Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 104: Preparation 2 (Flashback)

Chapter 104: Preparation 2 (Flashback)

Alex and Nyxara froze.

The same thought echoed in both their minds, sharp and disbelieving:

Did I hear that right...?

A demi-god rank weapon?

It didn’t make sense.

Not in the world they knew.

In today’s era, Legend-rank weapons stood as the absolute pinnacle—beings in their own right, weapons so powerful they altered the course of battle. These relics weren’t crafted by the blacksmiths of the world, but they were given to the higher clans by their respective gods.

So how...

How could a demi-god rank weapon exist in silence?

Alex’s thoughts reeled, fragmented like shattered glass.

A demi-god weapon wasn’t just rare—it was impossible.

The gap between ranks wasn’t a slope—it was a cliff. Even the jump from Legend to Mystic was a cosmic leap, like trying to turn mortal flesh into starlight. But demi-god?

The weapon ranks more as a myth.

His mother’s voice returned, steady and sharp, slicing through the fog of disbelief.

"I’m sure you’re confused. You might even think I’m lying."

Her face remained unchanged on the screen—calm, confident, as though the impossible was simply another fact in her ledger of secrets.

"But it’s the truth."

Alex felt his throat tighten.

"In fact... you’ve already seen it."

A breath caught in his chest.

"You’ve held it."

Silence.

His brow furrowed.

Held it?

No—that wasn’t possible.

He would have remembered... wouldn’t he?

Only one weapon came to mind—the spear his father wielded. A monstrous, awe-inspiring thing of thunder-forged might. Even brushing against it as a child had made his skin crawl and his mana lurch in protest. That had been Legend-ranked—no question. He’d felt it with every cell in his body.

If something existed beyond that...

He would have known—

Then—

The realization hit like a crashing wave.

His eyes widened.

A memory flickered.

His head snapped up toward the screen.

And in perfect, haunting synchronicity, her voice echoed again—timed like fate:

"Yes."

Her lips curved into a subtle smile.

"That’s the demi-god rank weapon."

"The shapeshifting relic..."

"...Trophos."

The name echoed through the chamber like a whispered spell.

Alex’s spine tensed.

"Trophos is a shapeshifting weapon," she continued, her voice darkening with the weight of truth. "It adapts its form according to its wielder’s intent and style."

Shapeshifting... that part did sound familiar.

But before he could speak, her next words hit like a thunderclap to the soul:

"It was the weapon the Thunder God used during his ascent."

Alex’s heart stopped cold.

He blinked.

Used... during his ascent?

That didn’t align. The Thunder God—like the other Higher Gods—was divine from the beginning... right?

That’s what the records said. That’s what the clans taught.

And yet... he knew better. It was already common knowledge that the thunder god was once a lesser god—one who clawed his way up the ranks to become a higher god, but he was still a god to begin with.

It unraveled something in him.

His mother’s voice met him again, gentle but undeniable:

"Yes, Alex. Just as you’re thinking, not all gods were born gods. In fact..."

She looked straight into the lens—straight at him.

"...none of the Higher Gods were."

She let the words linger like a blade pressed to the skin.

"They ascended.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was heavy, like the pause after a funeral prayer.

But the screen wasn’t finished.

"Now, back to our topic," she said, regathering her tone. "When the Thunder God gifted the weapon to your father, it was still at its original rank—Demi-God."

Alex’s gaze sharpened.

But then why...?

"A weapon like that has a mind of its own," she answered, her words precise. "Its will is too strong. Its power... too unfiltered. Not even your father could safely wield it as it was. So the Thunder God placed a divine seal on it—restraining it."

Her expression turned fierce.

"He forced the weapon’s rank to match the bearer’s. That’s why it felt like a Legend-rank weapon to you."

Alex stood motionless, breath shallow.

So that’s what it had been all along... not a powerful relic hidden among other great tools—

—but a sleeping god, muzzled in golden chains.

Then—

A hiss.

A low, mechanical groan split the air.

Alex spun instinctively toward the source—the same wall where the containment pod of the nanosuit had emerged.

Another panel slid open, ancient mechanisms releasing steam in soft exhalations. Runes glowed faintly around its edges before fading away like dying stars.

From the compartment... something rose.

Not quickly.

Deliberately.

Almost reverently.

A weapon—floating.

Balanced, impossibly upright, untouched by any mechanism.

A spear.

The shaft of the weapon was forged from gold with a depth that seemed to rival the core of the sun—not a blinding brilliance, but an ancient glow, as if it had absorbed the very essence of light long before it was born. The surface was alive with intricate etchings, a tapestry of runes that danced and morphed when not under direct scrutiny, shifting their form and meaning, as if they were sentient and responded only to the gaze of the brave who dared to confront them. The blade itself was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship—cruelly beautiful, it evoked both awe and dread. Its serrated edges curved slightly inward, designed not for mere mortals but to cleave through the fabric of the divine. Each contour told a story of elegance fused with menace, promising a dance of destruction that only beings of great power could comprehend. And yet... It radiated nothing.

No pressure. No noise. No glow.

Just a stillness so profound, it made Alex’s skin prickle.

His mana shuddered.

It recoiled—not in fear, but in awe.

Even Nyxara’s hackles raised slightly, her tail curling protectively around her body.

Alex took a breath—and stepped forward.

Not fast.

Each step was slow, careful, like approaching the grave of a god.

The world around him seemed quieter. Thinner.

Even the air bent slightly toward the weapon, as though reality acknowledged its superiority.

His hand twitched.

His eyes never left it.

And one thought consumed him—louder than doubt, louder than revelation:

"What was it doing here?"

The question echoed like a drumbeat in his skull.

And still the spear floated there...

Silent.

Waiting.