Tales Of Klaus And His Glorious Shovel

Klaus woke up with a slow inhale, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he turned toward the window. The night sky stretched above him, an ocean of constellations glittering like shattered glass. A beautiful sight, truly—if not for the horrors lurking beneath it.

His gaze dropped, and sure enough, the waters below were restless with movement. A mass of writhing, grotesque shapes twisted beneath the moon's reflection. Aquatic nightmare creatures, their hulking forms barely visible beneath the waves. A dozen glowing eyes blinked up at him, empty and unfeeling.

Klaus smirked.

"Good morning, you fucking cunts."

Yawning, he stretched before rolling out of bed, rubbing his temples. Last night had been exhausting. He could still feel the phantom stickiness of dried blood clinging to his skin, the scent of iron lingering in his hair. Gods, he thought, I must have looked like a walking corpse.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he absentmindedly brushed his teeth, then stepped into the steaming bath. The heat eased the tension in his muscles, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to simply enjoy it.

Tatiana had whined all day about not having a proper bathroom. She had ranted and cursed, calling the conditions crude, barbaric—insufferable. Klaus would have ignored her, but of course, her complaints had led to something productive.

Now, Selene had been upgraded with modern amenities. Running water, proper baths, heated floors—the works. Klaus, Diego, and Noah had handled the modifications. And while Klaus was no engineer, he was a scientist, and his photographic memory helped him piece things together well enough. He had learned faster than he expected, and now, thanks to his dearest sister's ridiculous vanity, he could proudly call himself a qualified engineer.

How nice.

"That punk…" he muttered under his breath, clicking his tongue in irritation.

Stepping out of the bath, he grabbed a towel and began drying himself, pausing only when he caught sight of his reflection.

His eye twitched.

When the fuck is my hair going to grow back?

He let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through the too-short strands before shaking his head. He'd deal with it later.

Getting dressed, he threw on his usual attire, then finished with his suit-type Memory—sleek, well-fitted, and reinforced. A perfect blend of style and utility.

Klaus exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his thoughts. His abilities, while powerful, were still limited by his rank. Annoying, but there was nothing he could do about that—for now.

He vanished from Selene, reappearing in the midst of a wretched, nightmarish forest. The air was thick with decay, the ground pulsing beneath his boots like a living thing. Shadows slithered between the trees, twisted figures lurking just beyond the veil of mist.

His eyes darkened, a luminous amethyst glow igniting within his pupils. Black-purple cracks spread from his irises, crawling over his face like fractures in glass, exuding a ghostly smoke. The world around him sharpened. His vision flickered between microscopic precision and vast distance, scanning the landscape with inhuman clarity.

And then—movement.

A horde of Awakened Abominations surged forward, their monstrous forms tearing through the forest with terrifying speed. Horned Stalkers. Klaus smirked.

Leading them was something worse.

A Fallen Tyrant.

"Not bad."

The first beast lunged, its razor-sharp horns aimed straight for his heart. The earth trembled beneath its weight, its roar splitting the silence like a war cry.

But Klaus was already gone.

A sickening crunch echoed as the beast's charge impaled one of its own. Klaus materialized a few meters away, swirling amethyst smoke coiling around his fingertips. In his palm, a small white sphere formed—a flickering singularity.

He flicked it into the center of the horde.

The moment his fingers curled into a fist, the sphere collapsed inward. Reality itself twisted. Flesh, bone, and air compressed into a singular point—then erased. A dozen beasts ceased to exist, reduced to nothing but dust.

The survivors roared in fury, charging with reckless abandon. Clawed limbs slashed toward him—only to pass right through his body, as if he were nothing more than an illusion.

Klaus had already shifted his physical form into another plane, existing beyond their reach. Amateurs.

With a grin, he swapped places with another Stalker, letting the confused beast take the brunt of its comrade's fatal strike. Blood sprayed as its own kin shredded it to pieces.

But even with his precision, the fight was draining. Every teleport, every attack, every shift of reality cost him.

Wasteful.

Another Stalker lunged—he leaned back just in time, its horns missing his ribs by a breath. His counter was instantaneous.

His fist connected with its chest. The moment his knuckles met flesh, kinetic force surged forward like a cannon blast. The beast's ribcage caved in before the shockwave even detonated. A hole ripped through its torso, its entire back exploding outward as chunks of gore splattered across the battlefield.

Still more came.

And then—the Fallen Tyrant struck.

Klaus barely had time to react.

Move—!

He turned intangible at the last second, his body slipping into the void as the earth beneath him erupted. A colossal crater formed where he had stood mere moments ago. Klaus reappeared on a jagged rock formation, balancing mid-air with Bia as his only anchor.

His eyes met the Tyrant's.

Both moved at once.

The beast lunged, jaws parting to reveal rows of serrated fangs. A monstrous roar ripped through the battlefield, the sheer force of its sonic attack shaking the trees, shattering boulders—shaking the sky itself.

Klaus met it with a fist.

He didn't even strike the Tyrant directly.

Instead, he punched the air.

The moment his knuckles met empty space, the atmosphere fractured. Amethyst cracks splintered outward, a violent ripple of energy expanding in a devastating seismic shockwave.

The entire forest collapsed.

Trees splintered, the earth ripped apart, and the Fallen Tyrant was sent hurtling backward. When the dust cleared, its broken body lay crumpled in the massive crater—half of it simply… gone.

Klaus raised his hand, shaping his fingers into a mock gun.

A single crimson sphere formed at his fingertip.

"Bang."

The blast tore through what remained of the Tyrant's skull, the repulsive force obliterating its head in an instant. Blood rained in a fine mist, the beast's existence reduced to a fading memory.

Silence.

Klaus exhaled, shaking his head.

He had won. In minutes.

A single Awakened warrior against a hundred Nightmare Creatures, led by a Fallen Tyrant. Impressive.

But his essence reserves were already halved.

He clicked his tongue, wiping stray blood from his cheek.

"...Inefficient."

A few minutes later…

Klaus stood in the middle of the battlefield, humming a cheerful tune as he shoveled chunks of nightmare creatures into a pile. Blood and ichor dripped from his boots, but he barely paid it any mind.

His weapon of choice? A simple, unassuming shovel.

Not just any shovel, though.

It was his shovel. His beloved shovel.

Memory: Omnitool

Memory Type: Tool

Rank: Ascended

Memory Tier: I

Description:

And they work, work, and work.... Until they die.

Enhancement:

Shaper: Liquid Metal changes it's shape according to its User's will.

Omnitool wasn't some legendary artifact brimming with potent enchantments or some destructive abilities.

But it could be anything he wanted. And, right now? He wanted a shovel.

Endless, beautiful, glorious utility.

With it, Klaus could shape any tool he desired—as long as he understood its structure and materials. And, thanks to his eyes, that was no problem at all.

The only problem? His imagination.

He paused, looking at the shovel with a disturbingly affectionate smile before pressing a kiss to its handle.

"My lovely, most beautiful Memory… Ahh, I love you… Don't be shy, come on… You're making me blush."

Yes.

Klaus was flirting.

With a shovel.

Considering his usual antics, that wasn't even the weirdest thing about him.

Still humming, After thoroughly embarrassing himself. he continued his grotesque scavenger hunt, yanking valuable parts from monstrous corpses like a professional looter at a post-apocalyptic garage sale. Claws, fangs, venom sacs—he took everything worth selling, stuffing them into a normal, mundane, everyday bag.

No fancy storage-type Memory. No enchanted space-bending artifact.

Just a bag.

Klaus flicked his fingers.

"Sealing..."

At his command, the air around him twisted. Soul shards, materials, and bloody remains swirled together in a chaotic vortex, shrinking into the small bag like it was nothing.

Then, he took a slow, careful look around.

Silence.

Nothing but the corpses of nightmares, the distant howling of more horrors lurking in the abyss, and the faint hum of the Dream Realm itself.

Klaus yawned, stretching his arms behind his head.

"Hahh… It's boring."

And just like that—he vanished.

Bag secured.

Loot collected.

Dignity? Questionable.