Chapter 8: The Weight of a Singularity
The nameless valley just outside the Star Dou Forest's perimeter had become Mame's personal gravity chamber. For three relentless months, the secluded gorge echoed with the sounds of shattering rock, localized sonic booms, and the sharp hiss of displaced air.
Mame sat in a lotus position atop a jagged spire of stone. He wasn't meditating in the traditional sense; he was performing open-heart surgery on his own energy system.
He took a slow, deep breath, visualizing the "Cosmic Origin Core" spinning in his Dantian. Right now, his actual power was hovering safely past Rank 31, but walking into the human world with the explosive, dense aura of a Spirit Elder at eleven years old was begging for Spirit Hall to dissect him.
Compress, he ordered himself.
He applied the DBZ Ki-control logic, forcing the swirling galaxy of his soul power into a tighter, microscopic sphere. The air around him shimmered as the ambient pressure dropped. Rank 30. Rank 25. Rank 20. Rank 19.
He locked it there. To any passing Spirit Master, Mame now registered as a perfectly average, perhaps slightly talented, Rank 19 Spirit Scholar. But the physical toll of suppressing a Singularity was immense. It felt like trying to hold a compressed spring closed with his bare hands. Every second he kept his power lowered, his muscles and meridians were undergoing extreme resistance training.
"Perfect," Mame grunted, opening his eyes. His pupils flashed with a momentary silver light before settling back into a deep, abyssal black.
Over the last few months, he had successfully laid the foundational frameworks for his Multiversal Skills. His Iron-Will Armor could now cover his forearms, turning the skin a metallic obsidian that deflected falling boulders without a scratch. His Void Instinct was still in its infancy, but he could dodge the valley's territorial wind-wolves blindfolded just by sensing the "heat" of their killing intent.
He stood up and stretched, his joints popping like firecrackers. His tail—thick and covered in brown fur—uncoiled and swished lazily behind him before he deliberately wrapped it tight around his waist, tucking the end out of sight. It looked like a bizarre, furry belt, but it would pass for eccentric fashion in a world of weird Martial Souls.
Mame looked down at his clothes and grimaced. He was wearing an oversized, mismatched tunic and trousers salvaged from a group of unlucky mercenary Spirit Masters who had ventured too deep into the forest. The garments smelled of dried blood, ancient moss, and stale sweat.
"I need to burn these," Mame muttered.
He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a sleek, silver ring strung on a leather cord. Before Mame had left the Lake of Life, Da Ming had dropped this little treasure into his lap with a dismissive snort.
"Take this, little one," the Azure Bull Python had telepathically rumbled. "It belonged to a human who visited us a century ago. An arrogant fool who claimed the title of 'Douluo.' He believed that because he possessed nine rings, he could harvest Er Ming and me for our bones. Er Ming sat on him. We kept the ring because the spatial compression was amusing."
Mame channeled a tiny sliver of his Rank 19 soul power into the ring, but as his consciousness touched the metal, he frowned.
Something was different.
He lifted the ring to the light. The intricate silver dragon carved into the band—which had been worn and faded a few months ago—was suddenly stark and distinct. The scales looked razor-sharp, and the dragon's eyes seemed to catch the sunlight with an eerie, lifelike glint.
More importantly, as his mind entered the ring, the spatial dimensions had changed. It wasn't the ten cubic meters he had originally measured. The space had physically grown, expanding outward into a massive, cavernous void.
A growth-type spatial tool? Mame thought, his eyes narrowing. Or is it reacting to my mutated soul power?
He pushed the mystery aside for now and took stock of the inventory. The arrogant Douluo hadn't been a collector of fine art or rare metals; he had been a hoarder of death. Inside the expanded void sat literal mountains of gold spirit coins, hundreds of jade boxes containing perfectly preserved spirit herbs, and a staggering collection of Spirit Beast corpses.
The bodies were suspended in the spatial vacuum, untouched by decay. There were dozens of them from various species—shadow panthers, elemental bears, armored wyverns—ranging in age from a thousand years all the way up to thirty thousand years. It was a butcher's hoard, likely gathered by the Douluo over a lifetime of slaughter before he picked the wrong two targets.
Mame bypassed the corpses and the herbs, mentally withdrawing a handful of the gold spirit coins into a small leather pouch.
"Time to join civilization," Mame said, leaping off the stone spire.
The Border Village
The village of Oakhaven was a bustling, muddy trading post located a day's travel from the forest edge. It catered mostly to low-level hunting parties, merchants buying beast materials, and the occasional wandering scholar.
When Mame walked through the wooden gates, a few heads turned. Even with his power suppressed and his tail hidden, he didn't walk like a human child. He moved with the silent, predatory grace of a jungle cat, his posture perfectly balanced, his eyes scanning the crowd with an ancient, calculating weight.
He ignored the stares, following the scent of freshly dyed linen and tanned leather until he found a modest but well-kept general goods and tailor shop. A wooden sign depicting a needle and thread hung above the door.
The bell chimed as he pushed the door open. The shopkeeper, a balding man with a monocle, looked up from his ledger and immediately frowned at Mame's ragged, blood-stained attire.
"Boy, we don't give handouts here," the shopkeeper said gruffly, waving a hand. "Take your begging to the tavern."
Mame didn't say a word. He walked up to the counter, his footfalls completely silent on the wooden floorboards, which unnerved the shopkeeper. Reaching into his pocket, Mame pulled out the pouch and let it drop onto the wooden counter with a heavy, metallic thud. He untied the string, revealing the unmistakable, heavy glint of solid gold spirit coins.
The shopkeeper's eyes bulged, his monocle nearly popping out of his socket.
"I'm not here for a handout," Mame said, his voice calm, smooth, and lacking any of the deference a child usually showed an adult. "I need clothes. High quality. Sturdy fabrics that won't tear if I have to move fast. Boots with actual grip. And a cloak. I'll pay for a bath in the back room if you have a tub, and you can keep whatever is left over for your discretion."
The man swallowed hard, his demeanor instantly flipping from dismissive to obsequious. A kid walking out of the forest alone with that kind of money meant one of two things: he was the heir to a powerful clan who had gotten separated from his guards, or he was a monster in human skin. Either way, the shopkeeper wanted his money and wanted him out.
"Y-yes, young master! Right away!" the shopkeeper stammered, hurriedly scooping up a few of the gold coins. "We have excellent silk-weave cotton blends in the back. Very durable! And a hot bath can be drawn in ten minutes!"
Mame nodded, leaning against the counter. He watched the man scurry away, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Money was power in the human world. And thanks to a dead Titled Douluo and a mysteriously evolving ring, Mame had enough capital to start his hostile takeover of the continent's resources. He just needed to get dressed first.
Half an hour later, Mame emerged from the back room, leaving behind a tub of murky water and the foul-smelling rags of his past.
The shopkeeper was waiting nervously by the counter, holding out a neatly folded stack of clothes. Mame picked up the top garment. It was a traditional cultivation-style robe, dyed a sleek, shimmering silver with dark grey accents. It looked the part of a wealthy young master, but as Mame ran his fingers over the fabric, his heightened senses immediately detected the flaws.
The thread count was low, and the stitching was weak. The material would tear the moment he threw a high-speed punch or channeled anything above Rank 20 soul power.
"It's fragile," Mame noted flatly.
"I-it's the finest silk blend in Oakhaven, young master!" the shopkeeper protested, sweating under the boy's piercing, abyssal gaze.
Mame didn't argue. He knew he wasn't going to find indestructible battle gear in a muddy border village. "I'll take two pairs. They only need to last me until I reach Suotou City."
He dressed quickly, tying the silver sash around his waist and carefully wrapping his furry tail beneath it, making it look like a thick, structural belt. He slid his feet into a pair of sturdy leather boots, grabbed a matching dark cloak, and walked out of the shop without another word.
As the door chimed shut behind him, Mame didn't miss the greedy, calculating glint that had flashed in the shopkeeper's eyes. It was the look of a scavenger who had just spotted an unattended carcass.
Mame just smirked. Let the scavenger try.
The Law of the Jungle
Ten miles outside of Oakhaven, the dirt road narrowed as it wound through a dense, rocky ravine. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows across the path.
Mame walked at a steady, measured pace, his hands resting easily in the pockets of his new silver robes. To the untrained eye, he looked like a wealthy, defenseless noble child who had foolishly wandered away from his bodyguards.
But inside Mame's mind, the world was a canvas of thermal signatures and emotional weight.
Void Instinct, he thought, letting his awareness expand outward.
Instantly, the mundane sounds of the wind and rustling leaves faded, replaced by the distinct "heat" of living souls. Up ahead, hidden among the boulders and scrub brush on the ridges of the ravine, twelve distinct auras flared like ugly, flickering candles. They reeked of cheap alcohol, stale sweat, and sharp, malicious intent.
Mame didn't stop. He didn't even break his stride.
When he reached the center of the ravine, a heavy log suddenly swung down from the ridge, crashing into the dirt path to block his way.
"Hold it right there, little lordling," a raspy voice called out.
From the rocks, a dozen men dropped down, surrounding him. The air hummed with the faint, pathetic flickers of low-level soul power. They didn't wield steel; they summoned their Martial Souls. Iron sickles, heavy wooden mallets, and a few mangy, feral dog spirits materialized in their hands and behind their backs. They were trash spirits belonging to trash men—failed Spirit Scholars who had turned to banditry to survive.
The leader, a hulking man with a scarred face, stepped forward with a rotten grin. A single, dull white spirit ring rose from his feet as he summoned a heavy, jagged Blood Cleaver Martial Soul into his right hand.
"Word from old Silas back in Oakhaven is that you're carrying a pouch full of solid gold," the leader sneered, tapping the flat of his spirit cleaver against his open palm. "He said you were all alone. Looks like the old rat finally gave us a good tip. Hand over the spatial ring, the pouch, and those fancy silver clothes, and we might just leave you with your legs."
Mame let out a slow, disappointed sigh. "The human world really is pathetic," he muttered. "In the Star Dou Forest, even the lowest ten-year wind-baboon knows how to gauge an opponent's strength before attacking. You just see the size of the prey and ignore the shape of the teeth."
The leader's face darkened. "What did you say, you little brat?"
"I said," Mame replied, pulling his hands from his pockets, "that the law of the jungle leaves no mercy for the fool who can't tell a predator from prey."
"Kill him!" the leader roared.
Three bandits lunged simultaneously from Mame's blind spots. A sweeping Iron Sickle soul aimed for the back of his knees, a sharpened Bamboo Pole thrust at his ribs, and a man possessing a Wildcat spirit swung a manifested claw directly for Mame's neck.
Mame didn't even look at them. He didn't summon a spirit ring.
Void Instinct. He simply stepped a half-inch to the left. The bamboo pole sailed past his ear, piercing the sickle-wielder in the shoulder. Before the man with the wildcat claws could correct his swing, Mame's arm blurred.
Iron-Will Armor.
Mame raised his forearm, his skin instantly hardening into a metallic, obsidian black. The manifested spirit claws struck Mame's arm with a resounding CRACK.
The wildcat bandit let out a bloodcurdling scream as his Martial Soul shattered against Mame's Haki-infused skin. The spiritual backlash caused the man's real arm to twist and break in three places.
"What the—" the leader gasped.
Mame stepped into the screaming man's guard and drove a simple, un-enhanced punch into his sternum. The sound of ribs collapsing echoed like a gunshot through the ravine. The bandit was launched backward, his chest completely caved in, dead before he hit the ground.
"One," Mame counted, his voice eerily calm.
Panic rippled through the bandits. Two men on the ridges fired their ranged Martial Souls—a barrage of Iron Quills. Mame didn't dodge. He caught the razor-sharp soul constructs out of mid-air with his bare, blackened hands, and threw them back with a simple flick of his wrists. The quills tore through the air with a supersonic whistle, pinning both snipers to the rocks behind them by their throats.
"Monster! He's a monster!" one of the thugs screamed, dismissing his mallet spirit and turning to flee.
Mame vanished.
Dimensional Blink. He folded the space between them, reappearing directly in front of the fleeing man. He grabbed the bandit by the face and slammed him down into the dirt so hard a small crater formed beneath them.
The slaughter lasted less than thirty seconds. Mame moved like a phantom, a blur of silver and black. He didn't use elaborate techniques or waste energy on flashy spirit skills. He used the brutal, hyper-efficient violence he had learned from sparring with the Titan Giant Ape. He shattered Martial Souls with his bare hands, causing fatal spiritual backlashes before breaking their necks.
Soon, only the leader was left.
The scarred man was on his knees. His Blood Cleaver had completely dissipated, the single white ring shattered into motes of light. He was hyperventilating, bleeding from his nose due to the spiritual trauma, staring at the eleven-year-old boy standing amidst the twelve mangled corpses. Mame's silver robes didn't have a single drop of blood on them.
"P-please," the leader sobbed, pressing his forehead into the dirt. "Spare me! I didn't know! Silas made us do it! Please, my lord, have mercy!"
Mame walked over, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. He looked down at the weeping man with cold, emotionless eyes.
"Mercy is a luxury for those who don't live in the forest," Mame said softly. "Next time you reincarnate, try not to be at the bottom of the food chain."
Mame raised his foot and brought it down on the back of the leader's neck. A sharp snap echoed in the silent ravine, and the man went still.
Mame let out a slow breath, allowing his Iron-Will Armor to fade back into normal skin. He didn't bother looting the bodies; they had nothing of value to a Singularity. He simply stepped over the corpses, adjusted his pristine silver cloak, and continued his walk down the dirt road.
Here is the revised ending to the scene, bringing Mame back to Oakhaven for a little psychological warfare.
Chapter 8: The Weight of a Singularity (Continued)
Mame stood amidst the twelve mangled corpses, the quiet rustle of the ravine settling back in around him. He let out a slow breath, allowing his Iron-Will Armor to fade back into normal skin. He didn't bother looting the bodies; they had nothing of value to a Singularity. He simply stepped over the leader, adjusted his pristine silver cloak, and looked down the dirt road toward Suotou City.
He took two steps before he stopped.
He tilted his head, his tail flicking beneath his robes. Silas, Mame thought. The shopkeeper.
In the forest, if a scavenger tried to steal your kill, you didn't just ignore it. You reminded them of their place on the food chain, or they would just keep trying. Mame's lips curled into a faint, chilling smile.
He didn't walk back. He simply tapped into the void essence of his first ring.
Dimensional Blink. Space folded around him. In a series of rapid, silent flashes that defied the laws of physics, Mame covered the ten miles back to Oakhaven in less than three minutes. He reappeared in the alleyway right next to the tailor shop, his silver robes entirely undisturbed.
Inside the shop, old Silas was humming a cheerful tune, wiping down the wooden counter with a rag. He had already mentally spent the cut of the gold the Blood Cleaver bandits had promised him. It was a good day's work for just a few whispered words.
Ding. The brass bell above the door chimed cheerfully.
"Welcome in, what can I—" Silas began, looking up with a practiced merchant's smile.
The smile froze, then shattered. The rag slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a soft slap. All the color drained from the shopkeeper's face, leaving him a sickly, ashen grey.
Standing in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon sun, was the silver-robed boy. He was completely spotless. Not a hair out of place. Not a drop of blood on his boots.
Mame closed the door behind him and casually strolled back into the shop. His footfalls were entirely silent, which only made his presence more terrifying. He didn't look at Silas. Instead, he wandered over to a small display of accessories near the front window, humming the exact same cheerful tune Silas had been humming a moment ago.
Silas couldn't breathe. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. How? his mind screamed. It's only been an hour! The Blood Cleavers should have gutted him by now!
"You know," Mame said, his voice smooth and conversational as he picked up a simple black silk ribbon from the display, "I got about ten miles down the road before I realized my hair was getting in my eyes. Figured I should come back and grab a tie for it."
He walked over to the counter and set the black ribbon down. Silas flinched violently, taking a half-step back, his eyes wide with abject terror.
Mame didn't reach for his gold pouch. He simply picked up a single silver coin from the tip he had left Silas earlier and slid it across the wood.
"This should cover it," Mame said politely. He picked up the ribbon and expertly tied his wild, black-and-purple hair back into a short, spiky tail.
"Y-y-yes," Silas managed to squeak out, his knees visibly shaking. "T-thank you for your p-patronage."
"Of course," Mame smiled. It was a warm, friendly smile that somehow didn't reach his abyssal, pitch-black eyes. He turned and walked back toward the door, his hand resting on the brass handle.
He paused, looking over his shoulder.
"Oh, by the way, Silas," Mame said casually, as if recalling the weather. "The road out of town is a bit messy right now. I ran into a pack of feral, mangy dogs in the ravine about ten miles out. One of them had an ugly scar on its face."
Silas let out a pathetic, strangled whimper. He gripped the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing.
"They barked a lot," Mame continued, his eyes locking onto the shopkeeper's, pinning the man in place with the sheer, crushing weight of a predator's gaze. "But they didn't have much bite. I had to put them all down."
Mame let the silence hang in the air for three agonizing seconds. Silas looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
"Make sure you lock your doors tonight," Mame offered pleasantly. "You never know what kind of monsters are wandering out of the forest."
With a final, cheerful nod, Mame pushed the door open and stepped out into the bustling street.
The bell chimed as the door closed. Behind the counter, Silas's legs finally gave out. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, trembling so violently he could barely hold himself up, praying to whatever gods were listening that the silver-robed demon never, ever came back.