The Devourer's Dominion

The battlefield was silent for a moment—just a breath, a pause before the storm. Aetheron stood at the center, his body crackling with unstable energy. The mark of the Sovereign pulsed against his skin, an eerie glow seeping from the edges of his form. His fingers curled slightly, feeling the weight of his evolving power. Around him, the air was thick with tension.

Across from him, the Sovereign's Hunters stood ready. Their leader, a towering figure clad in dark armor, tilted his head. His piercing crimson eyes locked onto Aetheron, studying him with something between curiosity and caution.

"So, this is what you've become," the leader murmured, his voice deep and unreadable. "Devourer… or something worse?"

Aetheron didn't answer. He didn't need to. His presence alone was enough of a response. The power inside him had shifted—no longer just stolen abilities stacked on top of each other, but something more refined, something that belonged to him.

Then, the attack came.

The first hunter moved like a shadow, vanishing from sight and reappearing behind Aetheron with a blade coated in dark mist. The blade cut through the air, aiming for his neck—fast, precise, deadly.

Aetheron twisted at the last second. His footwork was sharp, effortless, and before the blade could reach him, his arm shot up. The air around his palm vibrated, and in a blink, he caught the blade with his bare hand. The metal screeched as his grip tightened, crushing it like brittle glass.

The hunter's eyes widened in shock. But he had no time to react.

Aetheron struck.

A shockwave erupted as his fist connected with the hunter's chest, sending him flying across the battlefield like a broken doll. Dust and debris exploded outward from the impact, and the man's body skidded across the ground, leaving a deep trench in his wake.

The other hunters tensed. They had expected power—but not this.

The leader's smirk widened just slightly. "Good," he said, stepping forward. "Show me more."

Aetheron exhaled slowly. The energy in his body pulsed again, and then he moved.

Lightning cracked as he blurred forward. The next hunter barely had time to react before Aetheron's fingers wrapped around his wrist. A twist. A sharp snap. The hunter's arm bent at an unnatural angle, and before he could even scream, Aetheron spun, using the man's own momentum to launch him into another attacker.

They crashed together with a sickening crunch.

But the others didn't hesitate.

A burst of energy erupted from Aetheron's left—fire, searing hot, roaring towards him in a spiraling inferno.

He didn't dodge.

His right hand lifted, fingers flexing. The flames met his palm, but instead of burning him, they twisted and coiled, their shape warping. Aetheron absorbed them, the fire sinking into his skin like ink into water. His veins glowed for a second, and then—

Boom.

He exhaled, and the stolen fire exploded outward, ten times more intense, a sea of crimson fury engulfing everything before him.

The hunters scattered, barely escaping the inferno. But their leader didn't move. He stood his ground as the firestorm closed in, and at the last moment, he raised a single hand.

The fire split apart.

Aetheron's eyes narrowed slightly. That was new.

The leader finally unsheathed his weapon—a long, curved blade with strange markings running along its length. He rested it against his shoulder, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"You're powerful," he admitted. "But power without control is just chaos."

Aetheron tilted his head slightly. Then, without warning, he was gone.

The ground cracked beneath him as he launched forward.

Their blades met in an instant—metal against metal, sparks flying. Aetheron's strength was overwhelming, but the leader was different from the others. He didn't just block—he redirected, deflected, shifted Aetheron's momentum with precision that felt unnatural. Every strike Aetheron delivered was met with perfect counters, as if the man could read his movements before he even made them.

And then—

Aetheron's chest burned.

He felt it before he saw it. Blood. His blood. A thin, precise cut sliced across his torso.

The leader exhaled. "You're not the only one who evolves mid-battle."

Aetheron glanced down at the wound. It wasn't deep, but it was clean. Too clean. His eyes flicked back to the blade—and then he understood.

That weapon wasn't normal. It wasn't cutting flesh. It was cutting energy.

The leader smiled slightly, as if reading his thoughts. "You're a devourer, right?" He lifted his sword. "Then let's see if you can devour this."

Aetheron's fingers twitched.

The air grew heavy.

A storm was brewing—not just around them, but inside him.

The ground trembled beneath his feet, cracks splintering outward. The Sovereign's mark on his body pulsed dangerously, and for the first time in this fight, Aetheron felt something new—something different.

Hunger.

Not his own.

Something deeper. Something waiting.

The leader watched him carefully. "Good," he murmured again. "Now… don't hold back."

Aetheron didn't plan to.