Chapter 2: The Little Dead Charmer
Ryujin's excitement grew exponentially as he realized the Little Dead Charmer's punches not only failed to harm him but also increased his power. He noticed the defense points adding +2 instead of +1, attributing this change to the Little Dead Charmer's amplified attacks. Her growing annoyance seemed to intensify her blows, making them faster, stronger, and more relentless. The air was electric with tension as the two enemies clashed.
Ryujin's strategy became clear: provoke the Little Dead Charmer further, pushing her to unleash her full fury. With a mischievous grin, he slapped her again, saying, "Your attacks are so weak, like a hungry beggar who hasn't eaten in days. Is that the best you've got?" The Little Dead Charmer's anger boiled over, and she unleashed a frenzied assault, her fists flying in every direction. The sound of her punches echoed through the room, a staccato beat that punctuated the tension.
Ryujin lay on the floor, yawning nonchalantly, as if receiving a soothing massage. "Come on, lazy demon, put your back into it," he taunted, fueling her rage. "I've seen more impressive attacks from a novice cultivator. You're not even scratching the surface of my potential." His words dripped with sarcasm, and the Little Dead Charmer's face twisted in anger.
After a while, Ryujin observed his defense points decreasing: "Attacked by Little Dead Charmer: Defense +0.5 +0.5 +0.5." He realized his body was adapting, becoming stronger and more resilient with each passing moment. This newfound strength coursed through his veins like liquid fire.
A new notification arrived, and Ryujin's eyes lit up with excitement: "Congratulations!!! You have received the Righteous Copper Skin." His body had evolved, and he was no longer receiving points from the Little Dead Charmer's attacks. This revelation filled him with a sense of pride and accomplishment.
With an air of authority, Ryujin stopped the Little Dead Charmer's assault, his voice firm and commanding. He grasped her wrist, and she struggled to free herself, surprised by his sudden surge in strength. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized she was no longer the dominant force in this encounter. The tables had turned, and Ryujin was now in control.
Ryujin commanded, "Transform back into the beautiful lady with black stockings." The Little Dead Charmer hesitated, her eyes flashing with defiance, but Ryujin's firm tone left her no choice. She transformed into a stunning young woman with fair skin, large breasts, and black hair, adorned in a red Chinese short gown and black stockings. Her beauty was mesmerizing, and Ryujin couldn't help but admire her.
Ryujin ordered her to dance for him, and she obeyed without question, her movements fluid and sensual. Her hips swayed, and her hands rose in the air as she moved in rhythm. Ryujin approached her, holding her waist and guiding her movements, instructing her on how to dance better. His eyes roamed over her body, appreciating the curves and contours of her slender figure. The atmosphere was charged with tension, and Ryujin's senses were on high alert.
As the dancing continued, Ryujin's interest began to wane, his attention span exhausted by the repetitive movements. He decided to explore the rest of the prison's cells, leaving the Little Dead Charmer to practice the dances he had taught her. With a final instruction, he locked her cell and walked away, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the corridor.
The Little Dead Charmer's legs buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold prison floor, exhausted from the relentless dancing and attacking. Her chest heaved with exertion, and her lungs burned from the physical strain. She murmured to herself, "That's one strange human... I mustn't get on his bad side." Her eyes narrowed, a mixture of curiosity and wariness swirling in their depths.
The demon prison was a labyrinthine structure, divided into three floors, each with its unique characteristics and inhabitants. The first floor housed low-level demons and cultists, a motley crew of insignificant foes, barely worthy of notice. The second floor, accessible only to yellow-ranked demon hunters and above, held mid-level demons of moderate strength, their powers and abilities a cut above their lower-ranking brethren. The third floor, shrouded in mystery, was reserved for high-level demons, the crème de la crème of the demonic realm, and accessible only to the elite, mysterious-ranked hunters.
To gain entry to the demon prison, one needed a token – a symbol of authority or a mark of distinction. This token served as a key, unlocking the doors to the prison and granting access to its secrets. Ryujin, a purple-haired boy with an air of quiet confidence, walked down the passage of the demon prison, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. His thoughts were consumed by his current limitations: "I need to become a yellow-ranked demon hunter to access the other floors... For now, I'm just a temporary worker, restricted to the first floor." His eyes gleamed with determination, a fierce resolve burning within him to transcend his current limitations.
As he walked, the shadows cast by the flickering torches danced across the walls, like dark specters performing a macabre ballet. The air was thick with the stench of decay and corruption, a noxious miasma that clung to everything like a bad omen. Ryujin's nose wrinkled in distaste, but he pressed on, undeterred by the unpleasant surroundings.
His journey took him through a series of twisting corridors, each one leading him deeper into the heart of the prison. The walls seemed to press in on him, the weight of the stone and the darkness of the prison's history bearing down on him like a physical force. Ryujin's heart pounded in his chest, but he refused to yield to the oppressive atmosphere.
Finally, he arrived at a large, ominous-looking door, adorned with intricate carvings of demons and other supernatural creatures. The door was covered in dust and cobwebs, and it looked like it hadn't been opened in years. Ryujin's curiosity was piqued, and he reached out to touch the door, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its surface.