Dev stepped through the shimmering, silver light of the portal, bracing himself for another hostile, organic world like the Weeping Woods.
He found nothing of the sort.
The transition was instant, a cold snap that left him standing on a perfectly circular, utterly flat disc of polished black obsidian. It felt like glass, cold and smooth beneath his soul-form's feet. The "arena" was perhaps a hundred meters across. Beyond its edge, there was nothing. A silent, starless void stretched into infinity, oppressive and absolute. There was no ground, no sky, no trees, no wind. There was only this platform.
And the thing standing in its center.
[Spatial Awareness] didn't just thrum; it screamed. It was a high-pitched, agonizing wail in his mind, a klaxon of pure, unadulterated danger that dwarfed the feeling of the Weeping Shadow. His [Vision Range] cut through the sterile air, locking onto the opponent.
It was not a beast. It was not a dripping shadow.
It was a warrior.
Standing a full eight feet tall, it was a golem of interlocking black iron plates, etched with faint, pulsing red lines that looked like circuitry. It was humanoid, but its proportions were all wrong—arms too long, chest too broad, legs thick as tree trunks. It carried no weapon. Its "hands" were massive, three-pronged gauntlets, each finger ending in a sharpened, cruel point. It had no head, only a smooth, rounded plate of armor where a neck should be, and from the center of its chest blazed a single, vertical slit of crimson light—the same baleful red he'd seen in the Weeping Shadow, but this... this felt controlled.
A System panel, unbidden, appeared in his vision.
[OPPONENT: Ebonguard Punisher]
[Level: 3]
[Faction: Ebonguard (Construct)]
[Title: Sentinel]
[STR: 12] [CON: 10]
[AGI: 8] [SPI: 5]
[RES: 5]
Dev's soul went cold, colder than the void surrounding him. He compared its stats to his own.
[HOST: Dev]
[Level: 2]
[STR: 5] [CON: 4]
[AGI: 5] [SPI: 17]
[RES: 15]
It was a joke. The construct's lowest stats, (SPI) and (RES), were equal to his (STR) and (AGI). Its (STR) was more than double his. Its (CON) was ten. It was a literal wall of iron. He was a Level 2 with 72 Essence, holding a rusted, chipped sword he'd looted from a corpse. This wasn't a test. It was an execution.
'This is what Selina meant,' he thought, his mind racing, trying to find an angle, any angle. 'A true test. Something to measure S-Rank Potential...'
The Punisher moved.
It didn't flow like the Shadow. It moved with the shocking, piston-like speed of a machine. Its (AGI: 8) was deceptive. In one instant, it was in the center of the arena. In the next, it had closed half the distance, its heavy iron feet booming on the obsidian.
Dev reacted purely on his new, enhanced instincts. He dove to the right, his (AGI: 5) feeling sluggish, pathetic.
He wasn't fast enough.
The construct's left arm swung in a horizontal arc. It wasn't even aiming for him; it was aiming for where he was. The three-pronged gauntlet tore through the air with a sound like a tearing sheet of metal. Dev felt the wind of the blow as it passed, and it was enough to sting his soul-form, to send him tumbling across the glassy floor.
He rolled, scrambling to his feet, his mind reeling. 'Too fast. Too strong.'
The Punisher didn't charge again. It simply stood, its red eye fixed on him, as if... assessing.
'It's a construct,' Dev's mind raced, his (SPI) stat feeding him information. 'It's not a wild beast. It's a test. It must have a protocol. A weakness.'
He had to try. He had to know.
He gripped his rusted sword, his only weapon, and charged. He didn't run at its front, but angled to its side, hoping to get past the heavy arms and at its thinner joints.
The construct didn't even turn. As Dev closed in, its right arm snapped out—not in a swing, but in a backhand. It was a casual, contemptuous, dismissive motion.
The back of the iron gauntlet connected with Dev's sword.
CRACK.
The sound was heartbreaking. The rusted blade, his only defense, his only weapon, didn't just get parried. It shattered. The force of the blow vaporized the metal, sending a shockwave up Dev's arm that nearly tore it from his socket. His entire soul-form flickered, the blue mist leaking from him in a torrent.
[WARNING: Soul-Form Integrity at 68%]
The blade was gone. He was left holding a useless, shattered hilt.
The Punisher's arm continued its motion, striking him square in the chest. It wasn't a punch. It was a collision with a freight train.
Dev's world exploded. He was airborne, flying backward, his (CON: 4) offering zero resistance to the (STR: 12) impact. He hit the obsidian floor, bounced, and skidded to a stop twenty meters away, his entire being screaming in agony.
[WARNING: Soul-Form Integrity at 41%]
[WARNING: Limb damage detected. Left arm functionality compromised.]
He couldn't breathe. He was broken. The fight had lasted less than ten seconds, and he was already defeated. He had no weapon. He had no strength. He had no defense.
'This is it, then,' he thought, the agony a cold, clear sheet of ice. 'Killed by Devis. Brought back. And killed by a machine. What a joke.'
The Punisher began its slow, methodical walk toward him. Each BOOM... BOOM... BOOM... of its iron feet on the platform was a nail in his coffin.
It stood over him, a black iron mountain blocking out the void. It raised its massive foot, preparing to crush his head like a Blood-Sapper.
And then... it stopped.
The crimson light in its chest flared.
It wasn't a physical attack. A wave of energy, cold and black, washed over him. It wasn't a (STR) or (AGI) attack. It was (SPI). It was a mental assault.
Suddenly, Dev wasn't in the arena. He was back on the street, the concrete digging into his cheek. Devis's foot was coming down, over and over, the laughter of his friends echoing. Useless. Trash. Weak. He was in the Weeping Woods, the Gloom Stalker's claws tearing his soul, the agony absolute. Prey. Fodder. Mistake. He was in the classroom, Mina's eyes looking at him with pity. Pity. The most hateful emotion of all.
[You are being afflicted by 'Aura of Despair']
[Your (RES) stat is being tested!]
[WARNING: Willpower failing!]
The construct was projecting hopelessness. It wasn't just trying to kill his body; it was trying to kill his will. It was designed to make him give up, to accept his fate as a Dreg, as trash.
'It's a (RES) test,' his mind screamed through the fog of despair. 'It's not trying to kill me. It's trying to make me surrender.'
His soul-form was cracking, dissolving under the psychic pressure. The pain was worse than any physical blow.
[Soul-Form Integrity at 29%]
He was going to die. He was going to fail. He was weak. He was nothing.
...Nothing?
...Weak?
The fog of despair swirled, but inside it, something else began to burn. A cold, hard ember. It was the same feeling he'd had in the alley, the same feeling in his first trial. The feeling that had earned him his EX-Rank Trait.
'If I am weak...'
He clenched his one good fist.
'...then I will get strong.'
'If I am prey...'
He looked up, his eyes burning with a new light, not blue, but a deep, cold, hateful red.
'...I will become the HUNTER.'
[TRAIT: 'Hunger for Strength' (EX-Rank) has been activated!]
[All (RES) and (SPI) stats are temporarily, massively amplified!]
The black, crushing despair didn't stop. But it changed. It was no longer a poison. It was fuel. His (RES: 15), amplified by the trait, wasn't just resisting the aura. It was absorbing it. The pain, the hopelessness, the trauma—it was what he had been born in. It was his home.
The Punisher staggered back, a motion of pure shock. The crimson light in its chest flickered, as if in pain. He was feeding on its attack.
And in that moment of flux, his amplified (SPI: 17) saw it.
His [Vision Range] punched through the construct's armor. His [Spatial Awareness] locked on. Inside the dense iron chest, right behind the crimson slit, was a small, perfectly spherical crystal. It was pulsing, out of sync. It was the source.
The Punisher, recovering, raised its hand for a final, physical strike, its despair-aura failing.
Dev moved.
He didn't have a weapon. He only had the jagged, broken hilt of his sword.
He poured every last ounce of his amplified will into his (AGI) and (STR). He didn't try to fight. He didn't try to dodge.
He lunged.
He dove under the construct's descending arm, the wind of the blow tearing at his back. He was inside its guard, his body colliding with its iron torso.
He raised the broken hilt, gripping it like a dagger.
And with all his strength, with all his hunger, he plunged the jagged shard of metal straight into the crimson slit of light.
SHIIIIINK.
There was a sound like a wet click, and a high-pitched, electronic scream.
The Punisher froze.
The red light in its chest flared, sputtered, and died. The 'Aura of Despair' vanished. The massive iron arms hung limp.
The construct, its power source shattered, stood motionless for a second before its joints unlocked. It collapsed, not in a pile, but folding in on itself, a ton of dead iron clattering onto the obsidian platform.
[OPPONENT: Ebonguard Punisher (Level 3) DEFEATED!]
[Host has overcome a Level 3 opponent at Level 2!]
[Massive Soul-Essence Acquired!]
[Calculating Combat Assessment...]
[...Assessment Complete: S-Rank!]
[Exploited opponent's core weakness. Resisted (SPI) assault. Displayed EX-Rank Trait. Victory achieved through overwhelming Willpower (RES).]
[Awarding Title...]
[TITLE EARNED: 'INDOMITABLE']
[Effect: +5 to (RES). Passively increases resistance to all mental and soul-based attacks.]
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
[HOST STATUS: UPDATED]
[Name: Dev]
[Level: 4]
[Faction: Ebonguard (Uninitiated)]
[Title: 'Indomitable']
[Sync Rate: 4.0%]
[STR: 9 (+4)] [CON: 8 (+4)]
[AGI: 9 (+4)] [SPI: 25 (+8)]
[RES: 24 (+5 Title, +4 Level)]
[Nexus Shards: 114]
[Lesser Soul-Essence: 0/400]
[All Soul-Form damage repaired.]
A flood of power, warm and immense, washed over him, knitting his cracked soul-form back together. The feeling was intoxicating. The jump from Level 2 to 4 was not a step; it was a leap. His new stats pulsed within him, a tangible, humming strength.
The obsidian arena dissolved.
Dev stood back in the cold, gray Ebonguard hub. His soul-form, now Level 4, felt dense, powerful, and it leaked a brighter, more intense blue mist.
Selina was standing exactly where he had left her. She was looking at his new, updated Status panel floating beside him. Her face, usually a mask of cold indifference, held a new expression.
It wasn't shock. It wasn't approval.
It was a cold, sharp, and deeply interested calculation. The Dreg had just passed the unpassable test.