It's been a week since I faced the Dreadmaw.
A week of pain. A week of rest. A week of sharpening every part of myself like a blade.
But today... I feel it.
The final core calls to me. My blood burns. My claws ache for battle.
I crouch near the boundary of the labyrinth's inner trench—where the weak don't dare to tread. Even most monsters avoid this zone. It's silent. Too silent.
Then I see it.
[Monster Identified]
Species: Gravalok, the Crimson Tyrant
Type: Apex Predator – Berserker Class
Level: 23
Status: Enraged
Abilities: Blood Frenzy, Crimson Roar, Titan Maul, Relentless Charge
Threat Level: ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️ CATASTROPHIC
A beast straight out of a nightmare.
It towers three times my size, all muscle, bone, and pulsing red tendons. Jagged horns curl like hooked blades from its head. Its crimson fur is patchy, replaced in parts by armored scales. Its mouth doesn't open—it splits, vertically, revealing rows of interlocking fangs.
Every step it takes cracks the earth beneath its clawed feet.
I clench my fists, flexing my back legs.
"That's the one…" I whisper.
Then I pounce.
It reacts instantly—faster than anything that size should be. Its arm sweeps sideways, and I barely twist mid-air to avoid being flattened. The air splits from the force.
I land, slide, leap again—claws ready to strike its eye.
CLANG!
Its tail swings out like a steel whip—striking me mid-chest.
Pain explodes through my ribs as I'm launched across the battlefield. I slam into a wall, bones screaming. I cough blood, vision flickering.
[Health: 31%]
That hit could've killed a lesser monster outright.
I force myself to my feet, every breath a knife in my lungs.
"Not yet," I growl.
The Gravalok stomps forward, howling like a thousand tortured voices. Its eyes glow with raw bloodlust.
It charges.
I leap again—spinning mid-air, claws aimed at its throat.
But this time, it lets me strike.
My claws dig in—just before its arms crush around me like a bear trap.
Bones crunch.
I scream.
The beast lifts me and slams me into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The world spins.
[Health: 9%]
[Warning: Critical condition. Damage exceeds regeneration.]
I'm dying.
I can feel it—my limbs won't move. My vision dims. My body's shutting down.
"No... no...!" I claw at the ground, trying to lift myself. My voice is hoarse. "I... I came this far...!"
The beast approaches slowly, confident in its victory. Its mouth splits wide, dripping saliva, hot and acid-slick.
"I didn't survive assassins... poison... dungeons... just to die here—!"
My mind burns.
And then—
something snaps.
A surge erupts from deep within me—not from the Devour skill.
It's older.
More primal.
[Bloodline Trait Unlocked – "Shadow Pulse" (Lv. 1)]
[Trigger: Near-death rage + lineage awakening threshold reached]
A pulse of pure black energy ripples from my chest, blasting the Gravalok back ten meters.
My body moves on its own.
Wounds stitch faster. Blood halts. Pain vanishes.
The world sharpens.
I see everything.
Every crack in the armor. Every twitch in its stance. Every pattern in its chaos.
I rise—slowly—one breath at a time.
"No more running..."
My claws glow with black-red light. My voice is lower. Cold. Measured.
"No more weakness."
The Gravalok roars again and charges. I sprint to meet it—my steps silent, my will like steel.
As we collide again—
{SECOND ROUND}
The battle truly begins.