I dropped into a low stance, fingers grazing the dirt, weight shifting onto the balls of my feet. The motion was too smooth, too precise. There was no awkward adjustment, no stiffness—just instant readiness.

  I moved.

  A burst forward—faster than expected. My legs coiled and released like a spring wound too tight, propelling me further than I intended. The air rushed past my skin, colder, sharper than before. I landed lightly, barely disturbing the leaves beneath me.

  Too light. Too efficient.

  I pivoted, shifting my momentum, throwing a punch at the nearest tree. No hesitation. No overcorrection. My knuckles struck the bark, and the wood cracked—not from raw force, but from precision. My hand barely stung.

  I stepped back, flexing my fingers, feeling the way my skin tightened, stretched over the movement. Not soft, not rigid—something in between. Something built to take damage and keep moving.

  I crouched, shifting my weight lower, expecting to feel the usual strain in my legs. There was none. My tail swept behind me, adjusting, balancing me like an afterthought.

  A test. I spun sharply, aiming a kick at the same tree, my tail counterbalancing the motion. The impact snapped wood clean through. Not just strength—efficiency.

  I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. The motion carried further than I intended, but not out of control—like my body was using every ounce of effort with nothing wasted.

  Painborn.

  Not just stronger—optimized.

  I surged forward again, this time leaping—not with brute force, but testing the limits. The wind tore at my skin as I soared, my trajectory clean, perfect, calculated. I twisted midair, landing soundlessly, weight dispersing without effort.

  I had never moved like this before. Never this refined, this instinctual.

  I struck out again, my tail whipping around—faster, harder. The tree I targeted didn’t crack—it exploded.

  I stood still, breath steady, hands loose at my sides.

  Everything felt right.

  Like this was the body I was meant to have all along. It wasn’t just stronger—it was built for me. Every movement, every shift of weight, every breath felt seamless, optimized, perfect.

  I was perfect.

  Now it was time to test it in real combat.

  I moved through the forest, my steps silent against the undergrowth. Not forced silence—just natural, effortless movement. Leaves barely crunched beneath my feet. The usual stiffness of adjusting to new strength was nonexistent.

  It didn’t take long to find something.

  Ahead, through the gaps in the trees, a form slinked forward—low to the ground, its gait smooth and deliberate. It hadn’t noticed me yet.

  I narrowed my eyes, focusing.

  Cloaked Appraisal.

  A faint shimmer flickered over the creature’s body, and information slid into my mind.

  Level 7 Bonegnasher Stalker.

  A predator built for silent takedowns—low-profile frame, reinforced spine, heightened sensory awareness. Lacks traditional sight but compensates with vibration tracking and scent detection. Primary weapons: elongated claws and layered jaw structure capable of splitting apart for wider bites. High-speed ambush potential. Weakness: Overwhelms prey quickly but has limited endurance in prolonged fights.

  I exhaled slowly. Cloaked appraisal had leveled up.

  It was a perfect first test.

  The Bonegnasher stalked forward, oblivious to my presence, its skeletal mask tilting slightly as it sniffed the air. It wasn’t looking for me. Not yet.

  I crouched low, then sprang.

  The wind rushed past me as I vaulted onto the branch above, my landing silent, effortless. My muscles coiled without strain, without resistance, my tail flicking once to steady my balance. The Bonegnasher crept closer, its jagged vertebrae shifting with each careful step.

  I waited. The moment it stepped into range, I struck.

  Not just a jump—a full explosion of movement. My body shot forward in a blur of speed, aiming to crash down upon it before it could react.

  But it was fast.

  The Bonegnasher darted to the side at the last second, its instincts saving it from a direct hit. Before, that would have cost me the attack. Before, I would have hit the ground and needed to reorient myself.

  Not anymore. My body adjusted instantly.

  The moment my feet touched the dirt, I twisted sharply, momentum redirecting without hesitation. My tail lashed behind me, a burst of force sending me forward again.

  That tiny acceleration was all I needed.

  I closed the gap before the Bonegnasher could fully recover. My knee drove forward, faster than it could react.

  Bone crunched.

  Its mask absorbed some of the blow, but not enough. Blood splattered across my leg as its nose shattered under the force. The creature let out a strangled, gurgling snarl, staggering backward, its claws scraping against the dirt.

  I landed smoothly, already shifting forward, ready to press the attack.

  It had survived the first strike. That just meant I got to test my body even more.

  The Bonegnasher stumbled back, claws digging into the earth as it steadied itself. It wasn’t dead, but it was dazed. Blood dripped from its crushed nose, painting red streaks down the bone plating of its face.

  It hissed, body lowering, vertebrae bristling. It wanted to counterattack.

  I let it.

  The moment it lunged, I moved.

  A blur of motion. My body reacted without hesitation, flowing like water, slipping past the snapping jaws and raking claws. I didn’t dodge so much as I simply wasn’t where it thought I’d be.

  It landed, twisting to swipe at me again—too slow.

  I was already there.

  I lashed out, driving my elbow into its ribs. Another crunch, another spray of blood. The beast lurched, stumbling sideways, its footing sloppy.

  I could end this.

  If I summoned a blade, one precise strike would do it. A quick severing of the spine, a clean puncture through the skull. It would be effortless.

  Too easy.

  But this wasn’t about winning.

  This was about learning.

  I wanted to feel my body move. Wanted to push it, test it, see exactly what it could do.

  I let my tail whip forward, catching the Bonegnasher’s back leg, yanking it off-balance. It snarled, trying to recover, but I was already moving, closing the gap in an instant.

  A fist drove into its ribs—a sharp, efficient strike. It barely had time to react before my foot crashed against its shoulder, sending it tumbling. Not just strength—momentum. My movements carried force in ways I had never felt before. Every strike connected with full efficiency, no wasted effort.

  The Bonegnasher scrambled, claws digging into the dirt, but I gave it no space.

  I followed through, slamming my knee into its gut. It gagged, spine arching as I felt something break beneath the impact.

  Too easy. Too smooth.

  It lunged one final time, desperate, panicked. I sidestepped, twisting with an unnatural ease, catching its neck in the crook of my arm. Before it could even thrash, I drove it into the ground, my tail snapping forward for extra force.

  The impact shook the earth.

  The Bonegnasher twitched. Tried to rise. I reared back and drove my fist into its skull. Once. Twice. Three times.

  The bone plating cracked. It shuddered, barely breathing.I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. My body wasn’t even strained.I reared back one last time. And caved its head in.

  Blood pooled beneath the carcass, the fight over before it ever truly began.

  I straightened, rolling my wrists, feeling the lingering energy coiling in my muscles. I had been holding back. Even now, I hadn’t reached my limits.

  The Bonegnasher twitched once beneath me before going still. For a brief moment, nothing happened, just the quiet aftermath of the kill. Then, something rushed in.

  It was sudden, like a breath I hadn’t taken, filling the space inside me before I could resist it. A weight pressed into my chest, cold and heavy, neither pain nor relief, just… presence. I inhaled sharply as the sensation spread, curling through my limbs, threading into the spaces between muscle and bone. It wasn’t exhaustion settling in—it was something deeper, something that wasn’t leaving.

  Frowning, I flicked open my status screen.

  Torment: +5%.

  The number had ticked up, steady now at 30%. I exhaled, but the feeling didn’t fade. It lingered, coiled beneath my skin, waiting. Watching. Wanting.

  Rolling my shoulders, I tested the tension in my body. I could handle more.

  As I looked down at the corpse, I knew that if I drank its blood, I could gain roughly another 5% Torment. The knowledge settled in easily, a simple fact rather than a temptation.

  But as soon as the thought formed, another followed—the memory of the Alpha’s blood flooding my throat, the pain of my body tearing itself apart, the searing agony that had crawled through every inch of me as it remade what I was. Even now, the phantom sensation lingered, sharp enough to make my hands tense.

  I could take more, push myself further, but I didn’t. The weight of that pain kept me from indulging, and so I turned away, letting the hunger pass.

  Ding!

  You have slain [Bonegnasher Stalker - Level 7].

  You have leveled up!

  +1 to all stats.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  +4 free points.

  The system’s notification flashed across my vision, but I barely focused on the numbers. My body already felt it. The shift was subtle—muscles tightening, movements settling into something just a little more precise. I rolled my shoulders, testing the tension, feeling the raw efficiency behind every motion.

  The first day was efficient. Kill. Move. Kill again.

  I didn’t rest much, didn’t need to. My body adapted quickly, recovering faster than I expected. The creatures I hunted were strong, but none were a real challenge. Not yet.

  Torment climbed with each fight, a slow, steady burn at first.

  By the second day, I stopped thinking about the fights at all.

  Ding!

  You have slain [Razorfang Boar - Level 12].

  Ding!

  You have slain [Forest Viper - Level 15].

  Torment +3%.

  Torment +2%.

  Torment: 52%.

  The kills blurred together. Claws, fangs, blood, movement. Nothing was a threat. Nothing mattered.

  I barely looked at the creatures before I cut them down. Sometimes I strangled them just to feel their thrashing slow, just to feel the moment their resistance gave way. They didn’t deserve strategy. They weren’t worth it.

  By the third day, I stopped thinking about them as anything but obstacles.

  Ding!

  You have slain [Ironhide Ursan - Level 20].

  Torment: 77%.

  Something shifted. The world was simpler now. Just prey and predator. Just motion and impact. The rush of combat was purer, undiluted by hesitation or thought. This was what I was made for.

  The moment they entered my range, they were already dead.

  A beast tried to run. I caught it. Another tried to fight. I crushed its skull beneath my hands. The weaker ones I let bleed out. It wasn’t about efficiency anymore.

  It just felt right, so I smiled when I killed.

  Ding!

  You have leveled up!

  +1 to all stats.

  +4 free points.

  I barely noticed.

  The fourth day brought something bigger. Stronger.

  I didn’t hesitate when I saw it. Didn’t even check my appraisal.

  I charged.

  It was massive—a Direfang Basilisk, easily twice my size, scales thick as armor plating. It reared back, hissing, venom dripping from its elongated fangs. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, something ancient and primal.

  It didn’t matter.

  I was stronger.

  Torment: 91%.

  Torment surged through me, drowning out thought, filling my limbs with certainty. I was faster. I was deadlier. I would rip this thing apart.

  I leapt, driving forward with everything I had, aiming for its throat—fast, overwhelming, crushing.

  The moment my foot touched the ground, everything shattered.

  Pain erupted through my side, white-hot and immediate. Fangs tore into my ribs. My breath hitched—too fast. I hadn’t even seen it move.

  That’s not—

  The beast whipped me through the air, its coils snapping like a whip. The world blurred, and then I hit the ground. Hard. A sharp crack rattled through my spine as the air rushed from my lungs.

  That’s not possible.

  I tried to push up, to move, to strike, but my body didn’t listen. The basilisk was already on me, fangs gleaming as it lunged again.

  I twisted, barely rolling aside—not fast enough. Its tail slammed down, grazing my arm, but the force alone was enough to send me skidding, my shoulder wrenching at the unnatural angle.

  I landed hard, breath coming in ragged gasps. This wasn’t right.

  I forced my legs under me, ready to counter, ready to break this thing apart. It was just an animal. I was stronger.

  The basilisk coiled, moving with a predator’s grace—not mindless rage, but calculation. Watching. Waiting.

  My fingers tightened into fists. It wasn’t rushing in.

  It wasn’t scared of me.

  The realization curdled in my gut, but I pushed it down. I had already beaten things bigger, deadlier. I had already crushed stronger prey.

  I lunged—

  And the basilisk was faster.

  Its tail struck like a hammer, catching my ribs mid-charge, sending me soaring before I even processed the movement.

  I hit the ground again. Pain screamed through my chest.

  I moved to push up—the shadow fell over me.

  It was already on me, coils tightening, preparing to crush.

  I wasn’t stronger.

  The thought slammed into me harder than any of its attacks.

  I hadn’t been fighting. I had been rushing, flailing, reacting like a mindless animal.

  I hadn’t planned.

  I hadn’t thought.

  I had just assumed I was stronger.

  And it was about to kill me for that mistake.

  A flash of panic surged in my chest—real, sharp, immediate.

  Crimson Reconstitution.

  A shockwave of pain ripped through my body as the skill activated. My blood burned, muscles knitting together in a sickening rush, tissue reweaving itself even as fresh agony coursed through me.

  Torment: 23%.

  I gasped.

  The weight in my mind shifted.

  I saw the fight for what it was. I had been reckless. Sloppy. Delusional.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  I had been unstoppable.

  Hadn’t I?

  I tried to force the thought away, but it stuck. The certainty, the power—I could still feel it.

  The basilisk wasn’t stronger than me. It couldn’t be.

  It had to be a fluke. A mistake. Something I could still crush.

  The basilisk’s coils tightened, its massive fangs pressing deeper against my ribs. It wasn’t crushing me yet—it was adjusting, preparing to snap me in half.

  I hesitated.

  For the first time in days, I hesitated.

  A cold pulse of realization settled in my chest.

  I had been wrong. I had been so, so wrong.

  The basilisk was stronger. And I had been too deep into Torment’s grip to realize it.

  I went limp in its jaws, forcing my breath shallow. No resistance. No struggle. Just stillness.

  The basilisk hesitated. Its fangs, still buried in my ribs, loosened just enough as it prepared to coil around me for the final squeeze.

  I moved.

  I wrenched free, twisting with the momentum rather than against it. The pain screamed through my body, but I ignored it. The moment my feet hit the ground, I launched backward, my tail snapping out to strike. It hit the weak spot behind its jaw—just enough force to stagger it, but not enough to truly wound.

  This thing was stronger than me.

  I felt the realization settle like ice in my gut. I couldn’t just overpower it. I couldn’t bludgeon it to death like the weaker monsters before. I needed a weapon.

  My fingers clenched—and my summoned shortsword materialized in my grip.

  The basilisk recovered faster than expected. Its body coiled, lunging with terrifying speed, jaws snapping forward with enough force to shatter bone. I barely ducked in time, the wind from its strike whipping past my face.

  I slashed upward, aiming for the soft tissue of its mouth—too slow. Its head jerked back, avoiding the full force of the attack, but my blade still cut deep into the side of its snout, splitting flesh.

  It hissed, tail lashing out in retaliation.

  I threw myself to the side—not fast enough. The impact caught my shoulder, sending me tumbling. My vision blurred as I hit the dirt, rolling with the momentum to avoid being crushed under its massive coils.

  I couldn’t fight this like the others.

  It moved with purpose, with intelligence. It wasn’t some mindless beast. It was a predator.

  And I was bleeding.

  I landed hard, my ribs flaring in agony as I struggled back to my feet. The basilisk wasn’t giving me time to recover. It was already lunging again, mouth wide, aiming to swallow me whole.

  I dropped my stance.

  Not in retreat. Not in fear.

  I let it come.

  At the last second, I pivoted sharply, dodging just enough to avoid its fangs. My blade lashed out, slamming into the softer flesh beneath its throat, cutting deep. The basilisk recoiled, thrashing, but I followed through, stepping into its blind spot.

  It tried to twist, to coil around me—but now I was inside its reach.

  I summoned my dagger in my free hand, gripping it in a reverse hold.

  One shot. I needed one clean shot.

  I drove the dagger up, given an extra bit of strength from another flash of torment, straight into the gap beneath its skull.

  The basilisk convulsed, its entire body seizing. I held on, twisting the blade deeper, feeling the way it tore through muscle and severed something vital.

  Its movements grew frantic—thrashing, wild, but dying.

  I yanked the blade free, kicking off its body as it collapsed into the dirt, its coils twitching, the light already fading from its eyes.

  Ding!

  You have slain [Direfang Basilisk - Level 30].

  You have leveled up.

  +1 to all stats.

  +4 free points.

  I stumbled back, gripping my ribs, my breathing ragged. My body ached, my blood soaked into the dirt, and my mind still reeled from the fight. I had won—but not because of strength, not because of raw power.

  Because I had used my head.

  Why hadn’t I done that from the beginning?

  I inhaled sharply, forcing down the lingering pain, and activated Crimson Reconstitution. The Torment I had gained from the kill surged forward, eager, ready to be spent. Heat spread through my limbs, latching onto every torn muscle, every broken piece of me, weaving them back together. The wounds sealed almost too quickly, the pain fading into nothing.

  As my body settled, my mind did too. And that’s when I felt it.

  The silence.

  The absence of something.

  The haze was gone. The certainty. The absolute, primal confidence that had ruled me for days had vanished, burned away with the healing.

  My breath hitched. I had thought I could kill that thing with my bare hands.

  A level 30 monster. More than ten levels above me. I hadn’t even considered summoning my blade at first. I hadn’t planned. I hadn’t thought.

  I had just attacked.

  My fingers twitched against the dirt. How many other fights had been like that?

  How long had I been fighting without thinking?

  I clenched my jaw, staring at my hands. I wasn’t even shocked that I had almost died. No hesitation, no fear, just the vague sense of failure that I had lost control of the fight.

  And that scared me more than the wounds ever had.

  Torment had taken over.

  Not in a rush, not in an explosion of rage. It had crept in, slow and insidious, wrapping around my thoughts like a second skin. It hadn’t made me reckless. It had made me sure.

  And that was worse.

  I laid back, staring at the sky through the gaps in the trees, my breath steady but uneasy.

  How much more could I take before I stopped realizing it at all?

  At least I hit level 19, faster than expected and I had a TON of free points, having saved them all. Only counting on the +1 to all stats as an increase to my strength.

  Name: Sylas Orread

  Race: Painbound Revenant

  Specialization: -

  Titles: One Against Many, Childkiller

  Skills: Cloaked Appraisal, Freshen

  Level: 19E

  Strength: 40

  Dexterity: 40

  Vitality: 40

  Fortitude: 40

  Veil: 40

  Mind: 41

  Instinct: 41

  Torment: 40

  Unspent Points: 72

  Skill Points Available: 3

  Looking at my stats, I was an absolute monster.

  I had more raw stat points now than I ever did as a Demon, and I hadn’t even spent the 72 unspent points waiting for me. My body felt stronger, faster, more efficient than ever before. Every motion was seamless, every shift in balance perfect. Even without spending a single point, I was beyond what I had been.

  That wasn’t normal.

  The system must have been favoring me… or favoring my new race.

  I frowned, rolling my shoulders, testing the tension in my muscles. The numbers didn’t lie. This kind of growth was unnatural. If I had leveled this fast as a Demon, I would have noticed. I would have broken past every wall in my way. But back then, my progress had been steady—earned, fought for, taken in blood.

  This was different.

  The system wasn’t just letting me grow—it was pushing me forward.

  Did it want Painborn to exist?

  Not too far-fetched. If it saw value in my new race, if it had no precedent for what I had become, maybe it was tilting the balance in my favor. An experiment? A new force in the multiverse?

  A slow grin pulled at my lips. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t about to complain.

  I looked at my Torment attribute, the memory of losing control still fresh in my mind. I never wanted to feel that undeniably strong again—not if it meant abandoning my greatest weapon. My mind had always been my edge, my true strength, and I refused to let it slip from me so easily.

  I dumped all 72 of my unspent points into Torment.

  The change was instant.

  A wave of weakness crashed over me. My muscles trembled, my breath hitched, and a sharp, gnawing hunger coiled deep in my gut. My limbs felt sluggish, drained, as if something vital had been ripped from me.

  This wasn’t strength. This was the opposite.

  What the hell?

  I had just increased my Torment. Shouldn’t I feel stronger? Shouldn’t my body feel more refined, more resilient? Instead, my legs felt like lead, my hands unsteady. My stomach twisted, empty and aching, a deep craving curling through my insides like a sickness.

  Then I remembered.

  I needed to be above 10% Torment—or my body would weaken.

  I had just gained so much Torment capacity that my current amount had dropped well below the threshold. I wasn’t starving. I was running on nothing.

  A hollow sensation spread through my limbs, an unnatural fatigue settling in.

  I swallowed hard and glanced back at the basilisk.

  Its corpse didn’t look disgusting at all.