A Null

Six months into their brutal regimen, the human recruits had been tempered into hardened warriors, their bodies and minds forged in the relentless heat of orcish training. The weak had been culled, leaving only those with the grit and resilience to endure. Now, finally, the orcish instructors deemed them ready for the next phase: mastering the art of combat.

Orcish combat traditions were built on pragmatism. Their fighting styles were not rooted in ancient rituals or poetic forms but in survival and warfare. They focused on powerful, direct strikes designed to incapacitate swiftly. Emphasis was placed on simple but effective movements—heavy punches, direct kicks, and quick, brutal joint locks and throws. The orcs believed in turning defense into offense, often striking while blocking, ensuring that every action served a dual purpose.

Azhok, the lead instructor, was a living embodiment of this brutal philosophy. His training sessions were relentless, designed to push the recruits to their physical and mental limits. He drilled into them the importance of maintaining balance, delivering forceful blows, and using their bodies as weapons. Azhok was not a gentle teacher—hesitation met with a sharp crack of his staff, missteps with a boot to the ribs. He was there to forge warriors, not friends.

Sparring became the new norm. The recruits squared off against each other and against their orcish instructors. There were no blunted weapons—just real steel, and only slightly dulled edges. The training grounds echoed with the clash of metal and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the dirt. Pain was a constant companion, and injuries were a part of learning. The orcs did not coddle them; they expected the recruits to stand up, shake off the pain, and keep fighting.

The orcs preferred a variety of weapons, but their training focused on the most practical and adaptable tools of war. Spears, sabers, bows, and swords formed the core of their arsenal. Each recruit was encouraged to find the weapon that felt most natural to them, and once they did, the real training began.

• Xavier found his calling with the spear. His natural reach and quick reflexes made him a menace on the training grounds. He learned to use the spear not only for stabbing but also for sweeping legs and maintaining distance. His strikes were sharp and precise, each thrust intended to push an opponent off balance or force them into a vulnerable position.

• Rachael took to the short sword. Her small stature and speed allowed her to close the distance quickly. She preferred a quick, aggressive style—darting in with rapid strikes and retreating before her opponent could respond. She soon began dual-wielding, adding another layer of unpredictability to her attacks. Her short swords moved in coordinated arcs, designed to overwhelm and confuse.

• Dexter chose the bow, his calm demeanor translating well to the patience needed for archery. The orcs drilled him not only on accuracy but also on speed. He learned to draw and fire in rapid succession, to adjust his aim on the fly, and to shoot from cover. His arrows often landed before his target even knew they were under threat.

• Wes remained steadfast with the standard sword. He thrived under the orcish method—simple, direct, and effective. His strikes were heavy, intended to break defenses and shatter bones. He did not dance around his opponents; he charged forward, using his body as a weapon just as much as his blade. He had learned to turn his natural strength into a tool, delivering crushing blows that left his sparring partners scrambling to recover.

The sparring sessions were unforgiving. The orcs often pitted the recruits against multiple opponents, teaching them to fight outnumbered and under pressure. They learned to fight in tight spaces, on uneven ground, and even blindfolded. The orcs emphasized adaptability—the ability to switch tactics mid-fight, to use the environment, and to recognize and exploit an opponent's weaknesses.

Injuries were part of the process. Azhok did not allow weakness. If a recruit was knocked down, they were expected to get up. If a limb was injured, they were taught to use the other. The orcs believed in building not just strength but resilience. Every bruise was a lesson, every cut a reminder that battle would not wait for comfort.

Through blood, sweat, and sheer force of will, the recruits began to change. Their bodies grew lean and strong, their movements sharp and controlled. They moved with a new confidence, a hardness in their eyes that had not been there before. Under the tutelage of their orcish mentors, they were not merely learning to fight—they were becoming warriors.

Wes floated in the warm darkness of the womb, a grin curling through his consciousness. This was where it had all started—where the strongest human of Earth had begun. And now, in the twisted irony of fate, he was also the deadest. Or, at least, he had been.

Memories rippled through him, sharp and vivid. He remembered standing on the rocky plateau of Gra'zuk, the training grounds where the human recruits had finally completed their brutal orcish training. It was the culmination of months of blood, sweat, and bone-breaking discipline. Only a handful had made it this far. Wes, Xavier, Rachael, and Dexter—the top candidates, the best of the best. But even among them, he had been the first.

The orcs had gathered hundreds of Void Crystals for their human recruits. On human planets, Void Crystals were relatively common, but higher-grade ones were rare. The crystals held star-like patterns within, and the more stars, the stronger the ability they granted. Over time, those stars would form constellations—designs that could be decoded to reveal the crystal's hidden potential.

The orcs, meticulous as ever, had brought a tome with them—a massive, leather-bound book filled with sketches and notes. It detailed known constellations, the abilities they hinted at, and the dangers of each crystal. It was a monstrous thing, the kind of book that could kill if dropped on a foot. Wes had skimmed through its pages, his eyes catching on the intricate diagrams and the scribbled annotations of scholars long gone.

His sights had been set on a particular crystal—a rare bloodline crystal with a wind affinity. He had felt it the moment he laid eyes on it, a sense of belonging, of purpose. The crystal shimmered with pale green light, its stars forming swirling patterns like a storm contained in glass.

Xavier had wanted it too, but luck—or perhaps skill—had put Wes first in line. The process was simple, if a bit surreal. You had to eat the crystal. It looked hard, like quartz, but the moment it touched his lips, the exterior crumbled, revealing a softer, almost creamy substance within. It was like biting into frost, a cold that spread through his mouth and sent shivers down his spine.

He had chewed, swallowed, and waited. The others watched, anticipation sharp in their gazes. And then, nothing. His stomach twisted, not with power but with nausea. His body rejected the crystal violently—he had thrown up, and the crystal had reformed on the ground, as pristine as before.

He was a Null.

The realization had hit him harder than any orcish fist. A Null—someone who could not absorb a Void Crystal. The term had always sounded like a death sentence, and in that moment, it felt like one. The silence that followed was suffocating. The other recruits stared, their expressions a mix of confusion and relief. Relief that it wasn't them. Confusion as to how Wes, the top candidate, the natural in combat, had been revealed as a Null.

But it was Gorrak and Azhok's expressions that had stung the most. Gorrak, the seasoned orc leader who rarely showed anything beyond stoic discipline, and Azhok, his right hand—the warrior who had personally guided them through months of hellish training. Wes had earned their respect, not just through talent but through grit and resilience. He had been more than just a strong human—he had stood out in a group where standing out meant survival.

Years later, Gorrak would tell him about the conversation that decided his fate.

"He's a Null," Gorrak had said, his voice a low rumble.

"I know," Azhok replied. "But I've seen him fight. There's more to him than a crystal."

"He's got nothing but Essence and raw mana," Gorrak muttered. "If he fails, he'll drag the others down."

"He won't fail." Azhok's confidence was as sharp as his blade. "We've seen what he can do. He might not wield a Void Crystal, but he can wield himself. Give him the chance."

A long silence. Then, Gorrak's grunt of reluctant approval. "Fine. But he stands on his own. If he stumbles, you deal with him."

Wes hadn't needed more than that. He had already decided. Void Crystal or not, he would push forward. He would prove them right. He would forge strength from Essence and mana alone. The path ahead was narrow, treacherous, but it was still a path. And that was all he needed.