet responded. A surge of power erupted from it, flooding straight into his arm, synchronizing perfectly with his muscles and bones. Eren planted his foot, his innate ability flaring as he launched himself forward. The jump cracked the ground beneath him. Midair, he drew his arm back and punched. Blue flames roared outward—not detached, not thrown—but carried directly through his fist. The strike tore through the air in a straight, devastating line, heat and pressure collapsing inward around the blow.
The impact was instantaneous. The Maleficant was split apart as if reality itself had been torn open—its body cleaved cleanly through the core. The cursed center shattered, dissolving into fragments of unstable Anima. The ground detonated beneath the force of the strike, a shockwave ripping outward and whipping the rain into a violent spiral. The wind screamed. Then it became silent. Eren landed, breathing hard, staring at the remains as they disintegrated into nothingness.
He blinked. Slowly, realization set in.
"So this is… Magic," he murmured.