Frank stood rooted in the cavern’s dust-choked ruin, chest heaving as the echoes of his last fight—the Behemoth’s dying roar—faded into the stale, heavy air, leaving a silence that pressed against his ears like a weight he couldn’t shake. The cavern was a wreck now—his fortress cracked but still standing, its rough-hewn walls trembling under the strain of his Terraforming onslaught, fissures widened like scars tearing deeper into the earth with every shudder that rippled through the stone. He’d pushed hard against that Level 170 brute, burned nearly a quarter of his Vital Reserve at peak to smash it into rubble, and the dungeon was still clinging to life—barely, if the low, ominous groans rumbling through the cavern were any sign. He could feel it deep in his bones, a tension coiled tight, ready to snap like a frayed rope stretched beyond its breaking point—a pressure that mirrored the heat pumping through his veins, the kind that made his fingers twitch and his jaw clench tight enough to ache. The Stonefang Dagger hummed in his right hand, its jagged edge slick with the Behemoth’s black blood, a faint vibration tingling up his arm like it was alive and itching to carve into something fresh—its weight familiar now, a tool he’d bloodied plenty. The Rockjaw Claw hung heavy in his left, dripping dark and slow, each thick drop hitting the cracked stone floor with a soft, wet splat that echoed faintly in the cavern’s gloom—black stains spreading like ink under the dim fungal glow that clung to the walls. Tucked in his pocket, the Behemoth Shard pulsed faintly against his thigh, a hard-won prize he’d ripped from the brute’s corpse after pounding it into the ground—a glow he could feel through the fabric, steady like a heartbeat, a reminder of what he’d clawed out of this place with his own hands.
He shifted his stance, boots crunching on the gravel-strewn floor, the sound sharp and grating against the low hum of the cavern’s unrest—each scrape of stone underfoot a jolt that kept him grounded, his senses sharp despite the ache settling into his shoulders from the last brawl. Vital Reserve sat at 34,620, regen ticking it back fast—608 points a second since Stalker’s Bane bumped his Constitution to 152, a steady pulse in his chest he could feel with every breath, keeping him upright no matter how hard he pushed himself against this unrelenting hellhole. That title had come earlier, a reward for turning a pack of Stalkers into broken heaps, and it felt good—damn good—to finally have something tangible for his trouble, even if it’d been late as hell dropping into his lap after all the blood and sweat he’d poured into this place.
“Round two,” he growled, voice low and rough, scraping against the silence like a blade dragged slow across stone, daring the darkness to throw something uglier, something meaner—something worth his time after the Behemoth fell too damn easy. “Hit me with your best shot—you’ve been holding back too long, you bastard.”
The ground answered with a rumble, a deep, pissed-off growl that shook through his boots and rattled his spine like a jackhammer tearing into solid concrete—vibrations climbing up his legs, making his muscles tense instinctively as the cavern seemed to snarl back at him. Frank tightened his grip on the claw and dagger, the metal biting into his palms just enough to sharpen his focus—his eyes narrowed as the fissures pulsed red, flaring angry and alive, like the dungeon was bleeding hate straight out of its jagged, splintered guts. Dust trickled from the cracked ceiling, fine and gritty, swirling in the air thick with the stench of death and stone—he stood there, boots planted firm on the uneven floor, waiting for it to make its next move, every nerve humming with readiness, every breath tasting of ash and iron, bitter on his tongue. His Terraforming had tied him to this place tighter than he’d ever wanted—every tremor echoed in his core like a second heartbeat, a connection that made his skin crawl with a mix of disgust and thrill, his blood pumping hot with a feral edge he couldn’t shake loose, didn’t want to shake loose—not now, not after all the shit he’d waded through to stand here still breathing.
“Alright, you son of a bitch,” he muttered, twirling the dagger with a flick of his wrist, its hum slicing through the silence like a taunt thrown into the void—a challenge he knew the dungeon wouldn’t let slide unanswered, not after he’d torn it up this bad. “Let’s see what you’ve got left in the tank—bring it on, you gutless bastard.”
The rumble deepened—stone cracked louder, sharper, a sound like bones snapping under a sledgehammer’s heavy swing, each fracture splitting the air with a force that prickled the hair on his neck like static before a storm hit hard and fast. The widest fissure split further, a jagged maw yawning open in the cavern floor, vomiting dust that stung his eyes and coated his throat—a low, guttural snarl rolled through the space like a predator waking up with a grudge, hungry and mean. Out crawled three shapes, emerging from the dark one after another—Level 150 Rubble Stalkers, leaner and meaner than the last batch he’d turned into broken wrecks, their outlines sharpening as they hauled their scarred frames into the dim fungal light. Their rock-flesh bodies were etched with jagged lines, rough and uneven like they’d been carved straight from the cavern’s crumbling walls—claws gleamed like fresh-broken granite, long and curved, catching the glow in a way that promised they’d rend stone or flesh if he gave them half a chance to swing. Their eyes burned red, a fury simmering in them that said they’d learned from their kin’s mistakes—no blind charging this time, just twitchy, calculating steps, sizing him up like hunters sniffing out a wounded bear that wouldn’t go down quiet, wouldn’t go down at all if he had his way.
Frank grinned wider, a feral twist that bared his teeth like a wolf smelling fresh meat on the wind, his pulse kicking up a notch as the thrill sank deep into his marrow—his grip tightened on his weapons until his knuckles whitened, the weight of the dagger and claw grounding him against the rush pounding through his chest. “Back for more, huh?” he rasped, voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation, the words scraping out like a challenge he didn’t care if they understood—just that they felt it in their bones, same as he did. “Fine—let’s dance, you ugly sons of bitches—show me what you’ve got, ‘cause I’m just getting started.”
The first Stalker charged, faster than he’d clocked it for—claws slashed the air where he’d stood a heartbeat ago, a blur of granite and fury that could’ve carved him open from chest to gut if he’d been a tick slower on the draw. Frank sidestepped fast, boots sliding on the gravel-strewn floor with a crunch that echoed sharp in the cavern’s gloom—he flicked his wrist, Terraforming snapping into gear like a loaded spring unwinding with a vengeance he could feel buzzing up his arm. The ground split wide beneath the beast, a trench five feet deep tearing open in an instant—its edges sharp as broken glass and jagged enough to cut deep if it tried climbing out, a trap born from his will and the dungeon’s own stone turned against it. The Stalker crashed in hard, its roar shaking loose more dust from the ceiling, a sound raw and wild that bounced off the walls—its claws scraped against the stone, frantic and useless, digging at walls that wouldn’t give an inch, its fury echoing through the cavern like a beast caged but far from broken.
The second Stalker broke left, smarter than the last batch he’d turned to pulp—it didn’t charge blind but leaped over the trench with a twitchy grace that caught his eye, a predator’s move he hadn’t expected from these rock-headed brutes. Frank shifted his weight, boots grinding gravel as it slammed into his fortress wall with a force that shook the cavern—a crack split the air like a gunshot, sharp and loud, reverberating through the dust-heavy space until it rattled his teeth. He didn’t hesitate—his right hand shot up, Terraforming buzzing through his arm like a live current sparking wild, and spikes lanced from the ground, fast and brutal, catching the beast mid-air before it could recover its footing. They pierced its legs with a wet, meaty crunch that echoed off the walls—black blood sprayed in thick arcs, splattering across the cracked stone and staining his jacket with warm, sticky streaks as the Stalker howled, a jagged sound that scraped his ears raw and set his nerves alight. It thrashed hard, claws slashing at nothing but the swirling dust, its weight dragging it deeper onto the jagged points until they poked through its back—a pinned slab of meat still twitching with fury, going nowhere fast.
The third Stalker circled right, twitchy and cunning—its scarred rock-flesh glinted under the fungal glow, moving with a predator’s patience that made Frank’s skin prickle, his eyes narrowing as he tracked its every step. Those red eyes locked on him, sizing him up like it knew he wasn’t just some dumb brute to rush—its claws flexed, gleaming sharp and ready, a threat he could feel in the air between them like a storm brewing close. He flicked his wrist, splitting the earth in an arc—the fissure raced toward it, boosted by Stalker’s Bane’s 10% speed kicking his Terraforming into overdrive, tearing the cavern floor open like a jagged wound snapping into place faster than he’d clocked it for. The beast dodged, twisting its hulking mass at the last second with a snarl, but its claws caught on the uneven ground—rubble from his earlier chaos tripped it mid-step, sending it stumbling hard, its balance shot as it scrambled to right itself with a growl that rumbled low and mean. Frank didn’t let it recover—he threw up a wall with a grunt that strained his shoulders, ten feet high and spiked as hell, slamming it into place with a force that jarred his bones up to his elbows. The stone loomed dark and unforgiving, hemming the Stalker in tight against the trench’s edge, cutting off its escape—a guillotine hovering over its neck as it clawed at the barrier, cracks spidering under its blows but holding firm, trembling like it might give if he didn’t finish this quick.
“C’mon, you ugly bastards,” he growled, voice low and rough, daring them to break free and test him—his breath came fast, dust sticking to the sweat on his face and stinging his eyes until they watered, but his grin widened, feral and sharp, teeth bared like he was the one hunting now, not the hunted. “Let’s wrap this up—I’ve got bones to pick with your boss, and I ain’t waiting around for you to figure out how screwed you are—bring it or bleed out trying!”
The pinned Stalker roared—a guttural bellow that shook more dust loose from the ceiling, a sound raw enough to turn his stomach even after all the gore he’d waded through—and wrenched itself off the spikes with a wet, tearing rip that sprayed blood across the stone in steaming gobs, 12,000 health dropping fast as Aura kicked in, burning silent and relentless, stacking damage every second it clung to life like a stubborn bastard refusing to die. Its red eyes flared wild with pain and rage as it lunged, claws slashing for his chest with a speed that could’ve split him wide open if he’d blinked—Frank ducked low, rolling under the swipe, gravel crunching under his knees as the air whistled overhead, close enough he felt the breeze on his neck like a blade grazing skin, a shiver running down his spine he shoved aside fast. He slammed a palm down into the cavern floor, the impact jarring up his arm like a hammer strike—spikes erupted, boosted by Stalker’s Bane’s speed, piercing its chest clean through with a crunch that sprayed blood across his boots and splattered his face, warm and sticky against his cheek until he could taste it on his lips. The beast’s roar cut off sharp, its body slumping as dead weight onto the jagged stone—those red eyes dimmed to black pits staring blankly, claws twitching once before going still, a broken heap at his feet he stepped over without a second glance.
The boxed Stalker smashed the wall again—stone groaned louder, cracks widening like a spiderweb straining to hold under its relentless fury—then broke through, rubble flying as it charged with a snarl that shook dust loose from the ceiling and rattled his teeth like a hammer on iron, loud enough to make his ears ring. Frank didn’t flinch—he sank the trench deeper with a flick of his wrist, six feet now, its edges sharp as shattered glass tearing through the cavern floor like a wound opening fast and brutal, dust exploding around it like a smokescreen. The ground split, catching the beast mid-stride—it crashed in hard, its roar echoing as it slammed against the walls, kicking up a cloud that stung his eyes until they watered and coated his throat with every breath he dragged in, gritty and harsh. He spiked the walls inward with a grunt that strained his shoulders, stone jaws snapping shut—crushing it with a bone-shattering crunch that sent black blood gushing into the dirt, a thick, steaming puddle spreading under his boots as the cavern trembled from the weight of its collapse, the sound echoing like a thunderclap he could feel in his chest.
The last Stalker clawed its way out of its trench, bloodied but alive—its red eyes locked on him with a glare that promised a messy end if he gave it half a chance, its scarred frame hauling upright with a twitchy menace that made his skin prickle under the sweat and dust caking it. It charged, all fury and no finesse—Frank met it head-on, slamming both hands down into the stone with a force that jarred his arms up to his elbows, the cavern floor shaking under the blow like it’d split wide open if he pushed any harder. The pit collapsed beneath it, ten feet deep, walls shutting tight like a steel trap closing on a rat—the crunch was final, a wet snap that silenced its snarl in an instant, its eyes dimming to black as stone crushed its frame into a broken, lifeless heap, rubble tumbling into the hole around it until it was buried under its own weight.
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Dust settled slow and heavy, coating his throat as he sucked in a ragged breath through gritted teeth, the taste of blood and stone thick on his tongue—a gritty mix that fueled the feral grin twisting his lips, sharp and unyielding as he straightened up. Frank’s chest heaved, dagger and claw dripping black—Vital Reserve at 34,378, regen ticking back to 34,986 in a blink, a hum he could feel keeping him steady, unshaken by the chaos he’d wrought with his own hands. He wiped blood—not his—from his cheek with the back of his hand, the smear tacky against his skin under the dust caking his face, and muttered low under his breath, “Too damn easy—you’re slipping, dungeon.” The cavern groaned louder, fissures flaring red—he’d smashed those Level 150 bastards flat, torn them apart like they were nothing, and it wasn’t done spitting back yet, not by a long shot—he could feel it in the air, heavy and tense.
“Alright, system,” he barked, voice rough as gravel and thick with irritation that’d been simmering too long—days, maybe weeks, of fighting tooth and nail with nothing to show for it ‘til now—twirling the dagger with a flick that sent black droplets splattering across the cracked stone floor, staining it dark under the dim fungal glow like a mark of his work, a claim staked in blood. “You’re coughing up titles now—Stalker’s Bane’s a nice perk, makes my Terraforming snap faster, feels right in the bones—but where’s the rest of my haul? Been breaking this place apart since I woke up in this shithole, carving my way through every damn thing you threw at me—what’s with the loot dropping now—dagger, claw, shard? Didn’t see squat ‘til I started piling bodies high enough to choke this hole—where’s my backlog, huh? What’s the deal, you cheap little tin can—holding out on me ‘til I proved I could bleed for it, or what?”
The system snapped back fast, sharp as a slap across the face and dripping with venom—like a junked-up robot with a grudge and a voice box cranked loud enough to echo through the cavern’s shattered walls, cutting through the dust like a blade slicing flesh.
Frank snorted, smirking half-amused, half-pissed—his grip tightened on the dagger, blood flicking off as he twirled it again, splattering the stone like a painter gone wild with a dark brush—each drop a little defiance against the system’s whining. “Cry me a river, you whiny little scrap heap—took you long enough to get your circuits straight. I’ve been knee-deep in blood and rubble, carving my way through this dump since day one, and you’re just now tossing me medals and toys like some half-assed apology? Thought you’d have a trophy case polished by now with all the hell I’ve raised—where’s the backlog, huh?”
The system fired back without missing a beat, snark blazing like it was one jab away from frying itself in a fit of spite, its words sharp enough to cut through the dust still swirling around him—biting and bitter like it hated admitting he’d earned anything.
Frank laughed, rough and low, the sound bouncing off the cavern walls like a taunt thrown into the dark, daring it to echo back and bite—his chest shook with it, dust sticking to the sweat on his face as he squared his shoulders, standing taller against the weight of the cavern’s unrest. “Yeah, yeah—keep flapping your digital gums, you sarcastic tin can—Stalker’s Bane’s a nice little pat on the back, makes my Terraforming snap faster, feels right—but I’ve been gutting this place since I opened my eyes here, spilling blood and breaking stone. Where’s the rest of my backlog—titles, loot, all of it? And don’t dodge the damn loot question—what’s with the goodies dropping now—dagger, claw, shard? I didn’t see a damn thing ‘til I started stacking corpses high enough to choke this hole—what changed?”
The system didn’t hesitate—it spat back a reply like it’d been sitting on a full clip, ready to unload the moment he opened his mouth, its tone sharp and biting through the cavern’s gloom like a blade through flesh—grudging and spiteful, like it hated every word it had to give him.
Frank’s grin widened as a flurry of messages slammed into his vision, piling up like overdue bills he’d kicked down the road too long—each one sharp and begrudging, the system’s spite oozing through every word like it was pissed it had to admit he’d earned a damn thing after all the chaos he’d caused—each flash a grudging tally of his blood-soaked work.
The titles hit like a triple shot of adrenaline ripping through his veins—Constitution jumped to 197, Vital Reserve maxed out at 59,100, regen cranking up to 788 points a second—he felt the surge slam through him, raw and electric, his Terraforming snapping sharper, Aura stretching wider like an invisible blade reaching further into the dark, cutting through the dust with a presence he could damn near taste. Corebreaker’s 5% boost to all stats fed back into his CON, pumping his temp Strength to 177, Dexterity to 157, Intelligence to 216—numbers shifting under his skin like a live wire sparking wild, a rush that made his hands itch to reshape the cavern into something deadlier than it already was, something that’d make this dungeon choke on its own hate. Equipable titles too—he could slot one active, and Corebreaker’s all-stats kick was too good to pass up over Stalker’s Bane’s speed for now—he swapped it in, Stalker’s Bane sliding to reserve with Breach Survivor and Bloodforged, the surge humming through him like a jolt of pure, unfiltered power that made his blood sing and his grin widen, sharp and dangerous as the blades in his hands.
“About damn time,” he growled, twirling the dagger and claw together, blood flicking off in dark arcs that splattered the stone like a painter gone rogue with a brush dipped in black—each drop hit the floor with a faint splat, marking his territory in this wrecked pit, a claim staked in the blood he’d spilled and the stone he’d broken. “Threshold, huh? Had to stack bodies ‘til I wasn’t a waste of space—real classy move, you rusty bucket. Loot’s flowing now, titles catching up—guess I’m worth your precious bandwidth after all. Gimme the full sheet—let’s see what I’ve clawed outta this dump with my own damn hands.”
The system obliged, grudgingly—it spat out a status sheet in a flurry of glowing tables laid out like a scorecard it didn’t want to admit he’d earned, each one begrudgingly tallying up his haul—Stats, Abilities, Achievements, Titles, all there in stark relief against the cavern’s gloom.
Frank’s grin widened as the numbers sank in—Constitution at 197, Vital Reserve maxed at 59,100, regen cranking at 788 a second—Corebreaker’s 5% boost surged through his stats, a jolt he could feel like fire ripping through his veins, sharpening every move, every thought, every damn breath he took. Titles stacked in reserve, equipable options he could swap on the fly—Stalker’s Bane for speed, Breach Survivor for Aura reach, Bloodforged for regen—but Corebreaker’s all-stats kick felt right, a solid edge to smash whatever came next, and he wasn’t trading it out ‘til he needed to.
“Not bad,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, blood-slick weapons glinting as he twirled them—drops splattered stone, marking his stand in this pit he’d carved out with his own hands. “Loot’s flowing, titles catching up—guess I’ve graduated from punching bag to problem child in your glitchy little world. What’s next, you sarcastic junk pile—gonna throw something bigger at me, or you still scraping the bottom of the barrel?”
The system chimed one last time, snide as ever, savoring a final dig like it couldn’t resist twisting the knife before the next round kicked off—its words sharp and biting through the dust still hanging heavy in the air.
The cavern rumbled deeper, angrier—fissures pulsed red like open wounds, dust raining down harder—Frank gripped his weapons tight, his grin sharp and ready, eyes locked on the dark as the ground shook with something meaner stirring below, its growl rising like a promise of more blood to come.
