Three thousand years ago, the world was plunged into chaos and devastation. Angels, demons, fairies, elves, beastmen, and humans united as best they could to face a REWRITE calamity. : the very embodiment of death and despair. It suddenly emerged through a gigantic temporal rift in the sky, and at that time, no one was capable of stopping it.
But one man, nicknamed the First Hero, stood in its path, followed by seven other warriors. Together, they managed to defeat the calamity, at the cost of their lives. Behind them, they left a weapon of unimaginable power, which they named the Ava Corrector.
But today…
In a vast training room, plunged into darkness, a single light filtered through a glass ceiling. Our protagonist, eyes closed, faced his opponent: Simon, a man with blond hair and green eyes, his face serious and motionless like stone. Without warning, Simon takes a stance and charges.
A brief moment of stillness. Noa opens his eyes, his glowing aura lighting up the room brilliantly. He would have preferred to skip this training. Simon attacks; Noa steps back twice and deflects the assault with perfect precision, drawing his sword. He creates distance and counterattacks: the clash of blades echoes throughout the room. Noa's movements are precise and calculated, almost assassin-like, at a barely perceptible speed.
Simon frowns. He channels his green aura into his sword; a current of air begins to circulate in the room. Noa remains impassive, his gaze icy. The two rush at each other in a frantic dance. But Noa begins to adapt to Simon's style and to find flaws in his defense.
He prepares an attack; Simon takes a defensive stance. The blades collide, but Noa's blade spins through the air thanks to his left hand. It was only a feint. The attack narrowly misses Simon's face, who barely dodges. Realizing the trick, Simon counterattacks with a force capable of raising a massive cloud of dust.
Noa, without wasting time, strikes from behind, his sword covered in blue Chaos energy. Simon, stunned, realizes that his technique has just been copied. The clash of auras makes the room tremble; a violent wind sweeps everything around. Simon's sword begins to crack. Victory seems to be Noa's… until his own sword breaks under the pressure of his aura.
But Noa does not lose his focus. At incredible speed, he grabs Simon's wrist, takes his sword, and slams him to the ground, the tip at his throat. His own broken sword falls just after. The victory is secured.
— You've improved again, Noa.
Simon, out of breath, attempts a smile. Noa's assassin-like gaze softens and he slowly steps back. He observes his left arm; the palm of his hand bears subtle burns, a consequence of his uncontrolled Chaos energy.
— I see… you're able to copy techniques faster than before, and your adaptation is gaining speed, says Simon.
Noa pays little attention, concerned about his body's endurance, which suffers under the intensity of his raw energy.
Simon turns toward someone behind a pillar:
— And you, Ethan, do you think he has improved or not?
Ethan, sitting with a small black-and-white puppy, replies calmly:
— He should first find a way to use his energy without hurting himself.
Simon sighs, thinking that Ethan and Noa share the same concern.
The calm is suddenly broken by a lightning-fast attack rushing toward Noa. Reacting instantly, he covers his sword with his energy and retaliates. The glass above shatters. The two swords, Simon's and Noa's, collide in a burst of energy. Noa's hand bleeds slightly, but he holds on. Silence falls again, punctuated by approaching applause.
— I see you've really improved over the past three years, cousin.
A person steps out of the shadows, dressed in white and gold, their clothes flowing in the wind. Their voice, though soft, sounds strangely false:
— I'm delighted to see you again, cousin.
Noa frowns. These words immediately seem suspicious to him.