The purple ash from the crater was far behind her now, but the silence of the dead remained, clinging to her skin like a second shadow. Aporia Vex did not linger. Her mind, though fractured and swirling with a low-frequency hum of static, possessed a sharp, survivalist clarity that hummed beneath the bubbling madness. She was a glitch in the world's code, and she knew the world would eventually try to patch her out.
"More will come, just like those before," she whispered, her voice a dry rattle against the wind. "But I no longer possess the ability to make errors in reality or perform miracles. I am small now. I am contained."
She started walking, her bare feet leaving light, precise prints in the dirt. As she moved, the "noise" in her head settled into a cold, clear list of what she was—a set of parameters defined by the rigid world she had broken into. The information burned into her mind like hot iron.
Class: Witch
Rank: 2 (Novice)
She focused on the heat in her chest—her Spirit Core. It was a small, swirling well of violet energy, currently pulsing at a dismal 20 percent capacity. Her mana replenishment was a slow, agonizing trickle, like water dripping into a deep, dry well. She realized she had to be surgical. Every movement, every spell, had to be a calculated strike against the logic of this place.
Along with her rank came the knowledge of her tools. Her first ability was Frost. By spending her precious mana, she could manifest shards of jagged, black-veined blue ice. Her second ability was Black Magic Ailment. This was a terrifyingtool. She could inflict sickness, or even paralysis onto a target, but it required a Medium. A strand of hair, a drop of dried blood, or a scrap of fabric soaked in the target's essence. She had to remain within a specific range, or the "curse" she had stitched into their biology would reset.
She stopped by a stagnant puddle of rainwater. As she looked down, her reflection, herer deep black eyes suddenly trembled, the pupils dilating until the irises bled into a deep, luminous purple. Then, with a sound like tearing parchment, the vertical white slit of the Eye of Calamity tore open in her left iris.
The world changed instantly. The vibrant colors of the forest vanished, replaced by a grey, wire-frame reality where everything was made of vibrating strings of logic. She saw a glowing purple spot on a nearby tree and received a flicker of data: Infected by insects. Internal rot: 40%. She deactivated the eye after only a few seconds. The drain was immense, a cold vacuum in her marrow that made her knees buckle.
"I am a Rank 2," she murmured, her expression vacant and haunting. "A mistake that was not supposed to exist... and mistakes can expand."
Tall, thick trees appeared ahead, marking the end of the scorched ruins. An amused, sharp smile crept onto her face.
"I know things... but they only surface when I encounter them," she realized. Her mind was like an index that only filled its pages when she saw the subject. "Forest. This place is called a forest."
She walked into the shadows. After about an hour, the rhythmic clang of iron and the guttural, angry snorts of a beast reached her. She followed the noise until she reached a dirt road where a wagon sat stalled. A creature—a boar the size of a small shed, covered in metal-like skin and jagged iron spikes—was slamming into a man holding a large, illusory shield. Two other men in armor were swinging swords, their blades sparking uselessly off the boar's hide.
And then there was the boy.
He was younger than the others, perhaps 19, with spiky brown hair and dark eyes. He was holding a supply bag, his knuckles white with a terror that smelled like sweet nectar to Aporia. She crouched in the brush, her eyes fixed on the scene.She activated the Eye of Calamity for a split second.
The world slowed. She saw the "Line of Failure" in the battle. The boar was about to charge. The sheild was aboutto break. The boy would be thrown into the brush.
Now, her mind screamed.
She moved like a blur, her mana surging through her legs to overwrite her original speed. Before the boy could even draw breath to scream he was overcome with terror, she was on him. Her hand—cold as a corpse—clapped over his mouth. She snapped her left eye shut, the other eye's purple fading back to black and opened the left eye one again which was now black.
The boy's instinctual terror vanished.
"Shhh," she hissed.
Blue mist hissed from her palm, instantly crystallizing into a block of jagged ice that sealed his lips shut. The cold was so intense it burned, the boy's eyes bulging as the frost nipped at his skin. With her other hand, she reached out and plucked a single brown hair from his head.
She dragged him deep into the woods, her strength far greater than her slender frame suggested. She slammed him against a tree, pinning him in a seated posture. To ensure he didn't move, she placed one bare, pale foot firmly on his belly, leaning in until her face was inches from his.
She opened the Eye again.
The moment the white slit opened, the boy's entire body went rigid. It wasn't just fear; it was Instinctual Terror. His primitive brain, the part that remembered being hunted by monsters in the dark, screamed that he was in the presence of an apex predator that shouldn't exist. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't blink. He was staring into the end of the world.
Aporia suddenly realized that when the Eye of Calamity is active living beings near it feel Instinctual terror.
Aporia watched him shake for a few seconds, savoring the way his reality was fracturing. Then, she deactivated the Eye. Her pupils returned to a flat, deceptive black.
The boy let out a jagged, wheezing gasp as the crushing pressure vanished. He slumped against the tree, his chest heaving. His terror began to shift, replaced by a confused, hormonal fog as he realized how close she was. His gaze flickered downward, past her waist, drawn by the primal contrast of her pale skin against the dark woods.
Aporia's smile widened, becoming something sharper, something unhinged. She casually lifted the hem of her torn robe, exposing the smooth, slender line of her legs and the stark white of her ceremonial panties. She wasn't doing it to be kind; she was doing it because she saw his pupils dilate. She was scrambling his survival instincts with his lust, turning his brain into a soup of conflicting signals.
"Does your head hurt, little bird?" she teased, her voice dropping to a sultry, dangerous hum. "I can make it stop if you answer my questions. Or I can turn your blood into ice and watch you shatter. I wonder if you'd make a pretty sound when you break?"
The boy nodded frantically, his eyes glued to her panties, unable to look away even though his limbs were still trembling.
"Where are we?" she asked, her voice light and airy.
"O-Oakhaven territory," he wheezed. "Part of the Iron Heart Kingdom. We're... we're from the 'Iron Rat' Guild. Scavengers."
"How do you get strong here? Tell me the secret."
"Monster cores," he gasped, his eyes darting between her face and her legs. "You kill a beast, you take the core... you absorb it into your own spirit core. Then you meditate. You have to squash the mana in your core, compress it until it turns into crystals. Once your whole core is full of crystals... you rank up."
Aporia processed this. Compression. Turning fluid chaos into rigid glass. She found the idea hilarious.
"And the Guilds?"
"They hunt monsters... sell the cores. They take the money. They keep the peace."
She leaned in closer, the scent of ozone and frost radiating from her. "And where do you learn to use the shiny mana? One doesn't just learn on their own."
"The Academy," he whispered. "In Oakhaven. They teach you how to hone your abilities. They... they register you."
Aporia looked back toward the road. The sounds of clashing metal had ceased. The boar's grunts had faded. The "Iron Rats" had likely run away, leaving their baggage—and their boy—behind.
"Thank you, Leo," she chirped, reading the name etched onto the strap of his bag. She was still holding her hem high, enjoying the way he looked at her with a mix of worship and horror. "Am I pretty? Do you like the mistake you're looking at?"
The boy's face flushed a deep, shamed red. "You... you're beautiful," he stammered. "But you're scary. Everything around you feels... wrong."
Aporia laughed—a bright, hollow sound that echoed too long in the quiet woods. She dropped the hem and reached out, helping the boy stand. He took her soft, small hand, but the moment he touched her, he flinched at the unnatural coldness of her skin.
Aporia pulled him closer, slamming his back against the tree once more. She leaned into his ear, her breath like a winter breeze.
"Take me to this Oakhaven," she whispered, her voice turning sharp and dominant. "Introduce me as your sister. Tell them I survived the boar. If you do, I might let you see more. If you don't... I'll pull the thread out of your neck until you forget how to swallow."
She let go, stepping back into the sunlight. The boy, Leo, stood there for a long moment, clutching his supply bag, looking at the beautiful, terrifying girl who had just claimed his life. He had no choice. The madness had already touched him.
"This way," he whispered, his voice broken. "The city isn't far."
Aporia followed him, her steps light and skipping. She had a guide. She had a plan. And soon, she would have a city full of crystals to break.