Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The damage to the landscape was extensive. For fifty kilometers around, the ground was scarred, the trees destroyed. On one side, an inferno raged. On the other, a frozen wasteland. The clash of elements had reshaped the terrain.

Nero canceled his forms and sat down on a nearby rock. His super regeneration was already at work, healing his wounds, mending his broken arm. He would recover, and then he would continue.

Almost two hours had passed since the battle with the twin ogres. Nero sat cross-legged on the rocky outcrop, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even. The ambient prana of the pocket world flowed into him, rich and abundant, filling his cores, mending his flesh. His super regeneration worked in tandem with his meditation, accelerating the healing process. The twisted arm he had sustained in the fight was now straight, the bones knitted back together, the muscles restored. He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulder, feeling the familiar strength return.

He rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. His body was whole again, refreshed, ready for the next challenge. He glanced at his golden bracelet, the numbers flickering in the dim light. 195 points. The twin ogres had been worth 120 points, bringing his total close to 200 in just a couple of hours of hunting. It put him ahead of most of the other cadets, but he knew it would not last. The competition was long, and others would catch up.

He reached into his spatial ring and withdrew a small cooking kit—a portable stove, a pan, a few simple ingredients. He had brought supplies for the week, knowing that the pocket world would not provide for him. He set up the stove, lit the flame, and began to cook.

The chicken salad was simple, but it would be enough. He sliced the chicken breast, seasoned it with salt and pepper, and placed it on the pan. The sizzle of meat filled the air, mingling with the scent of herbs and oil. He added fresh greens, a splash of vinegar, and a drizzle of olive oil. The colors were vibrant, the aroma inviting.

As he cooked, his mind drifted to the competition’s rules. One of them stated that cadets could hunt each other for points. Not only did you have to kill monsters to earn points, but you also had to protect yourself from ambushes by other cadets. It was a brutal rule, designed to simulate the chaos of real battle. Nero understood its purpose. The academy was training soldiers to face the horrors of the world, and there were no rules in the real world.

Still, he was not worried. He welcomed the challenge. He was not the prey. He was the hunter.

The chicken salad was finished. He served himself on a simple plate, the colors vibrant, the aroma mouthwatering. He sat on a mat he had laid on the ground, crossing his legs, and began to eat. The chicken was tender, the greens crisp, the dressing tangy. He took a sip of wine from a bottle he had brought, the rich flavor complementing the meal. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. The pocket world was beautiful, despite its dangers.

He ate slowly, savoring each bite, allowing himself a moment of peace. The competition was long, and there would be many battles ahead. But for now, he could rest.

---

Meanwhile, in another part of the pocket world, a different kind of storm was brewing.

Barak Raizen moved through the forest like a wraith, his golden eyes gleaming with dark intent. His black hair had grown longer, wilder, whipping around his face in the wind. His body was leaner, harder, his muscles coiled with power. He had been slaughtering monsters for hours, his sword singing through the air, his black lightning crackling with each strike.

He had lost count of the kills. He did not need to count. He could feel the power flowing into him, the demon seed pulsing with each kill, feeding on his rage, growing stronger with every life he extinguished. His points had climbed rapidly, already nearing 150. But the points were secondary. What mattered was the strength, the power that would allow him to crush Nero once and for all.

A pack of shadow wolves appeared in his path, their eyes glowing with predatory hunger. Barak smiled, a cold, maniacal grin. He raised his sword, black lightning crackling along its edge.

"[Black Lightning: Executioner’s Edge.]"

He moved. His body blurred, and he was among them, his sword carving through their ranks. The wolves fell, their bodies dissolving into dark energy that flowed into him. He absorbed their essences, his strength growing with each kill.

He laughed. It was a hollow, chilling sound, echoing through the forest.

"More," he whispered. "I need more."

He continued deeper into the forest, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Monsters of all shapes and sizes fell before him. He fought a giant serpent, its scales gleaming in the dim light. He countered with a wave of black lightning that turned its body to ash. He fought a pack of frost wolves, their icy breath freezing the air. He shattered them with a single strike.

His points climbed. 160. 170. 180.

He did not stop. He could not stop. The hunger was too strong, the need for power too great. He would grow stronger, faster, deadlier. He would become unstoppable.

"Just wait, Nero," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. "I will find you. I will crush you. I will take everything from you, just as you took everything from me."

He laughed again, the sound echoing through the forest.

The demon seed pulsed within him, a dark promise of things to come. The storm was brewing, and Barak Raizen was at its heart.

In another location, the Ice queen was also going on a rampage, her score already pass 180pts.

’’I need to rest a bit before continuing. I mustn’t lose, knowing Ner, he must be aiming for something bigger.’’ she mumbled under her breath as she began to meditate to recover.