I slithered through the War Academy's corridors, my nine golden tendrils carrying me with fluid grace. Students pressed themselves against walls as I passed, their expressions a mixture of reverence and terror. The whispers followed me like shadows.

"There goes Widow."

"Dragon Slayer."

"Professor-killer."

Since Vardin's visit three days ago, I'd abandoned my humanoid chassis completely. What purpose did that pretense serve now? I understood my nature. I was not human, not even monster, but something far older. The revelation had freed me from maintaining appearances.

Strangely, the students seemed more at ease with this authentic form. Perhaps the war frame felt more honest to them; after all, they'd all witnessed the footage of my battle with the Platinum Dragon, broadcast throughout the Academy. They knew what I truly was, even if they didn't understand it.

I paused at an intersection, extending a tendril to touch the wall for balance. With a thought, I summoned my status screen. The familiar blue box materialized before me, its glow illuminating the stone corridor.

Name: Vardiel

Level: 41

Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER]

Gender: N/A

Age: 1

Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath, Dragon Slayer 2, Fugitive, Magistricide

Strength: 103

Endurance: 104

Dexterity: 109

Intelligence: 101

Wisdom: 93

Attributes: Ancestor Might (Descendants: 44), Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style Swordsmanship, Weath Defense, Enchantment, Titan Slaying Style

Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight C, Language Comprehension S, Assembly A, Analyze B, Depository C, Mana Manipulation B, Blade Skill D, Brace E, Momentum Redirection D, Mana Shell C

My gaze lingered on the new titles. Dragon Slayer 2 had replaced my previous Dragon Slayer title after killing the Platinum Dragon. The description read:

Dragon Slayer 2

You have fought two vicious dragons and not only survived, but defeated both. This deed marks you as a legend. Gain +10 in Strength, Endurance, and Dexterity. You also do increased damage against all dragons.

Below it sat Magistricide.

Magistricide

You have slain your teacher. The teaching profession is hard enough as is; you have made it even more difficult.

The System's attempt at humor felt jarringly inappropriate. I dismissed it and examined my attributes.

The numbers had soared past my previous limitations. Most exceeded one hundred, largely thanks to my mechanical children enhancing my Ancestor Might attribute. I'd discovered the upper limit was forty-four constructs; beyond that, the mana drain to maintain them became unsustainable.

Perhaps advancing my Brace enchantment skill would allow for more connections. It was something to consider.

I scrolled through my combat abilities, noting significant improvements. Blade Skill had reached Rank B. Momentum Redirection had proven invaluable against the dragon, rising to Rank C. And Mana Shell, though still challenging to master, had progressed to Rank D.

That last one deserved particular attention. Watching Annes pierce the Platinum Dragon's hide with her mana-enhanced blade had demonstrated its potential. With sufficient mastery, I could coat my tendrils in destructive energy, transforming already formidable weapons into something truly devastating.

I closed the status screen and continued down the corridor toward the eastern courtyard where Genta and the others waited. They'd adapted quickly to my new appearance, asking practical questions about my capabilities rather than dwelling on philosophical implications.

True friends. Perhaps the most valuable discovery I'd made at this Academy.

I paused at the courtyard entrance, watching my friends through the archway. Genta gestured wildly as she spoke with Loland, who crossed his arms and shook his copper-scaled head. Annes and Copelan were practicing their swordplay, while Eyarna tended to her enchanted bracers. Sven, Patter, and Yulios were playing a game of cards on a nearby bench. They hadn't noticed me yet.

When I had revealed my meeting with Vardin three days ago, their reactions had been... complicated. Most balked at first, their expressions shifting from disbelief to confusion to something approaching fear.

Copelan had been the most skeptical. "A god?" he'd sputtered, his noble upbringing evident in his horrified expression. "Visited you? And claimed the System, the divine System, was created to limit humanity?" The very suggestion bordered on blasphemy in his aristocratic worldview.

Yet Copelan's analytical mind eventually turned on itself. His skepticism became the target of his own doubt. During our second discussion, he'd admitted, "Perhaps my resistance comes more from my father's teachings than from reason." He'd seen firsthand how the System categorized and restricted growth, how it funneled people into predetermined paths. The evidence contradicted his upbringing.

My other friends worried less about theological implications and more about what my identity meant. The revelation that I predated the gods themselves had struck them silent.

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Genta had recovered first, her yellow eyes wide with wonder. "You're one of the Twelve Ancestors," she'd whispered, clutching her hands to her chest. "The ones who made us."

"Stop spouting nonsense," Loland had snapped, his copper scales flashing as he turned away. "The Twelve Ancestors are divine beings who watch over us, not... not..." He'd gestured vaguely at my mechanical form.

Genta had persisted. "But it makes sense! The legends say the human gods usurped the Ancestors' power. What if the Ancestors were these Primordials? What if they created us before they were killed?"

Their argument had continued for hours, with neither willing to concede. I understood Loland's resistance. How could he accept that one of his divine creators stood before him, broken and diminished, wearing machinery instead of glory?

I found myself uncertain as well. Vardin's memories confirmed the Primordials created monsters to defend their lairs during the Age of Primordials. But intelligent monsters like Genta and Loland? Their peoples emerged thousands of years after the Primordials fell. Perhaps they evolved from those original creations, gaining sapience and culture over millennia.

Or perhaps there was another explanation. The Primordials' mantles passed to the gods who slew them. What if those mantles carried the instinct to create? What if the gods, consciously or not, continued the Primordials' work of creation?

I stepped into the courtyard, and the conversation halted. My friends turned toward me, their expressions a mixture of awe, uncertainty, and something else: determination. Whatever I was, whoever I had been, they had fought beside me. We had faced death together in those deep tunnels.

And that, I was beginning to understand, meant more than any ancient history.

Annes grinned as I approached, the nine golden tendrils carrying my mechanical form across the courtyard stones.

"Look who's here! Our resident god has arrived," she called out, drawing everyone's attention.

I released a mechanical sigh, the sound emanating from somewhere within my chassis. I'm not a god, Annes. Just a primeval horror with borrowed human memories. There's a difference.

"My mistake," she replied with a theatrical bow. "Primeval horror it is."

Despite her teasing, I detected no malice in her voice. If anything, our shared ordeal in the deep tunnels had strengthened our bond. Death had a way of stripping away pretense.

Genta bounded over, her yellow eyes bright with excitement. "Vardiel! Two more intelligent monsters were admitted to the Academy yesterday! A minotaur and a harpy. Both are non-combat students, but they seem nice."

Have you invited them to Gutter House? I asked, genuinely curious. Our little group had been growing steadily since our return from the Hellzone.

Genta's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Not yet. I'm still investigating them, but they seem like a good fit." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "The harpy knows three languages already, and the minotaur is studying alchemy."

From what I'd heard around the Academy, the Gutter House movement was gaining momentum. What had begun as an informal club of low-rankers was evolving into something that resembled a true Chapter House. Students from all ranks had begun seeking us out, drawn by our reputation after the tournament and Hellzone incident.

I turned to Annes, my primary tendril gesturing toward the practice dummies at the far end of the courtyard. "How is everyone's training progressing?"

Since my rank had increased so dramatically, I'd stopped joining my friends on their Hellzone expeditions. With my higher level, I only leeched experience from them during group hunts, an arrangement that benefited no one. Instead, I ventured into the deeper levels alone, testing my new capabilities against more formidable opponents.

Annes sheathed her practice sword, wiping sweat from her brow. "It's going well. I just reached level twenty-eight yesterday." She nodded toward Loland and Genta. "I'll catch those two soon enough. They're both thirty-one now, the overachievers."

"Don't be jealous just because my ice spells took down that Cave Scorpion faster than your sword," Genta teased, flicking a tiny snowflake toward Annes with her finger.

"Everyone else is in the mid to high twenties," Annes continued, ignoring Genta's provocation. "Pretty good progress, all things considered."

"Copelan hit twenty-four last night," Patter added from her bench. "That new sword you made him works wonders."

I surveyed my friends with something approaching pride. Their growth had been remarkable; not just in levels, but in skill and confidence. What Professor Shawe had tried to stifle, they had nurtured in each other.

Your hard work is definitely paying off, I told them. All of you have come so far.

And they had. From frightened C-rank students ashamed of their talents to confident warriors who had faced down horrors few Academy graduates would ever encounter. Whatever came next, whether threats from the gods themselves or merely the Academy's final examinations, I knew they would face it with the same determination that had carried them through the darkness.

I was still considering our next training session when the courtyard gate swung open. Casper the Manslayer strode in, his scarred face grim beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. Despite his advancing years, he moved with the fluid grace of a predator, his hand never straying far from the greatsword at his hip.

The students immediately straightened, conversations dying mid-sentence. Since Shawe's death, Casper had taken over as lead combat instructor for our class, and his reputation commanded instant respect.

His eyes found me among the group. "Widow," he called, then corrected himself. "Vardiel. The Headmaster has summoned you to his office immediately."

A ripple of unease passed through my friends. Summoning anyone to the Headmaster's office rarely heralded good news.

Did he mention why? I asked through Mind Speech, my mechanical form remaining perfectly still.

"No," Casper replied simply. "But I wouldn't keep him waiting."

I extended a tendril toward my friends in a gesture of farewell. I'll return shortly. Please continue with your exercises.

"Want us to come with you?" Annes asked, her hand already reaching for her sword.

No, that shouldn't be necessary, I replied, though her offer touched something deep within me. The Headmaster likely wishes to discuss my advancement or perhaps another assessment.

I followed Casper through the Academy's winding corridors, my tendrils carrying me with silent efficiency. We climbed the central tower's spiraling staircase, passing elaborate tapestries depicting ancient battles. Many featured Kaldos, the God of War, leading armies against monstrous foes.

The irony wasn't lost on me. If Vardin spoke true, those "monsters" were likely Primordial creations. My creations, in a past life I didn't remembered.

Casper knocked once on the heavy oak door at the top of the tower, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

Headmaster Reins's office was surprisingly austere for a man of his stature. A simple desk dominated the circular room, flanked by weapon racks and bookshelves. Maps of various Hellzones covered one wall, while the opposite featured a massive window overlooking the Academy grounds.

Reins stood behind his desk, his white hair and beard immaculately groomed, his gold-lined white armor gleaming in the afternoon light. He smiled as we entered, but something about his expression seemed wrong. His eyes held a feverish intensity I hadn't noticed during our previous encounters.

"Ah, Vardiel," he said, using my chosen name with unusual deference. "Thank you for coming so promptly. How are you finding your studies since your... advancement?"

I am well, Headmaster, I replied cautiously. May I ask why you've summoned me?

His smile widened, revealing too many teeth. "Of course, of course. You see, a very important individual has expressed interest in meeting you. Your defeat of the Platinum Dragon has attracted significant attention."

Before I could inquire further, a blinding red light erupted from the corner of the room. The air itself seemed to tear open, revealing a swirling crimson portal. The temperature in the office rose dramatically, and I detected the distinct scent of ash and molten metal.

Two figures emerged from the portal. The first was a tall human in obsidian plate armor, his face impassive beneath his helmet. A Black Knight, level 100, my Analyze ability revealed. But it was the second figure that commanded my complete attention.

He stood at least ten feet tall, his massive frame radiating power that made the air around him shimmer with heat. At first glance, I thought he wore elaborate red armor, but as he stepped fully into the room, I realized the truth. His entire body was encased in a crimson carapace, like that of a massive crab or beetle. The chitinous shell covered every inch of him, even his face, forming a natural armor more impressive than any forged by human hands.

Long black hair cascaded down his massive shoulders, and an equally dark beard flowed over his barrel chest. His eyes were completely black, lacking any visible iris or sclera, and they fixed on me with unnerving intensity.

He wore only a golden kilt studded with rubies, the craftsmanship so fine it could only be divine in origin.

Both Reins and Casper immediately dropped to one knee, heads bowed in reverence.

I activated Analyze, focusing on the towering figure. To my surprise, only his name appeared:

Kaldos, God of War and Change

My mechanical body remained perfectly still, but internally, I felt something I hadn't experienced since awakening in the Hellzone.

Complete and utter fear.

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