The Spark of Their Weakness

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(Unknown PoV...)

I sat in stillness, gazing at the swarm of beings before me—creatures of flesh and steel, trembling beneath the weight of their own resolve. They had invaded my domain with weapons drawn, blades glinting under the pale crystal light. There were perhaps fifty of them including the captives for offering. Maybe more. Each one bore a different shape, a different face, a different fear. But all of them shared the same determination in their eyes.

They came prepared. Alert. Formations held tight. Breath measured. I could tell they had trained for battles like this. And yet... they did not realize the war they were stepping into.

From atop my throne—an intricately carved seat of black stone and translucent crystal—I observed them like ants fumbling toward a fire. The throne was my resting place, built by my loyal followers as a gesture of eternal reverence. Each shard embedded into it shimmered faintly with the memories of the servants who crafted it, bound by oath and soul to me. It had once been a symbol of peace among my kind. Now, it stood in the middle of carnage.

My gaze drifted leftward.

Bodies.

The corpses of my disciples littered the ground—dozens of them—lifeless, crumpled, drained of both blood and purpose. Once proud beings who had pledged themselves to me in body and spirit, now discarded like broken statues. Their twisted limbs sprawled unnaturally, blood seeping between cracks in the cavern floor.

Pathetic.
Weak.
How could they have fallen… to humans?

I exhaled slowly, not in grief, but in disinterest. Their failure did not anger me. It bored me.

Then a voice rose from the crowd of intruders—a human man, standing at the front, holding a large shield with a battered emblem.

"Everyone, stay alert! The Adventurers' Department has no recorded data on this monster!"
His voice echoed against the stone, carried by tension, sharp and commanding. His eyes—furrowed and narrowed—were fixed on me, watching, waiting, calculating.

"Prepare to initiate—"

I had no desire to hear the rest of his instructions. Humans speak far too much.

With a flicker of movement—barely a shift in space—his words were severed along with his head. It dropped to the ground with a dull thud, his body following soon after, sword clanging uselessly beside him.

Gasps followed. Then came the screaming—piercing wails from the women among them. The sound was grating, echoing through the cavern in sharp shrieks. It stabbed into my skull like a curse.

How unpleasant.

I slowly turned my head, my crimson gaze burning into theirs. The cries grew louder, more frenzied, more useless. They clutched at their blades, some even covering their ears, but none dared run.

My aura unfurled—black and red like ink bleeding into water. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Shadows danced at my feet.

In a blink, I vanished from my seat.

And reappeared within their ranks.

They didn't even have time to scream again.

A flash of motion. A ripple through air. Silence.

The ones who had cried out were now quiet—forever. Their lifeless bodies hit the stone like sacks of meat, eyes still wide in horror, mouths still open in the last syllables of their final screams.

The survivors froze, wide-eyed and trembling.

I felt it now—their fear crawling through the room, clinging to their skin like frost.

But still… They fought.

One of them—a young man with a scar along his cheek—charged at me with a cry. It was not a noble roar of valor. It was the guttural yell of someone who knew death stood before him but ran toward it anyway.

Others followed. Four. No, five. Together, they attacked. Coordination. Strategy. A desperate kind of unity.

I observed them, my thoughts adrift. Their attacks were fast but clumsy, powerful but wild. I could've ended them instantly—but I didn't.

I dodged.

Stepped left. Pivoted back. Let one sword pass inches from my chest.

It would not have pierced my skin even if I let it strike.

I was toying with them. But not out of arrogance. Out of curiosity.

I wanted to see how far they'd go.

Minutes passed.

They bled. They panted. They screamed their comrades' names.

Still they swung their weapons. Still they aimed for my heart, knowing they'd never reach it.

Eventually, I grew tired of the performance.

I stopped moving.

Let them come.

One charged blade raised high. A large sword, held in both hands, descending toward me in a powerful arc.

I lifted my hand. Only one finger.

The blade shattered against it like glass, fragments flying into the air.

The man's eyes widened.

I smiled—and extended my hand.

An invisible force ripped through his body, clean and ruthless. Blood burst from his chest. He collapsed in pieces.

The rest staggered.

I could smell their panic now—thick and bitter.

I raised both palms toward them.

A sudden burst of ethereal blades shot out, swift as lightning, silent as death. They slashed through the remaining fighters, cutting them down mid-scream, mid-prayer, mid-motion.

In moments, the battlefield was silent once more.

The floor was soaked in blood. It ran along the stone like thin streams of red mercury. Bodies twitched as life fled their veins. Some eyes still blinked in shock, not yet realizing they had already died.

I walked slowly back to my throne, the sound of my steps echoing across the dead. My crimson cloak dragged across the blood-soaked ground.

I sat, letting the silence settle.

And I thought.

This place… this cavern carved beneath the earth… it had once echoed with the chants of my kin. Now, only stillness remained. The crystals embedded along the cavern walls pulsed with faint light—soft blue, white, and violet. They served as the only illumination in the suffocating dark.

So many of my followers… slain.

By humans.

But how?

Why?

"…Hrymo."

My voice broke the silence like thunder.

He appeared instantly, kneeling beside me, head bowed, silver-ash hair falling to one side and covering half his face.

"My liege," he said, "How may I serve you?"

"What do you know of humans?" I asked.

"They are among the weakest in this world," he answered. "Their mana reserves are low. Their strength is limited. They rely on weapons and numbers, but they are nothing compared to us."

"That is all you know?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

"…Yes, my liege."

I stared at him, unblinking. He flinched. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," he added quickly, voice trembling.

"They feared me," I muttered, "yet they still fought. Not one fled. They knew they would die. Yet they stood their ground. What drives them to do this? What do they have… that my followers did not?"

"I… I do not know," Hrymo admitted, his head bowed low. "Forgive me."

I leaned back, resting my chin in one hand. My eyes scanned the room again, this time more slowly.

Among the corpses, a faint light flickered. I reached out.

It floated toward me—a scrap of cloth, folded and dirtied with blood. When I opened it, I found words stitched into its surface.

A letter.

A plea.

A request for aid.

"Help us!Everyone is dying! We secured the hostages! Sir Lars is dead! A strong unknown monster is killing everyone!"

Even in death… they called out to others.

Farther down the cave, I heard the soft thud of approaching footsteps. New intruders. Reinforcements.

I smiled.

An idea took root.

"Hrymo," I said, not turning toward him. "I will be gone for several days. You will command in my absence."

He looked up, startled. "My liege… where will you go?"

"I will become one of them," I said with amusement. "I will take on human form. I will walk among them. I will learn their secrets myself."

"That is dangerous, Your Majesty," he warned, eyes wide.

"Dangerous?" I repeated coldly, turning toward him with a stare sharp enough to pierce stone.

He swallowed hard.

"M-My apologies! I meant no offense! You are the strongest in all creation!"

"You may leave."

He vanished instantly. Were he not useful, I would have erased him.

I stood and approached one of the bodies—a child, no older than ten. One of the captives. His face was twisted in pain, but his features were soft, innocent.

I mimicked him.

My form shrank. My armor vanished. My flesh paled. Blood stained my cheeks and hands. My hair shifted into strands of silver mixed with ashen grey. My eyes remained slightly red—deliberately—just enough to pass as trauma, not divinity.

I walked to a nearby crystal and studied my reflection.

A small boy.

Trembling.

Covered in blood.

Terrified.

Perfect.

The footsteps were near now—dozens of them. Adventurers, no doubt, responded to the earlier call for help.

I dropped to my knees beside the corpses and clutched my head in my small hands. I began to tremble violently, shoulders shaking, breath short and rapid.

To them, I would be a survivor.
A lone child surrounded by death.
Harmless.
Lost.
In need of protection.

They would take me in.

They would show me their world.

And I would see—
—I would finally learn what made humans so terrifying… in their weakness.

A slow smile crept across my lips as I began to sob.

The stage was set.

…

As I lay motionless among the corpses—bodies twisted, their hands still clinging to their heads in terror—I heard footsteps echo through the cavern.

Humans.

A group had arrived at last. At the front was a woman with chestnut-colored hair, donned in armor similar to the man I had slain first.

She froze the moment her eyes landed on the carnage.

Her sword slipped from her trembling hand, clattering uselessly to the stone floor. She dropped to her knees and began to weep. Loud, ugly sobs filled the cavern—echoing off the bloodstained walls. The others behind her couldn't even look. They stood stiffly, fists clenched, shaking—not in fear, but in a rageful grief.

Pitiful.

Why do they cry for the weak? For those who cannot defend themselves?

What purpose does such sorrow serve?

Among them was a man who seemed out of place—a noble, perhaps. His armor was pristine, untouched by battle. The gold trimming glinted even in the low light. His blonde hair was curled slightly, and his plump face bore the kind of arrogance only wealth could breed. I didn't know why, but something about him irritated me deeply.

He saw me first.

"There's a survivor!" he shouted, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. The woman stopped crying. All eyes turned to me—broken, bloodied, but breathing.

The noble barked a command, and one of the knights stepped forward cautiously. Our eyes met. He hesitated, then gently lifted me into his arms. I didn't struggle. I remained quiet, my gaze vacant. Let them think I was just a frightened child who had lived through a massacre.

Let them pity me.

The woman rushed toward me and embraced me tightly, as if to shield me from what had already passed. My eyes widened slightly. There it was again—that feeling. That warmth. That strange, unfamiliar sensation that curled inside me like smoke. I didn't understand it.

Then the noble approached. He leaned in, eyeing me as though I were some curious beast in a cage.

"How did you survive, child?" he asked, his voice rich with suspicion.

I didn't answer. I only stared into his eyes—empty, unblinking, lifeless.

"Sire Cruid," the woman interrupted, her voice trembling. "Please, spare the child your questions. He's traumatized. He must've seen them all die in front of him."

"Tch," Cruid scoffed, clearly annoyed. "No matter. I have the ability to view the past few minutes of a person's life… simply by touching their hand."

My body stiffened.

So… this one could see through time? A memory-user?

Interesting.

But also dangerous.

My head, still resting on the woman's shoulder, slowly turned to him. I smiled—not the smile of a grateful child, but the slow, curling grin of something ancient and foul.

While her arms were still wrapped protectively around me, I gently pulled myself away and began walking toward him, step by slow step.

Only the two of us could move now.

The rest of them—the woman, the knights, the corpses—were frozen in time.

I had already activated my ****** ********, halting everything but my own movements and his.

"Tsk… tsk… tsk… Such a troublesome ability. I cannot allow that to exist."

His face contorted with fear. He saw me for what I truly was. The illusion faded. My real form bled through the disguise. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. His fingers twitched—but even that I had taken from him moments before I froze time.

I had cursed him.

A curse that severed all ability to speak, write, or relay memory.

He fell to the ground, drooling, trembling in his own filth. Paralyzed in mind and body. Just another pathetic creature who had overstepped.

And I?

I watched, amused.

How fragile these humans were.

I returned to the form of the trembling child—the innocent mask they so desperately wanted to believe in. I stepped back into the woman's embrace, letting her wrap her arms around me once more.

And as I smiled sweetly up at her, my eyes gleamed—red and hungry, like a demon quietly savoring its feast.

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