The chamber sank into an eerie stillness.
In the center, the shattered remnants of the obsidian beast smoldered in the crater Xavier had carved into the floor. Crystals sparkled overhead, casting a soft, reverent glow. An echo of energy from the Dazzling Impact buzzed faintly in the air, but the storm had finally calmed.
Xavier stood tall, though exhaustion lingered in his muscles. His gauntlets dimmed, and his breath came in a steady rhythm.
"My fist hurts," he muttered, grimacing at the dull throb. "Damn, was the attack too powerful for my body to handle?"
Determined to investigate, he peeled off the gauntlet from his right hand and examined it. His hand was swollen, a deep purple bruise mottling his skin; blisters dotted his wrist and fingers, while blood oozed from his knuckles.
"Yep, looks like my theory holds water," he grimaced, removing both gauntlets and stowing them away in his inventory. He flexed his fingers gingerly, wincing with every slight movement.
"System," he demanded, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Why can't you just analyze the monsters I face? Point out their weak spots so I can finish them off quickly?"
[The system does not have that feature and will not implement it.]
"Why not?"
[The system was designed solely to summon weapons for your use in battle, not to analyze opponents.]
"Great, you're just useless," Xavier huffed, irritation lacing his words. "You could at least be normal."
[The host should appreciate that the system directly enhances his physical capabilities.]
"Whatever," he spat. "I've been doing all the heavy lifting myself. You can just sit in the background doing nothing."
[Very well.]
With a heavy heart, Xavier stepped out of the crystalline chamber, the air now cooler, the silence denser. The corridor stretched ahead, narrow and dimly lit, its smooth obsidian walls lined with faintly glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
He moved cautiously, senses heightened, each step deliberate.
As the corridor twisted, it opened into a small chamber—empty, quiet, and peculiarly warm.
He breathed in, savoring the fresh air. It was a welcome change from the stale, musty atmosphere of the previous chambers, saturated with the scent of dried monster blood.
Then he froze, unable to believe his eyes.
In the center of the room sat a woman.
Naked.
Curled against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest, she buried her face in her hands. Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a curtain, trembling with each sob. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent in the dim light, and her breath hitched unevenly.
"No," he whispered, panic rising in his chest. "Not again."
Memories clawed at him—memories of the event that had brought him to this place, that had thrown his life into chaos. It replayed in his mind like a relentless recording, dragging up old wounds.
And now here it was again. Why? Why was this happening to him once more?
"It's another naked woman!" he fumed internally. "Why does this keep happening?!"
He couldn't block out the memory of the last time—naked, alluring, yet decayed, grotesque in its beauty. And now he was faced with this unsettling version, but the difference was that she was alive.
"This can't be a coincidence," he thought, straining not to stare at her vulnerable form. "Something is off. Very off."
"Wait," he recalled a detail from a letter he had read. Hadn't it been mentioned that F-ranks were captured from the dungeon, experimented on for years? Maybe she was one of them, and somehow, she had escaped.
He scanned the room. There were no signs of blood, chains, or a struggle—only her. Alone. Fragile.
"No," he murmured to himself. "This feels wrong. The air is too still. It feels staged."
But as much as he wanted to turn away, he couldn't ignore her plight. It just wouldn't sit right with him.
He took a cautious step forward.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady. "Are you hurt?"
No response.
He moved a little closer. "What happened?"
The sobbing ceased abruptly.
Silence enveloped them, oppressive and heavy.
Slowly, she turned her head, arms trembling as she lowered her hands.
Their eyes met.
Her gaze was wide—too wide. And dry.
No tears.
Just a smile.
A slow, eerie grin cracked across her face like porcelain breaking apart.
Xavier's breath hitched in his throat.
"Oh, no."
In one fluid motion, she stood—unnatural, graceful, as if invisible threads manipulated her movements. Her skin glimmered pale in the dim light, unnaturally smooth, too rehearsed for comfort.
Without warning, her arm flicked forward.
A blade materialized—thin, curved, gleaming with a deadly sheen. It stopped just shy of Xavier's throat, the tip hovering dangerously close to his skin.
He didn't flinch.
Her smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with something feral and predatory.
"Don't move," she whispered, her voice a silken caress wrapped in venom.
The blade remained steady, her hand unwavering.
Xavier narrowed his eyes; the corridor was charged with tension.
And with a single word, he summed up his predicament.
"Fuck."The chamber sank into an eerie stillness.
In the center, the shattered remnants of the obsidian beast smoldered in the crater Xavier had carved into the floor. Crystals sparkled overhead, casting a soft, reverent glow. An echo of energy from the Dazzling Impact buzzed faintly in the air, but the storm had finally calmed.
Xavier stood tall, though exhaustion lingered in his muscles. His gauntlets dimmed, and his breath came in steady rhythm.
"My fist hurts," he muttered, grimacing at the dull throb. "Damn, was the attack too powerful for my body to handle?"
Determined to investigate, he peeled off the gauntlet from his right hand and examined it. His hand was swollen, a deep purple bruise mottling his skin; blisters dotted his wrist and fingers, while blood oozed from his knuckles.
"Yep, looks like my theory holds water," he grimaced, removing both gauntlets and stowing them away in his inventory. He flexed his fingers gingerly, wincing with every slight movement.
"System," he demanded, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Why can't you just analyze the monsters I face? Point out their weak spots so I can finish them off quick?"
[The system does not have that feature and will not implement it.]
"Why not?"
[The system was designed solely to summon weapons for your use in battle, not to analyze opponents.]
"Great, you're just useless," Xavier huffed, irritation lacing his words. "You could at least be normal."
[The host should appreciate that the system directly enhances his physical capabilities.]
"Whatever," he spat. "I've been doing all the heavy lifting myself. You can just sit in the background doing nothing."
[Very well.]
With a heavy heart, Xavier stepped out of the crystalline chamber, the air now cooler, the silence denser. The corridor stretched ahead, narrow and dimly lit, its smooth obsidian walls lined with faintly glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
He moved cautiously, senses heightened, each step deliberate.
As the corridor twisted, it opened into a small chamber—empty, quiet, and peculiarly warm.
He breathed in, savoring the fresh air. It was a welcome change from the stale, musty atmosphere of the previous chambers, saturated with the scent of dried monster blood.
Then he froze, unable to believe his eyes.
In the center of the room sat a woman.
Naked.
Curled against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest, she buried her face in her hands. Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a curtain, trembling with each sob. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent in the dim light, and her breath hitched unevenly.
"No," he whispered, panic rising in his chest. "Not again."
Memories clawed at him—memories of the event that had brought him to this place, that had thrown his life into chaos. It replayed in his mind like a relentless recording, dragging up old wounds.
And now here it was again. Why? Why was this happening to him once more?
"It's another naked woman!" he fumed internally. "Why does this keep happening?!"
He couldn't block out the memory of the last time—naked, alluring, yet decayed, grotesque in its beauty. And now he was faced with this unsettling version, but the difference was she was alive.
"This can't be a coincidence," he thought, straining not to stare at her vulnerable form. "Something is off. Very off."
"Wait," he recalled a detail from a letter he had read. Hadn't it mentioned F-ranks being captured from the dungeon, experimented on for years? Maybe she was one of them, and somehow, she had escaped.
He scanned the room. There were no signs of blood, chains, or a struggle—only her. Alone. Fragile.
"No," he murmured to himself. "This feels wrong. The air is too still. It feels staged."
But as much as he wanted to turn away, he couldn't ignore her plight. It just wouldn't sit right with him.
He took a cautious step forward.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady. "Are you hurt?"
No response.
He moved a little closer. "What happened?"
The sobbing ceased abruptly.
Silence enveloped them, oppressive and heavy.
Slowly, she turned her head, arms trembling as she lowered her hands.
Their eyes met.
Her gaze was wide—too wide. And dry.
No tears.
Just a smile.
A slow, eerie grin cracked across her face like porcelain breaking apart.
Xavier's breath hitched in his throat.
"Oh, no."
In one fluid motion, she stood—unnatural, graceful, as if invisible threads manipulated her movements. Her skin glimmered pale in the dim light, unnaturally smooth, too rehearsed for comfort.
Without warning, her arm flicked forward.
A blade materialized—thin, curved, gleaming with a deadly sheen. It stopped just shy of Xavier's throat, the tip hovering dangerously close to his skin.
He didn't flinch.
Her smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with something feral and predatory.
"Don't move," she whispered, her voice a silken caress wrapped in venom.
The blade remained steady, her hand unwavering.
Xavier narrowed his eyes, the corridor charged with tension.
And with a single word, he summed up his predicament.
"Fuck."