Steven continued to struggle against the thin rope that strangled the life out of him. He kicked erratically, swaying as much as his weakening body allowed. His fingers clawed desperately at his own neck, nails digging into his skin as he tried to get a grip on the rope. But the more he struggled, the more the cursed thing burrowed deeper, sliding cruelly into his throat, cutting off what little air he had left.
His breathing quickly devolved into hoarse groans, broken and wet, as his eyes shot blood-red from the strain. Spots danced in his vision, and a terrifying clarity struck him like a hammer.
Reality hit him.
He was truly going to die—hanged like an animal.
However, by some twisted miracle, the rope suspending him in the air suddenly snapped under the strain of his erratic movements. Steven's body plummeted downward, crashing back-first onto the hard, wet bricks of the floor with a sickening thud.
"Gaarhh!" he groaned, coughing violently as he struggled to breathe. His chest rose and fell in frantic, uneven heaves as air burned its way back into his lungs. His eyes darted wildly, unfocused at first, before landing on the rope still coiled tightly around his neck.
Panicking, he wrapped his trembling hands around it and pulled with all the strength he had left, tearing it loose before flinging it away in raw resentment.
He sat up abruptly, clutching his bloodied neck, the skin raw and torn, as a horrifying thought surfaced.
The cannibalistic man was still alive.
And he would be coming to finish the job.
Steven spun around sharply, his heart hammering, but instead of another attack, he froze.
The man was nowhere near him.
Rather, the hunched figure sat at the opposite side of the cage, his head tucked tightly between his legs, arms wrapped around himself as though trying to disappear—like a beast hiding from a greater predator.
Steven continued to gasp as he slowly turned, scanning the cage with frantic eyes to see if any other monsters lurked in the shadows with him. His gaze swept through the dimly lit corners, every crevice, every dark edge of stone.
All of them were empty.
No signs of life.
Seemingly, it was a cage meant for just two prisoners.
Prisoner?
Steven's breathing gradually steadied as the rush of adrenaline ebbed away, his thoughts finally beginning to organize themselves.
'What the hell is this?' he asked himself.
He raised his frail, bone-like arms in front of his face, staring at them in disbelief. They looked as though they had no flesh at all—though they did. The skin clung tightly to bone, thin and stretched, veins faintly visible beneath the surface.
Panic surged through him.
Steven hurriedly grabbed his ragged clothes and lifted them, dread pooling in his stomach as he looked down at his body. His mouth fell open at the sight before him. His gut was so shrunken it sloped inward unnaturally, like a hollowed cavity rather than a stomach. His ribs jutted out sharply, no different from the rest of him, as though he possessed no flesh at all.
"Who the hell is this monster?" Steven muttered bitterly.
Irritation mixed with horror as he ran his fingers across his face—no, not his face, his skull. His desiccated lips felt cracked and dry, and his eyes sat deep within their sockets like dark, sunken caves.
Surely, there wasn't much difference between him and the malnourished man who had tried to eat him.
'Come to think of it, why did he even try eating me in the first place? I don't even have that much meat on me either,' Steven thought, his expression sinking further into despair.
Another cruel stroke of callous luck by the Cursed Mark.
Growing up, Steven had heard countless stories of how people entered the Realm of Entry—becoming avatars, completing tasks, returning stronger. Even if most of those stories were fabricated nonsense, one thing was certain.
None of them started like this.
Why, in all of hell, did he appear hanged to death, trapped inside a body so malnourished that he wasn't even sure food existed in this version of the realm?
"Even slaves have more privileges than this shitty body," he complained quietly.
Shaking his head, he tore his attention away from the cell and focused inward, concentrating on summoning his system.
{Welcome to the Fated Colosseum}
{Name: Rat… No surname}
{Identity: Prisoner}
{Memory: Ready to integrate}
Steven frowned deeply at the notification.
First of all—Rat?
What sort of name was that supposed to be?
But considering how frail the body was, Steven could only assume this person had been an orphan. Probably named "Rat" as an insult by the high-class scum above him. Someone who stole scraps to survive and eventually got caught, thrown into this cell to rot until death claimed him.
Steven pushed himself to his feet and began pacing the cage slowly, trying to assess his surroundings more carefully. The bricks were uneven and ancient, worn down by time and neglect. The bars were rusted, bent in places.
This was old. Really old.
But what confused him were the puddles scattered across the ground. There was no sign of leakage from the stone ceiling above—no cracks, no dripping water.
Yet, every few steps, his feet splashed into shallow pools of cold liquid.
Who really knew what they were?
He shrugged uneasily and moved to the opposite side of the cage, lowering himself against the bars. Keeping his eyes locked on the skinny man, he decided to sink back into his system.
Not going to take any chances with this one.
'Show me stats,' he commanded silently.
{Race: Marked}
{System: Limitless Undead System}
{Talent: Gain x5 upgrade from every undead slain. Copy skills from the dead and make them yours.}
{Physique: 5/20}
{Mana: 10/10}
{Skills Copied: None}
Sponsored:
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Astral Chat
Steven's eyes widened slightly as he reread the notifications, scanning through them again and again until he was certain he hadn't misunderstood.
Physique of five—he wasn't sure how bad that truly was yet. Mana being full was a small comfort. But the true shock lay in the Talent.
"To copy and increase a skill by five times its original strength…" he whispered.
The words ignited something dangerous in his chest. Excitement. Hope. He quickly suppressed it, knowing better than to celebrate too early.
The condition was troublesome.
To steal a skill, the target had to be dead.
Which meant killing them.
Steven frowned.
Once again, his mundane luck struck hard. Despite the power being incredible, killing someone—especially an awakened individual—wouldn't be easy. Nor was it something he could take lightly.
He willed the system for more information, and a new notification bloomed before his eyes.
{Talent: Limitless Undead System}
*Description: User may steal only one skill from any enemy they have killed. Skill selection is decided by the user. However, the time of death affects whether the skill can still be copied.
*Note: The number of skills the user may copy is limitless. Every copied skill is upgraded five-fold upon acquisition.
Steven sighed slowly.
Intrigued, but not thrilled.
'Every organism wants to live. Only by choice would someone accept an easy death. To copy something truly powerful, I'd have to kill someone powerful… what a hassle.'
"Rat… y—you came back to life."
Steven's bloodshot glare snapped away from the system and locked onto the malnourished beast of a man now crouched in the middle of the cell.
Up close, the sight disgusted him even more. Steven nearly gagged but restrained himself—he knew if he tried to vomit, he might actually spill his insides onto the floor.
So he simply watched, his demeanor filled with cold disdain.
"You promised me… you…" the man stuttered, his hands running weakly along his lap. "You promised me I could eat you when you died… I waited… I confirmed…"
Steven felt dread creep up his spine.
'Oh no… don't tell me—'
"Can I—"
"No! You can't eat me!" Steven shouted, his voice hoarse and warped, but the message was clear.
The old man shrank back immediately, retreating into himself. Then, slowly, his lips curled upward into a strange, unmistakable smile that sent a chill through Steven's bones.
'Why is he smiling?' Steven wondered.
The smile twisted into soft chuckling, revealing abnormally green, decayed teeth.
"You should have just died, you wretched Rat," the man rasped. "Truly pitiful."
Steven's brows knitted together in confusion and anger.
Pitiful?
Why should he rather die than live?
The realm answered him almost instantly.
A loud metallic sound echoed throughout the vicinity, followed by heavy footsteps reverberating through the corridor beyond the cell. Steven turned toward the sound, dread pooling in his gut.
Metallic boots.
Each step sent a chill crawling up his spine.
He glanced back at the old man—and froze.
The man was once again cowering in the corner of the cage, shaking violently.
Terrified.
A loud clang struck the bars, jolting Steven back around.
And then he saw them.
Two men clad in royal armor, full-body plating polished and imposing. Their faces were visible beneath their helmets, twisted into mischievous glares filled with callous intent as they met Steven's eyes.
One of them shoved a key into the lock and twisted it repeatedly until two sharp clicks echoed through the cell. He kicked the door open, the hinges screeching as it swung wide.
The first guard grinned and spoke, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Come on, brat. It's time for you to entertain us in the Colosseum."
Steven's heart plummeted.
His eyes shook as he whispered,
"Colosseum?"