The Bleaker Stalker face was a mess of fire and smoke, gray skin blistering as it staggered backward, claws raking the air in blind fury. The smell of burnt flesh punched into the tunnel like a physical force, making Luin flinch.

  Luin didn’t move.

  Couldn’t.

  His body was locked in pain, slumped against the wall like a broken toy. Blood leaked from his shoulder. His vision flickered with every shallow breath.

  But he saw it.

  The imp.

  It stood still at the edge of the tunnel, one hand raised, smoke curling from its fingers. Not snarling. Not cowering.

  Watching.

  The Bleak Stalker hissed again, stumbling in a half-circle. Its black eyes—now one half-melted—glared toward the imp, then toward Luin. Confused. Enraged. But not in control anymore.

  And in that instant of hesitation, Luin knew—if he didn’t move now, he wouldn’t get a second chance.

  He forced himself to stand.

  His legs trembled. His claws scraped the wall for balance. Every part of him screamed no. But the instinct to survive overrode everything.

  The stalker took a half-step forward.

  Luin growled—low, weak, but sharp enough to make it pause. Just a second.

  He limped toward the tunnel behind him, eyes locked with the imp’s.

  It didn’t follow.

  Didn’t run.

  Just let him pass.

  Not an ally. Not a friend.

  But not an enemy either.

  Not today.

  Luin didn’t look back. He dragged himself down the tunnel, deeper into the nest—bloodied, exhausted, every step a gamble.

  Behind him, the hiss of fire still hung in the air.

  The tunnel narrowed the farther he went, until it spilled into a low alcove—half-collapsed, damp, and stinking of stale air. Fungi bloomed along the cracks in the wall, pulsing faintly with green light.

  It wasn’t safe.

  But it was empty.

  And that was enough.

  Luin collapsed against the far wall, his body folding in on itself. His side ached from where the Bleak Stalker had thrown him. Blood clung to his scales, dark and drying. His muscles twitched without rhythm. Static sparks still blinked along his skin like dying fireflies.

  He didn’t even have the energy to curse.

  Just silence. Breath. And pain.

  He laid there for what felt like hours—or minutes. Time didn’t work the same down here. Not without sky. Not without sunlight or screens.

  He closed his eyes.

  And for the first time, let the thought land without resistance:

  If I don’t adapt, I die.

  Not a game.

  Not a power fantasy.

  This world didn’t care that he used to be human. It didn’t care that he’d once filed tax returns, watched anime on his lunch breaks, or spent weekends grinding gear scores instead of sleeping.

  This place—the nest, the monsters, the system itself—it didn’t reward who he was.

  Only what he could become.

  And if that meant killing...

  If that meant eating...

  If that meant turning into something with claws and lightning in its bones—

  Then maybe that’s what he had to do.

  He flexed one hand, watching the faint shimmer of silver veins pulsing beneath dark blue scales.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered.

  But his body was already answering.

  It didn’t care.

  It was built for something else.

  The goblin was proof of that. So was the Bleak Stalker.

  This world wasn’t made for mercy.

  It was made for teeth.

  Luin sat up slowly, pressing a claw to his side. The wound throbbed, but it was already closing—just a little. His core hummed weakly, processing the mana he’d taken in. It would heal him. Given time. Given more fuel.

  He needed to grow stronger.

  Fast.

  Before something worse came.

  Because something always would.

  Luin found his way back to the goblin’s corpse.

  The heat was mostly gone. The meat was starting to sour. But it was still there—mana-rich, half-charred, and full of everything he didn’t want to think about.

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  He crouched low, staring at it.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered.

  But his wounds said otherwise.

  His core hummed, low and pulsing. His blood felt thin. That last fight had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.

  So he did what this world expected of him.

  He tore off another piece—and swallowed.

  [Consumption Complete.]

  [Core Stabilization: +6%]

  [HP Restored: +9]

  [MP Regenerated: +4]

  [Stat Gain: +1 STR]

  [EXP: 13 / 25]

  He blinked. Then checked again.

  The numbers hovered just beneath his vision—faint, blue-tinted.

  EXP.

  So there was a progression system. Not just raw survival. Growth. A path.

  One more kill would probably level him up.

  He flexed his claws slowly, the extra strength already settling into his limbs. Still small. Still fragile. But less so than before.

  It was working.

  He stood up—

  —and froze.

  A chill crept up his spine.

  Not from cold.

  From instinct.

  Something moved behind him.

  A whisper of motion. The air shifted. His peripheral vision caught a flicker of chitin.

  Carrion Nymph.

  He didn’t even look.

  He just moved.

  He dove forward, just as the creature lunged—mandibles snapping shut an inch from his neck. Its momentum carried it too far, skidding past him. A frantic hiss escaped its jaws as it turned, scrambling.

  It had waited.

  Plotted.

  Watched.

  But it had made one mistake.

  It thought he was still prey.

  Luin spun as he landed, claws scraping dirt. The nymph charged, wild now, all desperation.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  [Skill Activated: Arcflash (Lv 1)]

  The chamber lit up—white-blue lightning surging from his outstretched claws. It slammed into the nymph mid-lunge, frying its nerves on contact. The creature seized violently, then collapsed in a smoking heap, legs twitching.

  Silence.

  Then:

  [Enemy defeated.]

  [Experience gained: +6]

  [MP reduced: -10]

  [Trait Progression: Vicious Tenacity 1/3 → 2/3]

  [EXP: 19 / 25]

  Luin stood over the body, breathing hard. Smoke curled from his claws.

  His HP was rising. His vision was clear.

  And he was still alive.

  He didn’t feel proud.

  But he felt ready.

  “You should’ve finished the job,” he muttered, eyes locked on the corpse. “Next time, I will.”

  The carrion nymph's body still smoked.

  Luin crouched beside it, watching the twitching stop, the last spasms of fried muscle fading. It reeked—burned shell, seared flesh, acidic fluids oozing out from where the lightning had torn through.

  But it was fresh.

  Still hot.

  Still charged with mana.

  And after what he’d just felt from the goblin—he knew.

  This was power.

  He didn't hesitate this time.

  His claws tore through the nymph’s tough outer shell, steam rising from the exposed flesh beneath. He ate without flinching. Bitter. Rubbery. Insectoid. But it didn’t matter.

  He wasn’t eating for taste.

  He was eating for growth.

  [Consumption Complete.]

  [Core Stabilization: +9%]

  [HP Restored: +8]

  [MP Regenerated: +5]

  [EXP: 19 → 25 / 25]

  [Level Up Achieved: Lv 2]

  [Stat Gain: +1 DEX (Random Allocation)]

  [Core Surge: Minor]

  [Skill Progression Unlocked]

  A rush hit him like a charge through his veins—sharp, clean, electric. Every nerve lit up, but not with pain. With potential. His claws tingled. His lungs opened. His vision sharpened again.

  [Level 2 Reached]

  [Species: Stormdrake Hatchling]

  [HP: 41 / 41]

  [MP: 19 / 25]

  STR: 6?DEX: 8?VIT: 6?INT: 8?INSTINCT: 11

  Luin staggered back slightly, chest rising with deep, full breaths. His body felt... right. Not complete, but more than before. His stance was firmer. His reflexes had clicked into something tighter, cleaner.

  He flexed his claws.

  And smiled—just a little.

  “That’s how this works,” he muttered. “Kill. Eat. Level.”

  It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t noble.

  But it was clear.

  And in this place? That was enough.

  His mind drifted back to the Bleak Stalker—the speed, the claws, the sheer presence it carried. A predator above predators. And it hadn’t even gone all out. It was still stronger. Still faster.

  Still the apex.

  For now.

  Luin clenched his jaw.

  “I’m coming for you,” he whispered.

  “But I’ll need more than this.”

  Luin didn’t go back toward the Bleak Stalker.

  Not yet.

  Instead, he followed a narrow offshoot of the main tunnel—sloped, humid, and lined with the faint pulse of bioluminescent fungus. The deeper he moved, the warmer the air grew. A scent drifted toward him: damp moss, rot, and something faintly sweet.

  He smelled life.

  The tunnel opened into a shallow chamber. Nesting fibers clung to the walls in tangled clumps. And in the center—

  Eggs.

  Seven of them. Pale, leathery, slick with condensation. Each one pulsed faintly with heat and heartbeat-like rhythm. Alive. Unhatched.

  Luin crouched.

  No guard. No predators. No mother.

  Just the nest.

  He approached slowly, scanning each egg. They smelled… fresh. Not dangerous. Not yet. But they would be.

  He flexed his claws.

  If I break these... will it count? Will the system register it as a kill?

  He didn’t move for a long moment.

  The thought sat heavy. Not just because it was brutal, but because it felt personal. Too close to something human. Hospital rooms. Cribs. Fragile things.

  They’re not even monsters yet.

  Just twitching sacks of potential.

  He stared down at the nearest egg.

  “In the end,” he whispered, “it’s me or them.”

  He raised a claw—and slammed it down.

  CRACK.

  The shell split, fluid spilling out. A malformed hatchling spasmed weakly, trying to move.

  It didn’t get the chance.

  [Enemy defeated.]

  [EXP: 27 → 29 / 35]

  [Target: Unformed Burrowling]

  [Level: 1]

  [Status: Terminated]

  He stared.

  It worked.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  The system didn’t judge. Didn’t hesitate. Just updated his numbers.

  [Race: Burrowling Hatchling]

  [STR: 2?DEX: 6?VIT: 3?INT: 1?INSTINCT: 9]

  [Status: Critical Development Incomplete]

  He sighed through his nose.

  “…Your mother shouldn't have left you.”

  Then he looked at the other six.

  And did the math.

  If they hatch, they become threats. If they don’t, they become fuel.

  He stood tall.

  And started breaking.

  CRACK.

  [EXP: 29 → 31 / 35]

  CRACK.

  [EXP: 31 → 33 / 35]

  CRACK.

  [EXP: 33 → 35 / 35]

  [Level Up Achieved: Lv 3]

  [Stat Gain: +1 INT (Random Allocation)]

  [Core Surge: Minor]

  CRACK.

  [EXP: 0 → 2 / 45]

  CRACK.

  [EXP: 2 → 4 / 45]

  When the last shell cracked, silence settled over the nest.

  A message flickered across his vision, but he barely registered it.

  He’d earned something. A new trait.

  But something deeper was already stirring.

  Luin stood in the middle of the wreckage—stronger, sharper, colder.

  Not proud.

  Not broken.

  Just aware.

  That’s seven fewer enemies to deal with.

  Seven eggs shattered. No cries. No footsteps. Just the sound of Luin’s breath echoing off wet stone.

  He stood still, blood and fluid dripping from his claws, body buzzing with low static. The system responded—softly at first.

  [Trait Progression Complete: Vicious Tenacity 3/3]

  [Trait Unlocked: Vicious Tenacity (Active)]

  When injured or cornered, Stormdrake Hatchlings tap into buried aggression and survival instinct.

  ? +15% STR / DEX when HP < 40%

  ? On kill: restore 5% missing HP

  ? Passive Fear Resistance (Minor)

  [Note: This trait may evolve.]

  Luin felt it immediately.

  Something subtle shifted in his chest—like a coil pulling tighter, like instinct got sharper teeth. His breathing leveled out. The fatigue still dragged at his limbs, but beneath it was a new edge.

  Not wild.

  Controlled.

  He flexed his claws. Faster. Cleaner. A low hum crawled up his spine.

  He liked this.

  Then the world tilted.

  His core pulsed.

  Hard.

  A low-frequency thrum echoed through his ribs, like thunder rolling through bone. The air crackled. The system lights in his vision flickered—glitched.

  [...Storm Core Surge Detected...]

  [...New Host Threshold Triggered...]

  [Memory Fragment: Resonance Echo – Accessing]

  Luin staggered back, vision flooding white.

  He wasn’t in the nest anymore.

  He was flying.

  Not as himself.

  As something huge. Vast wings slicing through stormclouds, lightning coursing through scaled skin. Mountains below looked like toys. Winds howled with reverence.

  And in the distance—other drakes.

  Dozens.

  Maybe more.

  And all of them looked toward him.

  The last.

  Then everything burned.

  A white light swallowed the sky. Scales peeled. Bones split. Something shattered—

  And Luin gasped, blinking hard, back in the nest. Back in the now.

  His claws dug into the dirt.

  His heart thundered like a war drum.

  [...Storm Core Reactivity Increased...]

  [Core Stability: 58%]

  [Next Unlock Threshold: 60%]

  [Storm Memory Fragment – Stored.]

  Luin didn’t move for a long time.

  He just breathed.

  Then, slowly, he stood.

  “Stormdrake,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not just a species.”

  A legacy.

  And now it was waking up in him.