Asmodieus lay motionless on the grass-filled land, his blood pooling beneath him. His pale face had taken on an ashen hue, a stark contrast to the dark red staining the ground. The fierce battle had drained him, leaving his body broken and battered. Vitality and mana, the lifeblood of his strength, had been exhausted in the final moments of his victory. Yet, this was not the end for Asmodieus.
Killing him wasn't so simple.
Why? Because Asmodieus had the system. And the system was far more than a mere accessory.
"System... I need vitality," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
[ROGER THAT]
[ABSORBING SURROUNDING VITALITY]
Deep within his chest, the system's cores flared to life. Embedded around his energy core, these stones pulsed with an otherworldly glow, each radiating a unique shade of green. The glow intensified as the cores began their work.
Pain surged through Asmodieus's body as the cores dug their way out, breaking through muscle and sinew. He groaned but held his composure, his teeth clenched tightly against the agony. For anyone else, this would have been unbearable, but Asmodieus was no stranger to pain. He had lived through Hell itself.
His talent, [Pure], was both a blessing and a curse. It granted his body unmatched efficiency and purity but imposed strict control over every foreign energy or substance. Not even vitality could escape its dictatorship. This meant the cores had to extract themselves to function properly.
Now fully exposed, the cores began absorbing vitality in torrents. The surrounding greenery withered instantly, grass turning to dust and trees losing their vibrancy. The lush forest floor became a barren circle of decay. Thankfully, Asmodieus had fallen far enough from the tiger's corpse. Otherwise, it too would have been consumed by the cores' voracious hunger.
[ABSORPTION COMPLETE]
The cores, having fulfilled their purpose, burrowed back into his body. He grimaced as they settled into place, merging seamlessly with his energy core once more. Now came the next step: refinement.
The vitality absorbed from the environment was raw and incompatible with Asmodieus's body. The system's cores acted as converters, breaking down the vitality and reshaping it into a form suitable for his use. This process was akin to digestion—complex and exacting.
The system cores served three vital purposes. First, they housed the system's core functionalities, connecting to his energy core, veins, and even his soul through intricate threads of energy. However, Asmodieus's current rank—B—limited his ability to fully utilize these connections. Only upon reaching C-rank would he gain the clarity and control necessary to unlock their true potential.
Second, the cores enabled spellcasting and elemental manipulation. They could harness his mana and other energies to execute powerful abilities. However, their effectiveness was directly tied to his own strength. The system was a tool for efficiency, not a crutch to carry him to godhood.
Finally, the cores acted as energy converters. Much like a stomach processing food, they broke down lower-ranked energy and refined it into a purer form. This process was so intricate that even Asmodieus struggled to fully comprehend it.
The refining process took several minutes, each second stretching into an eternity as Asmodieus hovered on the brink of death. Once completed, the purified vitality surged into his bloodstream.
It was not a gentle healing.
His body convulsed as the vitality forced his natural healing processes into overdrive. Bones began to mend with audible cracks, their jagged edges snapping into alignment. Torn muscles regrew rapidly, writhing like vines to reconnect. Finally, his skin began to regenerate, crawling over exposed flesh in a grotesque but mesmerizing display.
The pain was unimaginable, yet Asmodieus endured.
Next came the fever. The injected vitality spurred his immune system into a frenzy, pushing his body temperature to 45 degrees. He felt as though he were submerged in boiling water, his senses dulled by the overwhelming heat. For over an hour, he lay there, unable to move, caught in a liminal space between life and death.
But the process was not yet complete.
The vitality invaded his bone marrow, forcing it to produce fresh blood at an accelerated rate. This internal pressure was unbearable, making him feel as though he were being inflated from within. Rotten, corrupted blood began to seep from every orifice—his nose, mouth, eyes, and ears. The putrid liquid stained his already blood-soaked body, pooling around him in a macabre display.
Far above, Dreamer observed the scene from his throne. Even he, a being of immense power and knowledge, was impressed. To endure such excruciating pain without a single scream—Asmodieus's resilience was truly remarkable.
Three hours passed before the process finally concluded.
Asmodieus opened his eyes, their color shifting unpredictably—a side effect of the vitality coursing through him. He pushed himself up slowly, his limbs trembling from exhaustion. His chest rose and fell steadily, the only indication that he was alive.
He stood, his body cracking and popping as he stretched. Every movement was a reminder of the torment he had just endured. Yet, he remained calm, his expression unreadable.
"The healing was inefficient and excruciating," he muttered, rolling his shoulders, "but better than lying here for an entire day waiting for the dragon bloodline to kick in."
His gaze shifted to the tiger's corpse lying a few meters away. The beast that had pushed him to his limits now lay lifeless, its once-proud form reduced to a heap of flesh and bone.
Without hesitation, Asmodieus approached the carcass, dagger in hand. He knelt beside it and began the grim task of butchering. His movements were precise, each cut deliberate and practiced. Flesh was separated from bone, skin peeled away, and fat meticulously removed.
Survival in Hell had taught him many things, and butchery was among them.
He consumed the raw meat on the spot, relying on the lingering vitality within his body to aid in digestion. The act was primal, but necessity outweighed dignity.
Once his hunger was sated, he turned his attention to the tiger's hide. Using sinew and a sharpened bone, he fashioned the skin into long threads. With painstaking care, he began stitching the threads into his own flesh.
The process was as painful as it was precise. The needle pierced his skin repeatedly, and each stitch felt like fire. Yet, Asmodieus didn't flinch. Pain was a familiar companion.
This wasn't a simple act of desperation—it was a calculated modification. Using his soul sense, he etched microscopic runes into the threads as he worked. These runes transformed the threads into crude mana veins, capable of holding small amounts of energy.
While these artificial veins couldn't replace his natural ones, they served as supplementary conduits. The added capacity allowed him to channel mana more efficiently, reducing the strain on his body during combat.
By the time he finished, the sun had long set. Exhaustion pressed heavily on him, but he surveyed his work with satisfaction. His body, now reinforced with stitched tiger hide, bore the marks of his struggle and ingenuity.
He lay back on the barren earth, the jungle around him alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. His breathing slowed, and his eyes closed. For now, he would rest.