My Talent's Name Is Generator

Steve dashed into the chaos with the intent to start fighting desperately. His body shimmered mid-motion and then it shifted.

With a crack of bone and surge of energy, he grew noticeably—his limbs lengthened, his back broadened.

Two jagged bone spikes erupted from his shoulders like the horns of a war beast. And around him, a swirling current of pure sword force took shape, silver and sharp-edged, orbiting his form in chaotic motion.

The Holt Masters barely registered the change before Steve cut through them like a guillotine.

One slash—clean, upward. A man screamed as his torso separated from his waist, his Essence unraveling midair.

Another swung a hammer wreathed in molten force. Steve ducked low, drove his knee into the man’s thigh—shattering bone—then followed with a spinning backhand slash that decapitated him in one blur of motion.

The wind howled around him, but it wasn’t wind—it was pressure, slicing, spiraling. The Sword Law made manifest.

Steve moved like a predator. Calculated, savage, fluid.

He clashed against a pair of twin spear-users, their coordinated strikes fierce and elegant. But Steve’s aura exploded outward—his sword force compressed, then burst like a spinning wheel. The moment their weapons met his blade, both spears snapped in half.

He stepped through the broken formation, his blade carving a diagonal arc from hip to shoulder. Then a vertical drop, bisecting the other cleanly.

His shoulder spikes caught the next attacker by surprise, a sword beam impaling him before Steve even lifted his weapon.

He didn’t hesitate. He turned, eyes locked on the next group forming ahead.

A wave of Masters came at him, four wide. One cast a wall of fire. Another raised barriers. The third prepped a ranged blast.

Steve roared, his sword force erupted, spiraled around his blade and he leapt.

His downward slash shattered the barrier.

The follow-up cleave broke the caster’s jaw and sent him flying.

And then he vanished.

A blur.

He reappeared behind the last one, sword already lodged in the man’s back. Steve whispered something and twisted.

Bodies fell in pieces. The earth beneath him was red and blackened. Sword marks carved deep trails in the stone.

Suddenly, a thunderous sound echoed across the place .

Above the battlefield, two Grandmasters clashed in the sky, their powers lighting up the air around them.

From the Empire’s side was Pedro, his body wrapped in cold mist, icy spikes rising and falling along his shoulders. Frost trailed from his feet as he moved, leaving a faint white path behind every motion. He fought with a long spear made entirely of ice, sharp and glowing faint blue.

Facing him was Franz Holt, a heavy-set man with rough skin like stone. His armor looked like it was carved straight from the ground—thick plates of earth, roots and rock swirling around him as he floated. In his hands, he held a thick stone hammer glowing with molten cracks.

Pedro moved first. He lunged forward, spear flashing. A trail of ice formed in the air, hissing with freezing energy.

Franz responded with a grunt, swinging his hammer in a wide arc. A wall of rock shot up in front of him just in time to block the spear.

The spear struck the wall—ice clashing against earth—and the block held.

Pedro narrowed his eyes and moved again. This time he spun in the air, then stabbed forward with both hands. A sharp spiral of freezing wind burst out from the spear, hitting Franz’s side. Frost spread across his stone armor.

Franz roared and slammed his hammer down. A spike of earth shot up from below Pedro, trying to knock him out of the air.

But Pedro was ready. He shot upward, then raised a hand. A freezing storm gathered above his palm. Snow swirled. Ice formed in midair—and then fell like spears.

Franz crossed his arms and summoned a dome of stone above him.

The ice slammed into it.

Cracks spread. Then—

Boom!!!

The dome shattered.

Pedro flew downward fast. His spear glowed white-blue with condensed cold. Franz swung his hammer to meet him but Pedro ducked under the strike and drove his spear forward.

The icy blade pierced Franz’s chest.

His stone armor cracked.

Then broke completely.

Franz’s eyes widened. He tried to speak—but the cold reached his lungs, and everything inside him froze solid.

Pedro pulled the spear free, and Franz’s body fell, crashing into the ruined base below like a block of stone.

A Holt Grandmaster.

Dead.

Pedro hovered above, breath misting in the cold air, his spear now coated in blood and frost. He glanced at the battlefield below, where the fighting paused for just a moment.

Empire soldiers raised their weapons and roared.

The Holt side looked shaken. Their formation cracked.

Pedro said nothing.

He simply turned toward the next enemy, frost already gathering at his feet again.

I floated higher, my gaze sweeping over the broken battlefield.

The death of another Holt Grandmaster had shifted the tide even more. The Holts still had numbers, hundreds of Master-ranked soldiers clashing with ours, many still fighting hard even with their leaders falling.

That needed to change.

I closed my eyes for a second and let my senses expand.

“[Absolute Domain]”

The world twisted around me. My Domain unfolded like a blooming flower, swallowing the battlefield around me in a soft pulse of violet Essence. The very ground seemed to fall silent for a moment then Essence lines began glowing faintly in the air, threads only I could see.

I stretched out my hand.

Violet lightning crackled between my fingers.

A dozen Holt soldiers were rushing toward a group of Empire Masters. I pointed.

Crack—BOOM!

A streak of violet lightning surged out, arcing through the air like a serpent. It struck the first soldier in the chest, his body exploded into sparks and smoke. The arc didn’t stop, it chained to the next, and then the next. Six men dropped before the others even understood what hit them.

I clenched my left fist. Essence condensed into it, pure, crushing force.

A squad of Holt commanders gathered below, forming defensive lines.

I dropped.

My body crashed into the ground like a meteor. The stone shattered beneath my feet. Soldiers flew from the impact wave alone.

One swung his sword at me, screaming. I met him with a punch.

My Essence Fist connected with his chest, his body exploded into a burst of blood and mist.

Another tried to flank me. I spun and drove an elbow into his temple. His head cracked sideways, neck snapping like a dry branch.

Two more came together—one casting flame, one ice. I twisted between the spells, grabbed both their faces, and slammed them into the ground. They didn’t rise again.

I summoned my staff next.

It appeared in my hand with a pulse of violet light. Nearly my height, violet and sleek, runes glowing along its surface.

I spun it once and surged forward.

The first strike cracked through a shield and broke the wielder’s arm. The second caved in a chestplate. The third launched a Master-ranked enemy into the air like a broken doll.

A fire caster tried to cast from a distance.

I threw the staff like a spear. It spun midair and pierced straight through his core. His mouth opened to scream but nothing came out. He collapsed.

I raised my hand and the staff flew back to me, clean and humming with energy.

The battlefield around me had turned into a slaughterhouse. Bodies littered the broken stone. Craters smoked. My Domain throbbed with pulses of authority, guiding Essence where I needed it.

But I wasn’t done.

More Holts gathered near one of the broken towers.

I pointed again.

A massive ball of Essence, lightning and raw violet force fused, formed in front of my palm. It churned with violent power, bolts of energy dancing across its surface.

I launched it.

The orb screamed through the air and hit the group dead center.

The explosion was thunder and wind and fury all at once.

A wave of destruction spread from the impact, ripping apart the tower, shattering walls, flinging Holt soldiers into the air. Metal twisted. Stone shattered. Screams filled the air.

I didn’t stop to admire it.

My wings spread and I rushed in behind the blast.

I lifted my arm again, Essence flooding my limbs like a storm breaking free. The air around me hummed with tension.

“[Lightning Rend].”

A low crack echoed, then space itself split.

A glowing fissure tore across the battlefield, thin at first, like a blade slicing through the world. Violet lightning surged along its jagged edge.

The very fabric of space groaned under the weight of the technique. Time slowed, the sound dulled, and for a breath, nothing moved.

Then the rift expanded and fell.

The space-carved blade, wreathed in lightning, dropped like divine judgment.

It cleaved through the battlefield in a diagonal arc. Every soldier in its path, those running, screaming, turning back, was erased. Their bodies disintegrated before they hit the ground, turned to ash and flickers of Essence.

A thousand lives, gone in a breath.