Aether’s Awakening

Edward's body was still reeling from the force of the beast's counter, the shock settling into his bones like a dull ache. His breath was steady, but his chest felt tight, each inhale stretching against an invisible weight pressing down on him. His sword arm, though still firm, tingled from the impact of the blocked strike, a subtle reminder of just how much stronger his opponent was.

Remembering, Edward knew this wasn't his first fight.

He had already killed once, taking the life of an infected knight of Aurion. But that had been different. That battle had been concluded with a single, precise strike, a clean execution rather than a prolonged struggle. Though dangerous, that enemy was still human, moved, and fought like something recognizable.

But this? This was something entirely different.

This time, he confronted a creature that no longer adhered to the logic of a man in combat. This beast was more than just an opponent; it was a predator that flourished in the hunt and operated on pure instinct. And that very instinct had just ensured its survival.

Edward was confident his strike would land, but the creature had reacted before having a reason to. It hadn't dodged with purpose or countered with strategy—it had simply moved because something in its body compelled it to.

That realization gnawed at his mind. The half-turned beast had no training, no discipline, no tactics. But in exchange, it had something just as dangerous—raw survival instinct.

That worsened the situation, as Edward remained outmatched in nearly every aspect. He adjusted his stance by planting his feet firmly beneath him, forcing his body to settle despite the rising tension creeping into his muscles. He wasn't fast enough to match its movements, nor did he have the strength to overpower it in a direct clash—that much was obvious—but he still possessed something that might give him an edge.

His mind.

Edward tightened his grip on the sword as he observed the creature's movements. The creature's body remained tense, its muscles coiling beneath the thick patches of fur, while its crimson gaze stared him down unwaveringly. 

The plan was straightforward—limit the werewolf's movement. If Edward could disrupt its footing, he might stand a chance. Targeting the chest or neck would be foolhardy; the beast's long arms and razor-sharp claws could take him down before he even got close. However, if he could weaken its stance and make its movements sluggish, he could force it into a battle of positioning rather than strength.

The only challenge is getting close enough to strike without being torn apart. Every moment that passed was invaluable. He could hear the chaos at the Eastern front—men screaming, shields shattering, and flesh ripping—as the line threatened to collapse. There was no time to hesitate.

Slowly, Edward stepped forward, his movements measured, his muscles twitching under the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The beast remained locked onto him, its crimson gaze following his every motion. The air between them stretched tight, like a wire ready to snap.

Edward dashed forward, closing the distance fast.

With a fierce snarl, the creature struck out, one enormous claw sweeping in a diagonal path toward Edward's neck and torso.

Edward dropped low, his body ducking beneath the deadly strike, the razor-sharp claws slicing through the air just millimeters above his head. He felt the wind rush past his skin, the sheer force of the attack sending a cold shudder through his bones.

But there was no time to consider it. Momentum pushed him onward. His back brushed against the underside of the beast's massive torso, his gaze fixed on his actual target—its right leg.

This was his chance.

Grabbing his sword tightly, Edward clenched his teeth, fearing his jaw might crack. He swung with all his might, the blade slicing through flesh and fur as he dragged it upward from the werewolf's right foot to its left hip.

But the moment the impact struck, Edward felt it. The steel was too dull; the blade wasn't sharp enough to cleave through the beast's thick hide. Instead of crippling the creature, it merely left a shallow gash, barely slicing into the muscle beneath.

"What a piece of garbage!" Edward growled, his frustration slipping through clenched teeth.

But he couldn't stop now. He twisted his body with the last sliding momentum, passing underneath the beast and rolling to safety behind it.

Or so he thought.

The werewolf was in the middle of turning his torso. Edward barely had time to register the movement before a massive clawed hand lunged at him, trying to snatch him mid-slide. He attempted to move—attempted to respond. Yet he was too slow. The beast's left hand slashed downward, claws raking across his back.

A flash of searing pain shot through him—four deep cuts. Warm blood poured down his back, soaking his clothes in seconds. His body burned, his breath caught in his throat, but he kept moving.

Edward clenched his teeth against the pain, driving his body forward and forcing himself to stand upright. His vision blurred for a moment, but his mind stayed sharp. The beast wasn't done yet.

A second blow followed right after. Edward had barely risen to his feet when the werewolf lunged again, its massive arm charging him like a battering ram.

This time, on the contrary, he was ready. Still gasping for breath, he planted his foot, braced his stance, and met the attack head-on. His sword rose, catching the beast's charging strike just in time. The impact rattled his bones, but he held firm. Edward barely had a moment to breathe.

As his blade deflected the beast's final strike, another attack rushed toward him. The werewolf's right arm swung wide, claws poised to tear him apart where he stood. But unlike before, Edward was prepared this time.

His legs moved before his mind fully registered the action—a reflex, a survival instinct kicking in at the last moment. He bent his knees low, his body nearly brushing the ground, muscles coiled like a spring.

And then—

Time slowed.

It wasn't just adrenaline. It wasn't just fear sharpening his senses. This was something different. The world around him stretched and distorted, and his perception shifted into something unnatural, almost otherworldly. The beast's swing descended at a creeping pace, its claws slicing through the air like a blade cutting through water.

Beyond the werewolf, he observed the battle still raging, but now, every movement felt sluggish, as if he were floating outside of time itself. His gaze flicked past the beast's massive form to the soldiers behind it—the same soldiers he had stood with just moments before.

Their faces were frozen in a blend of fear and awe. Eyes wide open. Jaws clenched. Hands gripping weapons so tightly that their knuckles had turned white. They were watching him.

'Is that really how it ends?'

Was this what the afterlife felt like? It didn't make sense. Nothing about this made sense. But Edward wouldn't let fate, luck, or whatever force was at play determine his future.

He could see the attack. He could feel every fiber of his body adapting, his muscles steering him through movements that felt instinctive and impossible at once.

The wind roared past his ears. His eyes caught the pale glow of the moon reflecting off his sweat-slicked skin. For the first time in this battle, he felt as though he was moving as one with himself, his body and mind working in perfect synchrony.

And then he saw it: an opening. The beast's massive arm was still mid-swing, leaving a vulnerable gap beneath its shoulder—a patch of human skin not yet fully covered in the thick fur of the werewolf.

Something inside him screamed—strike there. He didn't understand why or how he could even process all of this in real-time. But he didn't question it.

Edward's gaze fixated on the target, his body moving with precise clarity. He tightened his grip on the sword, his muscles coiling in preparation for the strike. As his breath hitched, he felt his lungs expand, inhaling the cold, crisp night air in a deep, grounding gasp.

This was it. The moment he had to bet everything on. Without hesitation—without letting a single thought distract him—he thrust his sword upward. The blade met flesh. The werewolf's arm was still mid-motion when Edward's sword pierced underneath it, slicing through muscle, tendons, and bone in one fluid movement.

Reality snapped back into focus as soon as his blade cut through the creature's side. The world surged forward in an instant. A torrent of crimson blood burst from the wound, hot and thick, spilling over Edward's arm as he yanked the blade free.

A sickening howl of agony split the air.

The werewolf staggered back, clutching its side, its massive frame trembling as raw pain finally overtook its senses. Edward stood frozen briefly, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just occurred. He had landed a decisive blow.

A wound that should have been impossible for someone like him to inflict. But before he could fully process it, the beast's snarling red eyes fixed on him once more. It had been wounded—but not defeated.

Edward barely had time to steady himself before the creature let out a furious roar, its body tensing to strike once more. In the next instant, it was already swinging again. Its remaining left arm lashed out, delivering a savage horizontal strike, claws aimed to tear through Edward's torso in one brutal motion.

But this time—Edward could see it.

The werewolf was wounded, its movements slower than before. The strike still carried weight, but the speed and acceleration were lacking. The severe gash in its armpit and the significant blood loss, —had disrupted its balance.

For the first time, Edward saw an advantage in his missing hand.

His balance wasn't normal—it had never been since he woke up on the battlefield. His center of mass was unlike that of an ordinary swordsman. He instinctively trained himself to move differently, adjusting his footing and dodging in ways others wouldn't.

And now, that oddity was working to his advantage. As the beast's clawed hand sliced through the air, Edward leaned slightly to his left, pulling his upper body back as if dodging a spear's thrust. The claws missed him by a hair.

And in that moment—Edward struck.

His body turned with the momentum of his dodge, flowing like water as he circled the beast. His grip tightened, his breath steady, and his mind clear. With one precise, swift thrust, he drove his sword into the back of the beast's knee.

The steel bit deep, slicing through tendons and muscle, severing the strength in the werewolf's leg. A horrific, pained roar tore from its throat as the beast collapsed onto one knee, its massive body shaking from the impact.

For the first time, it seemed vulnerable. The beast's head snapped back, its glowing red eyes fixing on him—furious, desperate, unable to halt what was approaching.

It attempted to raise its left hand, claws reaching back, trying to tear him apart even in its dying moments. But it was too late. Edward moved faster.

He drove his sword forward in one final, brutal motion, piercing directly into the beast's eye. The blade tore through the skull, slicing through bone and brain, sinking deep into the werewolf's last, fragile remnants of life.

For a moment, it froze. Then, with a deep, lifeless shudder, the creature fell, its massive body crashing to the ground with a heavy, final thud.

Blood pooled at Edward's feet, thick and dark under the moon's pale glow. The fight was over. The half-turned werewolf—once a glorious and proud knight of the Aurion Empire—had drawn its final breath.

A sudden, unnatural chill wrapped around him, coiling around his spine and sinking into his very bones. It felt as though something immense and ancient had turned its gaze upon him.

And then, before his very eyes—

The Abyss answered.

A pulse rippled through reality itself, and symbols began to form from the empty air before him. They glowed in eerie orange and deep abyssal black, flickering as if written by an unseen hand, their shapes shifting like molten ink suspended in the void.

Edward's breath caught in his throat.

The runes twisted and reformed, taking shape as words he could understand, written in the air before him.

[Welcome to the Void, Abyssborn.]

[You have achieved a remarkable feat.]

[You have slain a Lesser Beast.]

[You have gained an Aether Scar.]

[You have received a Void Imprint.]

Edward's pulse thundered in his ears.

'What the hell is this?'