When the doorbell rang, he looked up, quickly wiping his hands on his apron as he walked towards the door. "Odin, you knew your mother needed her medicine early, so it's late," he said. But instead of seeing Odin, he was surprised to find Bjorn standing there. He fell silent, unsure of what to say.
System Level: 6/12
Power level: 55,000/100,000
Beast type: Scorpion
Name: Bjorn Leif
Age: 45
Clan: Nightwhisper Clan
Race: Kaelith
Blood-type: Verdant
Blood Color: Green
HP: 100/100
EP: 48/50
AP: 58 units
Mana: 90/100
Beast Energy: 80/100
Beast Race Type: Glimmerhounds
Beast Ability:
Venomous Sting
Stealthy Movement
Skills: 55/70
Action Speed: 10 seconds per action
Skill Cooldowns: 6-15 seconds
Movement Speed: 5-10 units per second
Base Strength: 20
Damage Output: 4-10 damage per hit
Carrying Capacity: 51-100 units
State Points: 170/200
Bjorn, a feared loan shark known for his brutal methods, stood on Ulfr's doorstep. His cold, calculating eyes scanned the area as he tapped his foot impatiently. He had come to collect a debt and wasn’t leaving without his money. A massive man with a rough beard, he looked like the Viking warriors from Norse legends, the ones who fought in Ragnar?k. Ulfr didn’t care if he looked like a character from myth; all he could think about was wishing the God of Wealth would show up and give Bjorn his money before things got worse. But luck wasn’t on his side.
"Why are you here so early?" Ulfr asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He fought to maintain a calm appearance, hiding the nervousness bubbling inside him with a forced smile.
Bjorn's lips curled into a cruel grin as he stepped forward, getting too close for comfort. His voice was laced with venom as he answered, "Oh, Ulfr, you know I’m always here when it's time to collect. And today, I need it more than ever."
Ulfr's eyes flicked nervously towards the small, run-down house behind him. He quickly raised his arm, blocking Bjorn's way to prevent him from stepping inside. His son, Riven, and his wife were in there, unaware of the danger just outside. Ulfr couldn’t let Bjorn bring harm to them.
Summoning every bit of courage he had left, Ulfr spoke through clenched teeth, "I don’t have the money, Bjorn. Please, give me more time. I promised I’d find a way to pay you."
Bjorn's face twisted with rage, his eyes narrowing as he took a menacing step forward. His voice dropped to a threatening whisper. "Did you think I was a fool, Ulfr? I gave you plenty of time. You had your chances."
Ulfr stared at him, disbelief crossing his face, a vein throbbing on his forehead. "How much money did you take?"
"100 gold coins," Bjorn replied, his face moving even closer to Ulfr's. Ulfr struggled to keep his composure, trying not to gag at the foul smell of Bjorn's breath, which was so close he couldn’t avoid it.
The disgusting smell of Bjorn’s breath filled the air, so strong it felt like it was crawling inside him. It was hard to think of anything else. Bjorn always played these dirty tricks, and Ulfr couldn’t understand why no one else noticed.
"100 gold coins?" Ulfr gasped. "But you only gave me 50! This is robbery—right in the middle of the day!"
"You don’t understand how business works," Bjorn snapped, his face turning dark red with anger. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Pay me what you owe… or you’ll regret it. I’ll kill your worthless son, Ulfr. As far as I’m concerned, he’s already dead."
Ulfr’s chest tightened as Bjorn’s cruel words cut deep. He had always tried to live honestly, doing the right thing—and now his son was being blamed for no reason.
Bjorn smirked, enjoying Ulfr’s pain. He leaned in, his voice low and mocking. "People call your son evil… but you don’t even know what real evil looks like. Maybe I should teach you—unless you pay me what you owe."
Fear shot through Ulfr’s body. He couldn’t let anything happen to his son. No matter what, he had to protect his family. Clenching his fists, he met Bjorn’s cold stare. "You won’t lay a finger on my boy," he said, his voice steady. "I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe."
Bjorn’s laugh rang out through the quiet neighborhood, a sound that sent chills down Ulfr’s spine. "We’ll see about that, Ulfr. We shall see."
Just then, Odin walked in, his voice loud and cheerful. "Father, I brought Mom’s medicine!"
Ulfr, struggling to control his anger, took the medicine from Odin’s hand and moved toward the kitchen, Odin trailing closely behind.
"What did Bjorn say to you?" Odin asked, his voice quiet with concern.
Ulfr paused, then quickly changed the subject, his tone sharp as he drove the knife into the fish on the cutting board. "What did Uncle Thorik say about the medicine?"
Odin, startled by the force with which his father struck the knife, glanced at him, his eyes wide with shock.
"What did Bjorn say to you?" Odin asked again, his concern growing. At just 12 years old, he had been adopted by Ulfr after the tragic Ebon River accident, which had taken both of his birth parents. Since that day, Ulfr had devoted himself to raising Odin, giving him love, support, and a stable home, even though it hadn't been easy.
To others, Ebon River was just a body of water, but to Ulfr, it held a deeper meaning. It had blessed him and his wife, Liv, with two sons after years of struggling with infertility—a gift they could never forget.
"Father..." Odin called again, his voice soft, but Ulfr remained silent, lost in his thoughts.
"Father, I just saw Bjorn leaving. Was he demanding money again?" Odin’s innocent face was filled with worry, his young eyes searching his father's for an answer.
"Go and wake your brother up; he’s not listening to me," Ulfr said, his voice tight with frustration. He grabbed a nearby pan, placed it on the fire, and began cooking the fish with a fierceness that matched his anger. The sizzling sound of the fish hitting the hot pan seemed to echo his growing irritation. "And as for Bjorn’s question, I’ll handle it myself. It’s not your problem, so don’t worry."
Odin nodded, his concern still heavy in his chest, but he knew there was little he could do to ease his father’s burden. He made his way toward Riven's room, his steps slow with worry.
As he entered Riven’s room, however, a small chuckle escaped him. The room was small but cozy, with wooden walls decorated with paintings of peaceful landscapes. The scent of incense lingered in the air, adding to the calm atmosphere. A small window allowed a beam of sunlight to slip through, bathing the room in a soft, golden light. The simple furnishings gave it a humble, serene charm that contrasted sharply with the tension outside.
Riven's bed, placed against the wall in an unusual manner, was a curious sight. It was a traditional wooden frame, but instead of lying flat, it stood vertically against the wall. Riven’s head hung off the edge, his messy black hair falling in disarray, but his face wore a serene expression, completely undisturbed by the world around him.
The room was filled with a collection of trinkets and curiosities that Riven had gathered over the years. Shelves lined the walls, displaying an eclectic mix of books, antique teapots, and intricate sculptures. A small desk sat in the corner, cluttered with papers and ink brushes, a clear sign of his artistic inclinations.
Odin approached his brother cautiously, unsure how to wake him from such an unusual position. He gently shook Riven’s shoulder, but his brother remained unresponsive, still lost in his peaceful sleep. Odin couldn’t help but feel a small sense of admiration for Riven's ability to find tranquility in such a peculiar way. It was as if nothing could disturb his calm, no matter how strange or chaotic the world around him might be.
"Father, I don't think he's going to wake up anytime soon," Odin said, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he watched his brother’s peaceful slumber.
"Riven!" Ulfr called out loudly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. The sudden noise disturbed Riven’s rest, and he groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. His eyes fluttered open briefly, but he quickly tried to block out the sound of his father’s voice, pulling his pillow over his ears as if it could shield him from the world.
Riven had always found his father’s lectures and constant nagging overwhelming, so he’d developed a coping mechanism for when it all became too much. The pillow served as a barrier, blocking the noise and allowing him to retreat back into his own peaceful space.
"Father, Riven isn’t listening to you," Odin shouted with a mischievous grin, leaning close to Riven’s ear. The playful tone in his voice was unmistakable, and he clearly enjoyed the challenge of rousing his brother from his deep sleep.
Riven shot up from his bed, his eyes narrowing in a fierce glare at Odin. "Good morning, brother!" Odin said, his tone as serious as he could muster, despite the mischief behind his words.
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Riven groaned, rubbing his eyes. "It's only 10 am. Why did you wake me up so early?"
"Bjorn was here," Odin replied, his small eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and anger.
Riven’s expression shifted from annoyance to shock. "What? But why?" he exclaimed, quickly scrambling out of bed. "I told him I’d return his money later this month, and there are still 15 days left. Why did he bother Father by showing up so early?"
Odin let out a tired sigh, rubbing his temples. "I didn’t know, brother. But from the way Father reacted, it was clear Bjorn forced him to pay up fast. He wasn’t giving him a choice."
Riven’s hands curled into tight fists, his whole body burning with anger. Why would Bjorn ruin their quiet morning like this? The thought made his blood boil. Under his breath, he hissed, "That greedy, rotten snake. How dare he barge in and destroy our peace? Just wait—I’ll make sure he regrets this."
He threw on his clothes and charged toward the door, ready to face Bjorn head-on. But Odin caught his arm, holding him back. "Deal with Father first," he said firmly. "If you make it out of that alive, then we’ll take on Bjorn."
Riven shook off Odin's grip and stormed out of the room, his mind swirling with a whirlwind of insults and harsh words he wanted to throw at Mr. Bjorn. He had always loathed the man, seeing him as arrogant and manipulative. But Riven knew better than to let his emotions get the best of him. He had built a reputation for being calm and composed, and he wasn’t about to ruin that by losing control now.
As he walked toward the kitchen, his fists tightened, each step only fueling the anger that burned inside him. His heart pounded in his chest, and his blood felt like it was boiling. The words he wanted to spit at Bjorn echoed in his mind, more venomous with each thought. But before he stepped into the kitchen, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm the storm within. He couldn’t afford to let his father see his anger, not when Ulfr was already dealing with so much.
Suppressing the rage, Riven entered the kitchen with a strained smile. "Good morning, Father," he said, his voice carrying an edge of frustration he couldn’t entirely hide. But Ulfr didn’t respond. His father remained silent, his attention focused elsewhere, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
"Father, how much money did he demand?" Riven asked, trying to get through to him, but it pained him to see his father like this—so distant and distracted.
Ulfr didn’t answer. Instead, he set a glass of water in front of Riven. "Water’s good for you on an empty stomach in the morning," he said, as if avoiding the question.
Riven frowned, his frustration mounting. "That's not the answer to my question, Father," he said, taking the glass from Ulfr's hand.
Ulfr let out a heavy sigh, his face lined with weariness. "It wasn’t your concern. I handled it. Will you come to the river tomorrow?"
"I'm an adult now, Father. You can confide in me," Riven said, his voice tinged with worry. He needed to understand what was happening, but Ulfr wasn’t letting him in.
Ulfr’s response was a simple, "That didn’t answer my question." He moved the fish from the pan onto the plate with a quiet precision, avoiding Riven’s gaze.
Riven’s expression softened, his voice quieter now. "You knew the reason, Father. I couldn’t go fishing with you." His mouth drooped as memories of the past few years came flooding back. The accident at the river, the one that had changed everything, still haunted him. He couldn’t forget the catastrophe that had torn their family apart.
The past played in Ulfr’s mind like a grim film reel, each frame bringing back painful memories. A few years ago, Umbralyn village had faced an unimaginable disaster. Unbeknownst to the villagers, Riven’s system had suddenly triggered, unleashing an unknown magical ability that went horribly wrong. The result was chaos—a calamity that no one had anticipated.
The villagers, who once considered Riven just another young boy, now saw him as something terrifying. They labeled him a devil, a monster in human form. The tragedy had left deep scars on the village, not just physically but emotionally. The lives lost that day still echoed in every corner of their shattered community, a permanent reminder of what had gone wrong.
Ulfr vividly remembered the moment Riven had lost control over his own abilities. The event was so shocking that many villagers fled in fear, terrified by what had just occurred. The rumors about Riven spread quickly, like wildfire. Some claimed he was a monster, a bloodthirsty creature who slaughtered everyone in his path. Others said he fought against dark magical creatures in battles that left entire landscapes devastated. And the most terrifying of all—the whispers that he possessed a power so great, it could destroy entire worlds with a single word.
The rumors fueled fear and mistrust. The villagers’ perception of Riven shifted, and anxiety spread like a disease. Chaos gripped the village, and its population dwindled as people either fled or hid in terror of the unknown. Ulfr had to watch his son be painted as something monstrous, while Riven, a child at the time, struggled to understand the world that had suddenly turned on him.
In the aftermath, Ulfr had found himself alone, forced to protect Riven from a hostile world that saw him as a threat. Survival became the only goal, and the fear of returning to civilization still clung to Ulfr. Time had passed, but the shadows of their past were long and dark, constantly reminding them of the danger that could resurface at any moment. The weight of that fear pressed heavily on Ulfr’s shoulders, making him more protective of Riven than ever.
Riven lived a quiet life, unaware of the immense power that flowed through him. His magical abilities were rooted in ancient, mysterious magic—magic that even he couldn't fully comprehend. The villagers regarded him with a mix of curiosity and awe, often whispering about his strange abilities, but none truly understood the depth of what lay within him. Little did they know, however, that their lives were on the verge of being shattered by an even greater force—a dark and malevolent evil that would soon descend upon their land.
But the threat was not what weighed on Riven's mind at that moment. His life, as it stood, seemed to be moving toward an inevitable end, a path he couldn’t escape. As he sat in the kitchen, staring at his untouched plate of food, his mind drifted to the events of the past, replaying them in a haze. The memories were fragmented, like broken shards of a forgotten dream, but one moment stood out clearly.
It was the moment he had met the man named Xarvik.
Riven could still remember it as if it were yesterday. They had crossed paths only days after the disaster at Umbralyn. He hadn’t known who Xarvik was, or why the stranger was there, but his instincts screamed at him not to trust the man. It wasn’t just Xarvik’s dark presence, which was enough to make anyone uneasy—it was the weapon he carried. A weapon so powerful, it seemed capable of annihilating everything in its path. The very sight of it had sent a chill through Riven’s soul, as though it was calling to him, beckoning him into a trap he couldn’t avoid.
He sighed, feeling the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. His gaze drifted toward his father, who sat across the room, lost in his own thoughts. Ulfr was far away, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely, and Riven couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about the same things—about the past, about Xarvik, about the shadow that seemed to hang over them both.
No matter how much Riven tried to push it out of his mind, he knew the truth: the danger wasn’t behind them anymore. It was right in front of them, waiting to strike.
Riven’s mind drifted back to the moment when he had first tried to harness his system on his own, attempting to enhance his qi. He had been eager to understand and control his powers, but something went terribly wrong. An unfamiliar force surged within him, wild and uncontrollable, disrupting his focus and turning his carefully cultivated balance into chaos. The elements he had hoped to command—earth, water, fire, wind—became erratic and violent. In an instant, they erupted in a tempest of destruction, ripping through the village with a fury that he couldn’t contain.
Fire raged through the streets, water surged unpredictably, wind howled with a terrifying force, and the earth trembled as if the very foundation of the world was cracking beneath their feet. What was once a peaceful, familiar landscape transformed into a nightmarish battleground, the destruction sprawling across the village in an instant. The familiar faces of the villagers—once his friends, his neighbors—were now lost in the flames, swept away by torrents of water, buried beneath the crumbling earth.
The devastation was unimaginable. The village of Umbralyn, once vibrant and full of life, was now reduced to rubble. Families were torn apart, homes destroyed, and the entire community plunged into chaos. Riven, in the midst of the storm he had unwittingly created, was horrified. He couldn’t understand what had happened, nor could he stop it. His magic had spiraled out of control, and the consequences were catastrophic.
As the chaos subsided, the villagers, scared and desperate for answers, turned to him, blaming him for the suffering they had endured. They saw him as the cause of their pain, as the monster who had brought destruction upon their peaceful lives. To them, he wasn’t the boy they once knew—he was a demon, responsible for the deaths of their loved ones.
The weight of their accusations was unbearable. Riven, confused and in shock, had never meant to harm anyone. He hadn’t even fully understood the power he was wielding. Yet the villagers saw only the aftermath—the death, the destruction, and the irreversible changes to their lives.
The once-adoring community now regarded him with fear and hatred. The faces that had once smiled at him now turned away, whispering behind his back. He could feel their eyes on him, full of suspicion and loathing. The tragedy of the event hung heavily over him, and the guilt gnawed at his conscience. He had caused this. He had unknowingly unleashed something that had shattered so many lives.
In the aftermath, Riven stopped practicing his system. He couldn’t bear to continue using his powers, not after what had happened. He scoured ancient texts, desperate to understand what had triggered the chaos, to find answers, but the more he learned, the more he realized how little control he had over his own magic. Knowledge didn’t ease his guilt or his torment; it only deepened his sense of helplessness.
The scar he had left on the village of Umbralyn, the loss of innocent lives, and his transformation into a figure of fear and hatred haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the destruction—the bodies, the ruined homes, the people who would never return. It was a constant reminder of the dangers of unchecked power, a reminder that some forces were beyond his control, and that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t undo the past.
Since that fateful day, Riven had avoided the Ebon River. Once a place of peace and solace, it had now become a symbol of his deepest fears. The river, with its gentle current and calming waters, now reminded him of his inability to control the forces that dwelled within him. Each time he approached its banks, the memories of the devastation he had caused flooded back—fire, water, wind, and earth clashing in a storm of destruction. The guilt was overwhelming, and it weighed on him like a heavy cloak, impossible to shed.
He looked at his father again, his unease growing. Ulfr remained lost in his thoughts, seemingly unaware of the internal battle Riven fought every day. Riven felt helpless, unable to control the power that raged inside him. It was like trying to hold back a flood with nothing but his bare hands. Every day, he struggled to suppress it, to keep the beast inside from rising. The darkness, the despair—it gnawed at him, a constant presence that threatened to consume him whenever he let his guard down.
His fears weren’t just abstract notions—they were real, tangible. The beast within him was becoming more aware, more sentient. It sensed the cracks in Riven’s resolve, the moments when his will weakened, when the pressure became too much to bear. It whispered in the back of his mind, urging him to give in, to let go. It was a temptation he could never fully escape, and with each passing day, it became harder to resist.
Riven had tried everything to contain it. Meditation, physical training, even isolation. But none of it worked for long. The beast was always there, waiting. And the worst part was that he couldn’t even be sure where his control ended and where the beast began. He feared that one day, he might wake up to find that the darkness had taken over completely, that he would be nothing more than a puppet, his consciousness lost to the power that raged inside him.
He tightened his grip on the edge of the table, trying to ground himself, but the tremor of fear lingered. He had no answers, no way out. And though he often told himself that things would get better, that he would find a way to control it, deep down, he feared that the beast would one day break free. And when it did, there would be no turning back.
