Chapter 1: The Crimson Storm
Super Guardian by LittleLYTA
The sky cracked open with thunder, not from nature—but from power. Explosions of red and black aura collided mid-air, lighting the battlefield in flashes of supernatural force. Two figures clashed above the shattered earth, wings spread wide, locked in a dance of death.
Zack Tennyson spun mid-air, his crimson wings leaving a blazing arc of energy behind him as he evaded a scythe-like strike from the enemy. His red eyes narrowed, locking onto the figure barreling toward him.
The opponent was a Dragon-Type Guardian, humanoid in shape, but armored head-to-toe in obsidian dragon scales that pulsed with energy. Its wings beat like war drums, scattering debris with every movement. Only its face was visible—chiseled and cold, expressionless like a statue carved from ancient wrath.
Zack grinned.
"Come on, scale-face," he taunted, fists glowing. "You'll have to do better than that."
In an instant, they collided again.
Boom!
Shockwaves rippled outward. Zack threw a flaming punch that collided with the guardian's scaled armguard. Sparks flew. The impact sent both flying in opposite directions, carving twin trenches in the air as they recovered.
Without hesitation, Zack erupted forward—his aura intensifying, his red brows furrowed, every muscle honed for this exact moment. His red aura shimmered like fire made of lightning, flickering with barely contained chaos.
He dodged a tail swipe, caught a sword strike with both palms, and twisted, hurling the guardian through a half-crushed building below.
CRASH!
The explosion of dust was instant. But the guardian was unfazed. It rose, leapt, and the sky once again became their arena.
Their attacks came faster now—each movement almost too fast to see, every strike packed with supernatural weight. Wings sliced through clouds, fists met claws, and the air itself screamed from the friction of their battle.
Then—Zack skidded to a stop mid-air, his aura flaring.
He hovered, chest rising and falling, blood on his lip, but smiling.
"I know what you're thinking," he said suddenly—his voice now directed not at the guardian, but somewhere else.
"To you watching this… wondering why the hell this is happening…" He slowly raised his head, eyes glowing like twin red stars. "You're probably asking, Who even is this guy? Why is he fighting some dragon knight in the middle of the sky like it's just another Tuesday?"
He cracked his knuckles. Another sonic boom burst from the force.
"My name is Zack Tennyson."
Below, the guardian's mouth curled slightly, charging up its next move.
"I wasn't always this strong," Zack continued, dodging a barrage of draconic energy blasts while still speaking. "In fact, there was a time I couldn't even punch through a wet napkin…"
He dashed through the last blast, countered with a spinning roundhouse kick, and followed with a crimson flare that engulfed the guardian's chest.
"But that was then. And this…" He raised his hand, swirling with red lightning. "This is now."
The guardian roared and charged again.
Zack flew toward it without hesitation, face lit by the storm of his own energy. And just before they clashed again—
He said, with a calm, almost nostalgic voice:
"Let me tell you how it all began…"
___
The sun hung low over the jagged peaks of the Sablefang Mountains, casting long, golden shadows across the sand-swept landscape. Loose grains shifted with the breeze, whispering stories of battles long buried beneath the dunes.
From between the rocks, a strange creature skittered into view.
It moved sideways in a jagged rhythm—its six thin legs clicking against the stone, and its bulbous body gleaming with a hard, iridescent shell. It had the thorax of a bee, fuzzy and pulsing with energy, but the pincers and legs of a crab, clicking and twitching as it moved. A glowing stinger arched above its back, dripping with venom.
A Silver-Rank Crabee.
It buzzed lowly as it climbed toward a narrow ridge, oblivious to the quiet death that awaited beneath the sand.
Click.
Suddenly, the earth shifted beneath it.
A blade shot up from the ground—fast, brutal, and silent. The dagger pierced through the Crabee's underbelly, lifting it momentarily into the air before pinning it to the rocky ground with a wet crunch.
Its legs twitched.
Its stinger flailed once.
Then, it stopped moving.
A faint hum resonated through the air—not from the creature, but from within the mind of its hidden killer.
> [System Message: Silver-Rank Crabee killed.]
[No spirit gear obtained.]
[Consume flesh to gain between 0–10 Silver Spirit Points.]
The wind shifted.
A muffled grunt came from beneath the sand—and then, the earth bulged. A hand shot out, trembling and caked in dust, followed by the round, sweating face of a young boy clawing his way to the surface.
He gasped for breath, coughing up dirt, his black hair matted to his forehead with sweat and grime. His clothes were torn and faded, stitched in places with mismatched thread. He had a wide, bulbous nose, uneven teeth, and small, watery eyes that blinked furiously against the sunlight.
Ugly. Dirty. Forgotten.
But alive.
He stared at the corpse of the Crabee in front of him—still twitching, warm, bleeding.
A desperate gleam lit up in his eyes.
"Mine…" he rasped, voice dry like the desert wind.
He pulled a dull dagger from his side—a rusted piece of junk, barely sharper than a rock—and began hacking into the Crabee's shell. It cracked with resistance, but he pushed through, grunting, sweating, wheezing.
He tore it open.
And then, without hesitation, he bit into the raw flesh, tearing chunks from it like a starving animal.
The system buzzed in his mind with every few mouthfuls.
[Flesh eaten. No spirit points gained.]
He paused, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and kept going.
[Flesh eaten. No spirit points gained.]
He sucked at the soft tissue around the legs, chewing bones, grinding with crooked teeth.
[Flesh eaten. No spirit points gained.]
The crab's metallic-tasting blood stained his lips. His eyes were wild now. He looked around like someone expecting the heavens to descend and reward him—but they didn't.
Only silence. Only sand.
He gnawed on the last piece, slurping like it was soup, then sat back, belly bloated, breathing heavily.
[Flesh eaten. No spirit points gained.]
His fingers trembled as he licked them clean, one by one.
"No points…" he whispered, staring at his empty hands. "Not even one…?"
He looked to the sky, the red sun blazing above, then to the corpse now hollowed out before him.
And he began to laugh.
Not because it was funny.
But because if he didn't laugh, he'd cry.
---
A hundred years ago, during the height of humanity's Interstellar Age, mankind had spread far across the stars. With Earth lost to time—either destroyed or simply forgotten—human civilization thrived among colonized planets, orbiting suns that never saw a blue sky.
That golden age ended the day they discovered the portals.
Originally believed to be shortcuts through space-time—another marvel of scientific progress—these rifts defied all known physics. They didn't lead to new planets or alternate timelines.
They led elsewhere.
To a world untouched by technology.
To a realm ruled not by science, but by spirit.
A realm the first survivors would name: The Holy Domains.
And in this place, technology died.
Firearms jammed. Mechs rusted to useless statues. Satellites disintegrated in seconds.
Here, a sharpened bone or rusted sword was more valuable than a laser rifle.
In this world, killing meant survival.
And eating what you killed meant power.
The moment humans consumed the flesh of the creatures that roamed the Holy Domains, something inside them changed. Muscle strengthened. Reflexes sharpened. Bone density increased. The body adapted—and Spirit Points were earned.
Each creature offered between 0 to 10 Spirit Points, randomly, with most giving nothing at all.
But the gamble was worth it.
Because rarely—very rarely—the system gave something more.
> [Spirit Gear Acquired]
Weapons. Armor. Relics made of energy and will, bound to the soul of the killer.
Each piece was randomly given—a blade, a gauntlet, a cloak, a bow. They could not be made.
Only found.
Only earned through death.
Spirit Gears were humanity's first miracle in the Holy Domains.
The second was Spiritual Cultivation.
With their genes altered by Spirit Points, certain individuals began developing cultivation paths—techniques that allowed them to shape energy, command spirit, and even defy the natural order. Through cultivation, they could leap through the air, crush boulders, heal wounds, and grow far beyond mortal limits.
The Holy Domains turned humanity from explorers... into predators.
The world became ruled by hunting parties, clans, and spiritual sects.
Strength was law.
Weakness was a death sentence.
And in all of that chaos, one boy was nothing.
No gear. No technique. No chance.
Zack Tennyson.
Fat. Ugly. Alone.
More scavenger than hunter.
Digging through corpses, chewing raw meat for zero points.
In a world where only the strong eat… he was less than prey.
Zack wiped his hands on his ragged shirt, the salty taste of raw Carbee still clinging to his tongue. He let out a slow, disappointed breath as the system flashed across his vision once again:
[Flesh eaten. No spirit points gained.]
"Again..." he muttered, voice low and flat. "Nothing."
He sat back on the sand, arms resting on his knees, and stared blankly at the Carbee's cracked shell beside him. Same result as always. This was his tenth one this week—maybe his hundredth since he'd first stepped into this cursed land. And lately, it didn't matter how many he killed or ate—his spirit bar wasn't moving.
"Guess I've bled this species dry, huh?"
Not that he had many options.
The Carbee—creatures that looked like a grotesque mix of bee and crab—were the only Silver-ranked monsters weak enough for him to take down alone. Blind, fragile in the right places, and easy to bait with noise.
Everything else? Suicide.
He'd tried once—only once—to go after something stronger.
A Steel-Back Iron Turtle. Still Silver-ranked, but way higher on the food chain.
He laughed bitterly at the memory.
"They had to carry me out in pieces."
One cracked rib, three deep gashes, and a month in a backwater medic station. Ever since then, he stuck with the Carbee. Weakest of the weak.
Still Silver-ranked, though. And that mattered.
In the Holy Domains, creatures were divided into tiers based on raw strength:
Bronze beasts were barely different from Earth animals—like lions or bears, just a little tougher.
Silver was a massive step up. At least twice as strong, faster, and with more durability.
Gold? One-hundred-and-fifty percent stronger than Silver—Zack once saw one tear through a whole hunting party. It didn't even slow down.
And Platinum?
Zack shook his head.
"I'll be lucky if I even see one before I die."
You needed to max out your Bronze spirit bar before taking on Silver-rank creatures. He had. But barely. And even with a full bar, without spirit gear, he was still at a huge disadvantage.
He looked at his weapon—a chipped dagger barely longer than his hand.
"Trash."
And he still had no gear. Nothing to his name. Spirit gear only dropped by luck when you killed a creature. Most people had at least one by now.
Not him.
Zack glanced around the dunes and was about to move on when something flickered ahead.
A faint, bluish glow, pulsing like a heartbeat.
He ducked instinctively, slipping into the sand, and squinted toward the source.
Another Carbee.
Same weird, crab-like legs. Same stinger. Same ugly buzz. Except this one… it glowed. Faintly. Its carapace shimmered like polished stone, and there were blue veins running through its shell—almost like they were alive.
"Another mutation?" he whispered. "Wait… is that—?"
He wasn't sure what it was. A trick of the light, maybe. Or heat.
Still, it was moving slow. Same blind scuttling as the others.
Whatever it was, it didn't seem any stronger. No armor. No extra limbs. No weird powers or skills—because creatures in the Holy Domains didn't use skills. No special techniques. Just brute strength and instincts.
His pulse quickened.
"Doesn't matter if it glows," he muttered. "Still just a Carbee."
He tightened his grip on the dagger and sprang from the sand.
A clean strike—right beneath the belly seam. The blade slid through soft tissue with a squelch. The creature screeched—once—and died.
Then the system hit him.
[System Message: Platinum-ranked Carbee killed.]
[Spirit Gear obtained.]
[Eat flesh to gain from 0–10 Spirit Points randomly.]
Zack froze.
"…Platinum?"
He looked down at the creature's twitching body.
"That's... that's not possible."
Creatures didn't evolve. Not ever. That was the rule.
Only humans evolved. They gained points. They adapted. They broke limits.
Monsters stayed the same.
Yet here was a Carbee—a mutated version of the species he knew inside out—and it had just triggered a Platinum classification.
"And… spirit gear?" His voice broke slightly. "My first…?"
His hands trembled.
He dropped to his knees, sliced into the glowing corpse, and tore out a steaming chunk of flesh.
No hesitation.
[Flesh eaten. +10 Spirit Points gained.]
[Flesh eaten. +10 Spirit Points gained.]
[Flesh eaten. +10 Spirit Points gained.]
Each bite hit him like lightning. He could feel his body surging, the spirit points flooding into his core.
Muscles clenched. Bones tightened. Heat radiated off his skin.
His fingers flexed harder. Something was changing.
His limbs no longer felt like soggy noodles. There was tension now. Pressure.
Strength.
He panted, gripping his chest.
"…I'm actually changing."
He had never felt like this. Not after hundreds of Carbee. Not even close.
Then, his dagger struck something solid.
Clink.
He paused, brushed aside the steaming guts, and found it.
A blue orb, about the size of a plum, pulsing with soft light. Etched with faint, tech-like symbols, like microchips trapped under crystal.
He reached for it, heart racing.
"What is this doing inside a creature?"
As soon as his fingers touched the orb.
[ALERT: Unauthorized protocol detected.]
[System breach in progress… failsafe engaged.]
His body jerked.
A burst of static filled his vision. Lines of code and symbols scrolled across his mind like a dying screen.
Zack gasped.
And collapsed.
The last thing he saw was the orb's glow fading into darkness.