The War Froze
Every goblin, every towering giant, every warrior of the long-ears' tribe stood locked in place as the cloudy sky split open.
The blue lightning did not vanish.
It lingered—veins of living fire crawling through the heavens, scorching the air itself as thunder held its breath.
From within the storm, a voice spoke.
One word.
One command.
Enough.
And then—he appeared.
Through smoke and violet haze, a figure descended from the heavens. His bare feet touched the scorched earth, and the ground bowed beneath him, stone cracking as if recognizing its master. White hair—silk-bright in the stormlight—fell around his shoulders. Glowing lines etched his arms and legs, lightning flowing through them like blood through veins.
His eyes—
Spartan eyes—
burned with a fury not of this world.
The goblins shrieked and stumbled back, terror ripping through their ranks. Even the giants faltered, colossal knees bending beneath a pressure they could not name. The long-ears' women dropped to their knees, clutching their chests as though his presence struck something ancient and buried deep within their souls.
Ryker fell silent. His lips parted, but no sound came. He dropped to one knee, head bowed low.
The queen's violet eyes widened.
Slowly, she rose—not by her own will, but lifted as blue lightning wrapped around her waist, coursing through her trembling frame. She shook—not from fear, but from something older.
Recognition.
The storm raged around him, yet he walked forward untouched. His voice was no longer thunder.
It was steady.
Human.
Heavy with the weight of an unbroken oath.
"I have finally made it," he said, his gaze cutting through them all as it settled on the long-ear queen.
Four Days Earlier
At the back of the Spartan village, wooden swords and spears rang against one another, sharp cracks echoing through the clearing.
Demos trained with Maverick, Thane, and Kael—each strike precise, relentless. Sweat streamed down their faces as wood met wood, splinters flying with every clash. Nearby, Gorthok oversaw fifteen young warriors, their hands blistered as they dug into the earth.
They were carving a well—Akira's idea.
Demos had agreed without hesitation and placed Gorthok in charge.
The village was growing stronger.
Yet Demos' thoughts were elsewhere.
The lightning still burned in his veins.
Leaving the training ground, he strode toward the cave at the village's edge. Shadows swallowed him as he entered, damp chill clinging to his skin. He raised a hand, and the translucent grid of the System Interface shimmered into existence.
System Interface
Name: Demos S. Sparta
Age: 15
Level: 2
Health: 100/100
Strength: 30
Agility: 30
Intelligence: 30
Ability: Warrior's Heart
(Info: $#¥₩$##¥¥¥ | (#_#$#) sealed | (##$$) sealed)
Unique Ability: Five-Colored Lightning
— First Color: Blue
(Lightning of Purification. Cleanses the body of all impurities. Can be used offensively but lacks destructive power.)
Sealed Ability: Ice Age
Language Pack Installed: Azuran
Skill: Hand-to-Hand Combat (Level 2)
New Mission: Bring the elves to the Spartan village
Status: In Danger
Demos' gaze sharpened.
His strength and agility had risen by three.
Progress.
But not enough.
The mission unsettled him.
Bring the elves to the Spartan village.
The words pulsed faintly, glowing blue.
In Danger.
He dismissed it. Danger was nothing new.
His focus shifted.
The Five-Colored Lightning.
Blue was only the beginning.
If one color could cleanse his body and sharpen his edge… what would the others awaken?
He clenched his fist.
Sparks erupted from his skin, crawling up his arms until his entire body was wrapped in crackling blue arcs. The cave walls flared with light, shadows thrashing violently with every surge.
Demos sank cross-legged to the floor, drawing the storm inward.
The crackle thickened.
Lightning no longer danced on his skin—it sank into it, fusing with muscle, bone, and blood.
Then—
Crack.
Not shattering.
Not yet.
But close.
The seal within his mind strained as memories pressed against it.
His eyes snapped open, blue lightning tearing from them and raking across the cave walls.
The storm inside him was only beginning.
Another sharp crack rang through his skull.
Images bled through—blurred, distant.
A land not of this world. Towers of metal stabbing the sky. Strange beasts of steel racing along endless roads.
And a boy.
Himself.
Younger.
Running through streets that no longer existed.
Crack.
A woman's voice.
Firm hands guiding his small grip around a weapon's hilt. Tears fell freely as he protested.
She only smiled—wiping his face before placing the blade back into his hands.
A woman in a flowing white dress. Radiant. Commanding.
Her eyes shifted constantly—golden yellow when teaching him to fight, crimson red and void-black when instructing him on metals and materials, chaotic violet and silver when showing him how to imbue attacks with lightning and forces he did not yet understand.
"Cry all you want, Demos," she said softly.
"But you will fight. It is for your own good."
Axes.
Swords.
Spears.
Daggers.
Every weapon placed in his hands.
His small body burned with effort. She never let him stop.
Only afterward did she pamper him—tending wounds, feeding him, letting him rest against her warmth.
Then she placed another weapon in his grip.
Until—
The blade that changed everything.
The one shaped just like hers.
His favorite.
His strikes sharpened. His stance steadied.
She smiled—not as a mother soothing a child, but as a warrior acknowledging her heir.
Crack.
She became lightning itself—teaching him to be the storm. To move in a blink. To coat strikes in lightning that split steel and bone.
Lightning was no longer an attack.
It was an extension of himself.
When exhaustion claimed him, she placed books in his lap—heavy tomes on minerals, metals, and the bones of the earth.
"A Spartan does not only wield strength," she said.
"He must understand the world—so he can lead and protect Spartan women and children."
Crack.
The seal strained.
Images spilled—half-formed, incomplete.
Demos staggered to his feet in the cave, lightning crawling across his body. He clenched his fists as his chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
Then—
The blue lightning shifted.
A faint golden-yellow glow threaded through it, swirling like molten sunlight around his arms and legs.
The System Interface flared.
System Interface Update
Unique Ability: Five-Colored Lightning
— First Color: Blue (Lightning of Purification)
— Second Color: Yellow (Lightning of Annihilation)
(Info: Instantly obliterates whatever it strikes. Extreme destruction. Warning: Excessive strain. Suggested target: six-winged angel.)
Demos' breath caught.
He vomited a mouthful of blood.
Before he could process it—
Another pulse struck.
Purple lightning wrapped around him—thick, chaotic, crushing. Pain tore through his nerves as the interface blinked red.
— Third Color: Purple (Unknown)
(Info: Body too weak. Information unavailable.)
Demos staggered.
The golden-yellow hummed with lethal precision.
The purple waited.
Patient.
Immense.
Catastrophic.
He dropped to one knee, panting, lightning ripping across his body.
In that moment, he understood.
The storm inside him was not merely memory.
It was power.
His mother's teachings—engraved into his soul—breaking free, crack by crack.
"Two… colors," he whispered.
The soulbound markings pulsed as blue and golden-yellow lightning intertwined across his skin. The purple lingered just beyond reach.
If I use the yellow… it will destroy my body.
And the purple—
I'll die.
For a heartbeat, the storm threatened to swallow him whole.
Then Demos planted his foot.
The cave floor shattered as he forced himself upright. Muscles screamed. Lightning tore through his veins.
He didn't scream.
He endured.
Breath by breath, he brought the storm under control—not through dominance, but through will.
The lightning resisted—
And within his soul, something ancient surged.
For a single instant, ten glowing runes flared—forming a seal that crushed the eruption back down.
Demos never noticed.
The lightning calmed instantly, crawling across his skin like a living thing acknowledging its master.
Standing there, Demos finally understood why he could not remember his mother.
The storm inside him was memory.
And his power—
Was waking.
Crack by crack.
But… did she do this to me? he thought.
Before the question could consume him, the System Interface erupted into view.
Elven Population: Dropping Rapidly
His blood ran cold.
In that instant, Demos cloaked himself in blue lightning and launched skyward.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Two sonic booms tore through the heavens as he ascended.