My Talent's Name Is Generator

Close to fifty Abominations snarled and writhed, caught in the iron embrace of Lyrate’s summoned branches and roots.

Each thick as a tree trunk, the living branches had coiled around the monsters like giant serpents, wrapping around limbs, torsos, and throats, lifting many of them off the ground entirely. The air was filled with the sound of straining muscle and screeching rage as the beasts fought in vain.

North and Steve paused just long enough to take in the sight. Then they nodded and dashed into separate tunnels, leaving Lyrate to her work.

And her work had only begun.

Lyrate stood in the center of the chaos, motionless, her hands loose by her side.

The first kill happened without her even blinking.

A massive branch, coiled around a wolf-shaped Abomination, suddenly shifted. Thorns grew—slow at first, then violently. Dozens of black spikes erupted inward through the creature’s torso, puncturing lungs, heart, and bone in an instant.

It let out one last gargled cry before going limp.

Then another. A boar-beast bucked and kicked, trying to snap the roots that bound its legs, but the vine responded by twisting tighter, forcing the creature into a seated position. Then, with a wet pop, five spikes shot through its back and out its chest.

Blood rained down like mist.

Lyrate finally moved.

She floated forward slowly, her feet barely touching the ground. Her expression was blank, but I felt her delight through our mental link.

With a flick of her finger, a dead body was yanked into the air and rotated midair. Roots cradled it gently, like an offering.

She posed it upright, limbs open, mouth frozen mid-scream and pinned it to a wall.

Another creature broke free with a roar, snapping half the root constraining it. It lunged at her, jaws wide.

Lyrate dissolved into crimson mist before impact, reappearing behind it, blade in hand.

She didn’t slash.

She simply slid the sword into its spine.

The Abomination stiffened, blood bubbling from its mouth, and dropped.

Roots pulled the corpse aside.

Lyrate turned again to her waiting canvas.

She arranged the boar’s corpse with its legs lifted skyward. Another was twisted into a kneeling pose with its own severed head placed carefully in its lap.

Root spikes continued to pierce the bound beasts one by one, ending their roars with cracks and crunches.

One was suspended upside down, slowly spinning. Another was fixed horizontally between two roots, like a sacrificial display.

By the time the last one fell silent, Lyrate stood in the center of a nightmare artwork, fifty corpses frozen in various poses, grotesque, theatrical, haunting.

Blood painted the stone.

The roots curled and retracted, satisfied.

I blinked, observing all of this from outside the underground prison.

That last skill had taken a large chunk of my Essence, and it was expected. Something that powerful wasn’t meant to be used lightly. The black trees and their branching roots had done their job, brutally and beautifully.

Lyrate stood alone among the remains. Her gallery complete. Bodies arranged on walls, some skewered through their jaws or bellies, others curled in bizarre poses like broken puppets. Her head tilted slightly, admiring her work.

Then she moved.

Her body dissolved into crimson mist and surged into the third tunnel. Just like the ones North and Steve had entered, it too contain rows of cells with prisoners inside. Lyrate started freeing them up one by one.

All three paths, North’s, Steve’s, and Lyrate’s, wound separately through the prison, but each of them now curved back toward the same final point: the entrance to the last tunnel. The deepest one. The one where Steve and I had once been held.

The one where the worst of the Abominations were kept, still asleep, chemically subdued, but beginning to stir.

I reached out to Lyrate through our bond and instructed her to gather the freed prisoners and lead them toward the final tunnel to help deal with the Abominations.

The bracelets and collars had already been disabled thanks to the collapse of the prison’s inner runes.

Steve and North emerged from the other tunnels as well, each leading a group of freed prisoners behind them. Most were already armed with their awakened weapons and ready to fight.

As expected, many tried to run.

A small group peeled away from Steve’s side and bolted back the tunnels, until Lyrate raised a hand and flicked her fingers.

Two of the runners exploded backward, slammed into the walls by unseen force.

Silence dropped like a curtain.

Lyrate stepped forward. She pointed down the main tunnel. The one with the remaining Abominations.

Steve understood first. He turned to the rest of the group.

“She wants us to clear the last tunnel,” Steve said, voice steady but tense. “There are more prisoners there. And more monsters. If we don’t stop them now, we all die.”

Some of the soldiers nodded immediately, their faces hardening with resolve. But others hesitated, looking uncertain.

“We’re not going back in there,” one man muttered loudly. “That place is a death trap. We’ve seen what those things can do.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. Some glanced nervously at the dark tunnel behind them, while others whispered about running away and leaving the nightmare behind.

“We should just get out of here,” another voice suggested, his eyes scanning for a way out.

“Why risk ourselves when we can just escape?”

Tension grew as more started to voice similar thoughts, their fear twisting into panic.

But before the dissent could escalate, the ground beneath them cracked sharply. Thick, black roots burst from the stone floor like snakes striking their prey.

Three figures were suddenly pinned, spikes sprouted from the roots, piercing through flesh and armor alike.

The sharp, unnatural sound of bones breaking filled the air as those men crumpled silently to the ground. The rest of the group froze, the brutal warning clear.

Silence fell, heavy and absolute.

Steve stepped forward awkwardly, clearing his throat.

“I think… I think we should follow her,” he said, glancing nervously at the prisoners.

“Believe me, she’ll kill you faster than those abominations if you don’t.”

His words hung in the air, trembling between threat and reason. The prisoners exchanged looks, fear wrestling with logic.

Slowly, one by one, heads nodded.

“We move together,” Steve said firmly, taking the lead.

The group, Steve, North, the mad queen and nearly a hundred prisoners, surged forward as one, the weight of their situation pressing them deeper into the last tunnel. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp stone and lingering danger.

Together, they worked to break the prison bars.

The sound of metal groaning under pressure echoed through the tunnel as the prisoners eagerly helped each other, their voices rising in hope and urgency.

“Keep moving!” Steve urged. “We have to free them before those monsters wake!”

Some prisoners shouted with joy as their comrades were released. Among the freed were Nagas as well, weakened, wounded but alive.

Though wary, they moved quickly to assist, weaving between prisoners to unlock more cells and helping to calm the panicked.

Lyrate’s roots snaked silently through cracks in the stone, reinforcing the group’s progress by shattering bars herself.

The pace quickened as a low growl echoed from deeper within the tunnel, signs that the Abominations were stirring from their chemical slumber.

“Almost there!” Steve called out. “Keep going!”

Every freed prisoner became a rescuer, summoning awakened weapons and working side by side.

Despite exhaustion and fear, the weaker ones followed the lead of the stronger ones.

I was pulled out of my observation by the sound of movement, an immense wave of Essence signatures flooding my perception. When I looked up, they stood before me. Close to a thousand Masters. The largest group I had seen yet.

They lined the ruined forest like a sea of power, shoulder to shoulder, weapons drawn but not raised. Their faces were etched with fury as they took in the flattened trees, the blood-slicked earth, the twisted remains of their comrades. Some clenched their fists. Others tightened their grips on their weapons. But not a single one moved forward.

Many among them were powerful. Their levels ranged from 180 to nearly 199, and unlike the earlier fodder, these were seasoned men. Hardened. Experienced. But still a fodder to me.

One of them finally stepped forward.

He wore a black battle robe embroidered with golden lines. His hair was streaked with silver, and a jagged scar ran from his cheek to his neck. His Essence stirred as he opened his mouth.

“Going against the Holts will not end well for the Empire,” he said coldly. “Do you understand the forces involved in this?”

I didn’t answer. Not right away. I only stared back. Eyes steady. Hands behind my back. The wind tugged gently at my hairs.

I extended my perception outward, scanning the surrounding region for any sign of another large group approaching. But nothing significant stirred—just a few stragglers here and there, scattered and hesitant.

Satisfied, I shifted my focus inward for a moment, checking on Knight. He was still in position, hidden in the shadows of the portal room, calm and composed. Everything was under control.

Then, finally, I turned my gaze back to the man in front of me.

Our eyes met.

And I answered.