The information Eobard had gleaned from the brief, terrifying encounter in Central Park had been a double-edged sword. Knowledge was power, yes, but this knowledge painted a picture of utter desperation. Five continents had been consumed. Not just devastated, but eaten by the accelerating tide of mutated life.
Europe, Africa, Australia, South America… gone, swallowed by horrors that had evolved beyond anything New York had yet seen. Only the American and Asian continents remained, bastions of a dying humanity, each now a fragmented collection of no more than 200 cities. New York, once a beacon of civilization, was merely one precarious island in a vast, mutant-infested ocean. The scale of the catastrophe, whispered now through desperate, unreliable channels, was mind-numbing. It wasn't a "slow decay"; it was a relentless, accelerating extinction event.
This grim truth fueled Eobard's frantic drive to understand, to control. The Primal Hunger was a constant, low thrum beneath his skin, no longer a desperate roar, but a persistent, almost seductive whisper for more Qi, more power. He wrestled with it daily, an internal tug-of-war between instinct and intellect. He spent hours in the cramped apartment, after his family had drifted into restless sleep, pushing his Blood Barbarian Body to its limits. He learned that focusing his intent, consciously channeling the Qi he absorbed, could stabilize his transformations. He could now make his skin harden to a near-impenetrable density, or his muscles knot with explosive force, without fully shifting into the monstrous form that still terrified his mother. Reverting to his normal appearance, though still taxing, was becoming less painful, less jarring. Each small victory was a hard-won battle against his own biology.
He began to classify the types of mutated animals he encountered on his scavenging runs: the 'scavs,' like the giant rats and pigeons, weak and opportunistic; the 'hunters,' like the multi-eyed spider-creature, predatory and agile; and the terrifying 'behemoths,' unseen but often heard, whose roars vibrated through the very foundations of the city. He hypothesized about their Qi signatures, their potential weaknesses, how their mutations were dictated by the realms they emerged from. His notebook, once filled with physics equations, now contained crude diagrams of mutated anatomies and notes on Qi resonance.
The Demon Crystal Cores were his currency, his fuel. He learned that the larger the core, the purer the Qi. The purest, most potent cores pulsed with a faint inner light, radiating warmth. He found that by holding them, by focusing, he could draw the Qi from them, feeling it integrate into his own being, strengthening his internal circulation. He could feel his nascent power growing, the energy within him thickening, becoming more substantial. He didn't know if he was progressing through the stages – Novice to Bronze, Bronze to Silver – but he felt the undeniable ascent. The Primal Hunger, while ever-present, became less of an uncontrolled urge and more of a guiding compass, pointing him towards untapped sources of power.
Their immediate block became a tenuous stronghold. Eobard's ferocity and uncanny ability to dispatch any mutated threat that ventured too close, combined with his surprising capacity for a measured calmness, made him a de facto protector. Other Novices and weakly awakened individuals from neighboring apartments looked to him, their gratitude mixed with palpable fear of his silent power. He didn't seek leadership, but it settled on his shoulders, a heavy cloak woven from desperate hope. He distributed the food he found, ensuring his family ate, but also shared sparingly with their closest neighbors, fostering a fragile sense of community in their immediate quadrant.
His explorations grew bolder. The need for stronger cores, for information, pushed him. The Central Park realm, while dangerous, was becoming predictable. He needed a new source, a new challenge. He heard whispers, rumors exchanged between frightened survivors, of a realm that had settled over the Financial District, a place once teeming with life and steel, now rumored to be a vast, oppressive canyon of dark, crystalline growths. It was said to be far more dangerous than Central Park, but also richer in unique cores and strange, ancient artifacts.
The journey south was a nightmare gauntlet. Manhattan was a fractured landscape. Entire blocks had simply ceased to exist, swallowed by expanding realm-zones or flattened by migrating behemoths. Skyscrapers stood as skeletal ruins, their windows shattered, their facades scarred by claw marks and strange, phosphorescent growths. The deeper he went, the more mutated beasts he encountered – not just the common scavs, but grotesque hybrids, some resembling armored tanks, others capable of scaling sheer walls with terrifying speed. He fought only when necessary, relying on his speed, his cunning, and the raw, unrefined power of his Blood Barbarian form. He moved like a ghost, a predator in a world of monsters, driven by the faces of his mother and brothers.
He glimpsed other organized groups. A 'pack' of six Bronze Gene Demon Slayers with crude tattoos of a snarling wolf, moving with brutal efficiency through a shattered Midtown street, executing any mutated creature they found and seizing any usable resources. They moved with a chilling synchronization, their elemental powers – crude bursts of lightning and stone – complementing their physical prowess. They were focused, ruthless. Eobard avoided them, recognizing the territoriality, the 'strength is power' mantra distilled into violent action. He saw how they treated Novices – as expendable shields or targets for casual cruelty. A cold fury burned in his gut, hardening his resolve. This was what happened when power ran rampant, unguided.
He saw the effects of higher-stage cultivation too, though from a distance. Once, from atop a ruined skyscraper, he watched a blur of motion through the shimmering heat haze over what used to be the Garment District. A figure, radiating an aura of intense heat, moved with incredible speed, leaving scorched earth in their wake as they obliterated a grotesque, multi-limbed creature that defied description. The sheer force of the blow sent a shockwave through the air. That, Eobard knew, was likely a Golden Gene Demon Slayer, perhaps even higher. Their control was absolute, their power devastating. A target, a benchmark. He needed that level of strength.
The Financial District realm was a monument to the surreal. What had once been a forest of glass and steel had transformed into a titanic crystalline canyon. The buildings, instead of crumbling, had fused with enormous, jagged black crystals that pulsed with faint, internal light. The air was colder here, denser with Qi, humming with a deep, resonant hum that vibrated in Eobard's bones. The oppressive dark feeling was overwhelming, a palpable weight that settled on his soul. This realm felt ancient, malevolent.
He entered through a gaping fissure where a soaring skyscraper once stood. The interior was a maze of echoing chasms, light filtering down through crystalline formations that refracted it into eerie, alien colors. The ground was composed of razor-sharp shards, making every step treacherous. The mutated creatures here were unlike anything he'd seen. They were not merely mutated animals; they were Qi-infused constructs, beings of pure spiritual energy given form, often resembling grotesque gargoyles of obsidian crystal, or shifting masses of shadow with glowing red eyes. They were faster, more resilient, and radiated a pure malice that felt directed, almost intelligent.
His Primal Hunger surged, not just from the ambient Qi, but from the raw potency of these creatures. They were living batteries of concentrated spiritual energy. His Blood Barbarian Body thrummed, almost vibrating with anticipation, urging him to consume. He felt the terrifying pull, the instinct to simply rend and absorb. He had to consciously fight it, to maintain control, to approach strategically.
He narrowly escaped a pack of crystalline hounds, their barks like shattering glass, by forcing a surge of Qi to supercharge his leg muscles, propelling him in a single, impossible leap across a chasm that was dozens of feet wide. He learned to conserve energy, to only engage when necessary, to find the weak points in these Qi-infused beasts by instinctively reading their energy flow – an analytical talent now supercharged by his new senses.
Deep within the crystalline canyons, he found a structure that defied logic. It was a ruin, clearly ancient, yet seemingly made of the same dark, luminous crystal as the realm itself. It looked like a forgotten temple, its walls etched with glowing glyphs that resonated with ancient power. This was it. This was why he had come.
He entered cautiously, his senses screaming caution. The air inside was stiller, colder, yet vibrated with an incredible concentration of Qi. Strange, bioluminescent plants grew from the cracks in the crystalline floor, casting an eerie glow. In the center of the largest chamber, on a raised pedestal, rested something that made Eobard's Blood Barbarian senses sing: a Demon Crystal Core unlike any he had seen. It was the size of his fist, perfectly spherical, and glowed with a deep, pulsating violet light. Its aura was intoxicating, promising unimaginable power. This was clearly a Peak Golden Gene Demon Slayer level core, perhaps even higher.
But it was not unguarded
From the shadows, a massive creature detached itself. It was a being of pure shadow and jagged crystal, resembling a corrupted gargoyle from some forgotten nightmare. Its eyes burned with malevolent yellow light, and its roar, when it came, seemed to rip the very fabric of the realm, vibrating through Eobard's bones. This was a Realm Guardian, a being born of the realm's core energy, likely a Platinum Gene Demon Slayer equivalent, if not higher. Eobard's analytical mind screamed for retreat, but the Primal Hunger in his gut, confronted with such an immense source of Qi, became an unbearable roar.
There was no thought now, only instinct. Eobard charged, his body transforming, muscles bulging, skin hardening, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity. He met the Realm Guardian head-on, a desperate clash of ancient powers. He traded blows with the creature, his immense strength tearing at its crystalline hide, while its shadow-claws ripped through his hardened skin, drawing dark, newly formed blood. He was learning at an accelerated pace, his mind instantly analyzing the Guardian's attack patterns, its Qi flow, its vulnerabilities, even as his body fought with a primal fury. He used his unique ability to sense Qi, finding the unstable points in its crystalline form, striking with brutal precision.
The battle was a whirlwind of shattering crystal, roaring power, and desperate pain. Eobard was pushed to his absolute limit, his Blood Barbarian form straining, threatening to dissolve from the sheer exertion. But the lure of the violet core, the promise of power, of survival for his family, pushed him past the breaking point. With a final, monstrous surge of power, he found an opening, a flicker in the Guardian's Qi flow, and plunged his hardened fist deep into its chest, directly into its crystalline heart.
The Guardian exploded in a shower of dark crystal shards and dissipating shadow, leaving behind only a lingering chill and the intense aura of the violet core. Eobard stood panting, bloodied, trembling, but triumphant. The Primal Hunger was sated, overflowing. He felt an undeniable surge of strength, a profound internal shift. He had broken through. He wasn't just a Novice or a Bronze anymore. He hadn't hit Silver, but he was undeniably pushing towards it, his unique lineage accelerating his progress.
He seized the violet Demon Crystal Core. It hummed in his hand, radiating raw power. This was enough to sustain his family for months, to accelerate his own cultivation exponentially. He also found something else near the pedestal: a small, intricately carved crystalline tablet, glowing with faint glyphs that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the realm. It wasn't paper, it wasn't tech. It was ancient, pure Qi. He couldn't decipher it yet, but he knew, instinctively, that it contained knowledge, perhaps even cultivation techniques from the ancient past.
As he emerged from the crystalline labyrinth back into the broken streets of the Financial District, Eobard looked back at the realm, then up at the darkening New York sky, now filled with the distant, swirling maelstrom of other secret realms. The journey had been harrowing, but he had gained what he sought: sustenance, immense power, and a vital piece of ancient knowledge. He was stronger now, a more refined weapon.
But the silence in the ravaged city, broken only by the mournful wind and the distant roars of unseen horrors, echoed the grim reality. Two continents. Two hundred cities. Humanity was dwindling, cornered. The decay was accelerating. His family, his city, his dying species. He had to master this power, decipher this knowledge. He wouldn't just survive; he would fight. And perhaps, one day, he would teach. The seed of the academy, fueled by his desperate fight and new understanding, took deeper root in his heart.