Soul Reaper

Soon it was Omen's turn to battle, the death battle within slaves to weed out the weaklings was still on and even Omen wasn't exempted from this rule. The arena fell into an uneasy silence as Omen stood motionless, his hands loose at his sides, eyes scanning his opponent—an imposing boy with fiery red hair and muscles that rippled under the searing heat now emanating from his body. The subtle shimmer of heat waves distorted the air around him, making the boy appear like a creature born of flame and rage.

Omen's thoughts, however, were cold and calculated. He didn't need weapons for this fight. His focus was honed on pure soul technique—no flashy moves, no unnecessary show of power. He spared a brief glance at Colonel Haelkrie's lieutenant, the watchful figure in the background, before turning his attention back to his opponent.

The boy smirked, his arrogance apparent in the way his lips curled, baring teeth like an animal about to pounce. "Battleslave S17, the one called Omen," he sneered, his voice laced with derision. "I've heard about you... they say you faced a commander as a recruit and survived."

Omen's gaze remained indifferent, his body unmoving, but inside, his irritation simmered. He had no patience for boasting, no time for useless words.

"Just attack, you bastard," Omen snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through the oppressive heat.

The boy's smirk faltered, a flicker of shock crossing his features before anger took its place. "Tsk, I guess you're as arrogant as they say."

Without warning, the boy erupted in volent flames, his entire body engulfed in roaring heat that made the air hum with the sound of crackling fire. The flames licked his skin but did not consume him. Instead, they seemed to merge with his very essence, making him a living inferno. The ground beneath his feet scorched black, and the arena temperature spiked, the air becoming suffocatingly hot.

Omen's irritation deepened. 'Flame manipulation. Great,' he thought, his mind already calculating his next move. He couldn't help but wish for teleportation—something more convenient for ending this fight quickly and just going back to Tenebris immediately.

With an explosion that rang through the arena, the boy surged forward, his entire body trailing flames that seared the air around him. The sheer power of his motion drove a burst of scorching winds that ripped across the area, sending waves of intense heat towards Omen.

The moment the boy was within striking distance, Omen moved. His body blurred with speed so sudden it left the boy swinging at empty air. The force of the missed punch caused a sonic crack, the flames trailing off it like a whip, colliding with the ground and leaving a charred black mark where Omen had been standing.

The boy snarled, eyes blazing with frustration, the heat around him intensifying as he spun around, fists aflame, ready to strike again. But Omen was calm, eerily calm. Each movement of the boy's flaming fists sent subtle waves of pressure through the air, but Omen danced just out of range, his movements precise, controlled

"Just stay still and fight me head on", the boy taunted in anger. Omen just tsked a reply in annoyance, his opponent was getting desperate, the wildness in his movements betraying his growing frustration. And that was exactly what Omen had been waiting for.

In a blink, Omen stepped in, his soul energy flaring in his veins like cold fire. His hand shot out with precision, fingers slicing through the heated air as they found purchase on the boy's chest. The impact was minimal—no flashy show of strength—but the effect was immediate. A jolt of raw, soul-manipulating power surged through the boy's body, freezing the flames in place for a fraction of a second.

The boy's eyes widened, a mix of shock and fear flashing across his face as his entire body seized up. His limbs trembled under the pressure, the flames dimming as his soul energy was forcefully drained, absorbed by the force of Omen's touch.

Omen pushed him back with a single motion, sending him stumbling, his once-flaming body now smouldering, weakened by the sudden siphoning of his strength. The flames flickered weakly, gasping for life as the boy dropped to one knee, panting heavily, his eyes wide with disbelief as he continuously hurled out blood.

Three skills: [Body Phasing], [soul manipulation], and [super speed]. His heart pulsed with an eerie calm, a cold certainty. This was pure, unadulterated soul manipulation, and it was going to be terrifyingly efficient.

"You bastard! Just wait till I get you" The boy calmed down as he wiped the blood from his mouth then stood up, he angrily charged forward, unaware of the horror waiting for him. His flames whipped around him like hungry serpents, hissing in the air, the heat blistering the very ground beneath him.

Omen moved. He sidestepped with a smooth, unnatural grace, his body shifting like a shadow, phasing through the ground without a sound. One moment he was in front of the boy, the next, he had disappeared, melted into the earth itself, the floor trembling slightly with the eerie shift of energy. The boy stumbled, bewildered by the sudden disappearance of his opponent, his eyes scanning wildly.

But it was too late.

Omen emerged from behind him, his body passing effortlessly through the heat, phasing through the boy's fiery form as though it were nothing but smoke. Before the boy could even register the danger, Omen's hand pierced through his chest. There was no grand display of violence—just a single, horrifying moment of stillness as Omen's fingers wrapped around the boy's beating heart. The sensation of flesh and muscle yielding to his touch was brief but sickeningly real, the heartbeat slowing in his palm as if time itself was holding its breath.

The boy gasped audibly as his pupils widened in sheer disbelief, a choked sound of incoherence emanating from his lips. He strained to turn, but his body was unresponsive. His soul was already ensnared.

Omen, calm and unflinching, bound the boy's soul to the heart in his hand, sealing the fate of both body and spirit. With a cold, deliberate squeeze, Omen crushed the heart in his palm. The sound of the heart rupturing was a sickening squelch, a horrifying wet snap that seemed to echo through the silent arena. Blood, still warm, seeped through Omen's fingers. The boy's corpse collapsed to the ground with a dull, motionless thud. His gaze, still wide with disbelief stared aimlessly at nothing, his soul within him obliterated. His skin, once flushed with the heat of battle, turned an ashen gray, the last traces of life draining from him in silence.

The audience, those who had been watching, couldn't comprehend the horror that had just unfolded. There were no screams or gasps, only the enormous weight of death hanging in the atmosphere. It was as if the entire arena shuddered from the shocking savagery of what had just occurred. The black-haired boy stood there, still as the grave, blood dripping from his palm in slow drops. Omen's face remained cold, untouched by emotion. Just another fleeting moment in the long, dark path he walked.

...

The room exuded authority. Every inch of the high-ranking military office reflected a sense of disciplined order, but also, an ominous gravity. Polished dark wood lined the walls, their surfaces slick and pristine beneath a sheen of varnish, giving off an austere yet commanding presence. The deep red curtains covered the windows, which overlooked a huge military courtyard; through the small opening, the sunlight generated a weak, subdued illumination through the glass pane.

Colonel Haelkrie sat behind a large, imposing oak table that dominated the center of the room. Its surface was immaculately clean except for a single stack of reports and a holoscreen that projected the combat footage of Omen. Her military uniform was crisp, the sharp edges of her epaulettes glinting under the low light.

Lieutenant Kristen, standing at attention just a few paces away. "That boy is a monster, Colonel!" he nearly shouted, eyes wide with disbelief. "I know you're looking for talents, but if you teach that boy anymore, nothing is stopping him from taking your life!"

The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air, thick and suffocating. But Haelkrie remained unfazed. Her gaze shifted to the glowing screen in front of her, watching with a calculating gleam in her eyes as Omen's match replayed. The way he moved—effortless and deadly, the surgical precision of his soul manipulation—it confirmed what she already suspected. This wasn't the raw, untamed power of a reckless warrior. This was the mark of someone who was going to become a devastating force.

The colonel allowed a small, satisfied smile to pull at her lips, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of her leather chair. She rotated her seat fully to face Kristen, the amusement in her eyes barely visible beneath her composed demeanor.

"I'm glad I was right," she said with an almost casual tone, though her words were layered with a gravity that commanded respect. "He's the fourth phase three talent we have in their class. He's as talented as I'd hoped."

Lieutenant Kristen's mouth hung open, his shock momentarily halting any coherent thought. He glanced nervously at the holoscreen, which now replayed the moment Omen phased through his opponent like a wraith and tore his heart out in a single, brutal motion. It was almost too fast to process. The lieutenant swallowed hard, his pulse quickening.

"And you're... not worried?" Kristen's voice cracked, disbelief thick in every syllable. He tried to grasp some semblance of logic. "Colonel, this kid—he's not normal! If he decides to go rogue..."

Colonel Haelkrie leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto the lieutenant's with a sharpness that froze him in place. Her voice, though calm, carried an undeniable edge. "If he decides to go rogue, Lieutenant, I'll handle it," she said coolly. "But for now, I'm more interested in what he can become under proper guidance."

Kristen blinked, a rush of anxiety flooding his mind, but he had no counterargument to that. He had witnessed the kind of power Omen wielded and, quite frankly, it terrified him. But if the Colonel saw potential, who was he to question it? He shifted uncomfortably in his stance, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to mask his unease.

Haelkrie's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smirk as she saw the lieutenant wrestling with his internal doubts. She leaned back into her chair, crossing her arms in a relaxed, confident posture.

"Send someone to call him up later in the day," she ordered, her voice sharp with finality. "He's going to be my fourth and final disciple. Tell the instructors that I'll personally handle the rest of their training to the final phase."

Kristen's eyes widened further, but he kept his mouth shut. He wanted to protest, to plead his case one more time, but the steel in Haelkrie's gaze made it clear—there was no room for debate. 'Fine,' he thought bitterly, 'if the bastard tears down the kingdom, at least I warned my superiors.' He offered a tight nod of acknowledgment, spinning on his heel to leave the room. The door creaked as he opened it, the sound oddly loud in the heavy silence. Before stepping out, Kristen spared one last look at Colonel Haelkrie, whose attention was already back on the glowing screen, her expression unreadable.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Haelkrie remained still as she smiled.

'A monster indeed'