Alex shifted his attention from the harpy’s fallen corpse to a wide space where the towering Bloodslime heaved and shifted. Many hunters had already converged on it, fanning out in a semicircle. Supported by his sovereign clones, the hunters coordinated their attack on the Bloodslime with experience and poise, preventing any strikes from reaching their allies and taking hold of the situation: a glowing archer and a crossbowman unleashed explosive and freezing projectiles, while a kite-shield bearer blocked tendrils and a swift spearman sliced through its flanks. Their combined efforts kept the creature off-balance, dismantling it piece by piece.

  And yet, the creature regenerated endlessly.

  Spears of bone, whips of blood, and sickles of flesh lashed out in blinding blurs, almost impossible to track at lower levels. The creature became a storm of destruction, carving deep gouges into the ground. Though the hunters worked together to keep it contained and trapped, its relentless onslaught forced them back, only allowing attacks from a distance, the rest unable to draw near without risking injury. An arrow burst into a whirlwind, tearing off chunks of tissue that quickly reformed. A ribcage briefly emerged in the centre, empty and dripping blood—but no core—before the slime sealed itself again.

  “It’s got to have a core,” the shielded hunter yelled, pressing his forearm against the top edge of his shield. “Where is it?”

  Alex stepped forward, then. Metal plates on his armour slid smoothly as he walked, and he passed two mid-level hunters who stared at the roiling mass in front of them.

  “Be careful!” one shouted, voice high with alarm. “We can’t find its weak spot!”

  A second hunter, an older woman gripping dual sickles, called out, “Stay back, you’ll get pulled in!”

  Alex didn’t pause. He walked toward the Bloodslime, ignoring another volley of projectiles that detonated near his boots. Bone spears jabbed his way, but he veered with minimal effort, pivoting on his heel. In less than a second, his armoured body moved in a way that defied usual human limits. He sidestepped and ducked, letting the deadly whips slice harmlessly through empty space. A spiny whip lashed out from the slime’s left side, barbed like a predatory tail. He leaned aside, letting it sail past his shoulder. Bits of detached flesh splattered across the ground, each attempt to impale him ending in a miss. A battered hunter gaped at the armoured stranger, and more turned to watch his approach in disbelief.

  "What... is he doing?" one of the hunters whispered, staring up at Alex’s chaotic, unbounded approach.

  "Not fighting," another answered, voice croaking with exhaustion. "That’s not fighting. That’s… something else."

  Hunters shifted to give him space. Some exchanged glances as if still deciding whether to pull him back. The shield-bearer planted himself in front of a cluster of younger fighters, refusing to let them advance or retreat in a panic.

  Alex breathed deep beneath his helmet. With a thought, he activated Internal Energy Refinement, and the change was immediate. His mana surged through his circuits, purifying as it condensed into a denser, more explosive form.

  [SYSTEM ALERT – OVERDRIVE DETECTED: Mana Efficiency ↑ 200%, Qi Capacity ↓ 46%]

  [Buff ‘Refined Energy’ has temporarily altered the users' stats—Wisdom stat +1000 for 5 minutes. Warning: permanent after-effects may be present due to override.]

  [Debuff ‘Refined Energy’ has temporarily altered the users’ stats—Qi stat -500 for 5 minutes. Warning: permanent after-effects may be present due to override.]

  “All-knowing cut.”

  He felt it in his every motion. His blade hummed with new intensity, and the air around him grew heavy with raw power. He thought of plasma; superheated gas erupted, electrons stripped away in an instant, leaving a seething mass of ionized plasma that crackled with raw energy. Stepping forward, he swung once—just once—and a barbed tendril disintegrated mid-air. Alex’s sword ignited with scorching mana, and just like that, the entire mountain floor ripped open, leaving a molten path where his strike had passed.

  The slime regenerated through the flames.

  Alex exhaled, unfolding his SwordSaint’s Domain around him in a fifteen-foot radius, a subtle shift that enhanced his perception. He became aware of minute vibrations beneath his feet, each flick of slime-laced tendrils, and every faint hum of magic from the hunters. In that expanded zone, the Bloodslime’s shape became clearer to him. Something in its middle moved constantly, slipping away whenever an attack came too close.

  The core?

  Alex twisted to avoid a lashing tendril and shouted over the chaos, “What’s the core?”

  Osric knocked an arrow almost as large as he was, its speeding form slamming into the writhing mass. “Th—The thing keeping it alive,” he yelled back, his eyes never leaving the crater Alex had just carved into the ancient landscape. Another arrow strike sent flesh splattering. “Destroy it and the whole thing collapses!”

  Ah, so it’s like a spirit beast core, except magical.

  The Bloodslime’s core constantly shifted position within its body, slipping away from incoming attacks. A narrow mass of compressed mana that slipped inside the slime’s centre, darting around with unpredictable speed. The slime moulded its flesh to shield the core from every possible angle, and Alex realized it was smaller than a clenched fist.

  Alex stepped forward, the air around his blade warping as Pierce Reality twisted dimensions into alignment. He felt a momentary resistance—like cutting through glass—and then the Bloodslime’s core came into view. With a sharp breath, he summoned Sovereign Executioner. A tear ripped through space behind the core, the ceremonial blade descending from an impossible angle. Both strikes landed at once, shattering the core in a burst of liquid and light. Bone spears and sinew whips lost cohesion and dropped into a pile of sloppy remains. The enormous shape deflated, the Bloodslime’s mass collapsing into a formless, steaming puddle of collapsing fluids while Alex stood firm, his blade steady as the air settled around him.

  A hush fell among the hunters. Dozens stood with weapons raised, half expecting the slime to surge back into its monstrous form. It never did. Pools of blackish liquid sank into the ground, leaving lumps of corrupted flesh behind.

  “Weak,” Alex muttered as the creature's remains hit the ground. He didn’t spare it a second glance as he walked past, his sword trailing blood.

  But something amongst the remains made him pause—it flared against his senses in a dense concentration of forming mana, and a flash of red light that caused all present to step vac in surprise. Alex crouched low to inspect what it could be. A blood-red skill crystal. He exhaled with a soft smile, hidden beneath his helmet, tapping the crystal with an armoured finger as if acknowledging his good fortune. Oh, look at that. You were worth more than I thought, his smile widened as he stored away the treasure and turned to leave.

  [You have defeated level 97 x15 Carrion Harpy (D)]

  [You have defeated level 202 x12 Carrion Harpy (D)]

  [You have defeated level 150 x2 Carrion Harpy (D)]

  [You have defeated level 312 Carrion Harpy - Mature Variant (D). Bonus experience due to level difference.]

  [You have defeated level 478 BloodSlime (D). Bonus experience due to level difference.]

  [Level 205 > 219]

  [Strength +56, Dexterity+56, intelligence+84, unassigned stats +56]

  The ‘Hero’ feat just doubled seven levels to fourteen… Damn. A quick calculation revealed each kill below his level still granted him roughly 0.2 levelling experience, whereas the slime had netted him almost a full level, rather than the 0.5 he had been expecting. That’s closer to 0.9… Is it because it’s almost double my level, the last kill above my level gave roughly 0.5 experience… does that mean the level difference boost is exponential? The combined total was doubled by his ‘Hero’ feat, leading to gains within his estimation. At least it’s consistent now, he thought, grateful for the changes.

  Hunters stared as he passed, some exhaling relief, others sagging to the ground in exhaustion. A few raised their hands to express gratitude. One man with a bleeding shoulder pressed a shaky palm to Alex’s arm as if to say thanks. A woman with a cracked helm offered a weary nod. Another older fighter, the tall archer, met Alex’s gaze and inclined his head in respectful acknowledgement. A woman with a battered chest plate nodded in awe at the two demonic sword clones behind him.

  Alex said nothing. He deactivated the clones, their forms congealing into metal whisps that formed a single dark blade in his palm.

  He stored his temporary weapon, a hunter's blade he’d retrieved from one of the fallen, back into his inventory and kept his grip tight on Eclipse.

  No roars of victory followed. Even the more powerful hunters simply watched in cautious respect. They were all too alert—too weary of what would come next, and all present knew that more awaited them beyond the mountain's edges.

  ***

  The sun dipped behind jagged spires, shadowing the mountain pass. Hunters in battered gear scavenged harpy wings, shards of bone, and mana-laced flesh, stuffing them into bags or spatial pouches.

  Nearby, someone lifted a severed harpy talon the size of a dagger, turning it over with a smile.

  A gruff quartermaster nudged Alex, offering thick harpy bones for arrowhead crafting materials. Alex glanced at the pile. Decent scraps, not quite worthless but not worth the trouble of getting them crafted; he would likely find better materials the deeper they travelled. He waved him off. “Keep them. Spread them around. I’ve taken what I want.”

  A faint sigh of relief escaped the man. “Appreciated.” He nodded, sorting the pile among the others.

  Liora approached, her halberd resting lightly against her shoulder. “You’re just giving it away?” she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

  “They’ll make better use of it,” Alex replied. He knelt, sifting through a cluster of remains with practised precision. Among the blood and bone, he found what he sought—a dense shard of core material, pulsing faintly with residual mana. He rose, holding the fragment up to the light.

  “You’re keeping that, though,” Liora observed.

  “Valuable material,” Alex said simply. He stored the shard in his Inventory, ignoring the questioning glance from his companion.

  Farther out, the summoned heroes and the two Sanguine nobles lingered like statues. The nobles, Vaylen and Faelir, stood motionless, crimson eyes scanning the battlefield with detached curiosity. They had been watching the whole time. All of them.

  “They wear black and crimson, sworn to blood and bound by old laws,” Liora muttered beside him, her gaze fixed on the two Sanguine nobles at the rear of the army. “But they won’t help us, they’re saving their strength. Greedy bastards.”

  Two men stood at the edge of the field, their crimson eyes cutting through the remnants of the battle with unhurried precision. They didn’t move, their expressions unreadable. It was as though the chaos before them existed solely for their evaluation. Alex noted the way their gazes lingered on the summoned heroes before shifting to the hunters.

  “They’re still watching us,” Liora said.

  “They’re watching everyone,” Osric corrected.

  ***

  Alex kept his pace steady on the rugged trail. Loose gravel skidded under his boots, and a brisk wind threatened the torch in Osric’s hand. Liora walked on Alex’s other side, her halberd angled behind her back to avoid snagging on passing rocks. The winding path curled around the shoulder of the mountain, lined by makeshift lanterns left by a previous expedition. Even so, the dim light only revealed a few steps ahead, making every yard a cautious advance.

  They’d been climbing for nearly an hour since their last brief rest. The group of hunters behind them numbered close to two hundred, eight had died to the BloodSlime and Harpy flock, and several more had been injured to the point of requiring healing, the rest were dispersed in clusters for safety. Faint sounds of conversation drifted up the line, often about local legends or possible dangers waiting beyond the ridge. At a gently sloping stretch, Liora pulled herself over a small ridge and spoke, her voice soft yet full of energy. “What do you think we’ll find beyond these mountains?”

  Osric grimaced. “Death, if we’re unlucky.”

  “Thank you, Osric, for being the beacon of hope I never asked for,” Liora remarked.

  “Glad we’ve got you around for motivational speeches. Truly lifts the soul.,” Alex joined in.

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  “No point sugarcoating it,” Osric answered with a dry snort. “We’re in the land of the gods, now.”

  Liora paused, letting a few hunters shuffle ahead while she turned to Osric.

  “Earlier, we heard bits about gods.” Her voice was soft enough not to carry far. “That they used to walk these mountains and shaped them by hand. The older hunters say they just vanished.”

  Osric rubbed at the beard on his jaw. “Vanished is one way to put it. Could be they died. Could be they ran off somewhere else. Locals talk like it’s ancient history—some grand force that left no real clue.”

  A nearby archer joined the conversation unprompted, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “Or they left signs we can’t read anymore. You think the old monuments in the frontier might tie in with that?”

  Osric shrugged. “Could be. I’m no historian.” He glanced at Alex, expecting some reaction. Alex simply watched the path with an unreadable calm. Whatever secrets this world held, he would likely touch upon them soon.

  “That was the talk around the last camp,” Liora pointed out. “So the gods shaped the land, but no one knows the details.”

  Just then, a bearded man with a weather-beaten coat and a small torch paused near their trio. His face looked carved from the same rock they stood on, lines of fatigue etched into every crease. He eased himself down on a boulder, took a swig from a dented flask, and then spoke in a gravelly voice:

  “I heard that too. Two millennia ago, the gods ruled this world. Not just one or two—there were dozens, maybe more. They walked among us, sculpted the land, and guided the people. Then they vanished. No warning, no sign. Just… gone. And the Blood God rose in their place.” He took a sip of his canteen, his gaze distant. “Some say he killed them. Others say they fled. Either way, their disappearance marked the start of the Age of Blood. The churches say the system appeared shortly after. Strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Alex nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. The system wasn’t born of gods or men. He knew that much.

  A bearded hunter ahead snorted, turning from his team to regard them. “I’ve heard scraps of that. Folks around these parts treat it like bedtime tales—no one knows what’s real.”

  Alex walked beside them, quiet. He took in the exchange without comment, but Liora pressed on.

  “Still, the stories come from somewhere, right?” She slowed slightly, letting a pair of weary hunters pass. “Maybe they’re half-true.”

  The bearded hunter gave a half-shrug, taking a moment to check his gear. “Half or less. Though you’d think if gods vanished, there’d be signs left behind.”

  The expression Osric wore in response suggested he was mentally calculating how much dumber the group had just become. “Look around, lad. We’re standing in the signs.”

  Alex cut in, eager to change the topic to something more actionable.

  “Earlier it sounded like you’ve been past the mountain range. What’s it like out there?”Osric’s expression darkened as he spoke of their destination.“Out there, beyond the safe lands, the world changes. The air’s thick with mana, warping the land, twisting creatures into things you wouldn’t recognize as natural. People who venture too far don’t come back the same—if they come back at all.”He leaned in closer, his voice a rasp. “There’s a curse in the Frontier. They call it ‘The Pull.’ It draws you deeper and keeps you from turning back. They say it’s why the gods abandoned us. They couldn’t stop it.”

  An archer walking behind them scoffed. “That’s not real. A myth, if you ask me. People make up stories to explain why they lose themselves out there.”

  Alex disagreed. Ever since he’d set foot in the mountain range, he’d felt it. Like a gentle wind, almost too soft to notice. He felt a subtle tug within his mana heart. A low strain, as if a distant force had reached across the mountains and curled around something inside him. It tugged at a hidden place, even stirring a reaction in the bloodbeast core he carried above his navel. And the bloodbeast core wanted violence in response. He kept the sensation masked, unsure what it meant or why it had awakened.

  Whatever he’d felt, it wasn’t a physical threat. More like a faint resonance, a call from somewhere unseen.

  Another younger fighter overheard part of Osric’s comment. “The Pull? Nonsense, I say. Nobody can cast magic for that long. People get spooked and lose their heads, blame it on some force.”

  An older woman, a healer Alex had seen race to the frontlines countered, her armour scarred from past campaigns, “Let’s see if you say that after a week out there.”

  The younger fighter shrugged. “Old wives’ tales. Let them spook amateurs, not us.”

  Someone ahead grunted, “He’s right. Apart from the bloodslime, the creatures here are nothing special. Neither is ‘The Pull.’ More fairy tale than fact.”

  Another hunter disagreed, moving closer, “Nah, I heard it’s real. My uncle crossed the Frontier once, went deep. Came back wrong.” Uncertainty rippled through the gathering group.

  Liora sidled closer to Alex, her gaze curious. “Don’t suppose you have theories on all that?”

  Alex eyed a jutting outcrop above them. “Theories don’t matter much unless they take us to victory.” He breathed in, tasting cold air that smelled faintly of wet stone. “I guess anything is possible, I’ve learned that much by now. I just go where my gut takes me.”

  Osric only grunted. He eyed Alex. “You trust your instincts more than our experience?”

  “Of course,” Alex nodded.

  They rounded a bend and emerged onto a broad plateau. The mountains towered all around them. At the rear, a retinue of summoned heroes marched under decorative banners, their expressions uniformly aloof. Two towering figures, pale and regal, watched from behind, their pointed ears and crimson eyes marking them as Sanguine. They offered no help with the scattered skirmishes. Instead, their attention lingered pointedly on Alex.

  He saw them. He sensed their scrutiny, unwavering as he moved. Yet he found it hard to care. Beneath the armour, they had no idea who he was. To them, it was likely the event of witnessing the birth of a new, famous hunter.

  “You ever wonder what it’s like to be one of them?” Liora asked after a long pause.

  “One of who?”

  “The Sanguine. The demigods.”

  Alex shook his head, he had already seen plenty. The point seemed moot. “I don’t need to wonder.”

  Liora studied him carefully. “Because you’ve seen them?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “They say the Sanguine don’t age like we do,” she said thoughtfully. “That they’ve been around since the Blood God’s time.”

  “Some of them, maybe,” Alex recalled the pointed-eared woman that had briefly met his gaze at the palace. She looked like an elf, or something similar. Should he ever encounter her again without his armour, it was likely she would recognise him.

  “And they’re still here. Still holding power.” Liora continued.

  “But power never really fades,” Alex said.

  Liora smiled faintly. “That’s something a noble would say. Or a Crown agent.”

  “I’m not an agent,” Alex said, pulling out a red skill crystal that burned bright with mana, causing all present to turn and watch with curiosity.

  “No, I guess you’re not.”

  The gathered army of hunters moved through the mountain range with slow caution and practised ease.

  Skirmishes broke out as they moved, the wildlife growing more voracious with each step on the mountain path. Sometimes it was twisted creatures that looked like beasts Alex had seen in other worlds; like slime variants or winged monstrosities, other times it was bands of beasts he hardly recognised.

  None posed a real threat, though some attacks dealt enough damage to warrant the teams to begin to share healers in exchange for loot. But there were no further casualties, especially with the seasoned fighters among them cutting down beasts before they could do harm. Throughout it all, the summoned heroes watched from the rear.

  Always watching. Yet none moved so much as an inch to offer aid.

  The group of heroes was diverse, their presence dominated the gathering, not through any overt action, but simply by existing. Even the hunters seemed aware of it, keeping a wary distance, their eyes turning toward the heroes whenever they thought they weren’t being watched. A question hung unspoken amongst the hunters, through all of their battles and skirmishes, why hadn’t they helped?

  Beneath his helmet, Alex studied the summoned heroes, the same question drifting through his mind as he spotted a familiar face among them.

  The woman with molten gold hair exchanged a few quiet words with the mechanical hero beside her. Alex had been summoned alongside these individuals, yet he knew next to nothing about them. They were meant to be his allies—or at least his equals in the eyes of the ritual that had summoned them.

  Though from what he’d seen, he doubted they had much help to give.

  Another hero caught his eye—one that was impossible to miss even from afar.

  The man towered over the others, nearly as tall as the nobles, his body massive and thick with muscle. Scars crossed his bare chest, their edges raised like jagged ridges on stone. A great axe hung on his back, the handle bound with ropes threaded in gold that clung tight against the weapon’s weight.

  His greaves, forged from some strange material, stood out even from a distance. The smooth surface caught Alex’s attention, too clean to be mundane. Their eyes met across the space between them. Alex doubted the man could see through the slit of his helmet from so far,

  Yet something in the way the man stood made it feel as though he could.

  ***

  Rythe Hagan was born on a battlefield. His first cries mingled with the clash of iron, the roar of beasts, and the screams of the dying. His people called themselves the Stonekin, children of war whose flesh healed as quickly as it tore, and whose veins carried power meant for slaughter. Their deities had long abandoned their kind, or so the old songs said, leaving them to survive on strength alone.

  By the age of seven, Rythe crushed the throat of a wolf with his bare hands. By thirteen, he cleaved a warlord’s skull with the axe he pried from a dying man’s grip. His body thrived on violence. He consumed pain and spat it back as wrath. Every village he passed became an altar of his growing legend.

  The Demon King rose when Rythe was twenty-two. Kingdoms fell. Armies burned. The skies filled with fire and ash. The demon's legions numbered in the thousands, led by creatures twisted into mockeries of life. It was said no mortal could stand against them, but Rythe did not fight like a mortal.

  At twenty-seven, he brought the southern empire to its knees by single-handedly dragging the general of its army from horseback and breaking her spine before her soldiers. At thirty-one, he shattered the gates of Ironfell, a city thought impenetrable, with a single swing of his war axe. By thirty-five, his name became synonymous with destruction. He was called the Doom Herald, the Blooded Titan, and the Beast of the Red Wastes.

  When he reached the peak of his strength, he faced the Demon King alone. The battle lasted three days. Mountains collapsed. Rivers turned to steam. When it was over, Rythe stood atop the Demon King’s corpse, drenched in gore. The land hailed him as its saviour, but the scars of war never faded. The world he fought to protect was hollow, left broken by the cost of survival.

  His status reflected his ascension:

  [Name: Rythe Hagan

  Level: 643

  Race: Varnir – Rank D

  Primary Class: Ruinbound Rampager

  Sub-class: Devourer of Fates

  Strength: 5890

  Dexterity: 1370

  Endurance: 3025

  Intelligence: 3140

  Wisdom: 2540

  Feats: Titan’s Fall, Demon King’s Bane, Beastculler of the Red Fields [Expand…]

  Active Skills: Crushing Rend, Blood Fury, Ruinous Leap

  Passive Skills: Unyielding Rage, Ancient Instinct, Warforged Endurance

  Dao: N/A

  Unassigned stat points: 913]

  With the Demon King gone, Rythe sought purpose. He prepared to create his first incursion dungeon, a realm of his own design to test and destroy challengers. But before he could finish, the world turned on itself. A force beyond comprehension seized him. The dungeon unravelled. His vision faded.

  When it returned, he stood in Serra, a world consumed by the progeny of its mad blood god. Serra's rulers called upon him and his fellow summoned heroes to fight for salvation, but Rythe cared little for their cause. This was a new world, ripe with opportunity. He would bend it to his will.

  [Right after he fulfilled his service to the kingdom that had summoned him.]

  The frontier stretched out in uneven slopes of mud and rock. Harpies shrieked from above, their claws ripping into poorly armoured hunters. A BloodSlime dragged screaming men into gelatinous folds, dissolving flesh from bone. Rythe watched from the ridge, unimpressed. His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon, but he did not move. These creatures were beneath him.

  Rythe walked with measured purpose, his massive boots crunching the coarse soil of the frontier. His gold-trimmed ropes held his great axe firm, its edge battle-worn and seared in places by magic that would never extinguish. This world, Serra, felt large compared to his own, yet its dangers were uninspired and its warriors unremarkable. He glanced at the small army of hunters battling ahead. Their breathing was measured, their weapons dented and dulled. Most would crumble before he found a need to unsheath his Axe. He hoped the true enemy would have much more to offer.

  The hunters had scrambled to defend themselves from the BloodSlime and its harpies, their efforts acceptable yet sloppy. Two nobles stood among the chaos, they impressed upon Rythe not through skill or strength, but through nostalgia; one was young and eager in a way that reminded him of himself, and the other was commanding and old, in a way that reminded him of the cursed demon king. They carried a decent amount of mana, yet hardly fought.

  Rythe dismissed them.

  Through the melee, a single hunter caught his attention. Armoured in a segmented dark full-body plate, the man moved with expertise, conjuring creatures of warped metal and wielding a sword that tore through lesser monsters like paper. The hunter had struck the slime with a flame that carved the earth. The hunters horned constructs carried an alien, almost malevolent quality that reminded Rythe of the Demon King’s horrors.

  But that was all.

  The armoured man’s strength was… passable at best. He merely stood out due to the mundanity of his company.

  Rythe turned to leave when something bright shone in the corner of his vision. The black-armoured hunter held a skill crystal, its crimson surface blazing with dense mana, crackling even from a distance. Rythe’s chest tightened, not with surprise, but with hunger.

  Power. Pure, unclaimed power.

  He moved. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he surged forward, faster than any mortal could track. The hunters barely noticed him pass. Two of his fellow summoned heroes followed behind, curiosity driving their steps, but they were slow.

  A blur of motion propelled him forward. Earth cracked beneath his stride. One breath, then another, and he stood before the armoured hunter. His massive frame towered over the man. Behind him, his fellow heroes slid to a stop, their gazes alight with curiosity.

  Rythe rose to his full height before the black-armoured hunter. The man stiffened, his hand closing over the crystal. Rythe stared down at him, his presence a weight that crushed the air between them.

  “The greater bloodslime’s skill crystal, give it to me.”

  ***

  Beneath his armoured helmet, Alex looked up at the mountain of a man who stood before him and demanded his possession. A fellow hero. He met the man’s gaze.

  Then he crushed the skill crystal.

  Assimilate Nexus.

  [System Message: Choose one of 2 Skills]

  [D-Grade Skill 1: Engulfing Maw (Active) —Temporarily enlarge your body mass to envelop a target, restraining and slowly draining their mana and vitality. Each time you defeat an enemy, temporarily increase maximum health and stats for the remainder of the battle.

  [D-Grade skill 2: Highbone Lance —harnesses bone and sinew magic to momentarily generate multiple limb-like appendages, allowing rapid strikes on several foes or merging into a single, armour-piercing lance that can pin targets on a critical hit. While active, your muscle tissue is fortified, granting enough raw power to wield heavier weapons or overpower adversaries in melee range.]

  Alex saw a familiar phenomenon. The holographic system panel turned blood-red. A jumbled mess of glyphs across it, a confusing mess of symbols that made no sense. A barely decipherable crimson message flashed before him the instant he crushed the crystal and thought the words ‘Assimilate Nexus,’ triggering its ability to twist the nature of any skill crystal.

  [- Error- gnitàlimissǎ… ]

  [Target Primary Class: Sys???????temic SwO??????rd So????????ve???????reign]

  The jumbled text instantly settled in the moment and the skills reappeared, both altered and enhanced to match his class.

  They were wildly different.

  [System Message: Choose one of 2 Skills]

  D-Grade Skill 1: Devouring Bind (Active)Manipulate your body into semi-solid extensions that spread out like flowing steel, enveloping a target and restraining their movement. The extensions constrict with crushing force, draining the target's vitality and leaving them unable to resist. For every enemy defeated while this ability is active, your physical precision and blade-handling strength temporarily increase, sharpening your strikes and enhancing your control over advanced skills.]

  [D-Grade Skill 2: Laceration Bloom (Active)Forge weapon-like constructs from hardened sinew and shifting mass. These constructs extend outward to execute rapid, cutting strikes against multiple targets or merge into a singular, blade-like projection capable of piercing through defences. Critical hits tear through weak points, disrupting the enemy’s ability to retaliate. While this skill is active, your movements become more fluid and deliberate, allowing for calculated, devastating blows.]

  In the wake of his defiance and in the face of the crown’s hero, the system pulled Alex’s consciousness into its depths.

  The is up and running. So if you like, you can read ahead there!