Michael leaned heavily against the cold, damp wall of the dungeon, each breath a sharp reminder of the agony coursing through his body. His once-powerful frame was battered and broken, a far cry from the imposing figure he had been when he first entered this hellish place. He could still feel the phantom pain where his arm had been severed, and the gaping wound in his chest throbbed with every heartbeat. Each breath felt like it could be his last, yet something deep inside him refused to let go.
The dungeon's darkness seemed to press in on him, a living entity that reveled in his suffering. The air was thick with the scent of decay and blood, a constant reminder of the countless lives lost in this accursed place. The walls, slick with moisture, seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, as if the dungeon itself was alive, watching, waiting for the moment it could claim him as its own.
Michael knew he had to keep moving. The thought of staying in one place too long filled him with a deep sense of dread, yet he also knew that he wouldn't get far in his current state. The brief respite he had carved out for himself was precious, and he needed to use it wisely. Summoning what little strength remained, Michael willed his status menu to appear before him.
The glowing panel flickered into existence, casting a faint light on his haggard face. His vision blurred for a moment before he forced it to focus on the words that materialized before him.
—
Michael Elliott
Nickname: Azrael
Level: 16 (5462/16000)
Race: Fallen Seraph
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Class: Death Angel
Subclass: Runesmith
Health: 34/200
Mana Capacity: 78/1800
Strength: 40
Agility: 200
Defense: 15
Magic Defense: 80
Luck: 450
Blood Core: F+
Unused Stat Points: 80
Titles: Overlord of Death, Rule Breaker, One Watched By The Gods
—
Michael's eyes narrowed as he scanned the details. His health had plummeted to a dangerous level, his mana reserves nearly depleted. The drop in his maximum health didn't escape his notice either. It was clear that the loss of his arm had weakened him, leaving him more vulnerable than ever. The phantom limb ached, a cruel reminder of what he had lost and how fragile his existence had become.
His mind wandered back to the fight that had nearly killed him. He had been so confident, so sure of his own power. The dungeon had proven him wrong. It had stripped away his arrogance, leaving behind nothing but raw survival instincts and a desperate will to live. He had fought monsters before, but nothing like the creature that had nearly torn him apart. Its strength, its ferocity—it had been a nightmare made flesh, and it had nearly ended him.
Michael sighed, the sound ragged in the quiet of the dungeon. His journey had taken a heavy toll, and he had paid the price for his arrogance. The dungeon had stripped him down to his very essence, leaving him with nothing but the will to survive and a mission that burned in his heart. A mission that had started with hope but had slowly twisted into something darker.
With a weary thought, he pulled up the shop menu. The screen flickered as it appeared, offering a glimmer of potential salvation.
—
Shop Menu
[Weapons]
[Armor]
[Essentials]
[Artifacts]
[Materials]
[Non-Essentials]
[Lifeforms]
[Skills]
[Search...]
[Casino]
—
Nothing in the shop would be of any use to him at the moment. His gold was gone, spent on mana potions that had helped him survive up until now. Each sip had brought him a momentary reprieve, but now his resources were spent. And while the two divine crystals in his possession were valuable beyond measure, he hesitated to use them. They were a last resort, a trump card he wasn't willing to play unless absolutely necessary.
He closed the shop menu and opened his inventory, hoping against hope that there was something he had overlooked. The screen expanded, displaying the meager contents of his pockets.
—
Inventory
Cores:
F- Core x4851F Core x2109F+ Core x2385D- Core x1575D Core x1327D+ Core x1487C- Core x583C Core x34C+ Core x2B- Core x0
Items:
Defensive BroochCombination CompartmentRing of The Midnight FlowEnchanted BandageMana Restoration Potion (Low-grade)Health Potion (Minor)Scroll of Scorching RayShadow DaggerVoid Crystal Shard
Currency:
Gold: 0Divine Crystals: 2
—
His heart sank further as he took stock of what little remained. Most of the items were minor trinkets, things he had picked up along the way but never found much use for. The Defensive Brooch could offer some protection, but not nearly enough to make a difference in his current state. The Combination Compartment was useful for making higher-tier beast cores, but it wouldn't heal his wounds. The Ring of The Midnight Flow had some utility in battle, but he was in no condition to fight.
His gaze lingered on the Health Potion. It was a minor potion, barely enough to patch up the smallest of wounds, let alone the gaping hole in his chest. But it was better than nothing. With a grimace, he drank the potion, feeling a faint warmth spread through his body as it worked to mend what it could. The pain in his chest lessened slightly, but it was nowhere near enough to bring him back to full strength.
The warmth of the potion was fleeting, a temporary balm for wounds that ran deeper than flesh. His body felt a little stronger, but the bone-deep exhaustion remained. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was running out of time, that the dungeon was a living entity that could sense his weakness and was just waiting to pounce.
Michael's thoughts turned to Valencia, the weight of her memory pressing down on him. He had to survive—not just for himself, but for her. He had to find a way to bring her back.
He could still see her face in his mind, the look of determination as she had sacrificed herself for him. It was a memory that haunted him, one that drove him to the brink of madness. The thought of her death, of her soul trapped in the void, was unbearable. He had to save her, no matter the cost.
The glow of the status menu faded as Michael tucked the feather back into his inventory. He could feel the darkness closing in around him, the dungeon waiting for its chance to strike again. But he wasn't done yet. He still had 80 unused stat points, a small reserve of power that could make the difference between life and death.
With a determined breath, he began to allocate the points. He added 30 to his Health, bringing it up to 64/230. Another 40 went into his Mana Capacity, raising it to 118/2220. The last 10 points he split between Defense and Magic Defense, giving him a slight edge against the next attack that might come his way.
It wasn't much, but it was something. Enough to keep him going, to give him a fighting chance.
The power surged through him, a brief but invigorating sensation. His body was still broken, his arm still gone, but the wound in his chest had stopped bleeding, and his spine had been repaired enough to allow him to move. He could feel the faint stirrings of hope, fragile and fleeting, but there nonetheless.
Michael knew that the dungeon was far from finished with him. The next trial awaited, lurking in the shadows, ready to test him once more. The monsters he had faced thus far were nothing compared to what lay ahead. But he would be ready, as ready as he could be.
With great effort, Michael pushed himself to his feet. The dungeon seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if mocking his struggle. The shadows around him shifted, and he could almost hear the whispers of the damned, taunting him, urging him to give up. But he ignored it, focusing instead on the mission that burned in his heart. He had promised to bring Valencia back, and he would do whatever it took to fulfill that promise.
The path ahead was fraught with danger, but Michael had faced worse. He had been brought low, but he had not been defeated. The dungeon had taken everything from him, but it hadn't taken his resolve. With one final, painful step, he began to move forward, leaving behind the blood-soaked chamber where he had nearly met his end.
As he walked, the darkness seemed to part before him, as if acknowledging his determination. The walls of the dungeon whispered to him, voices of those who had fallen before, but he paid them no mind. He was beyond fear, beyond pain. All that mattered was the mission.
The dungeon stretched out before him, a labyrinth of despair and death. But Michael was no longer the boy who had entered this place. He was Azrael, the Death Angel, the Overlord of Death. He had been broken, but he had been remade in the fires of agony and despair.
His footsteps echoed in the silence as he ventured deeper into the dungeon, the shadows closing in behind him. Each step was a defiance, a refusal to succumb to the darkness that sought to consume him. He was battered, broken, but not yet defeated.
—
Michael Elliott
Nickname: Azrael
Level: 16 (5462/16000)
Race: Fallen Seraph
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Class: Death Angel
Subclass: Runesmith
Health: 64/230
Mana Capacity: 118/2220
Strength: 40
Agility: 200
Defense: 20
Magic Defense: 85
Luck: 450
Blood Core: F+
Unused Stat Points: 0
Titles: Overlord of Death, Rule Breaker, One Watched By The Gods
—
As he walked, the pain in his chest began to dull, replaced by a cold determination. He was no longer the same person who had entered this world, and the dungeon would soon learn to fear his new identity. The darkness may have tried to break him, but it had only made him stronger.
The memory of Valencia burned brightly in his mind, a beacon that guided him through the abyss. He had a purpose, and he would see it through, no matter the cost. His previous arrogance had clouded his vision, but now that he had been humbled, he could see clearly.
Michael knew that the journey ahead would not be easy. The dungeon would throw everything it had at him, but he was ready. He would tear through this place, overcome every obstacle, and bring Valencia back to life.
He would do anything to revive her.