The system interface flickered in the periphery of Deicya's vision, entirely invisible to the men breathing the ash-choked air around him.
ZZZT..
[ ABSORPTION SUCCESSFUL ]
Target Tier: F-Rank
Mutated Beast (High Essence Density)
Skill Siphoned: Spatial Shift / Phantom Step (Grade: F)
Trait Integrated into Body: Temporal Evasion (Active)
+70 Essence Collected [105/200] E-Rank
Effect: Grants the user an automated 1-second spatial evasion window, allowing the body to instinctively phase past incoming physical attacks. Cooldown: 30 Seconds.
A sudden, fluid surge of liquid heat flooded Deicya's nervous system, integrating the active skill straight into his core. In a single extraction, seventy souls rushed into his gauge, pushing him past the halfway mark of his E-Rank threshold.
Standing over the cooling husk, Deicya's dark eyes flicked downward. Without my absorption authority… taking that thing down raw would have been a nuisance. But entirely manageable.
He dismissed the blue screen with a thought, turning his gaze back toward the party.
"I just want some basic information, and then I'll leave," Deicya said, his flat tone cutting through the ambient crackle of the newly lit campfire. "Where do I find beasts to hunt? And what happened over the past two years?"
Brozk didn't move. The D-Rank swordsman let out a heavy sigh, sliding his broadsword back into its scabbard with a dull clank just to ease the strain on his forearms. His tactical instincts screamed that this stranger was an anomaly, a walking hazard. But curiosity—and the undeniable reality that Deicya had just saved Kyle's life—kept him in check.
"I'll talk," Brozk grunted, his gravelly voice dropping an octave as he lowered himself onto a jagged block of concrete. "Only if you tell me what the hell you just did to that carcass. No human class pulls essence dry like a phantom."
Deicya didn't blink. "I wanted to see it closer. To feel if it was scary or not. It's new to me."
Brozk glared at him, a sharp, skeptical squint, but didn't push it. Around them, Leo, Hazi, Morg, and Kyle moved methodically, tossing dry branches onto the growing campfire to stave off the creeping chill of the ruined night.
Brozk rubbed a hand over his ash-stained stubble. "What's your name, kid?"
"Deicya. Deicya Deleor."
"Alright, Deicya. Listen close." Brozk leaned forward, resting his heavy forearms on his knees. "Two years ago, a meteor tore the sky apart. Fragments scattered across the globe. When they hit, they cracked open the earth and bled out a mystic, pure Crystal Essence."
Brozk's eyes narrowed into the distance, recalling the nightmare.
"At first, governments thought it was a technological goldmine. A new era. But within months, the atmosphere choked. Monsters spawned overnight. The root cause? The Crystal Essence. Animals inhaled the fallout and mutated into absolute nightmares."
Brozk paused, his gaze snapping back to lock onto Deicya.
"And it didn't spare humans. Zero biological resistance meant immediate, grotesque mutation into mindless beasts. But those with a baseline resistance survived the exposure. They awakened. They became what the world calls Vessel Hunters."
Brozk let out a harsh, dry breath.
"Things escalated globally. A god-tier monster dropped into the United States. Armed with enhanced tech and artifacts forged from refined Crystal Dust, the major powers managed to bring it down. But the moment it died, its remains exploded across the map. Scientists discovered a terrifying truth: when a host dies, its Crystal Core flies back into the upper atmosphere."
Brozk spat into the dirt, a bitter snarl twisting his lips.
"Because mutated beings flood the air with raw essence and dust upon defeat, the superpowers threw up massive national boundaries. They built impenetrable, sky-high barriers to stop stray Crystal Cores from drifting into unaligned territories."
Brozk tapped a calloused finger against the broken concrete.
"That is why the Philippines got saddled with a pathetic, bargain-bin grid known as the Crystallized Shield. It was engineered for one single purpose: to deflect falling Crystal Cores away from our islands. It keeps us from getting annihilated by major divine mutations… but it crippled us."
Brozk shook his head, the frustration burning clear in his eyes.
"Because our barrier filters out the high-grade essence, the monsters spawning inside our borders are weak. Real evolution stopped here. And because our people don't face extinction-level threats daily, our domestic power became obsolete. That's why our strongest assets—the high-ranking C-Rank, B-Rank, and A-Rank Vessel Hunters—are constantly being bought out and shipped off as expendable mercenaries by foreign superpowers to fight on their frontlines."
The campfire crackled softly against the creeping chill of the ruined night, casting long, dancing shadows across the cracked concrete. While Brozk finished explaining the bleak state of the post-collapse world, the party set up a small, temporary camp to secure a safe resting space for the traumatized mother and her child.
Kyle settled down to rest, while Leo took up a watch position, sitting high on a thick tree branch to scan the perimeter, and Morg patrolled the immediate surroundings on foot. Meanwhile, Hazi sat near the fire, quietly preparing a modest meal for the group.
Seeing them gather, Deicya reached into his canvas bag, pulled out his canned sardines, and offered to share them with the party. Brozk stared at the food, genuinely amazed by Deicya's unexpected hospitality. With the tension slightly diffused, the rest of the members took turns introducing themselves to Deicya, excluding Kyle who had already fallen asleep.
As they shared the meager meal, the conversation drifted back to how the group ended up as Vessel Hunters. Brozk explained that hunger drove them to it. With banks defunct and traditional paper money completely worthless in a society where the government prioritized Crystal Dust and Essence above all else, widespread starvation set in. When the opportunity arose to take the test to become Vessel Hunters, they didn't hesitate. They passed as low-level hunters, earning just enough to scrape by and keep themselves fed—which was enough for them given their low-ranking backgrounds.
Hazi interrupted with a smirk, pointing out that Brozk obviously pulled in the highest pay since he was the highest-ranking member of the party. Brozk rubbed the back of his neck, turning noticeably shy.
"That's true," Brozk admitted, "but I share it with them. I have them as a party, and I don't want them to get hungry either. We're all family here in this party. Including Kyle. How about you, Deicya?"
Deicya's mind raced critically. If he told the truth—that he had spent the last two years inside a void with the God of Absorption—they would never believe him and would likely terrified of him. Deciding it was safer to conceal his true origins, he resorted to a bluff.
"I just woke up from a coma, so I don't really know what happened over the past two years," Deicya replied smoothly.
Brozk narrowed his eyes, asking with deep suspicion, "Then how did you get that speed of yours? You moved like the wind earlier. You even blocked that horn from striking Kyle."
"I literally just woke up, and I found out I had this kind of power," Deicya explained, weaving a half-truth of his past. "My family cast me out when I was twenty-two, and I've been working entirely alone for six years before falling into a coma for the last two. That's why I don't remember anything."
Brozk raised an eyebrow. "So you're an Awakener?"
"I don't know," Deicya answered honestly. "I didn't even try to measure my strength on what you call a meter, so I don't really know if I'm an Awakener or not."
From his perch above, Leo burst out laughing at the exchange. "You're clearly an Awakener if you don't know—since you just woke up from the 'hospital'!" Leo cracked up hard at his own joke, prompting Hazi nearby to let out a loud, audible facepalm.
"Alright, big guy," Brozk said, standing up and dusting off his hands. "Do you got what you need?"
"Yes," Deicya replied.
"Alright, now get out of here," Brozk told him bluntly. "You don't have any business here anymore. Nice meeting you."
Just as Deicya prepared to leave, a soft voice interrupted from the bedroll nearby. Kyle had just woken up.
"Why?" Kyle asked softly, looking up at the group. "He just helped us earlier."
Every member of the party turned their heads in surprise to look at her.
"Why don't we let him stay with us just for tonight?" Kyle asked gently, her voice carrying a quiet plea. "I'm sure he hasn't eaten yet."
Brozk stared at Kyle for a long moment, the hard edge of his survivalist instincts conflicting with the soft spot he held for the child. He let out a slow, heavy breath through his nose, running a calloused hand over his stubbled jaw.
"Kyle," Brozk started, his voice dropping its gruff command tone, "we don't even know this guy. He could be a liability out here, or worse—"
"He saved me, Brozk," Kyle interrupted gently, her eyes shifting from the veteran swordsman to Deicya. There was a quiet, unyielding stubbornness in her gaze that made it hard for anyone in the party to argue.
Leo dropped down lightly from the tree branch, landing on the soft dirt with a soft thud. He smirked, scratching the back of his head as he glanced between Deicya and Brozk. "Well, the kid's got a point, boss. Plus, look at him—he shared his canned sardines. That's practically brotherhood in this economy. And if he really just woke up from a 'coma,' he's definitely going to get eaten alive by a stray crawler before sunrise."
Morg, who had been quietly circling the perimeter, walked back into the firelight. He didn't say a word, but he gave a slight, indifferent shrug, leaving the final call to their leader.
Brozk looked at Hazi, who just offered a small, knowing smile and tossed another dry branch onto the flames, sending a cluster of orange sparks dancing into the dark, ash-choked air.
Defeated by his own soft heart and the silent consensus of his crew, Brozk grunted and pointed a thick finger straight at Deicya.
"Fine," Brozk relented, his tone stern but not unkind. "You can stay until dawn, Deicya. But the moment the sun comes up, you're on your own. No freeloading. And you take first watch with Leo."
Deicya met Brozk's piercing gaze, giving a slow, calculated nod. "Fair enough."
The night bled into a suffocating, bruised gray.
High above the campsite, the fractured skeletal ribs of a dead city scraped against the ash-choked clouds. The rest of the party was fast asleep, wrapped in the exhausted slumber of men who survived on borrowed time.
But Deicya wasn't sleeping.
He sat cross-legged atop a flat, polished slab of smooth stone at the perimeter, his dark gaze locked onto the dreary expanse above.
Clang.
In the periphery of his mind, the memory replayed. Sharp. Crystal clear.
He could see it again—the mutated eagle descending from the sky, a projectile of raw, lethal mass hurtling straight toward the child. But to Deicya's eyes, the laws of physics had broken down. The deadly horn hadn't moved like a bullet; it had crawled through the air like thick, viscous tar.
Everything around him had slowed to a grinding crawl, while he alone operated in a different dimension of reality.
Deicya lowered his gaze, staring at his own hands.
There was no strain. No fatigue. Just a subtle, residual hum of liquid heat lingering deep beneath his skin—a constant reminder of the system's absolute authority.
What did that void do to me?
He flexed his fingers. It wasn't just physical strength. It was absolute freedom of movement. A terrifying, inhuman velocity that let him dictate the flow of time itself. That was the only reason he had intercepted the horn without breaking a sweat.
While Deicya sat quietly wondering where his sudden, terrifying strength truly came from, a slight crunching sound broke the stillness of the night. He glanced up to find that Brozk wasn't sleeping yet.
Brozk stepped closer, his expression hardened with suspicion. "How can I sleep if there is a stranger among us?" Brozk asked bluntly. "I'm not even sure who you are. I can also sense that you're lying about the information you provided earlier. How can I trust someone like you?"
Deicya remained unbothered, his dark eyes fixed on the veteran. "You don't have to know everything about me," Deicya answered calmly. "Besides, I'm heading out early in the morning. I'm just resting here. You should rest too."
Brozk's eyes narrowed. "So you're admitting you're lying?"
Without another word, Brozk snatched his broadsword from its sheath, instantly preparing for a fight.
Deicya didn't flinch or even stand up. He simply looked at the D-Rank swordsman with complete detachment and told him, "Don't waste energy on me. You know how strong I am compared to you. Besides, I don't have a plan on fighting your party, and I'm just looking for the information I needed. After this night, we won't see each other again, so don't worry, Brozk."
The sheer calm and oppressive confidence in Deicya's voice hung heavy in the air. Brozk stared at him, weighing the invisible, suffocating pressure rolling off the younger man, and realized the terrifying truth in his words. Slowly, Brozk lowered his weapon, brought his sword back to his side, and slid it into its scabbard.
"Very well," Brozk muttered, exhaling a heavy breath. "I think I can trust you… I just hope I'm not wrong about you."
Brozk walked over, sat down against the side of a thick tree, and settled in to rest, facing downward as he drifted off to sleep.
Left alone with his thoughts in the quiet dark, Deicya stared out into the ruins, still quietly wondering to himself if he could easily defeat a D-Rank swordsman like Brozk if it actually came down to a fight.
While the rest of the camp slept soundly around the dying embers of the fire, Deicya remained perched on the cold stone slab, his dark gaze fixed on the endless expanse of ash-choked ruins.
His thoughts, which had just been lingering on his terrifying new velocity and whether he could effortlessly overpower a veteran D-Rank like Brozk, suddenly slammed to a halt.
Family.
The word echoed in the quiet recesses of his mind, rattling loose memories he hadn't touched in years. For a moment, the concept felt entirely foreign. He had spent six grueling years surviving completely alone after being thrown out by his own flesh and blood, followed by two agonizing years trapped in the void with the God of Absorption. He had almost completely forgotten that he even had a mother, a father, and younger brothers waiting somewhere out there in the sprawling ruins of what used to be Quezon City.
A quiet realization settled over him. Despite the bitter cruelty of how they had discarded him when he turned twenty-two, the anger had faded long ago, worn down by the sheer brutality of a collapsed world. He had forgiven them in the silence of his own mind years ago.
A faint, melancholic smile touched the corners of Deicya's lips.
"Yes," he whispered softly into the chill night air, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the embers. "I'm gonna meet my family again soon."
"How do they look now? Deicya wondered, staring up at the night sky, before sleep finally took him.
It was already 4:00 AM when Deicya woke up, the first pale streaks of dawn cutting through the bruised gray sky. He found Brozk already awake by the dying embers of the fire.
Brozk caught sight of him and gave a dry, weary smirk, trying to break the tension. "Wow, I'm surprised we weren't killed in our sleep."
Deicya didn't humor the joke with a laugh. He just shook his head slightly. "No, I'm not doing that. I'm going to prepare my things and get out of here. By the way, are there any jeepneys wandering around?" Deicya asked.
Brozk blinked, staring at him like he had lost his mind. "No, are you out of your mind? In this kind of era, do you think there are still jeepneys? There's no longer conventional transport. Only carriages and boats are allowed because oil isn't supplied to private owners anymore. There are no gas stations left. You'll only find horse-drawn or improvised carriages wandering down on the next street. By the way, why'd you ask?"
"I was just wondering if I could still catch a ride on one," Deicya replied flatly. "Turns out they don't exist."
"Yeah," Brozk snorted. "All of them ended up in junkshops, dumped completely."
Deicya secured his canvas bag, cinched his knife to his belt, and gave the veteran a short nod. "Alright, Brozk. I have to go."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked straight toward the perimeter leading to the next street, muttering under his breath, "This world is now weird and inconvenient, huh."
Now, he just had to find himself a carriage.
While Deicya wandered through the desolate concrete corridors of the next street, he spotted a horse-drawn carriage resting against the skeletal frame of a collapsed building. He stepped closer, eyeing the weather-beaten wooden vehicle before looking up at the driver.
"Can I take a ride, boss?" Deicya asked. "I need to head to Quezon City, specifically Fairview."
The carriage owner glanced down from his seat, giving the towering young man a quick, calculating once-over. "Sure thing," the owner replied.
"How much for the fare?" Deicya asked.
"I just need a little bit of crystal dust or canned foods to trade for transport," the owner said, his eyes lingering on Deicya's canvas bag. "Do you have any?"
"Yes," Deicya answered, immediately agreeing to the terms. He reached into his bag, pulled out two of his remaining cans of sardines, and handed them up as payment for the service. The driver caught them, his eyes lighting up at the trade before stowing them safely away.
As the horse began to pull the carriage forward, setting off down the ruined ash-strewn road, Deicya looked over at the driver. "When am I going to arrive at that place?"
"Four hours is the minimum time of arrival," the driver replied over the steady clatter of the horse's hooves against the cracked asphalt.
The carriage owner took another sidelong glance at Deicya, noting his imposing, statuesque build. Deciding to break the silence, Deicya spoke up to start a conversation. "What's your name?"
"I am Rudolfo," the driver answered, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "I was doing this even since before the meteor happened. Why'd you ask? And… you look different. But you're surely Filipino, right? I just can't quite tell."
Deicya gave him a faint, knowing smile. "I don't know if it's a compliment, but I am. Even I was surprised that I look like this."
As they continued rolling down the ruined road, a faint blue notification flickered in the periphery of Deicya's vision.
ZZZT..
[ ABSORPTION TARGET DETECTED ]
Target Tier: F-Rank
Domestic Animal (Draft Horse)
Skill Siphoned: Equine Stamina / Unyielding Endurance (Grade: F)
Effect: Grants the user prolonged physical endurance.
Deicya glanced at the floating system screen, but his gaze quickly turned indifferent. He dismissed the window with a wave of his thought, considering the skill entirely useless. With the absurd, godlike vitality and raw strength already surging through his core from the void, an animal's endurance skill was completely unnecessary.
After a few steady hours of travel through the desolate landscape, the carriage finally rolled into their destination: Quezon City, Fairview.
The scenery was a jarring departure from the memories of his past life. The once-bustling area surrounding SM Fairview was utterly transformed. The grand shopping complex and surrounding commercial structures stood half-collapsed, their hollowed-out concrete frames now serving as skeletal anchors for makeshift shanties and scrap-metal houses jammed tightly together. People had taken over the crumbling concrete, staking out lives amidst the ruins. To Deicya, it was clear that the original property and business owners had long since abandoned the buildings—in this brutal new era, corporate deeds and real estate were completely worthless.
The carriage slowed to a halt, letting Deicya step down onto the ash-dusted asphalt of Fairview, right at the doorstep of his long-forgotten home turf.
The pulverized asphalt crunched softly beneath Deicya's boots as he walked the final kilometer toward his old home. The air here was heavy, thick with the scent of coal smoke, melted iron, and the distinct, coppery tang of refined crystal dust.
Every step felt like walking backward through time, though the landscape itself was entirely rewritten. What used to be a neat suburban row of residential lots and small-time appliance shops was now a claustrophobic maze of corrugated tin roofs, scavenged plywood, and barricades cobbled together from the skeletal remains of concrete walls.
He kept his pace unhurried, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets, blending effortlessly into the stream of scavengers and low-ranking hunters hauling salvaged goods down the narrow lane.
Then, the familiar corner came into view.
Deicya stopped walking. His dark eyes flicked upward, absorbing the sight before him.
The old storefront where his family used to tinker with broken televisions and refrigerators was gone. In its place stood a wide, open-air forge. A thick chimney poked through a makeshift roof of woven tarpaulins, belching dark smoke into the ash-stained sky. The sign hanging over the entrance was freshly carved from scrap lumber: Deleor Ironworks — Armor & Blade Repairs.
Inside, the rhythmic, deafening clang of a hammer striking red-hot steel echoed down the street.
Deicya's gaze shifted to the center of the workspace.
His father.
The older man was stripped to the waist, skin slick with sweat and corded with muscle forged from years of brutal manual labor. He held a glowing metal plate with a pair of iron tongs, bringing his hammer down with practiced, heavy strikes. But it was the two figures standing right beside him that made Deicya's breath catch for a fraction of a second.
His younger brothers.
They weren't the scrawny, gangly boys he had left behind six years ago when they threw him out into the wastes. They had grown taller, their shoulders broad, their hands calloused from hauling heavy ingots and working the heavy leather bellows. Yet, despite the harsh, hardened edges the apocalypse had carved into their faces, the familiar spark of their expressions remained. They were working in seamless unison, handing tools back and forth, laughing quietly at something their father muttered over the roar of the fire.
Further back, sitting on a weathered wooden stool near the counter, was his mother. She wasn't standing on the frontlines or fighting for survival; she was calmly organizing ledger books and keeping watch over the shop's modest inventory of repaired daggers and crude breastplates.
The weight of the family unit was undeniable. They were functional. They were stable.
They were happy.
Deicya stood frozen at the edge of the shadow cast by a collapsed concrete overpass.
For a long, silent moment, the phantom ache of the past tried to claw its way back up from his chest—the bitter sting of being branded a burden, the cold night they cast him out when he turned twenty-two, the solitary years of starving in the dead zones.
He stared at his mother's calm face, at his brothers' focused grins, and finally at his father's relentless, steady swing of the hammer.
A quiet, profound realization settled over his mind.
They don't need me.
They had survived the worst the world could throw at them. They had built a life, carved out a sanctuary of honest work amidst the ruin, and found peace. If he stepped forward now, if he dragged his complicated, blood-soaked reality—and the terrifying, monstrous system humming beneath his skin—back into their lives, he wouldn't be saving them. He would only disrupt the fragile peace they had fought so hard to secure.
The bitterness inside him evaporated, leaving behind only a hollow, peaceful stillness. He didn't need closure. He didn't need an apology, and he certainly didn't need to shatter their lives just to satisfy a fleeting desire for belonging.
He had already forgiven them long ago. And seeing them like this was proof enough that they didn't need him to watch over them.
A faint, melancholic smile curved the corner of Deicya's lips.
Without a sound, he pulled the collar of his jacket up against the ash-laden wind, turned his back on the forge, and melted silently back into the crowded chaos of the ruined street.
Back inside the shop, the rhythmic clang of the hammer suddenly faltered.
Deicya's father paused, lowering his heavy iron tool to the anvil. He wiped a grime-streaked forearm across his brow, chest heaving slightly from the exertion. For a fraction of a second, a strange, inexplicable chill prickled at the back of his neck—as if a ghost had just walked past the entrance.
He turned his head slowly, looking out toward the empty, dusty road beyond the storefront. His weary eyes scanned the passing crowds of scavengers, searching for a face he hadn't seen in six long years.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, the quiet sorrow settling back into the lines of his face before he gripped his hammer once more and went back to work.