Days began to blur together.
Thanks to Champion Frederick and his unique insight, Azrael learned — not just about survival and various strategies he could employ, but also about history and the way the world functioned.
Apparently, Rifts didn't throw you into random chaos. There were specific planets Chosen could be teleported to—each with their own climate, wildlife, and terrain.
Iris's lessons were the most painful—yet the most essential. She didn't just train him to wield a scythe. She broke down his entire mindset. Rewired his instincts. Taught him to analyze every situation with cold precision.
Instructor Varen was invaluable as well. He revealed tactics Azrael never even knew existed—tactics that would undoubtedly prove useful. His sparring sessions with Victor became routine, both of them starting to form a sort of bond that was hard to define.
Azrael's life was training. Nothing else.
He experimented a bit with [Blood Manipulation], but at its current Warped Corruption Level, the skill was still too weak to be useful. Still, something inside told him it would evolve into something terrifying in time.
He grew—physically, mentally, instinctively.
And as time moved forward, the date drew closer.
It wasn't that noticeable at first, but sooner or later, it became apparent.
The fear and worry in the eyes of the young. Those who lacked confidence in their abilities were the first to show it. Then, like an infection, the fear crawled its way into the eyes of even the elite.
The average Chosen.
Then the clan prodigies.
Even the mighty professors that were meant to lead them by example didn't fare better.
That darkness in everyone's eyes — fear, caused by what was to come.
No one was spared, and Azrael hated it. Every single second of it.
"Hey."
Going through his normal route, one young Chosen approached him, which was rare — Azrael was usually a loner. Why would one bother?
"What is it?" he arched an eyebrow.
With a faint smile, the man pulled a small pill from his pocket. "Since you know what's coming, I'm selling coma pills. Take one, and for twenty-four hours you'll be as good as dead. Unconscious. Undisturbed."
Azrael's jaw tightened. He could understand fearing what was about to come — but hiding from it? In such a pathetic way?
"Because of cowards like you…" he spat, dark eyes growing menacing, ready to go for the kill, "we are in this mess to begin with."
The man's expression soured. He turned and walked off, mumbling, "Whatever, man. Just trying to help."
Azrael managed to suppress his rage, stopping himself from trying to kill the man.
'It's not worth it. Not here. There would be consequences,' he thought, shaking his head.
The air grew colder, the mood heavier. No one had the strength for conversation anymore.
Then, finally—it arrived.
Azrael's eyes sprang open, his body aching from the previous lessons they had yesterday — he was still exhausted yet several times stronger and more experienced than before.
He took a brief glance at today's date.
"20 December," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Since they were in a military school meant to rival the Elite one reserved for the heirs of the great clans, they didn't usually have any breaks — however, today and tomorrow would be an exception.
With nothing better to do, he took one of the chairs in his room. After confirming that it was in a stable condition without a threat of breaking should he sit on it, he stepped out.
Thousands were already gathered. Not just the Marked that have been recently gifted with a system—but also those who had managed to clear a Rift. The Proven.
The instructors and even the principal stood among them, his once stern but friendly expression long ago replaced by a haunted, weary look.
Thousands of men and women from every background, all with vastly different lives and experiences, united by one thing.
Fear.
Some were mumbling to themselves, bodies trembling. Others had their fists clenched so tightly that their knuckles turned white, managing to somewhat suppress the frustration rising in them.
The one who tried to sell him the coma pill was nowhere in sight—no doubt the coward had already taken it, desperate to escape what was about to come.
Nearby, a young woman about Azrael's age knelt on the ground, hugging her knees and quietly repeating three words like a prayer: "It'll be fine."
Azrael, in no better mood than the rest, found a quiet spot away from the crowd.
With a long exhale, he sat down, leaning back and looking toward the sky.
It was growing darker. The day was ending.
Activating the device on his wrist, he took a glance at the time.
23:55
He was in such a bad mood that he almost missed that he had received a message.
It was from Seyra, of course.
A rather simple one — she wasn't one to speak needlessly after all.
"Good luck."
A pale smile appeared on Azrael's face. It was a small gesture, yet one that lifted his spirit somewhat. Even though he didn't really know the woman that well, her showing that she cared touched him somewhat.
"Good luck to you too." he muttered
Turning off the hologram of the device, he stared at the ground for several seconds, deep in thought.
'So… this is it, huh? One more year has passed… making me 16.'
With nothing left to distract him, he leaned back in the sturdy chair that supported him, unlike the world around him, which felt like it was about to fall apart, and looked up at the night sky.
He wasn't alone.
Every Chosen nearby did the same.
Every Forsaken.
Every animal.
Every monster across the realm.
The winds stilled. Clouds stopped drifting.
The world had come to a halt.
Every living being stared, with expressions of varying degrees, at the god.
At the moon.
And it stared back.
As soon as the clock hit midnight, marking the end of the day and the beginning of December 21, the god stirred.
The moon split open—revealing a massive eye with a pupil that shifted through every imaginable color. Staring down at its subjects.
Only blinking and shallow breaths were permitted before the mightiest being to exist.
No Forsaken, Chosen, or monster could go against its wrath.
Should one dare try… nothing but ash would remain.
A flicker of amusement passed over Azrael's eyes.
'This is the first time I see you in full glory… since devouring the System, isn't it?' he mused, activating [Inspect], curious if the rumors were true.
Name: [???]
Race: [???]
Danger Level: [Genocide]
Corruption Rank: [Unholy]
Funny, wasn't it?
For all humanity's pride—every single one of them was forced to stand motionless before the weight of such corrupt authority.
'Ah…'
He might've smiled—if he were allowed to move beneath the god's gaze.
'Happy birthday to me,' he thought.