A scratching sound noisily rang through the onyx hall, as if a sharp edge was being dragged against the floor. What became a minuscule sound was now ear-filling; the hostile scratching rapidly grew closer, now with footsteps drumming along.
After a dreadful few moments of awaiting the origin of the ominous noise, a shrouded figure leapt from behind the center pillar, unveiling itself from the shadows:
A creature of black, sleek skin with metallic plating that resembled armor naturally protecting it as an exoskeleton. It had a humanoid physique, though with an elongated, hunched torso and two, unnaturally long arms that ended in the shape of blades.
Its head was long and sharp, with eyes split into countless hexagon patterns like blemished, black pearls.
"What is that—?" Bastian questioned, keeping his distance and his hand near his sheathed dagger.
The mercenary reached behind his back, grabbing hold of the black-leather handle of his sheathed weapon with his glove before retrieving it, "Stay put. I'll handle this."
Almost as much of a surprise as the creature was to the newcomer to the eleventh floor was the fact that the man in front of him wielded the massive blade as if it were a knife.
"Come on," Claxous said in his monotone voice towards the monster.
It managed to tower over even the mercenary as it made clicking noises like that of a nocturnal insect, grinding its sharp limbs together.
Without any warning, the plated creature sprung forward with its bouncy legs, spinning around at an incredible rate as its blade arms became deadly weapons.
Still, Claxous had yet to move, standing still with his blade held at his side while the hostile denizen of the floor rapidly approached.
"Watch—!" Bastian attempted to warn.
It was too late for any meaningful callout; the creature moved almost too fast for the naked eye to perceive—the mercenary failed to move in time as the bladed, swift creature slashed its limbs against his body.
Bastian was at a loss for words, feeling his stomach sink into the deepest depths of his body, "No way."
That fear that swelled in him was dispelled as quickly as it came as his mind began to adjust to what he watched before him: not a single drop of blood met the floor, nor did the mercenary move an inch.
It was only then that he noticed; the dual blades of the buzzing monster were being held back, not by a weapon, but by the arm of the man.
'So that's how it is—he has a Blessing,' he realized.
The limb of Claxous was different; the man's light-brown skin had shifted into a stone-like texture, completely obstructing the creature's edge as if it were a dull blade against an unmoving boulder.
Claxous' expression remained unchanged as he used his other hand to lift his sword before slamming it downward. The incredible might of the ruby rank befell the swift insectoid creature, splitting it in half as the great sword crushed into the onyx tile below.
As a result, stone was crushed below and a burst of wind knocked outward from the inhuman force presented; it was leagues ahead of his own caliber, simply feeling supernatural in every which way.
Putrid, green blood splashed as the squelching of the creature's body echoed, leaving it as nothing more than a mess of blood and entrails as Claxous lifted his dirtied blade up.
Seeing how easily and brutally the sable monster was dealt with, Bastian felt himself questioning if his own companion was more of a monster himself.
"Let's keep moving," Claxous said casually before swiping his sword clean of the blood, sheathing it once more.
Bastian slowly nodded, "…Yeah."
'This is the difference between those with a Blessing and those without–it's insurmountable,' he thought.
All he could do was carefully walk around the splattered corpse of the creature, making sure not to get any of its repugnant blood on his boots as it seemed acidic by the light hiss on the floor.
Moving through the vast chambers of the blackened floor, alight only by azure flames, more of the bladed-armed creatures were encountered, and as the same, Claxous dealt with them handily. For the adventurer who promoted being stealthy and avoiding encounters, it felt as though his companion was the opposite: the mercenary strutted forth without any ounce of sneakiness, dealing with anything that obstructed his path.
Finally, the seemingly endless rooms of similar architecture were left, leading into an open area of the colossal floor: a stretch of blackened soil, in which mounds built up, forming and rumbling before erupting pillars of steam.
"A field of steam is what he said, right? I don't think this could be mistaken for anything else," Bastian remarked, already beginning to sweat from the absurd humidity occupying the area.
"Yes, this is it. Follow along," Claxous said.
"Huh–?" Bastian let out.
Without any warning, the mercenary began marching forward into the vast, barren area, stomping through it as the hiss of steam geysers released throughout the domain.
It seemed as though each step would have to be taken with utmost caution, as the mounds in the lifeless soil periodically exuded sharp bursts of steam, enough to melt flesh from bone by the looks of it. To make it worse, each spot seemed to release at different intervals, making it all the more improbable to remember a common pattern.
' Must be nice, having a Blessing–he'll probably be fine if he steps on one of the geysers. One misstep and I'm as good as dead,' he thought.
Carefully, he began his march through the lethal field, watching his step carefully as he made sure not to watch the soil as mounds formed.
HSSSS. HSSSS.
The sound of steam being violently poured out just a meter to his right made him jump, nearly making him stumble into another geyser to his left as it erupted—HSSSS.
"--Shit!" Bastian harshly breathed out, balancing himself as sweat trickled down his skin.
As he looked forward, using his glove to wipe some of his perspiration from his chin, the veil of steam made it difficult to see the man he traveled with, though he could make out his silhouette, still walking calmly through the impossibly humid field without a hindrance.
It made his body feel as though it was slowly being cooked, his breathing labored as his lungs seemed as though they inhaled fire itself; the light headedness it brought only served to make traversing the precarious field even more of a challenge.
He found his movements becoming sluggish, as if his boots were made of lead, feeling as though with any step, he might collapse as the humidity gripped his body.
'...This isn't good. It's not just getting caught by the steam I have to worry about–this heat…I can't even think straight,' he realized.
As he tried to take another step, his legs buckled, dropping him to a knee; his breathing became strenuous as he attempted to stand, finding the strength in his body sapped by the unbearable heat. He could feel it beneath him; on the soil he stood on, it began to lightly vibrate, like a hum sang ominously against his boots. It was clear to him what was coming.
"...Hey…" He attempted to call out to his companion, though found his voice weak and quiet, unable to even see the silhouette of the mercenary ahead of him anymore.
The soil beneath him began to rise, with heat being felt bubbling beneath. Any second, it could release, though he still found his body unresponsive as the heat swirled his head into nausea.
'I have to move…I can't. My body won't listen,' he thought.
As he sat there, trying to move, he found himself staring at his arm, weakly rolling up his sleeve to see the fresh tattoos etched onto his skin. It felt strangely warm; a different heat from that which subdued his strength–it was a source of power; a burn that swelled through the black sigils on his flesh.
At that moment, it came naturally to him, knowing what he had to do as he inhaled once more, welcoming that scorching air into his lungs. Through his body, from his head, to his fingertips, to his toes, he spread his internal mana, honing it through the magical seals on his arms.
The once black tattoos illuminated into that of a silver radiance, burning brightly as the mound beneath him grew, about to explode with ruthless steam–
"Levin."
That single word left his lips in a whisper, manifesting through a hiss of electricity that ran over beneath his skin and over it. The cells in his body felt as though they had truly awoken for the first time, like a surge of lightning struck each of them, interweaving his cells and bringing them into unison.
The only thought in his mind in that moment was "move forward"; that singular goal manifested itself as strands of argent electricity coiled around his legs. Without a conscious effort, the muscles beneath his skin squeezed, activating on the behest of the magecraft's awakening before–FWOOM.
Like a stray bolt of lightning fulminating, he flung from the spot he was encumbered just as steam erupted from the bursting mound. It was provided through a single flex of his legs, springing forth as the strength of his legs for that brief moment had been amplified to supernatural heights.
"--Woaagh!" He exclaimed in surprise, finding himself bursting across the field.
There was no way to land gracefully as he instead braced himself, coming to a stop as he landed on the other side of the deathly landscape, rolling harshly and bouncing against the dirt.
As he slid across the dirt, he came to a stop only by an unmoving wall. Picking himself up, he winced as he moved his legs, grabbing his calf. It felt as though it was overheated, with his muscles being sore solely in his legs.
'I did it…That was Uncle's magic–"Levin"--it worked, but…my body definitely isn't equipped to handle it yet,' he thought, excitedly.