The corridor narrowed into something that didn’t feel like it had been built, but grown. The walls flexed with his movement, muscles twitching beneath translucent layers of meat. Occasionally, a pulse traveled through the floor beneath him, like the dungeon itself had a heartbeat. Malachai had stopped questioning it. He only breathed when he had to. He only blinked when it wouldn’t cost him his life.

  The tunnel opened into a small chamber, and for the first time in hours, maybe days, there was no blood. No bone. No screaming.

  Only a pool.

  A small, shallow basin carved into the stone. The liquid inside was still—crystal clear, untouched by the rot and filth that infected everything else.

  Malachai approached it slowly, wary of a trap, but the water didn’t move. No tentacles. No mouths. No reflections reaching out to drag him under.

  When he looked down, he saw himself.

  And barely recognized what stared back.

  His face was pallid and sharp, cheekbones high and hollowed from starvation. A long scar ran from his left brow to his jaw, crusted with dried blood. His lips were cracked, painted with a smear of someone else’s life. His eyes—once a soft, forgettable grey—were now deep, storm-dark, with an ember glow deep in their center. Something inside him was awake, and it watched him through the mirror.

  His hair was long, shoulder-length and black, matted in chunks and streaked with soot. His hoodie hung in tatters, one sleeve completely gone. The baggy cargo pants were slashed and caked in dried gore, one leg tied off with a shredded belt to keep a wound closed. Beneath the grime, his body had hardened—lean, wiry muscle born of desperation and pain. He looked like someone who had bled their way out of hell.

  It was a month until his twenty-fourth birthday.

  He needed to survive it.

  The water rippled, as if in agreement.

  He turned.

  The next chamber was waiting.

  The scent hit him first—a foul blend of mold, copper, and burned hair. The air thickened, heavy with psychic weight, like a scream caught in your throat.

  And then it crawled out.

  From the wall, from the ceiling, from under the flesh of the dungeon.

  The Slua.

  It looked human, almost. A gaunt figure, draped in rags that whispered without wind. Its face was smeared with soot, and its eyes were hollow black pits that wept shadows. But its mouth—its mouth was too wide, stretching across its face, full of yellowed teeth, whispering names Malachai had never said aloud.

  It moved without sound.

  And then it was on him.

  He barely raised his crowbar in time, catching the creature’s claws as it lashed at his throat. They scraped across metal, sparks and blood in the same breath. Malachai shoved forward, snarling, and drove his knee into the Slua’s chest.

  It didn't stagger.

  It split.

  The creature's body opened down the middle, revealing a second, screaming mouth in its torso. Teeth bit down on Malachai's forearm, tearing through skin and bone.

  He howled.

  HP: 29/110

  He activated Feast of Flesh and grabbed a shard of stone.

  He stabbed the Slua's torso-mouth repeatedly, each time the blade sank deeper, until he could feel it scraping something solid inside. Black blood gushed out, hissing where it touched the floor.

  The Slua shrieked. Its scream was not sound but memory, flooding his mind with every moment he’d ever failed, every scream he’d ever heard.

  It tried to make him feel again.

  He slammed his head into its face.

  Then again.

  And again.

  Bone cracked. Teeth snapped.

  He ripped the creature’s head back and, with both hands, drove the crowbar under its chin and up through the skull. It twitched.

  Then Trait he twisted the weapon.

  The Slua fell apart in chunks, twitching meat and cloth.

  ? Fragment Acquired: Slua New Ability Unlocked: Dread Pulse (Minor)

  He didn’t rest.

  Not now.

  Three more monsters burst from the chamber—Crawlers, eyeless humanoids with rows of legs like centipedes, mouths stretched wide to their collarbones. They hissed in unison.

  Malachai didn’t wait.

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  He ran to meet them.

  He ducked under the first, grabbed it by the arm, and ripped it free from its socket. The creature howled.

  He swung the severed limb into the second Crawler, shattering its jaw.

  The third leapt onto his back, biting into his shoulder.

  He slammed his body into the wall over and over until it slid off, dazed, then kicked its head in with one brutal stomp. The floor cracked. Bone sprayed. Its body spasmed once, then died.

  > Trait Fragment Acquired: Crawler (3) +2 Strength, +1 Reflex

  He panted, chest heaving. His vision pulsed. His blood felt alive.

  The blood from the Crawlers still steamed around Malachai’s boots as he stepped over their bodies, vision blurring at the edges. The Slua’s echo still hummed in the back of his skull, like a curse that wouldn’t die.

  The dungeon wasn’t done with him yet.

  A whisper slithered down the corridor ahead. Not air. Not breath. Something else.

  And then they came.

  More Slua.

  Three of them.

  Their rags dragged behind them like burial shrouds. Their skin was grey and tight, their eyes pits of dripping shadow. They crawled across the walls, upside down, their long limbs bending backward like broken marionettes. As they approached, their mouths stretched open wider than any human jaw should allow.

  They spoke his name. Each voice different. One sounded like his mother. One, his own voice as a child.

  The third said nothing at all.

  He moved first.

  He charged.

  His crowbar met the first Slua with a wet crack, caving in its skull. It screeched, arms flailing wildly as he brought it down again, then again, until the head was pulp.

  The second dropped on him from the ceiling, claws slashing across his back. He roared and rolled, barely avoiding its jaws.

  He drove his knee into its chest and tore the crowbar across its throat. Black blood sprayed. It writhed and screamed in his father’s voice.

  The last one struck him from behind, biting into his shoulder. He spun with it still attached, slammed it into the ground, then grabbed a jagged bone shard from a nearby corpse and rammed it through the Slua’s eye.

  ? Trait Fragment Acquired: Slua (2) Dread Pulse (Minor) Strengthened

  His chest rose and fell like a war drum. He stood over their corpses, blood and black shadow dripping from his arms.

  And then he saw something half-buried in the remains.

  Two hooked weapons, glinting faintly beneath the ichor.

  He knelt and pulled them free.

  They were claws—gauntlet-like, fitted for the hand, extending into three curved blades that jutted from above the knuckles. The metal was blackened, not forged, but grown, like bone fused with steel. Runes pulsed across the surface in deep red lines.

  ? Item Acquired: Slaughter Claws

  Type: Melee Weapon (Paired)

  Damage: Medium-High, Bleeding Effect

  Passive Bonus: +1 Agility, +1 Reflex

  Effect: On kill, has a 10% chance to trigger Frenzy Pulse – temporarily increases movement and attack speed by 25% for 10 seconds.

  He slipped them on.

  The metal seemed to grip his arms, locking into place like it had been waiting for him.

  He flexed his hands. The claws moved like extensions of his fingers.

  Perfect.

  He walked deeper.

  The corridor widened. The walls grew taller, the breathing of the dungeon slower, heavier. With every step, the air thickened. The ground began to slope downward. Darkness churned ahead, not from lack of light—but from something absorbing it.

  Then he saw them.

  The doors.

  Massive, black as pitch, twisted with iron and bone. They rose fifteen feet high, shaped like two mirrored wings folded inward. Symbols writhed across the surface like worms carved into flesh. At their center, a keyhole shaped like a screaming face gaped wide.

  A boss room.

  He approached, the Slaughter Claws humming against his pulse.

  But before he pushed forward, he stopped.

  Opened his hand.

  And summoned the screen.

  ---

  Name: Malachai Voss

  Class: Reaper (Unique)

  Level: 5

  HP: 89/120

  MP: 45/45

  Strength: 15 (+5)

  Agility: 16 (+2)

  Vitality: 13 (+1)

  Reflex: 12 (+1)

  Willpower: 14 (+1)

  Intelligence: 9

  Traits:

  Death-Touched (Unique): You are marked by death. Monsters hesitate. Fear lingers.

  Wendigo (5): +5 Strength, +1 Vitality. Enhanced hunger traits. Passive boost to physical power.

  Skinwalker (2): Grants Voice Mimicry (Minor). Enhanced with multiple fragments. Useful for distraction and deception.

  Slua (2): Unlocks Dread Pulse (Minor) – emit a psychic shockwave of fear. Strengthened with more fragments.

  Crawler (3): +2 Strength, +1 Reflex. Enhances muscle control and speed in confined spaces.

  Corpse Leech (1): Grants Toxic Resistance (Minor). Slight resistance to corrosive or venomous attacks.

  Mawling (1): +1 Agility. Minor sensory enhancement. Tracking-based.

  ---

  Abilities:

  Consume Essence

  Voice Mimicry (Minor) [Enhanced]

  Feast of Flesh (Tier II)

  Dread Pulse (Minor)

  ---

  Weapons Equipped:

  Slaughter Claws

  Class Evolution Progress: 24% - Reaper Ascendant

  He stared at the screen.

  Then at the doors.

  Then back at the blood on his hands.

  He had come too far to stop.

  Malachai clenched his fists.

  The dungeon shivered.

  And the Reaper stepped forward.