The silence was unnerving.
Ren walked with even strides through the cracked tunnels, his boots echoing over the rubble-strewn floor. Flickering veins of mana pulsed faintly across the ceiling like glowing scars—vivid reds and eerie purples dancing just out of reach. The air had changed. Less sulfur and ash, more… metal. Cold. Wet. There was a dampness to it now, but not from water.
It smelled like blood.
Ren's brows furrowed.
"This isn't the aftermath of my battle," he murmured. "Something else died here."
Seraphina's voice returned, quiet and analytical.
"Mana traces ahead. Not from monsters. This is… divine essence—faint, but unmistakable. Something powerful passed through here recently."
Ren lowered his stance, his senses heightening. Draconic instinct prickled across his skin—like the dungeon itself was watching him now.
As he rounded a wide bend, the walls opened into another vast chamber. But unlike the battlefield from earlier, this space was deathly still. At the center lay a massive broken statue—half-buried in shattered obsidian, its form vaguely humanoid, but winged. It had once held a great sword… now shattered.
The surrounding floor was etched in deep scorched marks, as if something had unleashed catastrophic spells in a blind fury. What drew Ren's eyes wasn't the destruction, though.
It was the giant claw marks gouged into the walls. Marks too large for the dragon he had previously slain. Marks that carved straight through the stone like it was butter—fresh marks.
A nearby pillar had been completely melted.
Seraphina spoke again—quieter this time.
"These aren't remnants of the army you just defeated. Nor from the sleeping red dragon before. These signs… they belong to something sealed. Something ancient."
Ren's gaze locked on a collapsed archway at the rear of the room. Faint, ancient glyphs glimmered in soft blue light, barely visible beneath the dust and debris. The stone wasn't just collapsed—it was shattered outward.
From the inside.
"Something escaped," Ren whispered.
*"No," Seraphina corrected, "something was let out."
A low vibration hummed through the soles of his feet.
Far beneath them, deep in the Hollow's gut, something stirred—just faint enough to go unnoticed by the average adventurer. But not Ren.
His draconic senses flared. His mana bristled on instinct.
A cold certainty gripped him.
He wasn't alone down here.
Whatever else lay waiting… it wasn't just another monster or guardian. It was something sealed. Forgotten. Possibly even divine.
Ren narrowed his eyes and turned from the ruined chamber. He could sense the dungeon shifting—guiding him now.
But toward what?
Whatever it was, he was going to find it.
Or it would find him.
The winding halls of Wyrmgate Hollow led Ren deeper than ever before, until the path narrowed into a darkened chamber unlike the others. The smell of sulfur and charred stone filled the air, and the mana density here was stifling, thick like soup. Ren stepped forward slowly, his instincts tense. The corridor ended at a room—circular and vast—with a towering altar at its center.
Strange runes flickered along the walls, glowing blood red, and at the heart of the altar, massive chains bound a portal sealed with a fractured glyph. Energy bled from the cracks like smoke. Ren's dragon senses screamed in warning.
Without warning, a magical barrier erupted behind him—cutting off his escape.
The altar pulsed. The seal split open.
A clawed hand emerged from the portal, followed by a massive head. Crimson skin, four curling horns, and burning yellow eyes with black sclera. The creature's smile stretched too wide.
"Ahhh… freedom," the beast rumbled. "It has been… centuries. Who dares disturb Salvatore, Demon God of the Abyss?"
Ren's mouth tightened. He dropped into a defensive stance.
Salvatore's grin widened. "You reek of power. And yet… such youth. I will savor this."
Darkness gathered around the altar. Salvatore unleashed a barrage of shadow bolts, chains of cursed flame, and twisting void lances. Ren dodged and countered with every ounce of strength, dragon-enhanced speed, and divine endurance—but it wasn't enough.
Ren struck with his katana, a blur of speed and precision, amplified by lightning. Sky Piercer crashed toward the demon's face—but Salvatore didn't even flinch. The blade clanged uselessly off a veil of shadow that rippled around the demon's form. The force of the rebound nearly tore the weapon from Ren's grip.
Without giving the demon a moment, Ren blinked behind Salvatore and slashed again—Dimensional Slash, aiming to slice through space itself. But the wound that opened along the demon's side was shallow, barely more than a scratch. The damage sealed immediately with a hiss of abyssal energy.
Salvatore let out a low, mocking laugh. "Amusing tricks. Mortal desperation."
The demon's hand moved in a sweeping arc, and from it erupted a wave of black fire. Ren barely managed to raise a barrier in time, but the spell burned through it, singing his arms and chest even through his armor. He stumbled back, coughing blood.
Spells surged from Salvatore—corrupted spears, void chains, distortion pulses—each one imbued with chaotic magic that warped the very air around them. Ren dodged as best he could, dashing, blinking, sidestepping, but one misstep and a chain caught his leg, snapping bone and dragging him across the stone floor.
Ren retaliated with elemental markers, activating a fire rune beneath the demon. The ground exploded—but Salvatore walked through the flames untouched.
He launched ice spears, wind blades, earth spikes—even a storm-enhanced mana barrage—but none of it mattered. Salvatore shrugged them off like rain.
Each spell sapped Ren's mana, each dodge drained his strength. His breath grew ragged. The Obsidian Drake Set, once impenetrable, was cracked and splintered. Blood ran down his jaw. His limbs trembled.
He blinked again—but this time, he was too slow.
A massive claw caught him mid-step.
Salvatore laughed. "This is all? From the so-called slayer of dragons? How deliciously weak!"
A massive claw closed around Ren's battered body. He was lifted, crushed within the demon's grasp.
"What is your name, morsel?" Salvatore asked, his mouth stretching open, black flame curling from within.
Through clenched teeth, Ren answered, "Alter."
The demon paused. "Alter…? Hmph. A forgettable name for a forgettable thing."
As Salvatore opened his jaws to devour him—Ren gathered what little strength remained.
Then—he roared.
Dragonfire burst from his mouth, engulfing Salvatore's face in brilliant, scorching flame. The demon howled, flinging Ren across the altar.
Burned and broken, Ren forced himself up, vision blurred by blood.
He drew his katana.
Dimensional Slash!
A tear in space sliced across Salvatore's arm.
Sky Piercer!
From the air, Ren descended with a thrust powered by lightning and wind—driving the attack into Salvatore's shoulder, forcing the demon back toward the portal.
"Now, Seraphina!" he shouted.
Her voice answered inside his mind. "Focus on the altar! Channel sealing energy through the glyphs!"
Ren rushed toward the base of the altar, placing his hand on the fractured sigils. He poured in mana, dragon essence, and divine will.
The runes blazed. Chains of celestial energy erupted from the portal—snaring Salvatore's limbs.
"No! NO! You dare seal me again!? I will make you suffer, Alter!"
As the demon was pulled back into the portal, it opened its massive maw and fired a final beam of dark energy.
Ren's eyes widened. He leapt—
—but not in time.
The blast ripped through his lower body.
As the demon was pulled back into the portal, it opened its massive maw and fired a final beam of dark energy.
Ren's eyes widened. He leapt—
—but not in time.
The blast ripped through his lower body.
He hit the stone floor, gasping, blood pooling beneath him. Agony threatened to pull him under.
Above him, the chains pulled taut, yanking the demon back inch by inch.
Salvatore roared, fighting the seal with every ounce of his dark power. But as his head sank beneath the threshold of the portal, he twisted back one last time, his molten eyes burning with hatred.
"Alter… you think this is over?
By my name, by my blood and wrath—hear my vow! Across dimensions, across time, I will hunt you. You will know no peace, no rest, no safety. Your soul is now mine to claim, and I will not be denied! I curse you, Alter—your fate is sealed!"*
His voice echoed with ancient fury as the final links snapped into place and the portal slammed shut with a deafening boom.
Silence returned.
The altar dimmed. The room stilled. But the demon's curse hung in the air like a lingering wound.
Ren lay broken on the floor, his breath ragged, regeneration slowly knitting his body back together.
But deep within, he knew—Salvatore would return.
The Demon God was sealed once more.
A faint voice echoed in his mind—shaky, laced with something Ren had never heard from her before.
"Ren… Ren! Are you alive?"
Seraphina's usual calm was fractured. For the first time, worry saturated her tone.
He winced, forcing his eyes open. "I'm… still breathing," he rasped, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Takes more than a demon god to kill me."
His body was a wreck—charred flesh, shattered bones, torn muscles. But the regenerative traits of the dragon were already at work, knitting him back together piece by piece. It was slow, agonizing, but effective.
An hour passed.
Finally, Ren stirred fully, sitting up with a groan. He looked down—and flushed bright red.
"...Seriously?" he muttered. "Of all the times to be stark naked…"
Scrambling, he pulled clothes from his dimensional storage, quickly covering himself before limping to the edge of the altar.
He sighed and opened a rift to the Still World. "I need to rest. And rethink my life choices."
As the rift shimmered open, he stepped through, the exhaustion of survival weighing heavy on his shoulders.
Inside the timeless calm of the Still World, Ren paced the stone floor of his personal forge, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The flames in the forge reflected in his narrowed eyes as he pulled the remnants of his shattered Obsidian Drake Set from storage. The once-mighty mythic armor that had made him feel invincible—burned, broken, and useless.
His jaw clenched.
"All that strength… and it was shredded like paper," he muttered bitterly. His fists trembled—not from fear, but from the smoldering anger left behind by his near-death. Salvatore…
He glanced at the piles of leftover materials, a blessing from his hoarding instinct. No more mythic cores, no more Obsidian Drake hide. Still, he had enough. Enough to make something functional. Durable. Something that wouldn't fail next time.
Hammering away, he reforged.
The new armor lacked the mythic-tier prestige, but it wasn't without merit. He wove in refined tailoring patterns, enhancing his movement and flexibility. Carefully treated leather enhanced his speed and stealth. Potent alchemical seals were etched into the lining, offering modest resistances and increased regeneration.
The effects weren't as grand, but they were cohesive. Purposeful. Every stitch, every scale, every plate—a reminder of survival. When he finally donned the armor, the familiar pressure of boosted stats surrounded him. Slighter than before… but reliable.
He stared at his reflection in a polished metal plate. Not the same dragon-wrapped warlord that descended into Wyrmgate Hollow.
But not broken either.
Ren turned toward the final project.
On a separate workbench, the two mythic fangs of the slain dragon gleamed with latent power. He held one up, the weight dense with vengeance.
"This time… no compromises."
He worked with silent resolve. Hammer, fold, enchant. Repeat. Hours passed in Still World time as he poured everything he had into the twin blades. One curved like a talon, the other slightly straighter—both forged for speed and power. He layered the weapons with ancient techniques from his forging memory and swordsmithing skills. The edge shimmered with deadly precision, their cores now attuned to resonate with his mana effortlessly.
When he finished, he held the swords before him. Their forms were beautiful—sleek, deadly, pulsing faintly with restrained mythic fury.
"These will do," he said quietly. "For now."
He ran a hand along one blade's spine, his voice low, resolute.
"One day… I'll forge something greater. Something divine. A sword that can cut through anything. Even a Demon God."
He slid the new weapons into their sheaths and stood in the stillness, ready once again.
Not to survive.
But to win.
Inside the timeless calm of the Still World, Ren paced the stone floor of his personal forge, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The flames of his forge crackled, casting flickering light across the broken remains of the Obsidian Drake Set—once a symbol of strength, now a memory of failure.
His eyes narrowed.
"Even mythic gear… shattered like brittle glass," he muttered, the words laced with cold anger. His hands curled into fists at his sides as images of Salvatore's monstrous form burned fresh in his memory. He hadn't been ready. Not truly. But next time—he would be.
With clenched resolve, he turned toward the organized stacks of rare materials. He'd salvaged what he could. No more dragon hide or mythic cores. But he had enough.
He got to work.
Metal hissed under fire, leather stretched and stitched, alchemical oils boiled and cooled. He forged with precision and a craftsman's pride. Though this new set was weaker than the Obsidian Drake armor, it bore a different kind of strength. Tailored enhancements gave him seamless mobility. Woven leathers granted resilience against physical strain. Alchemical patterns, faint and subtle, augmented his mana recovery and internal circulation.
It was balanced. Practical. A survivor's set—honed through experience, not power alone.
Then came the blades.
From his private vault, Ren retrieved the two pristine mythic dragon fangs. He held them for a long moment, feeling the dormant power nestled within. His jaw set.
"This time, I'll make something worthy."
Hour after hour passed in focused silence. Ren hammered and cooled, shaped and sharpened, embedding his soul and vengeance into each swing. As the twin blades neared completion, they took on the form Ren envisioned—long, straight double-edged swords. Unlike his earlier curved weapons, these were forged in the image of great relics: broad and refined like Frostmourne, yet unmistakably his own.
Down the spine of each blade, intricate engravings of dragon scales intertwined with flowing runes. The crossguards arched outward like open wings, and the pommels were sculpted in the form of roaring dragon heads, their mouths parted as if preparing to breathe flame. When finished, a low hum pulsed from within each sword—an ancient, draconic aura that stirred even the ambient mana of the Still World.
As Ren stood over the twin blades resting on the anvil, a soft tremor pulsed through the Still World. The aura around them thickened. The very forge itself seemed to hold its breath.
A familiar chime echoed in the air.
System Prompt: New Equipment Created
Name: Drakmor, Fang of the Abyss
Type: Mythic Weapon (Longsword)
Description: Forged from the fang of a mythic dragon, Drakmor carries immense strength and magical conductivity. Its attacks pierce magical and physical defenses with precision, and its edge never dulls. Emits a constant aura of dragon's wrath, causing intimidation in weaker foes.
Bonus Effects: +300 Strength, +200 Magic, +50% attack speed. Minor mana regeneration with each successful strike.
Name: Velgrin, Howl of the Stormborn
Type: Mythic Weapon (Longsword)
Description: A sibling blade to Drakmor, Velgrin is tuned to the winds and the storm. Its slashes unleash shockwaves of compressed air and lightning, and it resonates with the wielder's will in perfect synchrony.
Bonus Effects: +250 Agility, +200 Magic, Critical hits deal additional elemental damage. Improves movement and reaction speed.
Ren exhaled slowly, reading the system's words. These were no longer just swords—they were companions in battle. Wrought from his pain, his ambition, and his fury.
He reached down and placed a hand on each hilt.
"You'll be my fangs in the dark… Drakmor."
"And you… the storm that follows my wrath. Velgrin."
As the names left his lips, the forge rumbled—and a deep, echoing dragon's roar reverberated through the Still World. Not from any beast, but from the swords themselves, as if acknowledging their birth and his call.
Ren smirked. "So you approve."
The light from the runes on the blades flared once—then calmed, settling into a silent glow.
But even amidst his pride, his eyes narrowed again. His heart burned—not with victory, but a promise unfulfilled.
"This isn't enough," he whispered. "Not yet."
He looked up toward the ceiling of the Still World, as if seeing through it into the stars beyond.
"One day… I will forge a sword worthy of gods. A divine blade that will do more than seal Salvatore…"
His hands clenched around the hilts of Drakmor and Velgrin.
"…It will end him."
The deeper Ren moved into the Wyrmgate Hollow, the more unnatural the air became. The scent of ash gave way to something more sinister—iron and rot, soaked into the stone. The mana itself twisted unnaturally, like it was pulsing with something alive… and watching.
He passed through an arched doorway carved with unfamiliar glyphs. Beyond it, the corridor widened into a vast antechamber. Cracked statues of dragons lined the walls—each defaced, their eyes gouged out, wings shattered. At the far end stood a circular platform inscribed with blood-red runes. And around it… figures in dark robes.
Ren froze.
There were over a dozen of them, each cloaked in shadow, faces hidden behind jagged masks. The center-most figure turned, revealing robes embroidered with a red dragon's skull flanked by abyssal wings.
"Well, well…" the voice was hoarse, but full of mirth. "So the beast who sealed Salvatore walks among us again."
Ren's fingers twitched at his sides.
"How do you know about that?"
The cultist spread his arms. "We are the Sons of the Abyss. Heralds of the Demon God's rebirth. You, Alter… you interfered with fate."
The name sent a ripple of understanding through Ren. They knew the name he'd given to Salvatore. They were connected. Worshippers. Loyalists.
"I should've guessed," Ren muttered. "The seal chamber wasn't abandoned after all."
A soft, choked laughter echoed from the cultists.
"You've delayed his rise, not stopped it. But your power—your blood—is steeped in the energies of dragons and gods. A perfect sacrifice to break the final chains."
Ren's gaze sharpened.
"Then come take it."
He activated Draconic Surge. Mana surged through his veins like wildfire. The new armor shimmered with alchemical defense runes. His twin swords hummed with bloodlust.
The cultists moved.
They began chanting in unison, dark glyphs forming in the air above the platform. A massive summoning circle appeared beneath their feet—its center opening like a black void.
Ren lunged forward before the ritual could complete.
He blinked behind the first cultist, slicing through his back with Drakmor, then immediately rotated into a spin—Velgrin arcing outward to dismember another.
But as the bodies fell, black smoke oozed from their wounds.
From that smoke, their figures reformed.
"Dammit. They're bound by soul fragments," Ren growled. "Seraphina?"
"There's a tether. It's connected to the summoning circle. Destroy the core."
Ren's eyes locked onto the center of the ritual array—where a floating crystal hovered, pulsing in sync with the chants.
He dashed, switching to Sky Piercer, and leapt high into the air. With both swords drawn, he descended like a comet, driving them through the crystal.
CRACK!
The core shattered in a shockwave of void energy. The cultists howled in unison—black fire bursting from their robes as they began to collapse inward, their physical forms unraveling.
But the high priest remained.
His mask fell away, revealing a grotesque face marked with abyssal sigils.
"You've made a powerful enemy, dragonborn," he hissed. "The Abyss sees you. Salvatore remembers. And we are not the only ones preparing for your end."
He raised his hand and clutched a crimson stone.
"Until next time."
With a burst of energy, his body disintegrated—vanishing from sight in a flare of teleportation magic.
Ren stood alone amidst the ashes.
He exhaled, slowly.
"Cultists, Salvatore's followers, and a prophecy I don't know yet…"
He looked at the broken crystal and tightened his grip on his swords.
"Whatever's coming… I'll be ready."
The cultist lair reeked of ancient blood and rotted parchment. Now that the summoning ritual had been broken, the oppressive atmosphere began to lift, but traces of twisted mana still lingered like a curse in the air. Ren tread carefully through the debris-littered chamber, his twin blades sheathed but ready.
A hidden passage behind the altar revealed a cramped hallway lined with warped bookshelves. Stacks of grimoires, scrolls, and ancient tomes—most written in forgotten languages—were tucked away like forbidden knowledge long since erased from the world's surface.
Ren's eyes scanned the symbols. His [Language Comprehension] skill flickered, struggling to decipher their meaning. But the further in he went, the more the glyphs began to make sense. They weren't just writings—they were the foundations of dark magic.
With narrowed eyes, Ren reached for a thick tome bound in blackened hide, its clasp etched with abyssal runes. The moment he touched it, a system prompt appeared:
System Alert
You have discovered a Forbidden Tome of the Abyss.
You have unlocked: Dark Magic Affinity – Rank F
Dark-based magic can now be learned and used. Further reading and practice will increase Affinity and unlock advanced class paths.
Ren's lips curled into a smirk. "Finally… another magic discipline."
He looked around once more before activating the Still World.
The cursed chamber faded, replaced by the endless twilight of his sanctuary. He seated himself at a table formed from conjured obsidian and laid the tome open before him.
Page after page revealed secrets of the abyss—hexes, curses, soul chains, and binding contracts. Ren's mana pulsed with interest, the dark element now answering his call faintly, but present.
One section caught his attention.
Necromancy: The Dominion of Death.
Only those with high affinity and unwavering control can claim the title of Necromancer. Summoning the dead, commanding spirits, and corrupting the battlefield with decay are all within reach… for the worthy.
He read on, tracing the incantation for [Raise Lesser Undead]. The spell was simple, yet Ren felt its foundation tied to deeper systems—more than just raising skeletons. It was about control, connection, and balance.
"Another class path… But I'll need higher affinity first."
He stored the tome within his dimensional inventory, noting its importance. If he played his cards right, this would give him even greater versatility in battle—and the ability to weaponize the battlefield itself.
With a final breath, Ren stood.
"Dark magic, huh? I'll add it to the arsenal."
Exiting the Still World, he returned to the cultist chamber. Whatever was ahead in Wyrmgate Hollow, he now had one more edge to face it.
Ren descended deeper into Wyrmgate Hollow. The walls turned from rough-hewn stone to obsidian-like black, veins of pulsing crimson mana running through them like blood in the earth's flesh. The mana density grew thicker—almost intoxicating—and the air now smelled of rusted iron and ash.
Whatever laid further inside… was ancient.
He pressed on, his footsteps light, posture relaxed but ready. The Dragonfang Blades shimmered faintly at his hips, and beneath his armor, mana pulsed in steady rhythm, recharged from his earlier rest.
When the next chamber opened, he wasn't surprised to find monsters waiting.
A swarm of twisted beasts—horrific amalgamations of mana and malformed bone—charged forward. They moved like shadows given form, snarling, clawing with hooked limbs and jawless maws.
Ren's eyes narrowed.
"Let's see how dark magic handles this."
With a smooth motion, he drew one of the tomes from his dimensional storage. As the spell lit up across his vision, dark sigils appeared beneath his boots.
"Chain of the Abyss."
Black tendrils erupted from beneath him, latching onto the first wave of monsters. The shadows snared their limbs, binding them mid-charge, and crushed them into the ground with brutal efficiency.
Ren stepped forward, raising one hand.
"Soul Spike."
A black spear of cursed energy erupted from his palm, streaking through the air. The moment it struck one of the bound beasts, its entire body convulsed—soul and form alike unraveling into dust.
System Prompt:
You have gained experience with [Dark Magic Affinity].
Affinity increased: F → E
Another wave surged forward.
Ren slid one foot back and reached behind his hip, drawing his left sword with a clean metallic hiss. With a dash, he leapt forward into their ranks—his blade a storm of steel and shadows. Each slash was precise, calculated, yet bolstered by sudden bursts of dark magic.
"Death Pulse!"
A burst of dark energy radiated from his body, causing the weaker mobs to stagger and fall. The stronger ones howled—but their mana was already unraveling under the pressure.
Seraphina's voice echoed calmly in his mind. "Your control is stabilizing quickly, Ren. But you should pace the consumption rate. Dark spells are efficient—but corrosive if overused."
"Noted," Ren replied, breathing steadily. He twisted his hand and cast [Raise Lesser Undead].
The corpses of a few defeated enemies twitched—and then rose, eyes glowing violet. They turned to Ren and awaited orders.
"Perfect."
With summoned minions, swordplay, and dark magic in tandem, he cleared the next chamber with surgical precision. The monsters, even in groups of dozens, couldn't stand against the layered assault.
The dungeon's halls began to widen again. And with each step, the darkness responded more eagerly to his presence.
Ren paused briefly at the threshold of another large gate—this one shrouded in thick mist.
"I'm starting to understand it…" he whispered. "Dark magic isn't just destruction. It's dominion."
He opened the doors.
And stepped forward—ready to test that dominion against whatever came next.
The chamber beyond the mist was unnervingly silent.
Ren stepped inside, eyes sweeping the surroundings. The stone walls were carved with runes older than anything he had seen in the dungeon so far—etched deep and glowing faintly with a cold indigo light. In the center stood the mid-boss: a towering armored figure cloaked in tattered black robes, its helm forged from obsidian and a twisted horn curling from each side. Its arms were long, ending in jagged gauntlets crackling with void energy.
A name appeared above its head.
[Abyssal Knight – Duranis]
Tier: Mythic – Mid-Boss Class
The moment Ren crossed the warding circle around the room, the Knight's head snapped toward him.
"Another bearer of shadow magic," the Knight growled, its voice a hollow thunder. "I am the Abyss. You are a flickering ember."
Ren narrowed his eyes. "We'll see."
He raised his palm.
"Soul Spike."
A spear of dark magic shot toward the Knight's chest.
It struck.
And shattered against its armor like glass on steel.
The Knight laughed.
"You wield the magic of the Abyss without understanding its rules. I am born of shadow—you cannot kill shadow with shadow."
Ren clicked his tongue, immediately following up with [Chain of the Abyss].
But this, too, failed. The chains coiled around the Knight's limbs for only a breath before evaporating like smoke. Worse yet, the backlash from the spell sapped his stamina.
Seraphina's voice rang in his mind. "Ren, stop. You're wasting mana. The affinity level is too low—and your opponent is immune to that element."
"Got it."
He exhaled and dismissed the tome into his storage.
Then he drew both of his blades.
In a flash of light, the twin dragon swords roared to life, shimmering with crimson and silver auras.
"Let's keep this simple, then."
Ren surged forward.
The Knight reacted immediately, slamming one massive gauntlet down to crush him—but Ren vanished with [Phantom Step], reappearing behind the boss's back.
His blade carved deep into the Knight's shoulder joint, forcing a metallic roar.
The fight became a blur of speed and strikes.
Ren blinked in and out of range, his movements fluid, his attacks precise. Sparks flew with each clash, and the battlefield lit with the roar of steel. He switched hands, adjusted angles, and adapted to every counterstrike.
The Knight unleashed a shockwave of abyssal energy—Ren evaded by vaulting into the air.
From above, his eyes sharpened.
"Let's end this."
He channeled his mana, aligning it with the wind paths of space itself.
"Dimensional Slash!"
A line of light traced across the room in a single, sharp motion. The Knight froze mid-swing—before its body split from shoulder to hip in a clean, diagonal cut.
A pause.
Then its armor cracked, light pouring from the seams, and with a thunderous collapse, the Abyssal Knight fell.
System Prompt:
Mid-Boss [Abyssal Knight – Duranis] Defeated.
+380,000 EXP
Level Up!
Current Level: 122
Skill XP gained: [Dimensional Slash] +250
Skill XP gained: [Blink], [Phantom Step] +150
Dark Magic Affinity: +2%
New Skills Acquired:
• Void Counter (Active) – Parry or block an attack within 0.5 seconds to unleash a burst of null energy that deals true damage based on enemy magic stat.
• Pulse Step (Active) – A short-range movement technique that emits a concussive burst on departure and arrival points, briefly stunning nearby enemies.
• Battle Instinct (Passive) – Temporarily boosts reaction time and precision when facing enemies of equal or higher level. Activates automatically under pressure.
Ren exhaled.
"Lesson learned. Know when to fall back."
He sheathed his swords and glanced around the chamber, spotting a door sealed with runes slowly opening.
Before Ren could take a step foward, the system prompt flickered before his eyes—unusual, layered in golden trim.
Skill Synergy Detected...
[Primal Instinct] + [Battle Instinct] have met fusion conditions.
New Skill Acquired: [Predator's Mind]
Trait Gained: [Skill Architect] – You may now combine compatible skills into evolved forms.
Ren's brows rose. The battlefield fell quiet, but inside him, something stirred. He could feel it—two powerful instincts no longer working side-by-side, but as one.
Primal Instinct—that raw animal awareness, danger-sensing, sharpened like a hunter.
Battle Instinct—years of experience and moment-to-moment adaptation in combat.
Now, merged into something greater:
Predator's Mind.
He placed a hand to his temple. The new skill pulsed like a second heartbeat, and with it came a terrifying clarity. His mind processed threats faster. Patterns formed quicker. His reactions were no longer reactions—they were precognitive, driven by instinct tuned beyond mortal boundaries.
Ren turned slightly, shifting his weight. Even that simple motion felt more efficient, more natural. Every movement… optimal.
Then came the second prompt again, glowing in his peripheral vision:
Trait Gained: [Skill Architect]
Effect: Allows the fusion of compatible skills into new, personalized techniques. Synergy may unlock hidden evolutions or empower core abilities.
He blinked. A new frontier had opened before him—no longer bound to the static skills from menus and points. With careful design, he could craft unique, purposeful abilities. Skills born not from luck or purchase—but through mastery and design.
"Now this..." Ren whispered with a grin, "...is progress."
He looked down at his hands, his twin swords humming faintly with draconic power. The fight with the demon god, the regeneration from near-death, the crafting of new blades—it had all led to this.
His voice echoed in the empty corridor as he stepped deeper into the dungeon, the thrill of combat pulsing through his veins.
Ren took a few more steps through the corridor, his swords still glowing faintly in his hands. The air buzzed—not just with mana, but with something deeper. Something foundational. He could feel it pulsing in his bones. This new trait, Skill Architect, wasn't just another system upgrade. It was different. It was personal.
"Seraphina," he called mentally, "how did I unlock this?"
Her voice responded in a gentler tone than usual, threaded with subtle awe. "It wasn't random, Ren. You've crossed a threshold—your Creator Authority has reached 1%."
He stopped cold.
"…Only one percent?" he murmured. "And it already gave me this?"
"What you've done… isn't minor." Her voice shifted, now laced with reverence. "You forged mythic gear, rewrote spell applications, defeated dragons, created new sword techniques. But more than that—you faced and sealed a Demon God, Salvatore."
Ren's jaw clenched at the memory—his body broken, his armor shattered, nearly eaten alive, and still… he had pushed back the god of darkness. Alone.
Seraphina continued, "Sealing Salvatore wasn't just a feat of strength. It was an act of defiance against the system's limits. You changed the world's balance—altered fate itself. That's when your Creator Authority grew. And with it… the system responded by granting you access to Skill Architect."
He looked down at his hand. The same hand that had sealed a Demon God. That had nearly been obliterated. It trembled—not with weakness, but anticipation.
"Skill Architect… isn't just a title," he muttered. "It's a responsibility."
*"Yes," Seraphina confirmed. "It reflects your new role. Not just a wielder of skills—but a designer. A forger of paths that never existed."
A long breath escaped him.
"Then I guess," Ren said with a thin grin, "it's time I started thinking like a god."
He moved forward, the dim dungeon torches gleaming along the steel edges of his twin swords. With Creator Authority rising, and Skill Architect in hand, Ren Arclight was no longer bound by the rules.
He was going to rewrite them.
Ren stepped into the Still World.
The air was still and silent as always—no ticking of time, no shifting wind, just the calm presence of space tailored for creation. His workshop stood nearby, quiet but waiting. For once, he ignored it. His focus today was not on blades or armor.
He brought up his skill list. Dozens of abilities flashed before him—movement techniques, sword skills, elemental spells, support magics, and passives. His arsenal was vast, and now, with Skill Architect, it was malleable.
"Let's begin," Ren said aloud.
He reached toward the first pair of skills.
Phantom Step and Wind Dash.
A bright arc of mana curved across the interface as he began the fusion process. The system resisted at first. The combination fizzled—mana destabilizing and scattering like ash. A failed attempt.
"Too incompatible," he muttered. "They overlap too much."
He tried again—this time with Mana Vein Control and Rapid Recovery. A pulse of light surged through the Still World. The interface trembled… then stabilized.
New Skill Created – Vital Channeling
Effect: Mana veins dynamically accelerate HP and MP recovery during combat. Passive regeneration increases by 300% while moving.
Ren grinned. "Alright… now we're getting somewhere."
Time in the Still World meant nothing. Hours passed. Then days. He immersed himself completely, mind focused on skill evolution, synergy, and innovation. Every failure taught him something. Every success made his heart race.
He fused Lightning Augmentation with Piercing Blade Technique.
New Skill – Thunderfang Lancer
Effect: Strikes a target with a lightning-coated thrust that ignores 70% of enemy defense and stuns for 3 seconds.
He combined Barrier Chant with Reflex Shield.
New Skill – Aegis Rebound
Effect: Instantly creates a directional barrier that reflects projectiles or magic back toward their origin with 50% bonus power.
Even more daring combinations followed:
Flame Torrent + Spiral Blade = Crimson Spiral – a rotating flame vortex that travels outward.
Dimensional Sense + Battle Awareness = Spatial Combat Instinct – granting real-time predictions and instant response enhancements.
Lesser Regeneration + Spell Weaving = Arcane Blood – allows HP to convert into mana, and vice versa.
By the end of his session—though no time had passed outside—Ren stood in the Still World, panting. His body was drenched in sweat. Around him, the air shimmered faintly from the sheer number of magical reactions that had been triggered.
Before him was a clean list—a full new set of refined, high-grade abilities, designed by his own hands.
Seraphina finally spoke, awe in her voice. "You're evolving faster than I anticipated. This is beyond anything the system ever expected."
Ren exhaled, eyes sharp.
"Skill Architect…" he whispered, looking at the glowing list. "This isn't just a title. It's my forge now."
He looked down at his hands, clenched them, then released.
"And I'm going to create the ultimate arsenal."
Ren stepped through the final gate of the dungeon and into an expansive arena carved from obsidian stone. The air pulsed with mana, heavier than before, vibrating with the raw pressure of an imminent threat.
At the center of the room stood the final boss—a towering, armor-clad figure wreathed in black flames, its face hidden beneath a helmet of molten runes. But what unsettled Ren wasn't its appearance—it was the reflection in its aura. Somehow… it felt familiar.
The system chimed in his mind.
Final Boss – Echo Sovereign
A manifestation of your journey. Beware: It reflects the strength, skills, and tactics of its challenger.
Ren didn't hesitate.
"Then I'll break you before you copy everything."
He exhaled, his eyes glowing with draconic light. With a deafening roar, Ren unleashed Dragon's Breath, flames surging forward in a tidal wave of burning fury. The moment the flames connected, he blinked forward—Marked Teleportation activating on a rune beneath his feet—and launched a flurry of elemental strikes across the boss's blindside.
Wind gales tore at the armor. Lightning surged. Explosive fire detonated on impact.
Ren dominated the first thirty seconds of combat.
But then—the shift happened.
The boss raised a hand.
And from its gauntlet, Dragon's Breath erupted, just as powerful, blasting Ren across the room.
"What?!" he snarled, crashing into the far wall, his armor cracking from the impact.
The boss began to mimic every move. Elemental markers appeared across the arena—his markers. In a sudden flash, the boss vanished… and reappeared behind Ren with Marked Teleportation, striking down with a sword technique eerily similar to Sky Piercer.
Ren barely dodged, using Spatial Combat Instinct to slip away mid-movement.
A second later, Crimson Spiral burst toward him—his own fusion skill used against him.
"It's… copying me," Ren realized, gritting his teeth.
The boss wasn't just reacting—it was replicating, learning, evolving. Every tactic, every technique he had created in the Still World, now stood weaponized against him.
"This is different," Seraphina said quickly in his mind, her tone sharp. "It's not just mirroring—it's generating counter-forms based on your abilities. You're fighting your own evolution."
Ren's eyes narrowed. "Then I have to fight smarter."
He surged forward again, activating Spatial Combat Instinct and weaving in new skills he hadn't yet used in this dungeon—unpredictable combinations and untested fusions.
But each time he landed a hit, the boss adapted.
A flame rune beneath the boss's feet exploded—only for the boss to conjure a wind marker and propel itself backward.
They clashed blade for blade, magic for magic, instinct against instinct.
Ren's breath was ragged. Blood trailed down his arm. His body ached.
"This… is the fight of a creator," he muttered. "And I won't lose to a shadow of myself."
The boss struck again—this time using Starfall, his own relentless blade technique. Ren spun away, barely avoiding the full brunt, but the force still sent him skidding.
His breathing was labored now, eyes flicking through every movement. This thing doesn't stop. It's not just a reflection anymore… It's me if I lost all reason—if I fought to kill, not survive.
Seraphina, he called out mentally, I need a breakthrough. Something it hasn't seen.
Her voice came swiftly. You have one option—try the fusion you theorized. The one you didn't test in the Still World. It may backfire, but… it might be your only chance.
Ren clenched his fists. "Then I'll stake everything on this."
He planted both feet firmly into the stone floor and thrust his swords outward, slamming his mana and dragon energy into them. At the same time, he reached for the dormant magic in his markers—every element. Fire, lightning, wind, earth, water… even space.
He began to channel, drawing from the instinctive knowledge that came with Skill Architect.
New Experimental Fusion Skill Created:
Name: Heavenrend Overdrive
Type: Ultimate Fusion Technique
Effect: Combines spatial manipulation, elemental convergence, and sword-based channeling to unleash a singular strike that displaces reality itself. All magic markers in the area are consumed to amplify the strike.
Warning: Extreme mana consumption. Overuse can lead to complete physical collapse.
The air warped around him. His swords burned white-hot, humming with a mix of dragon energy and compressed spatial distortion.
The boss stopped mid-motion.
Even it sensed the danger.
"Let's see you mirror this…"
Ren dashed in—blindingly fast.
At the last moment, he flickered behind the boss with Marked Teleportation, slamming both blades together into a spiral of cutting force.
"Heavenrend Overdrive!"
The strike came down.
Reality split.
A vertical rift tore through the chamber, dragging elemental energies into a singular line of annihilation. The boss's mimicry shattered mid-cast. Its armor cracked—then shattered.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then the boss dropped to one knee, scorched and broken, before erupting into fragments of light.
System Prompt: Final Boss Defeated.
Reward: Skill Scroll – Mirrorbreaker.
Skill Fusion Capacity Increased.
Level Up!
You have unlocked the Unique Title: The Origin Blade.
Ren dropped to one knee, panting, his body nearly collapsing under the backlash. Seraphina's voice echoed softly.
"That was madness. But you did it."
He chuckled breathlessly. "It's not madness if it works."
The backlash hit instantly.
Mana roared through Ren's veins like molten fire. His muscles twitched and bulged unnaturally, cords of tension lacing across his body as if his form were about to rupture from within. Veins surged, skin flushed red, and blood trickled from his nose.
"Agh—!" Ren dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
"Ren! Don't force it—your body can't sustain that fusion for long!" Seraphina's voice rang sharp in his mind. "You need to redirect the excess mana or it'll tear you apart!"
Ren gritted his teeth, focusing as Seraphina guided him through an emergency mana circulation loop—one she designed from his hybrid physiology and dragon affinity. He visualized a vortex spiral, rerouting the remaining energy into his core rather than letting it run rampant.
The pain didn't vanish—but it dulled, stabilized, became something he could endure.
After a long breathless moment, he pushed himself to his feet, steam curling off his shoulders. His chest rose and fell with ragged heaves, but he was alive. Burned, strained, bloodied—but alive.
He opened his status window and navigated to the new reward:
[Skill Scroll – Mirrorbreaker]
Type: Unique Passive
Description: Nullifies mimic-based and reflection-type attacks. Counters mirroring enemies or abilities. Also allows partial memory reading of skill-based reflections.
Status: Locked
Requirements: ???
Authority Access Required: Intermediate Creator (5%)
Ren's brows furrowed.
"Locked?" he muttered aloud.
"It's not a simple skill," Seraphina said, her tone thoughtful now. "Mirrorbreaker isn't just a countermeasure—it's a conceptual power. Something only a Creator can truly wield."
Ren's eyes narrowed at the scroll still pulsing faintly in his inventory.
"Then I need to raise my Creator Authority again…"
"Exactly. You're at 1% now. But a leap to 5% will require something world-defying. Not just powerful feats—but irreversible shifts in the world's laws or perception."
Ren exhaled slowly and stared at the fading traces of the boss battle—the torn floor, scorched stone, and lingering threads of dimensional magic.
He clenched his fists.
"Then I'll keep breaking this world until it changes around me. Until I reach the power to use everything I've earned."
He turned and made his way deeper into the dungeon, determination etched into every step—his blood still boiling with purpose.
As the last flicker of battle aura dispersed, Ren forced his weary body upright. Steam curled from his limbs where torn muscle met newly forming skin. The pain still simmered under his skin, but it no longer held him hostage.
Then—
[SYSTEM PROMPT]
Dungeon Cleared: Wyrmgate Hollow (Extreme Mode)
• Completion Time: 4 hours 12 minutes
• Solo Clear Bonus: +300% EXP
• Title Unlocked: [Breaker of Reflection]
• Skill Unlock Progress: [Mirrorbreaker] (Locked)
• Rewards Unlocked: Access to Final Vault
A new pulse echoed through the chamber. Somewhere deeper inside the dungeon, stone rumbled open.
Ren's eyes lifted toward the far wall—an opening had appeared, hidden behind once-solid stone. A soft crimson glow bled out from within.
He walked forward, dragging his blade behind him, footsteps echoing with a heavy calm. As he crossed the threshold into the chamber, his eyes widened.
The room was a vault—massive, ancient, and bathed in a soft silver-blue glow. Enchanted braziers lit the surroundings without flame. At the center stood a single obsidian chest, reinforced with dragonbone and etched with luminous runes.
Ren stepped closer. The chest's seal clicked open with a low chime, responding to his presence.
Inside—
[Treasure Chest Opened – Final Vault of Wyrmgate Hollow]
• Mythic Material: Obsidian Dragonhide x3
• Mythic Material: Abyssfire Steel Ingot x5
• Mythic Material: Heartglass Crystal x2
• Rare Tool: Soulforged Anvil Fragment
• Crafting Catalyst: Elemental Pulse Thread (Fire, Lightning)
• Blueprint: [Drakeborn Harness – Mythic Armor Set]
• Blueprint: [Spellframe Core – Weapon Enhancement Node]
Ren let out a long breath, smiling despite the strain in his body. These materials… these weren't just rare—they were divine seeds for his next evolution.
He reached in and picked up the Heartglass Crystals. Mana throbbed warmly within their cores, pulsing in sync with his own.
"Looks like fate's apologizing for earlier," he muttered.
"No," Seraphina corrected gently. "It's rewarding your survival."
Ren set the crystal into his inventory and turned, eyes scanning the room once more. His next forge was already forming in his mind. He would not remain broken. He would become the blade to shatter demons and gods alike.
And somewhere far beyond the dungeon's crumbling walls—Salvatore stirred in the darkness, still bound but watching.