I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

What loomed before Burning Storm defied nature itself—a twisted aberration that haunted the line between magnificence and monstrosity.

From talons upward, its body wore obsidian like a second skin—black as charred bone, gleaming with the luster of polished jet. Its scaled legs, corded with raw power, ended in claws curved like harvesting sickles, carving deep wounds into the earth with each step. Shadows clung to the midnight of its limbs like desperate lovers, as though the ground itself dared not reflect such darkness.

Above the talons, however, the beast transformed into a specter of feathers and flesh.

The remainder of its body wore pearlescent white, not soft or inviting, but cold and dangerous—like frost crystallized over ancient armor. Its feathers caught the moonlight in ripples of silver as it moved, fluid yet precise. The ridges of its scaled chest expanded with each breath, glinting like ivory daggers beneath a sheath of coiled muscle.

Massive wings unfurled like celestial banners torn from the sky itself—pristine white near the spine, but dissolving to soot-black at the edges, as if flames had licked their tips and left behind permanent scars.

Its head crowned the creature in grotesque splendor. A rooster’s crest, jagged and regal, jutted forth in shades of frostbitten alabaster. White wattles hung from its beak like battle standards, unmarred save for the venom’s breath that shimmered like morning dew in the cold air. Its eyes, calculating and ancient, pierced the darkness with silver fire—aware and unnervingly intelligent.

Paragon Raizel watched without surprise, his face a mask of cool appraisal. This man, despite his youth, bore the unmistakable mark of their kind.

For this was the full manifestation of a Paragon.

Being a Paragon means knowing the true form of your essence—a connection so profound it bridges you closer to your soul source than ever before.

This sacred knowledge reawakens the hereditary traits and celestial characteristics of constellations, weaving them back into the tapestry of existence.

For Paragons, Essence Manifestation simply meant assuming the true form of your essence. It transcends metaphor—becoming physical, tangible, real. You transform into a walking embodiment of pure essence.

Monsters followed different rules, yet the fundamental principles remained surprisingly similar.

Essence Manifestation begins with your essence’s relationship to your environment, but the journey starts within. Your essence recognizes you as part of that environment—the first territory it must claim.

Only after it has bonded with you, reshaping your very being to conform to its nature, does it reach outward to affect your surroundings, imprinting your will upon reality itself.

Though Paragon Raizel had believed this phenomenon belonged exclusively to Luminaries, he’d been puzzling over what truly defined a Luminary and the heights of power such beings might reach.

The clash between the Abyssal Belial and one of Ral’s summons had illuminated the path to his conclusion.

Monsters existed as natural embodiments of essence—they required no grotesque transformation to transcend humanity because they had never been human. Their otherworldly nature granted them the freedom to bypass the first stage, allowing them to immediately subjugate their surroundings with raw will.

This revelation had kindled Burning Storm’s desire to ascend to Luminary status into a roaring flame.

Now that the young soldier had manifested his essence, the weight of his will would press upon reality with terrible force. Paragon Raizel understood the need for caution.

Still, he recognized the soldier’s actions as desperate recklessness. Essence Manifestation would devour his reserves like a starving beast. More importantly, Raizel remained confident he could defeat the young soldier without resorting to manifesting his own essence.

“Thinking you can take me down with Essence Manifestation is one hell of a bold move.”

The white cockatrice loomed above, its presence electric. Despite this otherworldly form, the young soldier’s voice remained recognizable—though now laced with an unsettling grit, like words scraped across stone.

“You are full of yourself, Burning Storm. You don’t even know what I embody.”

“Boy… you are a cock.”

The young soldier’s beak parted in a savage snarl, rage rippling through his transformed body.

“How dare you?!”

A growl tore from his throat as he lunged forward, taking mountain-crushing strides toward the Paragon. White sparks danced around his form like angry stars, trailing behind him as he moved—a deadly blur of motion. Both obsidian talons crashed into the earth where Raizel had stood moments before.

Paragon Raizel twisted away, his body spinning out of danger by a hair’s breadth. His eyes narrowed at the deep gorges left behind—cold lacerations torn into the earth as though reality itself had been wounded.

The Cockatrice was powerful, no doubt.

Raizel extended the twin swords in his hands, swinging them in sharp, precise patterns—testing the weight of his limbs. Then he vanished forward, becoming nothing but intent and motion.

The cockatrice now gleamed with silvery armor that seemed harvested from moonlight itself—a luminous second skin shimmering across its entire form.

Its tail bore partial plating—silver scales interwoven with armor rings that sang like distant bells with each sweeping movement.

Gauntlets encased its deadly talons, each claw enhanced with silver blades grafted onto every toe, transforming natural weapons into engineered destruction.

Even its face bore the touch of martial craft—a grim helm that honored rather than obscured its primal rooster visage. A crown of silver arced backward over its skull, sweeping behind the comb like frozen flames caught in metal, its edges jagged and thirsting for blood.

The young soldier unfurled his massive wings with a thunderous crack, unleashing a cyclone that tore through the air with hurricane force.

The howling maelstrom buffeted Paragon Raizel, disrupting his forward momentum—yet his twin swords cut through the tempest with stubborn determination, hurling a devastating arc of force that cleaved the very wind itself.

Metal shrieked against metal as the armored wings intercepted both blades in rapid succession, each impact ringing out with a guttural, metallic scream that echoed across the estate.

The ground beneath them surrendered to their power, fracturing in violent spider-web patterns as deep fissures sliced into the foundation of the earth. Paragon Raizel felt his cutting force scatter and dissipate against the unyielding armor, the energy rippling outward in waves of destructive potential.

Around them, structures buckled under invisible pressure. Buildings didn’t merely suffer damage—they were bisected with surgical precision, as though reality itself had become a blade. Chunks of stone and timber separated along impossible lines, not from the cyclonic wind, but as if the fundamental laws of nature had momentarily rewritten themselves.

The world responded with a soul-wrenching groan that vibrated through bone and sinew—a primal sound suggesting the very fabric of existence might tear apart at the seams.

Their surroundings bore witness to the clash, marked as if some colossal titan had dragged an immeasurable sword across the estate. Ancient roots snapped, walls collapsed, and windows exploded into glittering shards—all casualties of a confrontation that had barely begun.

And Burning Storm had not even unleashed his Essence Manifestation.

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