I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Suddenly, Northern's eyes opened and his whole body jerked forward.

'Crap! I slept!'

Who sleeps on a battlefield?

Northern covered his face with the palm of his hand and stood up with shaky legs. He leaned on Mortal Blade for a few seconds before straightening his back.

The visage of the battle field was not any less cruel than it had been a few minutes… maybe hours ago, before he slept.

More bodies and the stench of blood filled both the land and the air. Every nook and cranny of the forest was drenched with the wicked slaughter of both sides of the monsters.

It was sickening to see, his stomach churned and almost made him puke, but North swallowed down the disgust and tried to look for the general of his enemy.

Then his eyes came to rest on an unpleasant scene.

Northern frowned, blue pupils shivering at what they saw.

He leaned forward, his face pale. He then hurried forward, scrambling for the ground with each shaky movement of his legs, to the extent that he almost fell.

With effort, he managed to arrive at the scene, before the kneeling hideous monster.

Northern looked at it, a tight frown contorting his facial features.

"No, no, no, no…"

Looking behind the fallen hellion was the lifeless body of the horned muscular creature that had collided with him at the beginning of the battle.

Indeed, his death angel had managed to defeat the enemy's general… but at the cost of its own life…

It was not yet dead, though; It was just weak. But with the gushing blood that spilled from several gashes on its body, it wasn't going to last any more than a few more struggling breaths.

And Northern could tell.

His hand hesitantly moved, hovering above the monster's shoulder… Northern bit his lips and lowered his hand to touch it.

He lowered his head.

Never did he think that a dying monster would evoke so much emotion in him. It wasn't to the degree that he would cry, but it still hurt.

He didn't know why but his chest felt clogged, and fear crawled over his skin, like millions of ants, drowning him.

He struggled to breathe for a few seconds, then began coughing.

His entire surrounding was bathed in blood-soaked battles; their opponents, this time, were strong. It took more than the effort of one soldier to kill one of them.

No one had spare time to look at the falling visage of their comrade.

Northern held on to the shoulder of the monster tightly, its skin felt a bit too rough and hairless, but he didn't care about how it felt to touch a monster right now.

He found himself drifting off in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, a maze of uncertainty and introspection that seemed to stretch endlessly before him.

The weight of his thoughts bore down heavily upon his shoulders, threatening to drown him in a sea of existential dread.

Was this the path he was destined to tread as well?

A life consumed by ceaseless conflict, where the only respite that awaited was the cold embrace of death?

It was a grim prospect, one that gnawed at the fringes of his consciousness like a relentless predator stalking its prey.

The never-ending cycle of violence, the relentless march towards oblivion—what purpose did it all serve?

Were the monstrous adversaries he faced and allied with mere robots, programmed for destruction without a shred of empathy or remorse?

They were monsters, yes, but were they also slaves to their own instincts, devoid of the capacity for introspection?

He pondered these questions, grappling with the unsettling realization that he, too, was teetering on the brink of moral ambiguity.

He had always prided himself on his individuality, on his ability to question the status quo.

And yet, he could feel the insidious tendrils of conformity creeping into his mind, threatening to extinguish the flickering flame of what should be his purpose.

The prospect of battle, once a source of apprehension and trepidation, now stirred something primal within him—a perverse exhilaration at the thought of engaging in mortal combat.

What did it matter what cause he fought for? In the end, the truth remained unchanged: he was being relentlessly drawn into the vortex of mindless violence, his humanity slipping away with each passing day.

But even as he grappled with this grim reality, he could not deny the allure of victory, the intoxicating rush of adrenaline that accompanied the clash of steel and bodies.

It was a seductive siren song, luring him ever closer to the precipice of oblivion.

At the very least, he thought he would get stronger… strong enough to be able to close the rift.

But reality now intruded upon his reverie, shattering his illusions with cruel efficiency.

Even a Tier 1 rift needed more than four walkers to be closed down. And here he was, alone in what could be a Tier IV rift.

It was impossible, he realized with a sinking heart.

There was no escape from this hellish nightmare, no reprieve from the relentless onslaught of the unknown.

Northern closed his eyes tightly as this truth sank deep into his soul.

'What do I do… what do I do… what do I do…?'

"...what do I do?!!" He yelled out to no one in particular.

The fallen hellion in front of him tried to part its mouth and tried to raise its head but could not.

Northern's eyes widened as something struck him belatedly.

'Wait… if I kill him… I will have the last kill and I can gain talents, right?'

The moment he had this thought, he felt disgusted with himself for thinking in such a way.

'Crap! It's just a monster, Northern. Get a grip!'

He opened his hand, summoning the steel dagger. After a couple of seconds, the dagger appeared in his hand.

He rose to his feet, moved closer to his death angel, and hugged it bitterly. Saying, with a deep frown.

"I'm sorry, friend. You fought well."

He slipped the dagger into the monster's belly making sure no other monster could catch a glimpse of it.

<You have killed a Hazard Hellion: Weldermorne>

<You have gained an item>

{You have slain a Hazard Hellion - Weldermorne}

{You have received +4 talent fragments}

For the first time… a kill didn't feel so good.