Killed Me? Now I Have Your Power Chapter 3: Kaden Warborn

Chapter 3 –

Clack—!

The wooden sword smacked against the earth.

The boy gripping it followed suit.

"Argh—!"

Kaden let out a groan upon slamming into the ground, his hand throbbing and turning red from the blow.

"Rise."

The tone was icy. Merciless.

A young woman towered above him—elegant, poised, lethal. At seventeen, her long ebony locks flowed, and her gaze burned like liquid crimson.

Daela Warborn. His elder sister.

The epitome of a Warborn.

She remained motionless, clutching her wooden blade, her stare piercing and devoid of feeling.

"I told you to get up, Kaden."

Kaden, merely ten, clenched his jaw and hauled himself upright. His knees trembled. His hold faltered. Yet he seized the sword once more.

Daela's brow furrowed.

"Why does your frame remain so frail?"

She had posed this question before.

The Warborn lineage was forged for conflict—shaped by strife. Their forms emerged robust and evolved swiftly. Garros. Dain. Daela herself. Each one a beast cloaked in flesh.

Kaden, however?

In their eyes, he seemed delicate.

Superior to ordinary folk, sure—but mediocrity was scorned in this household.

The Warborn forged no ordinaries.

They forged champions.

"Let him be."

A sharp command cut the strain.

The siblings whipped around.

Their mother lingered close, draped in ebony and scarlet silk, her aura majestic and chill like sharpened steel. Her dark orbs gleamed, inscrutable.

Sarena Warborn.

"I instructed you to hold back, Daela."

"Hold back? Mother, I already was," Daela retorted swiftly.

"Then restrain yourself more."

The statement flowed serene, nearly indifferent—yet it held undeniable force.

Daela's face twisted in irritation. "He's a Warborn. We don't do gentle. His physique is feeble enough. He must push twice as fiercely as the rest."

"I push harder." Kaden's words came soft—but edged like a knife.

His scarlet gaze sparked with subdued rage.

"Simply because it falls short of what you demand doesn't mean I'm holding back anything."

"Talking back already?" Daela advanced a step.

However—

"Daela."

A chill raced through her—!

She halted abruptly.

Her eyes darted to Sarena.

Their mother's stare was an abyss. Profound, shadowy, fearsome.

"Do you crave my drills again, Daela?" Sarena inquired gently. "Is that the issue here?"

Daela tsked and pivoted away.

"Tch. I'll go practice."

As she strode off, a pair of ebony blades appeared at her sides. She vanished in silence.

'Tsk, frailty will only lead to death in this realm.' Daela mused inwardly. Her crimson eyes iced over.

Her sole desire was to toughen her sibling.

Sarena released a soft exhale and shifted her attention to Kaden, rooted in the soil.

Tenderness wasn't her way. It never was. But Kaden stood apart.

He entered life amid turmoil, amid frenzy. Born in gore.

She faulted herself for his frailty—believing the savage delivery had marred him. The family sensed it too, yet silence prevailed.

Even so... this was Warborn stock. Frailty found no foothold here.

"Kaden," she uttered. "Rest now. Your tenth birthday arrives tomorrow. That's when your Origin stirs."

She pivoted to depart.

'Please,' she inwardly pleaded. May it prove mighty.

For despite her safeguards... the world offered none. Especially if the whispered Child of Blood proved lackluster.

Kaden observed her retreat.

"I won't disappoint you," he murmured.

...

Inside his chamber, Kaden lingered by the vast pane, limbs folded.

The space sprawled wide—obsidian tiling, blood-red barriers, sparsely furnished. A grand mattress. A plain table. Austere. Barren.

"A decade passed..."

A decade since his rebirth. Since landing in this savage, carnage-drenched realm.

And this realm?

It filled him with dread.

"Damn..."

He raked fingers through his raven tresses, teeth grinding.

This realm—Darklore—divided sharply.

Humanity.

Beasts.

Mortals dwelled in fortresses, governed by mighty houses and battle-hungry groups. Beasts prowled the untamed lands, staking their domains.

Conflicts erupted. Without end.

Mortals sought growth, beasts craved the identical.

The outcome?

Perpetual strife.

"Ridiculous," Kaden grumbled under his breath.

Yet what captivated him deepest—what rendered this realm both horrifying and thrilling—was its essence of strength.

A domain of sorcery.

A domain where entities could shatter space or wield primal forces. And fabled arms.

By age ten, every soul roused an Origin.

That Origin shaped all. It not only charted his ascent to might—it also granted entry to a hidden plane: "Fokay."

A layer below the surface.

A domain where true potency flourished.

Come dawn, Kaden would rouse his Origin. Eagerness consumed him.

"System," he summoned.

[Yes, Host?]

"You've offered zilch since my arrival. Aren't you meant to be some ultimate edge? A flawed system?"

[Host's system features remain sealed until Origin Awakening.]

He snorted. "Don't fail me come morning."

Fists balled tight. His ruby eyes blazed with fervor.

"Now... I refuse to yield."

No further concealment. No awaiting aid from others.

No dread.

Now—he would claim strength.

Now—he would stand unbreakable.

Now...

He would shatter any obstacle in his path.

—End of Chapter 3—