The silence stretched, heavier than before. The weight of my memories, my evolution, and even my very existence pressed down on me like a vice.
I sat motionless, my body still but my mind spiraling into thoughts I couldn’t control. My crimson eyes stared into the darkness, unfocused, as if searching for something that wasn’t there. My fingers twitched slightly against the cold stone beneath me, the residual phantom pain of shackles and bruises crawling back into my senses. It wasn’t real—at least, not anymore—but my undead body remembered, just as my mind now did.
I had wanted this. Hadn’t I?
I had wanted to remember.
To reclaim the past that had been stolen from me.
To know who I was before I became… this.
But now?
Now, I wished I had never remembered it at all.
The memory was still raw.
An open wound in my mind, playing over and over with cruel clarity.
I could feel the cold floor of that cell, the unyielding stone pressing against my broken body. I could hear the distant clang of rusted chains, each rattle echoing like a countdown to something worse. I could see the false warmth in those emerald eyes—the way he spoke my name like it meant nothing.
It had meant nothing.
I had spent so much time reaching for the past, chasing after scraps of identity, desperate for something—anything—that could anchor me to who I used to be.
But all I found was suffering.
The past I had longed for? The truth I had fought to uncover?
It had been nothing but pain.
I sucked in a slow breath through gritted teeth, my nails digging into the stone beneath me. My body didn’t need air, but my mind needed something to ground itself. Something to stop me from drowning in that wretched memory.
Hopelessness. Fear. Agony. Desperation.
That had been me.
Not a stranger. Not someone else's pain.
Mine.
I could still feel him—that broken, battered boy, lying on the floor, unable to fight, unable to run, unable to do anything but suffer.
I could still remember what he felt.
And back then, he hadn’t been waiting for salvation.
He hadn’t wanted to be saved.
He had wanted them to pay.
I exhaled sharply.
It didn’t matter anymore.
I wasn’t him anymore.
I wasn’t that shattered boy, left to rot in chains, paralyzed by injuries and fear, waiting for whatever cruel fate had been planned for him.
I had survived. I had evolved.
That was what mattered now.
But that didn’t mean I would forget.
No—I would never forget.
Because no one else could ever truly understand what I felt in that moment.
No one else could ever grasp the terror, the agony, the despair that had settled so deep in my bones that it had become a part of me.
No one else could ever empathize with what I had suffered.
No one but me.
And so, there was only one person who could avenge me.
Me.
I clenched my fists, my claws pressing against my palms.
This wasn’t just a goal. It wasn’t just something I wanted.
It was a promise.
I would make them suffer.
I would make them understand what they had done.
I would avenge myself.
I exhaled the breath I had been holding, releasing tension I hadn’t realized had settled in my chest.
My fingers curled against the cold, bloodstained stone, nails pressing into the rough surface. The sensation was grounding, something tangible to focus on—something to pull me away from everything else.
I needed to think about something else.
Strength.
That was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that could push me forward.
I had evolved. That was a fact.
The Akashic Record confirmed it, but more than that, I could feel it in my body, in my bones, in the way my movements carried more power than before.
I was no longer a Witherling Zombie.
I had changed, and that change meant something.
And if I focused on that—on my evolution, on my strength—then the memories weren’t as suffocating. They were still there, lingering at the edges of my thoughts, but they no longer consumed me the way they had before.
For now, that would be enough.
Akashic Record
Name: Lucian
Race: Demonic Beast
Species: Graveborn Revenant
Rank: Fiend
Class: None
Level: 11
Titles: Cannibal
Strength: 35
Intelligence: 50
Endurance: 32
Vitality: 36(+5)
Agility: 40
Stat Points Available: 9
Skills:
Night Vision - Lv. 8
Necrotic Reach - Lv. 1
Inspect - Lv. 8
Unarmed Combat - Lv. 8
Mana Perception - Lv. 7
Fear - Lv. 7
Detection - Lv. 1
######### of ###### - Lv. Locked (Remnant - Unusable)
Traits:
Abyss-Touched Vessel - Lv. 1
Blood Nourishment - Lv. 3
Enhanced Physique - Lv. 1
Enhanced Cognition - Lv. 1
So my new species is a Graveborn Revenant. And I’m Fiend-Rank.
That was… new. I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but I knew it mattered. Both the Feral Zombie and the Crimson Blood Spawn had been of the same rank, and yet, their strengths had been completely different.
Which meant one thing—Fiend-Rank was not a fixed level of power. It was a classification, not a guarantee.
The realization gnawed at me. I had evolved, but how strong was I really? What did this rank actually signify? Was it purely a measure of power, or did it represent something more fundamental?
I exhaled, or at least mimicked the action. The habit still lingered, even though my lungs were no longer necessary. There was no point in speculating without data. My first step was already clear.
I opened my Akashic Record.
Numbers filled my vision, and for a brief, surreal moment, I genuinely thought I had misread them.
That couldn't be right.
I blinked, my crimson eyes scanning the figures again, slowly this time, ensuring my mind wasn’t deceiving me.
Before evolution, my highest stat had barely scraped 25. Now, even my lowest was in the 30s.
I stared at the values, my thoughts momentarily grinding to a halt.
That kind of growth wasn’t just significant—it was absurd. No, more than that. Unnatural.
My strength, my agility, my endurance… even my intelligence had surged beyond any reasonable expectation. This wasn’t a simple increase. It was a leap, a fundamental shift in what I was capable of.
Something like this didn’t just happen.
Stats weren’t arbitrary. They were a reflection of my very being and growth. But this kind of jump? It wasn’t normal.
I tried to rationalize it.
I had never seen another creature evolve. Not once. I had no frame of reference for what was normal.
Was this kind of growth standard? Expected?
I had no way of knowing.
All I did know was that my strength had surged to an almost absurd degree. Whether that was typical or something unique to me, I couldn’t say.
That left me with a troubling conclusion.
Not all Demonic Beasts are created equally.
I had suspected as much before, but this was proof. There was some underlying system, some hidden logic that dictated how much potential a being could have. Some creatures were simply more.
The Crimson Blood Spawn had been terrifyingly strong, leagues beyond the other monsters I had encountered. And despite both being Fiend-Rank, the Feral Zombie and the Blood Spawn were on entirely different levels.
Just like I was.
I clenched my fists. The sensation of my new body still felt unfamiliar, but there was no denying the power thrumming beneath my skin.
Even with this strength, I wasn’t stupid enough to think I was invincible.
Power alone wasn’t enough. Understanding was just as important.
I calmed down, forcing my mind to stabilize. This was a gift—one I would use. But getting cocky now would be a mistake.
I moved on to my skills.
[Necrotic Reach]
It had evolved from Wither’s Claw. My primary ability. The skill that had carried me through every fight up until now.
I was eager to see how it had changed.
I activated it.
The sensation was familiar—the same eerie pull of energy beneath my skin, the same unnatural shift as my body responded. But something was different.
Darker.
A shadow crawled up my hands from beneath my skin, coating them in a shifting, abyssal black. It wasn’t liquid, like ink or tar, but something deeper—something intrinsic.
I flexed my fingers experimentally. No weight, no resistance. It felt exactly like Wither’s Claw.
Which was… odd.
I had expected an immediate difference. An upgrade. Yet it felt the same.
So what had changed?
I needed data.
I began swiping my claws through the air, testing the sensation, the flow of movement. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The weight of my strikes, the feel of the skill—it all matched Wither’s Claw perfectly.
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But then, on the last swing—
Something tore free.
A thin black arc sliced through the space in front of me, colliding against the cavern wall with a dull thunk.
I froze.
A ranged skill?
That hadn’t happened before.
I stared at my hand, something cold settling in my chest. I hadn’t expected that. I repeated the motion, this time with intention, focusing on the sensation.
Another arc of black energy shot forward, embedding itself into the stone before dissipating like mist.
My eyes widened.
This… was good.
A slow grin stretched across my face, the first positive expression I had made since my evolution.
This was more than good.
Wither’s Claw had been useful but rigid. It had a single function—close-quarters combat. Effective, but limited.
Necrotic Reach was different.
Now, it had range. Now, it had versatility. Now, it was something more.
I flexed my fingers again, watching the black energy ripple and fade.
Next on the list was an entirely new skill [Detection].
Based on the name I could guess what it did but i still wanted to ready the description.
[Skill: Detection]
[Details: Your senses extend beyond the limitations of sight and sound. By attuning yourself to the presence of the world, you perceive your surroundings in a way beyond natural perception.]
A situational skill. But situational didn’t mean useless.
I already had night vision. Darkness wasn’t a problem for me. However, sight had its limits—obstacles, blind spots, the unpredictability of movement. Detection could eliminate those gaps.
If it worked the way I suspected, then even if something lurked behind a wall, concealed itself in the shadows, or moved outside my field of view, I would still know.
I activated it.
The shift was immediate.
Not overwhelming. Not invasive. Just… different.
A faint ripple of awareness spread outward from my body, subtle but distinct, as though I had gained an invisible sixth sense layered over my existing perception.
And just like that, I felt it.
Something moved.
Twenty meters away.
A presence flickered at the edge of my awareness. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it. But I knew it was there.
A Duskfang Hound.
The knowledge settled in my mind—not as an image, but as an impression. A vague outline of movement, of something existing in that space. I couldn’t tell what it was doing, only that it was present.
I turned toward the source, staring at the cavern wall. My eyes narrowed. The creature was on the other side.
Interesting.
I took a slow breath. My fingers flexed at my sides.
This… was useful.
Sight alone required a direct line of vision. Sound required noise. Smell—well, I doubted my undead body had much to work with there. But this?
This was awareness, passive and persistent.
I clenched my fist.
The range is limited for now. The detail were imprecise. But if I could level this…
If I could improve it…
I would never be caught off guard again.
That was worth the effort.
I left Detection active.
The more I used it, the more natural it would become and level up. The more that happened, the more natural my reactions to it would be.
And besides, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with any surprise attacks.
With that settled, I turned my attention to my newly evolved trait.
Previously, it had been called [Undead Body]. Now, it had evolved and been renamed.
[Abyss-Touched Vessel].
…Was it just me, or did that name sound way too dramatic?
I resisted the urge to force a sigh. The system had a flair for the ominous, that was for sure.
Still, the name didn’t matter. The function did.
I had expected something straightforward—a durability boost, maybe an increase in regeneration. Standard undead traits, nothing out of the ordinary.
But as I examined the description, I realized this was something much more.
[Trait: Abyss-Touched Vessel]
[Details: Forged in the Abyssal Zone, your body has adapted beyond the limits of flesh. Tougher and more resilient, it resists damage that would cripple others. Wounds close with unnatural speed, and the corruption of rot, poison, and curses are severely weakened.]
I paused.
I had been through plenty of fights since waking up in this abyss. I had lost limbs, had my body torn apart, had my flesh cut open and put back together like it was nothing.
And I had still kept fighting.
So, the fact that my body could resist crippling damage wasn’t new.
What was new was that it had improved.
I still didn’t feel pain like a normal person. I had learned that early on—it was dull, manageable, something that never truly stopped me. Even when my arm had been ripped off, even when I had been on the verge of falling apart, I had still been able to move, to fight.
Now, that ability had been enhanced.
That meant my body wasn’t just tougher. It was better at enduring.
Rot, poison, and curses were also listed. I had never dealt with curses before, but if they were anything like poison or rot, I wasn’t eager to experience them.
I looked over the trait again and was in awe at how impressive it was.
Then, a quiet laugh rumbled in the back of my throat.
Am I on the path to becoming some kind of undead tank? Just standing there, letting enemies break their weapons on me?
I shook my head. Ridiculous.
…Right?
Either way, I wouldn’t know until I tested it in battle.
My last two traits were [Enhanced Physique] and [Enhanced Cognition].
I didn’t need to read the descriptions. They were self-explanatory.
One made my body stronger. The other made my mind sharper.
Simple. No need to dwell on it.
Enhanced Physique? Yeah, yeah—faster, stronger, tougher. Exactly what I expected. Nothing surprising there.
But Enhanced Cognition?
That one gave me pause.
I hadn’t noticed any immediate changes in my thinking, but considering my Intellect was sitting at 50, I couldn’t help but wonder if the two were related.
I had no way of knowing.
Whatever.
What I did know was that, in the system’s own words, I was a genius.
How exactly would that manifest? No clue.
But a genius like me shouldn’t have to worry about that. I’d figure it out eventually.
For now, I closed the Akashic Record and kept moving.
I walked through the cavern, my thoughts circling the same question over and over again.
Why had my life and death led me here?
I had been fighting to survive, to grow stronger, to push forward because it was all I could do. But the further I went, the more I realized that I was running on nothing.
I had no answers.
I had no past that made sense, only fractured glimpses of suffering.
I had no future, no goal beyond strength and revenge, and even that felt like something I had grasped onto because there was nothing else to hold.
I had nothing.
And the weight of that was starting to settle in.
The system had taken me, twisted me, turned me into this.
But why?
Why was I here?
Why had my life led me to this place?
Had it always been leading here? Had my death just been another step down the same miserable road I had walked in life?
Was I always meant to end up like this?
Some nameless thing, trapped in an abyss, with no memories, no identity, no purpose?
The thoughts clung to me, no matter how hard I tried to push them away.
I had been avoiding them, distracting myself with survival, with power, with the next fight, the next kill.
But in the silence of the cavern, in the slow, steady loneliness of being here, I couldn’t outrun them.
I let out a breath. Pointless, unnecessary, but habitual.
Maybe that’s the real joke.
I kept mimicking things I no longer needed. Breathing. Blinking. Thinking like I was still alive.
Maybe part of me was still pretending.
Pretending I was fine.
Pretending that the system hadn’t ripped away my past, thrown me into this tomb, and made me into something I couldn’t even define.
Maybe part of me thought if I kept moving forward, if I focused on power, on survival, I wouldn’t have to think about it.
Wouldn’t have to feel it.
That aching, crawling emptiness.
But the truth was, I wasn’t fine.
I was angry. I was tired. I was alone.
I scoffed to myself. What a tragedy. Someone get the undead a therapist.
I kept walking. Strength.
As long as I was strong, that was enou—
I stopped.
The words cut off in my mind, strangled before I could finish them.
Because even as I tried to force them out, to reassure myself, I already knew.
No.
It wasn’t enough, and it would never be enough.
That was the last thought I had before my body locked up.
Ahead of me, embedded deep into the cavern wall, was a massive stone slab.
It stood out immediately—not rough, not jagged, not worn down by time. The surrounding rock was uneven, cracked, and broken by the natural decay of the labyrinth. But this?
This was smooth. Cut cleanly. Deliberate.
A perfect, reflective surface, dark and polished like obsidian.
A mirror.
My hands twitched at my sides, hovering between stillness and tension, as if my body was preparing for something it couldn’t fight.
I already knew what it meant.
And I didn’t want to face it.
I clenched my jaw, something cold creeping up my spine.
I had known what I looked like before. A corpse barely holding itself together. Sunken eyes. Brittle skin. Bones too sharp, veins too visible. A monster in every sense of the word.
But now?
Now, I had changed. I had evolved.
And I had avoided thinking about what that meant.
What do I look like now?
The answer was right in front of me.
All I had to do was step forward and see.
But my feet wouldn’t move.
Because the truth was, I wasn’t just afraid of looking.
I was afraid of what would look back at me.
I had changed, but into what?
Would I still see something that was me?
Or would there be nothing left?
I swallowed hard, though my body didn’t need the reflex.
It was a stupid fear. Irrational.
And yet, standing there, staring at that flawless black mirror carved into the abyss, it felt like I was standing at the edge of something I couldn’t come back from.
My fingers curled, my claws forming before I even realized it.
I exhaled, forcing myself forward.
One step.
Then another.
And another.
Until my own reflection came into view.
I stared.
I locked eyes with the thing in the mirror, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was really me.
I wasn’t a decayed husk anymore, not a corpse barely stitched together by undeath. My skin wasn’t peeling, my body wasn’t brittle, my limbs weren’t hollow shadows of what they used to be.
But that didn’t make this better.
My skin was pale—no, beyond pale. Colorless. Dull white, drained of anything that could be considered alive.
It was smooth, intact, whole—but not in a way that looked natural. Not in a way that made me feel human.
It reminded me of something preserved. Frozen in time. A body that had never rotted, never decayed, but had still lost every trace of warmth, of softness, of life.
My fingers twitched at my sides. My nails had changed—hardened into black, claw-like tips. Not grotesque but obviously weapons.
I lifted a hand, watching the reflection mimic me, and willed my fingers to curl inward. My claws retracted, vanishing just as easily as they had appeared.
So, that’s how it is.
Even my body could pretend.
My hair had changed too a bit. Still dead white, stripped of all color. It was still wild, still messy, but heavier, like it had volume now that it hadn’t before.
And my teeth—
I parted my lips slightly, enough to see the difference. Not fangs, not jagged monstrosities. But each and every tooth had been sharpened into something meant to tear, to rend.
At a glance, maybe—maybe—they could pass for human.
But they weren’t.
My eyes burned. Crimson. Brighter than before. Their glow was deeper, more intense, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.
Because now, a small yellow pupil sat at the center.
It was subtle, barely noticeable unless you looked closer. But I could see it.
I could see the thing staring back at me.
I let out my habitual breath.
Not because I was shocked, but because, as I stared at the reflection in front of me, I realized something.
I didn’t know what I was looking at.
I looked young. Adolescent. Maybe a teenager.
But I had no way of knowing at what age I had died.
Had I been a child? Had I been an adult?
Hell, had I ever been anything at all?
I clenched my fists in an attempt to calm down.
This was better than before.
I wasn’t falling apart. I wasn’t decomposing. I wasn’t a rotting mess of exposed bone and dead flesh.
But I was still wrong.
Still monstrous.
Still undead.
I looked just human enough to unsettle myself.
But not enough to fool even the dimmest human.
If I wrapped myself in cloth, covered my skin, hid my face in the shadows, maybe—just maybe—I could pass at a glance.
But that’s all it would ever be. A glance.
Because no matter how much I changed, no matter how much stronger I became, no matter how much my body stitched itself into something more whole, the truth wouldn’t change.
I wasn’t human.
And I never would be again.
I looked at the monster in the mirror.
And that was all I saw.
The reflection stared back at me, expression unreadable.
I saw hate in those burning crimson eyes.
And I didn’t know if it was for them.
The ones who had cursed me in life. The ones who had sent me here in death.
The ones whose faces I could remember, whose voices still echoed in the depths of my mind—yet whose reasons remained an empty void.
Or was it for me?
A growl rumbled in my chest, low and sharp, rising up my throat before I could stop it.
I moved.
My fist lashed out, aiming straight for the reflection staring back at me.
CRACK.
The impact sent a deep fracture splintering across the surface of the stone.
My reflection twisted, warped, shattered into a dozen distorted fragments.
But I wasn’t done.
I pulled back and struck again.
I can’t fight the past. But I can fight this.
CRACK.
I can’t fight what I’ve lost. But I can break this.
Another punch.
CRACK.
I can’t fight who I’ve become. But I can destroy the proof of it.
CRACK.
“Fuhh—” The sound tore from my throat, raw and unfamiliar. My tongue felt thick, my jaw clumsy. “F-Fuhh—Fuck.”
I froze.
The first word I spoke.
It barely had time to settle before the anger flared again, burning hotter, demanding more.
I struck again.
“Fuck.”
And again.
“Fuck.”
And again.
“FUCK.”
I kept going. Because this was something I could fight. This was something I could hurt.
I couldn’t tear apart the past. I couldn’t carve answers out of memories that refused to form.
But I could break this until there was nothing left.
And so, I did.
By the time I stepped back, there was no reflection left to stare at me.
Only a ruined mess of shattered stone, cracks webbing out like broken veins, as if even the rock had struggled to contain what I had become.
I stood there, chest rising and falling with a breath I didn’t need. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to keep swinging, keep breaking, keep destroying.
The anger was still there. The resentment, the questions, the emptiness.
But standing here wouldn’t change anything.
I needed something to break that could hit back.
Something to tear apart.
Something to devour.
I turned toward the abyss, the hunger inside me twisting, curling, spreading like a second pulse beneath my skin.
The next level of the Labyrinthine Tomb awaited.
And I was fucking starving.
Chapter End…
Akashic Record
Name: Lucian
Race: Demonic Beast
Species: Graveborn Revenant
Rank: Fiend
Class: None
Level: 11
Titles: Cannibal
Strength: 35
Intelligence: 50
Endurance: 32
Vitality: 36(+5)
Agility: 40
Stat Points Available: 9
Skills:
Night Vision - Lv. 8
Necrotic Reach - Lv. 1
Inspect - Lv. 8
Unarmed Combat - Lv. 8
Mana Perception - Lv. 7
Fear - Lv. 7
Detection - Lv. 1
######### of ###### - Lv. Locked (Remnant - Unusable)
Traits:
Abyss-Touched Vessel - Lv. 1
Blood Nourishment - Lv. 3
Enhanced Physique - Lv. 1
Enhanced Cognition - Lv. 1
