Published at 10th of April 2026 7:42 am

Chapter 40: Neon Quiet

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Chapter 40: Neon Quiet

Shatterbay was quiet. Unnaturally so.

Where streets shouldve echoed with movement, shouts, trade, boots on wet pavement...there was only stillness. The variant imp didnt know it yet, but in this city, attention was a liability. Silence was survival.

His eyes glowed low in the dark. Dark Vision lit the ruined streets, casting the city in sharp detail as if noon had struck. Breath low, mouth damp, he stared at the lone human walking below.

'Too strong. Why are they'

The thought shattered.

Without warning, the mans stride bent upward. His steps rose into the air, climbing invisible stairs. Then, in a burst of blue light, he vanished.

The imp kept staring at the empty spot. Heat built in his chest, part curiosity, part frustration.

A whole world of system users...this is insane. Are they all like you?

[Improbable. High likelihood each Shard manifests independently.]

His brow lifted. A slow smirk cut across his face.

Shouldnt you know?

[System unable to update knowledge base. All Network connection attempts have failed.]

Well isn't that sad...

He looked up, imagining it...a global grid, a master system that all shards fed into. A shared infrastructure. If that was real, his status as an Anomaly clearly kept him locked out.

He shelved the thought. Later problem.

He pressed his hand to the cracked building beside him. Claws punctured concrete. His body clung like a second shadow. In terrain like this, his Wall Crawler ability finally came into its own.

And with current Agility at 28, he moved fast. Quiet. Efficient.

But what truly changed the game was Soul Sense.

It didnt give details at range, just direction, like an itch under the skin, worse when he strayed, duller when he followed. Once close, though, he could see it. A glow in their chest.

Green meant weak. Yellow meant close to even. Red meant death.

So far, it had been nothing but red.

Humans with wings. Others built like Alpha Carrion Hounds, thick-limbed and swollen with unnatural size. Some drifted, some flew. All of them pulsed with hostile presence. Auras that didnt whisper threat, but broadcast it. Stay back.

He checked the timer. An hour already lost.

His claws dragged deeper through the cement. Every leap shattered more beneath him. The effort to suppress his aura was beginning to falter. Bloodlight swelled beneath the skin, seeping out in faint arcs, slick and slow.

'Wheres the green? Where are the weak? I saw them. I heard them... This cant be it. Systemdid you lie? This place reeks of failure.'

Even the city itself seemed hollow. Its color palette clung to opposite extremes: washed-out concrete and rust, or sharp, blinding flashes of artificial hue. Hed connected the term neon not long ago. Torture by light, created by humans, for humans.

[No deception. Records are outdated. Current conditions of Earth remain unverified.]

'How outdated?'

[Unknown.]

His foot slipped mid-crawl, toes skidding across crumbling rebar. He caught himself easily, face unreadable. Then, a short exhale, half chuckle, half breath.

why not.

No use snapping now. The urge was there, tight behind his eyes, but pointless. He ignored the vein ticking above his left brow.

Up ahead, the pull strengthened. The itch eased. He slowed, scent widening across the wind. It didn't take long to find it. The taste of something weaker.

'Finally.'

His eyes narrowed, brightening in the dark. He hung from the underside of a fractured ceiling, second floor. One wall had collapsed outward, opening a clear view of the street below.

There, centered in the gap. A yellow glow. Mid-tier. Reachable.

The human stood cloaked, coat dragging to the ankles, hood raised. Back turned. Still. Waiting for something. Or nothing.

His black heart ticked heavier.

He didnt move.

Not yet.

Impulse tightened in his legs. Hunger dragged across his ribs.

He pushed it all down.

Wait. Watch.

Observe.

[Recommendation and Warning: End confrontation quickly. Avoid prolonged exposure. Do not activate Savage Feed. Racial ability will consume and invalidate soul source.]

He already knew. Every Racial Ability he'd unlocked before had advanced, ranked up without prompt. Savage Feed had shifted from F to E Rank, but that one rank made all the difference. It now consumed not just experience, but soulmass. A brutal tool. One he couldnt afford to use for this.

He crept forward, limbs coiled and tight. Every muscle set. Step by step, inch by inch, he worked his way down the wall. The shadows clung to him. Darkness wrapped around every movement.

Closer. Closer

'No! No, no, no!'

System light. Faint, but distinct. A level-up. Different color, same source. He didnt need the glow to confirm it, he saw the truth burning in the humans chest.

Red.

While he waited, the human had leveled.

[Target likely completed quest objective. Classification unknown. Recommend withdrawal.]

A low sound built in his throat, pressed against clenched teeth. Not a growl. Not yet. He pulled back. Dropped into the broken structure behind him. Slipped into the rubble, breath low.

From the street below, the humans head turned.

Green eyes. Glowing.

She looked at the place he had been. Tilted her head. Let out a slow sigh. And walked away, without haste, without fear.

In the opposite direction.

Running at full speed, a cold thread pulled down the imp's spine. The further he moved, the more intense the itch becameuntil it vanished completely.

He stopped. Perched atop a ruined roof, hunched beneath the overhang of an old ventilation array. Deep breath. Still fists.

Think.

Focus.

I need to head deeper.

[Unadvised. Current strategy relies on city outskirts to reduce exposure. Proceeding inward will]

Dyings unadvised, too. If everything out here can kill me, then staying put is a slow death.

His voice came calm. Grounded. He wasnt shaking. Wasnt snarling. Stillness held him steady. Something new.

He felt stable now. More than before. Less reactive. Still, the truth remained: he was young.

Barely born.

Barely two hours into a new life.

Earlier, when he'd found a moment, he finally checked the notification that had haunted him most, the deletion of his Survival Directive. The unease came first. Then, as he read through the system report, realization followed. Not a punishment.

A gift.

True life.

He no longer needed to feed just to hold himself together. The constant threat of rot, the ever-looming decay hardwired into his first form. It was gone. He wasnt tethered to the carcass of an imp anymore. What he had now was closer to stability. A real lifespan. Aging, not erosion.

He still didnt like the ten-year limit.

But it was a start. A foothold.

Now, watching the timer tick down, each second passed like a knife dragging slow across the skin. He scanned the citys corpse-light skyline, eyes cold, jaw locked. No itch. No pull.

Just silence.

He stepped to the edge of the roof. His tail lashed once behind him, cutting a clean line into the concrete.

If the next one I meet is red, Im heading deeper

Then he leapt

And nearly died.

BA-THOOM!

Mid-air, the world ruptured beneath him. Light detonated. A roar of pressure struck like a fist from the pit. He only survived because his tail struck out on reflex, spearing the ledge as the blast passed through. He dangled, held by a shred of instinct and hardened bone.

Below him, the street was gone. Replaced by a roiling sphere of sickening energy.

The sky recoiled. Moonlit clouds shredded. The pressure climbed like a scream locked in his skull. His senses twisted. Stomach lurched.

That feeling

Something familiar. Known.

This was a gate. Or close to one.

He hauled himself up, crouched, and stared into the swirling mass. What bled out from its center was sickening. Filth his senses couldnt place. The kind of energy that ate sound and spat it back as a warning.

Thats a gate, isnt it?

[System Scan Confirmed: User speculation correct. Construct detected: Dimensional gate, status: Unstable. Recommendation: Avoid contact.]

"I'm not stupid..."

He rose slowly, the air warped around him. Each breath pulled against the pressure like breathing through wet cloth. His skin tightened, then loosened, like something beneath it was trying to crawl free. Every instinct said to leave. Still, he watched.

Curiosity had long since outpaced caution.

The distortion swelled, silent and perverse.

Then, without warning, the gate imploded, soundless, sharp. The space collapsed inward, as if the world flinched. No fire, no blast, no evidence it had ever been there at all.

Except for one.

A human. Kneeling in the aftermath. Black hair matted against his brow, shoulders trembling as he gasped.

Yellow.

Wounded.

It coughed, blood fanned across the broken road, and the scent struck Azakh-Tur like a hammer to the chest. Thick. Tangible. A promise. He didnt even feel his skin split open, or his breath deepen. He didnt feel the handles of the cleavers form beneath his palms. The blades came on their own, as if summoned by itself.

Butchers Wrath had changed. The edges blackened, the steel denser. Its back tip now hooked, designed to anchor and tear.

He prepared to leap.

Muscles tensed. Aura stirred

Then the system interrupted, and the cleaver halted mid-air. A new panel was blocking his view.

[System // Notification]

[New Weapon Ability Unlocked // Butchers Wrath // Rank E]

His grip loosened. Heat dulled. For a moment, his mind caught up to his body. He had moved without thinking. Again. He stepped back from the ledge, shame an old companion he barely recognized. Tapping the alert, he let the system continue.

And as he read, the hesitation drained.

He lifted a cleaver, slowly. Its surface reflected his form in warped metal, eyes dark, ribs taut beneath the skin, bloodlight curling from his shoulders.

"I can feel it..."

His voice had grown quiet since the change. Gravel laid over heat.

"You want to be seen."

The blades trembled in response. A clear, alien hunger passed between them. No words. Just intent.

He stepped forward once more, reaching the rooftop edge.

Below, the human dragged himself toward a collapsed structure, leaving a trail. Still glowing. Still exposed.

The itch in Azakh-Turs skull faded to a low hum. Focus narrowed. Hands tightened around the cleavers.

His voice was little more than breath, carried out on heat and promise.

"Shift."

Butchers Wrath twitched in his grip, metal groaning softly, as if something inside them had begun to wake.

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