The morning air in the mutated woods was thick with a heavy, wet mist that smelled like iron and old rot. Azmoz moved with a new kind of confidence. His feet didn't feel like lead anymore; they felt light, almost as if he were skimming the surface of the blackened dirt. Every step he took was longer, faster, and more controlled. But he knew he couldn't just keep running forever. He needed to stop. He needed to settle the raw power vibrating in his veins before it overwhelmed him.
He found a narrow crevice tucked between two massive, moss-covered boulders. The space was tight and smelled of dry earth, but it provided a clear view of the forest path while keeping his back protected. He squeezed inside, pulling a curtain of grey vines over the entrance. Finally, he was alone. Finally, he was safe—for a moment.
The heat in his right arm was almost unbearable now. It felt like a glowing coal was buried under his skin.
"OPEN," he whispered, his voice raspy.
The purple slime slithered out from his tattoo, swirling in the dim light of the crevice before solidifying into the heavy, chitinous Tome. Azmoz didn't look at the Hive Bound section or the Hornet Queen yet. He went straight to the last page. His eyes locked onto the flickering violet text of his status.
Azmoz stared at the numbers. He knew very little about what made a person strong in this world. The government of Kalan kept the secrets of the Defenders and the Evolvers locked away. He didn't know if 10 was good or if he was still considered weak. He only knew that the two-headed hound had nearly killed him when he was at 10.
"I need to be faster," he muttered to the silent stone. "I need to be strong enough to finish a fight before it starts."
He reached out a trembling finger and touched the screen-like parchment. He focused his intent, feeling the Tome drink in his will. He decided to balance his growth, knowing that being too lopsided could lead to death in a place like this.
He assigned 4 points to Agility, 4 points to Strength, and 2 points to Stamina.
The Tome let out a low, vibrating hum that made Azmoz's teeth ache. The text shimmered and updated.
The reaction was instant. Azmoz let out a muffled gasp as a wave of intense heat washed over his entire body. It felt like his muscle fibers were being pulled apart and woven back together, tighter and denser than before. His heart began to beat with a slow, powerful rhythm—a heavy thump-thump that sounded like a drum in the quiet cave. His vision sharpened; the shadows in the corner of the crevice weren't just black anymore. He could see the individual legs of a tiny beetle crawling on the rock. He could see the microscopic veins in the grey vines.
He stood up, his head nearly brushing the top of the crevice. He felt compact. He felt efficient. He curled his fingers into a fist and felt a raw, terrifying potential. He wasn't just a librarian anymore. He was something else.
He stayed in the crevice for an hour, resting and letting his body adjust to the new "voltage" running through his nerves. He ate the last bit of dried meat he had, and though the hunger didn't go away, it settled into a dull, manageable ache. When the mist outside began to thin, he decided it was time to move.
As he walked, his new Danger Sense skill acted like a silent radar. It wasn't a voice, but a physical feeling—a cold, sharp prickle at the base of his neck. It told him which bushes were too quiet and which shadows were too deep. He felt like a ghost moving through the woods, his scuffed boots making no sound on the damp leaves.
Suddenly, the cold prickle turned into a freezing jolt.
CLANG!
The sound of metal hitting bone echoed through the trees. It was followed by a wet, guttural snarl and a cry of pain. Azmoz didn't run away. Instead, he dropped into a low crouch and moved toward the sound. He stayed hidden in the tall, purple-tinted grass, his breath slow and shallow.
He pushed aside a thick branch and looked into a small clearing.
Three evolved wolves—beasts with matted, oily fur and jagged bone plates growing out of their shoulders—were circling two humans.
One of the humans was a boy who looked to be about Azmoz's age. He had blonde hair and was wearing a high-quality blue jacket that looked far too expensive for the woods. His face was white with terror. This was Kyle.
Standing in front of him was a much larger man in light leather armor, wielding a short sword. The blade was chipped and covered in black blood. This was Marlot, his guard.
The wolves were Level 2 or 3, Azmoz guessed. They moved with a pack intelligence that was terrifying to watch. They weren't just biting; they were testing Marlot, waiting for him to tire. They moved in a rhythmic cycle, one lunging while the other two waited for an opening.
"Stay back, Kyle!" Marlot shouted, his voice hoarse. He swung his sword in a wide arc, but the wolves were too fast. They danced back, their glowing red eyes fixed on his throat.
Marlot was already hurt. A deep gash on his thigh was bleeding heavily, staining his pants. He was breathing in short, ragged bursts. Kyle was holding a small silver dagger, but his hands were shaking so much the blade was rattling.
"We can't win, Marlot!" Kyle cried out. "There are too many!"
One of the wolves lunged from the side, its claws catching Marlot's shoulder. The guard let out a roar of pain, stumbling back. The other two wolves saw the opening. They lowered their haunches, their muscles bunching for the final pounce.
Azmoz watched from the shadows. He didn't know these people. But he also saw the wolves. He saw the way they moved. They were monsters, just like the ones that had destroyed the shopkeeper.
And more than that, his body was demanding a test.
"Let's see what a Level 2 can do," Azmoz whispered.
He didn't manifest the Tome. He couldn't risk them seeing it. He kept his hoodie pulled low and his sleeves down to hide the tattoo. He focused on the pulsing heat in his arm.
Hive bounds, out. Distract the left one. Spiders, out. Size Manipulation. Target the lead wolf.
The purple ink on his arm flared. Two fist-sized spiders shot out from his skin, vanishing into the tall grass. The Bounded Hornet—now the lead scout of his tiny hive—buzzed into the air, its wings a golden blur.
The lead wolf lunged at Kyle, its jaws wide enough to crush a human skull. But mid-air, something black and hairy slammed into its side. One of the spiders had grown to the size of a man's head, its weight enough to knock the wolf off balance. The wolf tumbled into the dirt, and before it could recover, the second spider landed on its back.
[Skill Activated: Potent Neurotoxin]
The spider sank its fangs into the wolf's neck. The beast let out a high-pitched yelp that turned into a wet gurgle as the paralysis took hold.
Marlot and Kyle froze, staring in total shock at the giant spiders.
"What the...?" Marlot gasped, his sword dropping an inch.
The second wolf turned to help its pack mate, but the Hive bound hornet was on it. The insect dived and spiraled, its high-pitched hum loud and distracting. It zapped around the wolf's head, stinging the sensitive skin around its eyes. The wolf snapped at the air, spinning in circles, completely blind to anything else.
Azmoz didn't stay in the bushes. He moved.
With his Agility at 14, he was a blur of movement. He burst from the grass, his boots kicking up clods of earth. He didn't have a sword, but he had the heavy iron rod he had scavenged and the new Strength in his arms.
He reached the third wolf just as it prepared to bite Marlot's leg. Azmoz swung the rod in a flat, powerful arc. The metal hit the wolf's ribbed bone-plate with a sickening CRACK. The force of the blow was so great that the wolf was sent flying six feet across the clearing, its body slamming into a tree. It didn't move again.
Azmoz didn't stop to admire the work. He pivoted on his heel, his movements fluid and sharp. He reached the wolf that was distracted by the hornet. He didn't just swing; he used his new Strength to drive the end of the iron rod straight into the creature's chest. The rod pierced through the fur and muscle, hitting the heart. The wolf gave a single, shuddering gasp and fell limp.
The clearing went silent. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the two survivors and the low, rhythmic clicking of the spiders as they scuttled back toward Azmoz.
Azmoz stood there, his hood still over his face. He felt a rush of adrenaline that was better than any food. He felt strong. He looked at his arm, and with a silent thought, the spiders and the hornet dissolved back into the ink of his skin. He made sure the motion was hidden by his body, appearing as if the creatures had simply vanished into the shadows of his hoodie.
Marlot lowered his sword, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and deep suspicion. Kyle was staring at Azmoz as if he were a god that had just dropped from the sky.
"You... you saved us," Kyle whispered, his voice trembling. He stepped forward, looking at the dead wolves. "I've never seen someone fight like that. Those creatures..."
Marlot stepped in front of the boy, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. He looked at Azmoz's plain, dusty clothes and the way he hid his face.
"Who are you?" the guard asked, his voice cautious and hard. "Are you a Defender? We haven't seen any patrols in this sector of the woods. Especially not one using insects."
"I'm just a traveler," Azmoz said, his voice raspy.
Kyle pushed past Marlot, his curiosity overriding his fear. "A traveler? In the mutated woods? Without armor?" He looked at Azmoz's hands, which were still stained with green and red blood. "You used insects. My father told me about Defenders with insect-related skills. They are very rare, and very powerful. Are you from the Southern District?"
Azmoz didn't answer. He didn't even know what the Southern District really looked like. He only knew he needed to keep moving.
"You should leave," Azmoz said, turning back toward the trees. "The blood will attract more of them. The woods are waking up."
"Wait!" Kyle called out. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, gold-trimmed card. "My name is Kyle. My father is the Principal of the Lorent Academy. It's the top academy in the Southern District."
Azmoz stopped. Lorent Academy. He had read about it once in a shredded manual back at the library. It was a place for the elite—the place where the government sent people to learn about the Great Descent and the secrets of the monoliths. It was a place full of the books he had always wanted to read.
"If you're a Defender, or even if you're not... you shouldn't be out here alone," Kyle added, his voice sincere. "Come with us. We have a camp not far from the edge of the woods. We can reward you. My father would want to thank the man who saved his son."
Azmoz looked at the card, then at the boy. Kyle looked genuine, but Marlot looked like a man who was ready to report anything suspicious to the authorities. But Azmoz was a fugitive. He was a murderer in Kalan. If he stayed in the woods, he would eventually be hunted down. If he went with them, he might find a way to disappear into a larger city. He might find the answers to what the Tome really was.
"I'll walk you to the edge of the woods," Azmoz said, his voice cold and final. "Nothing more."
Kyle smiled, a bright, hopeful expression that looked completely out of place in the dark forest. "That's enough. Thank you... traveler."
As they began to walk, Azmoz felt the tattoo on his arm pulse. He didn't summon the book, but he knew the notification was there. He had saved the son of one of the most powerful men in the district.
The evolution had taken him to a path he never expected. He was no longer just running from his past; he was walking toward a future that smelled of old paper and hidden power.