The bells of Celestial Dominion Academy tolled at dawn, a slow, resonant clang that cut through fog and silence alike. The rising sun bled red through the clouds, like a wound opening in the sky. To Aren Valen, it was a fitting omen. The day of the Dominion Tournament had arrived.
He stood at the edge of the training yard, shirtless, steam rising from his skin as he drove his fists into the rune-bound stone post. Each strike cracked the air. The bones in his knuckles ground like glass, but he didn't stop.
Again. Again. Until I feel nothing.
Internal trauma: Stabilized.
Parasite efficiency: 21%.
Hunger: Contained. For now.
"You're going to shatter your own body," a voice called.
Kaelith. Bandaged across the temple, one arm still in a sling, but her voice was firm.
Aren didn't look at her. "You still here to spy for Lyon?"
She flinched. "Not anymore."
He stopped. Slowly turned. Her eyes, violet and flickering with starlight, held no malice now. Just... gravity.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she asked. "That memory... when we fought."
Aren nodded. "Your constellation didn't break on its own. The gods tore it from you."
Kaelith swallowed. "They made me watch my little brother burn. Then they called it sacrifice."
He stared at her, silent. Then nodded. "You fought well. That memory... it was fire."
"So is yours," she said. "What did you lose?"
He looked down at his hands.
"Everything."
The coliseum that housed the Dominion Tournament was carved from living stone, etched with celestial veins that pulsed with light. A thousand students filled the stands. Professors, nobles, emissaries from the Divine Courts sat in gold-leafed balconies, their eyes sharp.
Aren walked alone into the competitor's entrance. His uniform was unadorned black, sleeves torn, no house insignia. No banners. No patrons.
Only fury.
He passed elite students sharpening swords carved from cometsteel, others tracing runes of arcane shielding. Whispers followed him like shadows.
"That's the parasite-bearer." "The one who beat Kaelith." "I heard he's a walking curse."
A familiar laugh rang out.
Lyon Dareth.
Clad in silver and white, flanked by heirs of five noble houses. His aura shone bright—so bright it masked the rot underneath.
"Ah, the peasant shadow returns."
Aren met his gaze. "I'll see you in the arena."
Lyon smirked. "You won't make it past round three."
"Then you should pray I'm eliminated early."
The first match was bloodless.
Aren's opponent, a flamecaller from House Drevarn, underestimated him. Came in roaring, burning like a miniature sun. Aren closed the distance in seconds, broke the boy's jaw with a single strike, and shattered his constellation by gripping it barehanded.
The audience was silent.
Starforged Parasite fed.
Increment: 2%.
Constellation core fragment assimilated.
As Aren walked off the field, his breathing calm, he heard murmurs shifting tone.
Fear.
The second match was worse. For them.
Two-on-one. Team battle.
They came at him with coordinated precision—one wielding frost, the other lightning. Aren took a spear of ice through the shoulder, let the lightning crack against his ribs—then grabbed both of them by the throat.
"I told you," he said quietly. "I'm not like before."
The parasite pulsed. His veins glowed black.
He devoured both constellations. Their magic screamed as it was ripped apart.
Phase 2 evolution nearing threshold.
Warning: Emotional state unstable.
Restraint advised.
He stood over their unconscious bodies as silence fell again.
Above him, nobles whispered in alarm.
Third round. The arena shifted.
Stone became glass. The environment changed—illusion-augmented to mimic the Blackreach Wastes. Twisting voidstorms. Razorwind. No escape.
And his opponent—
Lunec Arvane.
A prodigy. Channeler of the Constellation Nyxxar, Warden of Night. Cloaked in stars, twin daggers curved like crescent moons.
Lunec bowed.
"I've heard of you. The parasite-bearer. I want to test a theory."
Aren raised a brow. "Theory?"
Lunec's smile was strangely sad. "Whether monsters can still feel pain."
They clashed.
It was beautiful. Terrible.
Aren moved like a force of nature. But Lunec anticipated everything. Blades singing through illusions, night magic curling around Aren's limbs. For the first time, Aren bled freely.
He coughed blood. Laughed. "Finally."
His vision blurred. Memories surged. His first death. The betrayal. The moment his mother turned her back. A sword through his chest.
No more.
He roared—and the parasite answered.
Starforged Parasite: Phase 3 UNLOCKED. New skill acquired: [Devour Aspect]. New form available: [Midnight Core].
Aren's body exploded in dark starlight.
His skin blackened, arms covered in celestial scars. Wings—not feathered, but barbed and jagged like shattered constellations—erupted from his back.
He moved faster than thought.
Lunec didn't stand a chance.
He broke the boy's blades. Then knelt beside him, eyes glowing.
"Do you still think I can't feel pain?"
Lunec's lip trembled. "You look like death."
Aren whispered, "I am death."
He didn't kill him. Just took the core fragment. Enough.
Lunec passed out in silence.
The crowd didn't cheer.
Too afraid.
Aren stood in the center of the arena. Breathing heavy. Covered in smoke and black ichor.
Above him, a voice boomed:
"DISQUALIFY HIM! HE USES FORBIDDEN MAGIC!"
It was Lord Valeon, House Master of the Divine Tribunal.
Lyon stood beside him, eyes bright with triumph.
"Execute the parasite before it grows further!"
Kaelith screamed from the crowd. "HE'S NOT THE MONSTER—YOU ARE!"
Aren looked up.
His heart shattered as he saw who stood beside Lord Valeon.
His mother.
Lady Elira Valen.
Cold. Proud. Unflinching.
"He is not my son," she said.
Aren staggered.
It felt like dying again.
Why? You knew. You saw what they did.
She turned away.
And something in him broke.
He didn't roar. Didn't scream.
He just whispered.
"I see now. The gods didn't kill me.
You did."
The parasite pulsed. His aura flared to life—eclipsing every other light in the arena.
And high above, in the shadow of the Divine Council's seal—
Something ancient stirred.
And watched.