Titan
Sabo’s breath still came fast, his lungs adjusting to the new weight of his body. He blinked, the world around him sharp in a way it hadn’t been before. He looked down.
Hiwot was watching him carefully, her brow furrowed, but there was something else in her gaze—something almost approving.
Sabo’s hands still looked the same—scarred from hard labor, roughened by callouses. But as his gaze traveled up his arms, he sucked in a sharp breath. His forearms had doubled in size. Thick cords of muscle pulsed beneath his skin, veins visibly snaking their way over the slabs of strength. He lifted his arms experimentally, flexing his fingers, feeling the power thrumming just beneath the surface.
Slowly, he stood.
The movement was effortless. Fluid. It felt like he’d been crawling through the world with weights strapped to his body, and now, for the first time, those weights had been removed. He was lighter, despite the undeniable bulk in his limbs. Taller, too—his perspective had shifted.
He rolled his shoulders, marveling at how right it felt. His imprisonment had stolen so much from him, had hollowed out his body and left him brittle. But now? Now, he felt whole. More than whole. Even at the peak of his time as a blacksmith’s assistant, and training with Vitomir and Mags, he had never felt like this. No, just a shadow of what I could have truly been.
With that thought, he called on Yggdrasil.
The system’s interface materialized in front of his vision in neat, silver script. His mind instinctively flicked to his Attributes window.
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Soulsinger Designation: Sabomir]
[Class: God-Eater]
ATTRIBUTES:
PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES:
Strength: B-1
Dexterity: B-5
Endurance: A-2
Vitality: A-1
Physical Sub-Level: B-7
MENTAL ATTRIBUTES:
Intelligence: B-1
Reactivity: A-4
Perception: B-5
Willpower: A-1
Mental Sub-Level: B-5
SPIRITUAL ATTRIBUTES:
Power: E-1
Reserves: E-1
Versatility: E-1
Control: E-1
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1
Sabo frowned at the last section. His Spiritual Attributes were abysmal compared to the rest.
A dark chuckle echoed in his mind.
Eater’s voice coiled through his thoughts, its satisfaction palpable.
Sabo swallowed. He could feel it—the raw, untapped potential still locked within him, like a deep well waiting to be drawn upon.
Sabo scowled. “What’s wrong with my spirit?” he muttered.
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Sabo exhaled, steadying himself. He clenched his fist, feeling the sheer strength in the movement.
More. He could become more. And for the first time in his life, he believed it.
Gagan whistled low, eyes sweeping over Sabo’s newly bulked-up frame. “Well, damn. Now I’m definitely glad I found you two. A man like that? We could march straight up to Hecate’s Tower and knock the damn thing over with our bare hands.” He gave Sabo an approving nod. “No tower—or any other form of architecture—can stop you! No fortress, no keep, no sacred temple stands a chance!”
Sabo snorted. “That so?”
Hiwot sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re an idiot.”
“But a correct idiot,” Gagan countered. “And don’t pretend you’re not impressed, miss military elite. He looks like he could punch the moon out of the sky. No… no, no. Better yet, my man Slavo—”
“Er—Sabo,” Sabo chimed in.
“Sabo—looks like he can swallow the sun! So, I ask how can you not be impressed by this!” Gagan threw both of his hands at Sabo, exasperated.
Hiwot crossed her arms. “I am impressed. But I’m also concerned.” She eyed Sabo like he was a weapon fresh from the forge, still cooling, still uncertain if it would hold its edge. “Most Soulsingers improve their bodies, yes, but nothing that extreme. Not all at once, and usually not ever. Whatever Lord Eater did, it was…” she hesitated, “. . . unique.”
Sabo flexed his fingers, feeling the strength in his hands, the weight of them. “You’re telling me you two don’t have bodies like this?”
Hiwot shook her head. “Not like that. My enhancements are more refined, subtle. Speed, endurance, but in balance.” She glanced at Gagan. “And you?”
“Oh, me? No, no, no,” Gagan waved a dismissive hand. “My gift is avoiding work. Physical labor? Terrible. I much prefer trickery and charm to solve my problems. I have the enhanced physical form of a sea lion.”
Sabo laughed. What the hell was a sea lion?
Gagan grinned, clearly happy to have received the reaction he was seeking. “So, who the hell is Lord Eater, anyway?” he asked.
Sabo hesitated. Then, he let it happen.
With a wet, tearing sound, his skin parted. The flesh of his chest peeled back like the petals of some terrible flower, revealing the cavernous, fanged maw embedded beneath his collarbone. A single, luminous red eye snapped open just above the gaping mouth, pupil dilating as it swiveled toward Gagan.
“I am Lord Eater.”
Gagan screamed. Not a dignified yelp, not a startled gasp—a full-bodied, high-pitched, flailing shriek as he staggered backward and fell flat on his ass.
Scrambling up onto his elbows, his eyes were wide with horror. “You—you—you’re some kind of Bonesinger?”
Hiwot—stoic, deadly, composed Hiwot—giggled.
Sabo blinked at her.
Gagan blinked at her.
Hiwot cleared her throat and schooled her features back into something resembling normalcy. “Sorry,” she said, straightening. “That was just…unexpected.”
Gagan was still staring at the monstrous thing in Sabo’s chest. “Unexpected? That’s one way to put it! Does—does that thing just live inside you?”
“He is my mortal vassal,” Eater rumbled. “And I, his lord and teacher.”
“Right.” Gagan wiped his forehead, still breathing hard. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s normal. You’re a terrifying monster-man. No problem.” He dusted himself off and let out a ragged sigh. “You know, I was just thinking to myself, ‘Hey, Gagan, maybe you should travel alone again. Maybe finding new friends isn’t worth it.’ But no, I had to tempt fate. And you know what, Slavo—”
“Sabo.”
“Sabo—I’m still glad I tempted fate so. Even if you are more disgusting than I originally assessed. That’s okay.”
Sabo grinned. “Okay, okay. Sure.” He mentally, and politely, asked Eater to hide itself again and the entity kindly obliged, the mouth vanishing from his chest. The entity’s eye lingered for just a moment longer before also winking out of existence. Sabo walked over and offered the other man a hand.
Gagan happily took it. Sabo pulled and nearly threw the other man into the air and over his shoulder. He quickly adjusted, using his other hand to steady and still Gagan.
“Woah!” Gagan exclaimed.
“Sorry,” Sabo said. “I need to get used to this new strength.”
“Yes, we still have the rest of the journey for you to adjust to it. But likely, your body won’t be tested until we reach the Tower,” Hiwot said. She was putting out their fire and breaking down the meager camp the three had set up. Sabo moved to lend her a hand.
A couple of hours after setting off from their camp, the three spotted the road northward to Ramsmeade, which would then continue on to Hecate’s Tower.
The road north was a sorry thing—cracked and uneven, its stones half-swallowed by dirt and creeping weeds. Every so often, a wooden post jutted up from the ground, its faded markings barely legible.
Hiwot eyed the path ahead, frowning. “We should reach Ramsmeade by midday tomorrow. If the road holds.”
Gagan kicked a loose cobblestone. “If it holds? This thing hasn’t been maintained in years. I think I saw a family of rabbits paying tolls to use it.”
Sabo snorted. “Gagan, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“And, what might that be my monstrous companion?”
“Earlier, you called me something. A Bonesinger? What is that?”
Hiwot interjected. “A Bonesinger is a specific type of Soulsinger. Each variety of Soulsinger uses a different aspect of themselves as a conduit for their magic. An Evoker uses their soul. A Conjurer their mind. A Forger their heart. And, Bonesingers use their bodies. They are transform and control their physical forms in special ways. I’m not surprised someone might think you’re a Bonesinger. Though, with that maul of yours, someone might take you for a Forger. You’re indeed an anomaly.”
“A maul, you say?” Gagan asked. “I guess you’ll always be ready to hammer home your point in an argument…”
Hiwot just palmed her forehead.
They pressed on, following the winding road as it sloped gently through the land, cutting into a dense stretch of forest. The trees pressed close, their branches forming a jagged canopy that cast long, shifting shadows across their path. The air grew thick, damp with the scent of moss and earth.
Then, ahead, they spotted it.
A cart—more of a rickshaw, really—leaning at an awkward angle on the side of the road. One wheel shattered, its spokes splayed like a broken ribcage. A man crouched beside it, inspecting the damage with a weary expression. A woman stood nearby, wrapped in a tattered shawl, clutching a bundled infant against her chest.
Gagan’s steps quickened. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Let’s see if they need a hand.”
Hiwot didn’t move. “Wait.”
But Gagan was already striding forward, his hands raised in a gesture of easy goodwill. “Hey there, friend. That’s a real mess you’ve got—what happened?”
The man looked up, his face lined with exhaustion. “Wheel broke. We were heading to Ramsmeade, but now…” He sighed. “Now, I don’t know.”
Hiwot stayed put. Sabo did too.
Something was wrong.
The feeling crawled up Sabo’s spine like a whisper of cold breath against his neck. The hairs on his arms stood on end. His skin prickled.
The wrongness wasn’t obvious—it wasn’t in the man’s voice or the woman’s posture. It wasn’t in the broken wheel or the lopsided cart.
It was somewhere else.
Sabo’s gaze flicked past the couple, toward the trees flanking the road.
A flicker of movement.
Then another.
Dark shapes crouched in the underbrush, half-hidden among the tangle of roots and ferns. Others lurked in the branches above, shifting just enough for Sabo to catch the glint of steel.
Not travelers.
Not a stranded family.
An ambush.
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