Draven staggered to his feet, shaking his head to clear the disorientation assaulting him. Blood ran down the side of his face, trickling into his eyes and painting his vision crimson. If not for Berserker Z1, he would have fainted after that brutal blow.
The clicking of heels made him snap his head around. He squinted and saw an indistinct figure sauntering toward him, shrouded in darkness.
'That size doesn't fit that monster. Don't tell me it's her! How did she catch up?'
His hand found the handle of his dagger in his bag. Suddenly, the figure transformed into a blur in Draven's sight, vanishing into the shadows.
That was all he saw before a hand clamped tightly around his neck and slammed him against the wall. Though still disoriented and his vision hazy, Draven pulled out his dagger and thrust it at the figure. But a hand caught his wrist and slammed it into the wall, followed by a stinging slap that cleared his sight.
As he raised his head, he saw Sera, bleeding heavily from her wounds, her armor shattered in many places. Her breathing was ragged, and her blood-covered eyes shone with a mad gleam.
"The legacy… where is it?" she rasped.
Draven instantly replied, having anticipated her question, "I don't know. When I got to the chamber, it was empty. Maybe it's in a different location."
"I'll search your corpse then," she said, tightening her grip around his neck.
Draven felt a slight stinging sensation on his nape but brushed it off. He pulled out his other hand from the bag behind him, grasping Berserker Z2, but Sera caught his wrist and slammed it against the wall.
In a swift move, Draven flicked his wrist, tossing the bottle into the air. He stretched his neck and caught it with his mouth, biting hard to shatter the glass.
The bitter liquid mixed with shards of glass filled his mouth, but he ignored the discomfort and lunged at Sera, who stepped back, confusion flashing across her face. Like a rabid beast, he bit into her bleeding arm, spitting the liquid over her wounds before pulling back.
The wound began releasing red fumes, drawing Sera's attention. As she lowered her head to observe, Draven dove at her with blinding speed, his dagger stabbing toward her chest.
Sera tried to sidestep but felt a jolt that froze her muscles.
'No…'
Her eyes widened as the blade drew closer. Draven plunged the dagger into her chest, then pulled it out before swiftly slicing her throat, splattering blood into the air.
Sera staggered backward, collapsing to the ground as her hands clutched her throat and chest in a futile attempt to stem the torrent of blood. Her wide eyes locked onto Draven, filled with disbelief and unspoken questions.
"Berserker Z2 doesn't affect Elites because your constitution battles and flushes it, but during that moment, a Transient Elite experiences a temporary lapse in muscle control," Draven whispered with a smirk.
"We will meet in hell," she mouthed.
"And I'm not following you to hell," he replied, turning away and staggering toward the entrance.
'Why am I feeling so tired and dizzy? I must have hit my head against the wall.'
A panel abruptly popped up in his vision:
[Synchronization and Awakening Complete!]
Draven paused and smiled, but a sharp pain erupted from behind his neck, accompanied by a sudden, overwhelming urge to sleep. Touching his neck with his finger, he brought it to his face and saw the inky blackness of his blood.
"Poison?" he mumbled. Sera's final words suddenly made sense.
'I need to get the cure,' he thought, beginning to hurry, but his steps were unsteady, and his eyes grew heavy.
Draven fought against the encroaching darkness, each step a battle as he made his way toward the entrance, but despite his desperate will to survive, his body finally gave out.
After just ten steps, he collapsed sideways onto the floor, the sounds around him fading into a distant echo as darkness swallowed his vision.
'Irony. Nobody received it in the end… but I was so close… I bet nobody would miss me. Well, it's not like I'll miss anybody…'
Only his fragmented thoughts accompanied him through his final moments in the world.
The lifeless bodies lay not too far from each other.
***
Hours passed, and then, out of nowhere, swirling crimson gas began to surge toward Draven, spiraling into his body as if drawn by an unseen force.
The strange phenomenon persisted for three relentless hours before the gas finally dissipated, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
Moments later, Draven's eyes shot open with a sharp, gasping breath. He jerked upright, coughing violently, his chest heaving. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes flickered with a sinister red glow, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared.
Dazed, Draven wiped the dust from his face and scanned his surroundings, his mind racing to piece together what had happened.
'How did I come back? Was it the Soul Warlock legacy? Or… did I actually die?'
His thoughts were abruptly cut off as a searing pain erupted from his right chest, forcing a sharp cry from his lips.
Acting on instinct, Draven tore off his shirt. What he saw left him stunned: intricate, glowing marks were being etched into his skin, as if drawn by invisible hands wielding pens of pure light. The symbols burned with an otherworldly brilliance, each stroke precise and deliberate.
Draven's eyes remained locked on the spectacle, his jaw clenched, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. He endured the agony, his body trembling as the light grew brighter and brighter.
Finally, the glow dimmed, and Draven exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. His gaze fell to the newly formed mark: a chaotic cluster of unreadable black symbols up close, but from a distance, they coalesced into a perfectly shaped black star etched into his flesh.
Before he could process what he was seeing, a panel flashed before his eyes:
[Curse of Resurrection: You have cheated death by drinking the Wine of Resurrection. The underworld has branded you, marking your soul. You shall know no rest in death—only eternal damnation.
One Final Life. One Final Death. No Grave For The Damned.]