Leon Chase vanished swiftly into the night, his silhouette dissolving like a ghost into the forgotten depths of the forbidden zone.
Evelyn Lin hesitated, her outstretched hand trembling in mid-air, heart torn between impulse and cruel reason—her third-stage strength meant nothing but certain death beyond this point. Bitter shame tightened her throat, yet survival's cold logic prevailed, forcing her to turn and rush back toward the city to seek aid.
The night wind whispered over crumbling ruins, carrying with it the chill of decay. Leon listened quietly to the retreating footsteps behind him, feeling a complex smile tug involuntarily at the corner of his lips.
Was it relief at finally being free from interference—or perhaps resignation, knowing Evelyn had once again abandoned him?
Ten years ago, her family chose silence while he perished entirely, leaving Evelyn unable to confront him, their friendship severed in bitterness. Yet had he been the only one who suffered?
Cold wind wove through the shattered remnants around him, while alcohol set fire to his blood, dulling fear but eroding rational thought.
Today marked Leon Chase's eighteenth birthday—a day intended for joyous celebration, but to him, merely another miserable year of enduring the scornful whispers and mockery of others.
Crouched behind a massive stone near the crater's edge, Leon fixed his gaze ahead upon his prey—an unranked rat lurking amidst rubble, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. It stood several times larger than ordinary rodents, its back armored by overlapping plates of bone resembling natural metal, nearly impervious to ordinary blades. Though unranked, to common men it was death itself.
But Leon Chase was no longer that powerless boy of the past—awakened had granted him the right to face death head-on.
He tightened his grip around the worn fire axe, glancing briefly around to ensure no other shadow beasts lurked nearby, his mind set. With a decisive push against the earth, he surged forward.
A fierce roar tore from his throat as the axe cleaved downward, cutting the air sharply enough to leave a faint scent of ozone.
Through blurred vision, he glimpsed the beast's red pupils gleaming coldly, and hanging ominously from its claw swung a second-stage warrior's badge, chiming softly against metal in a macabre rhythm.
An acrid gust rushed toward him, stinking of half-digested flesh, turning his stomach. Leon's eyes widened in sudden realization: this unranked beast had already devoured a second-stage warrior.
The thought barely formed when the creature lunged, slicing claws through the air, carving three deep gouges across Leon's chest. Blood erupted from the wounds, agony radiating outward as ribs fractured with sickening clarity.
Though his awakened ability muted some of the pain, his breath stalled in his throat, stumbling backward onto a splintering fragment of a shadow beast's skeleton. The rancid taste of marrow and rust filled his mouth, turning his stomach further.
Activating [Keen Sight], hexagrams flared within his pupils, turning the beast before him nearly translucent—muscles quivered visibly beneath its skin, and old wounds hidden by thickened scar tissue stood out clearly in his heightened perception, revealing precisely the fractured shadow core lodged deep within its third vertebra.
Leon spat blood and tightened his grip on the fire axe, shifting weight subtly onto his left foot. It was an old-era military strike stance, ridiculed in textbooks as the "Powerless One's specialty."
The mutated rat crouched low, claws raking earth, each movement clear under his enhanced sight, every tendon flexing, every muscle fiber visible. Leon's muscles tightened in quiet anticipation.
Two rock fragments hissed past his cheek; he narrowly dodged them, but a third grazed his cheekbone, leaving a burning trail as blood trickled downward.
His skill would last less than thirty seconds more.
"All or nothing," he muttered grimly, kicking aside bones with purpose, pretending to lose his balance as he leaned back dangerously far, his head almost brushing the dirt. Just then, the beast lunged at him, fangs bared, its hot, foul breath washing over him. "Now!"
With every ounce of strength he could muster, Leon arched upward sharply, his body taut like a bowstring, swinging the axe fiercely toward the exposed vertebra. The steel met bone with a violent crack; blue energy surged outward for a brief moment, and the sound echoed harshly through the ruins. The creature screamed in agony, shaking loose moss from the nearby walls.
But victory slipped from his grasp; the cracked shadow core remained intact, oozing a strange, viscous substance that quickly sealed the blade in place. Dread filled Leon as the rat, driven mad by pain, jerked violently, sending him flinging helplessly into the air.
Weightlessness took hold, his vision spinning chaotically, the howling wind deafening. He slammed brutally into the rock wall, the impact crushing against his chest like a hammer blow, his insides churning violently, agony coursing through every nerve in his body.
He instinctively struggled, curling inward in a futile attempt to cushion the inevitable, but a sharp, dull pain shooting along his spine grimly assured him that another rib had snapped under the merciless impact.
In the oppressive darkness, the creature's clustered compound eyes suddenly flared to life—eighteen pinpricks of ghostly azure glowing with an eerie, cold malice. It was then that Leon finally understood the full extent of his peril; this was no ordinary mutated vermin, but a beast of superior breed, a monstrous sovereign among rats, a D-Class Shadowbeast—a true Rat King.
A dreadful, suffocating pressure filled the air as the Rat King propelled itself forward, its massive form transformed into a shadowed blur, claws glistening cruelly as they tore mercilessly toward Leon. Instinct propelled him into a frantic roll along the rubble-strewn ground, barely escaping the initial blow, yet the second strike followed too swiftly, claws slicing ruthlessly through his side, rending flesh and muscle with unbearable ease.
Pain tore through him like molten steel, blood gushing heavily from the open wound, nearly drowning him in its iron taste, and worst of all—his sight began to blur, the clarity granted by his awakened skill fading swiftly into darkness. Strength drained from his limbs, consciousness teetering on the brink of collapse.
Even now, at the edge of consciousness, a distant memory rose suddenly—his eight-year-old self standing silently before the awakening crystal. Beneath the stark words "Powerless," faded runes had briefly flickered, unnoticed by everyone: "Ninefold Seal." Those same forgotten runes echoed now as delicate threads of gold mixed silently into the blood flowing from his torn abdomen.
But the Rat King's ferocity did not relent, launching itself into another brutal charge, the sheer force of its attack driving Leon dangerously close to the crater's yawning edge. His foot slipped, and suddenly half his body plunged into emptiness; fragments of stone cascaded downward, echoes reverberating ominously through the black chasm, whispering promises of a shattering death.
With a curse, his fingers scraped desperately at the cliff edge, joints cracking audibly, agony shooting sharply through his entire arm. Behind him loomed the ever-advancing shadow of death, while below, something seemed to stir restlessly in the depths, awaiting his inevitable fall.
Life's memories flickered swiftly through his mind—was this truly what today had brought him, this mocking taste of despair? Mere moments earlier he'd stood proud, yet now the abyss waited eagerly, only the tenuous grasp of a trembling hand keeping death at bay.
Leon's right hand clutched desperately, knuckles stark white with strain as his left struggled upward, grasping feebly at salvation; but just as he began to heave himself back toward life, he glimpsed above the merciless gleam of the Rat King's descending claws.
A nauseating crack filled his ears, pain overwhelming reason as both hands were brutally severed, blood arcing silently into the darkness. Bereft of any remaining anchor, his body plummeted helplessly backward, swallowed by the hungry depths of the Purple Star pit.
Above, the heavens themselves seemed bathed in scarlet; from the ragged stumps of his wrists, delicate threads of golden light emerged, scattered droplets of blood consumed by the radiance of Purple Star's energies swirling violently below.
As he fell, Leon's consciousness stretched outward, drawn inexorably to a sword entombed within the crystalline wall beneath—a blade cruelly bound by heavy chains, guarded by twelve bronze pillars piercing the crystal, forming an ancient, enigmatic seal.
Yet no strength remained for contemplation—falling so rapidly toward the pit's bottom could yield but a single end: death. But then, inexplicably, just as the earth rushed up to claim him, his descent slowed dramatically.
Droplets of blood suspended in midair transformed suddenly into luminous threads, and from within that crimson haze, an aged, resonant voice echoed quietly in his mind:
"Godslayer, I have awaited your return."
From above, the maddened roar of the Rat King echoed down, and through inverted vision Leon watched as the beast hurtled after him along the cliff's sheer face, his severed hands grotesquely dangling from its claws.
In that timeless instant, the pit seemed locked within some unnatural distortion, droplets of blood reversing their fall, tracing intricate pathways upward into space.
The sword deep within the Purple Star trembled violently, chains rattling against crystal, emitting brilliant violet light piercing the gloom. Streams of violet energy surged into Leon's ruined wrists, painfully knitting bone and sinew together, cells swiftly rebuilding as though guided by some unseen, precise force.
He screamed from the intensity, agony magnified beyond mortal tolerance, yet watched with awe as a new hand materialized, shining faintly with purple luminescence. At that instant, the Rat King's claws approached again, murderous intent clear.
With a fierce twist and enhanced clarity flooding his eyes as Keen Sight activated, the Rat King's movements slowed, each subtle twitch of muscle and nerve now vividly distinct.
Leon twisted sharply, driving his newly regenerated hand directly into the cliff face, carving a blazing arc of sparks as he halted his fall. The Rat King missed narrowly, and seizing momentum, Leon kicked powerfully off the rock, surging upward to counterattack.
A pulse of purple energy burst from his fingers—raw, unshaped, and startling even to him. Without thinking, he drove his fist forward, a reflex born more of survival than intent. The force crashed into the Rat King and hurled the beast backward, slamming it into the cliff with a dull, thunderous crack.
Leon dropped onto the beast's carcass, knees buckling as he caught himself. Air rasped through his teeth, rough and uneven. His lungs worked, but every breath felt borrowed. The ground held him, but barely.
His newly grown hand still throbbed, the purple light dimming with each heartbeat. Skin crept back over muscle and bone, smooth but unfamiliar—like finding something lost in childhood and not recognizing it as your own.
Then came the voice, rasped and broken, curling out from the iron-grey blade.
"I waited," she said. "Too long."
It carried no grandeur, no cosmic echo—only weariness, and something deeper. Grief sharpened into recognition.
At once, a deep rumble emanated from within the Purple Star below, and the twelve bronze pillars flared simultaneously, columns of brilliant light erupting skyward to enshroud the entire crater, obliterating shadow and doubt alike.
Leon Chase turned his gaze downward, heart stuttering within his chest at the sight which greeted him—a golden heart, impossibly embedded at the tip of the iron sword, shimmering softly as though still beating, alive yet timelessly suspended. The haze of radiation had dissipated entirely, replaced now by sharp slivers of moonlight slicing through the lingering mist, illuminating this scene of surreal impossibility.
He stepped forward slowly, chest tight, an irrepressible compulsion guiding his movements toward the sword, and at the very instant his fingertips brushed the weapon's grip, they closed firmly, drawn as if by an invisible force long awaiting his touch.
With a brittle crack, the heavy chains shattered, links flying outward as the ancient seal crumbled to nothingness, drifting away into oblivion like ash carried upon wind. The grey sword rose steadily, crimson patterns threading slowly across its blade, resembling veins more than ornamentation—no mere weapon but a slumbering creature now awakened after eons of enforced dormancy.
A flood of images tore through Leon's mind—raw, jagged, uninvited. A golden throne. Hands forcing him down. Fingers digging into his shoulders. He kicked, screamed—but the sound never left his throat.
On the blood-slicked floor, a figure in black stood motionless.
In their hands, a sword burned with gold.
"The sharpest blade breaks the hardest shield," the voice said—not loud, but final. No warmth. No hesitation.
The blade sank into his chest. No warning. No pause.
Leon tried to see the face beneath the hood, but it wouldn't come. Blurred—not by time. By intent.
"Who—?" he gasped, desperate for clarity, yet the memory shattered instantly, leaving him startled and gasping amid sudden silence, eyes darting anxiously around the crater's base—but both sword and golden heart had inexplicably vanished.
Glancing downward at his open palm, he discovered an intricate brand now etched into his flesh, shaped precisely like the vanished sword, exuding an aura of ancient coldness, heavy with power and purpose beyond his comprehension.
His gaze returned to the lifeless corpse of the Rat King, the events replaying in fractured recollection: had he truly defeated a D-rank beast so effortlessly, moments after awakening an ability he barely understood, much less controlled?
"How…?" he murmured uncertainly, opening his palm, the faint luminescence within the sword-mark fading away quietly into nothingness, leaving only a ghostly sensation of immense strength briefly known, now lost.
Examining the creature's severed vertebrae, he cautiously removed the exposed Shadowcore, but the moment it settled in his grasp, it dimmed swiftly, fracturing into countless shards before dissolving utterly in his palm. And yet, somewhere deep within him, he felt the faintest stirring of strength—nothing akin to the terrifying power he'd unleashed moments prior, merely a gentle increment, puzzling in its subtlety.
"Could it have been… luck?" he wondered incredulously, yet now was hardly the time for contemplation. The Rat King's corpse was immensely valuable, but he had no means to carry it away, and more urgently—he'd recklessly entered this forbidden place, stumbling drunkenly into certain death.
Sobriety finally returned with merciless clarity, forcing him to acknowledge the sheer folly of his earlier bravado. With a weary hand, he wiped his bloodied face, muttering softly in resignation, "I'm never drinking again."
His resolve firm, Leon turned toward finding an escape from the pit. The crater stretched two hundred meters deep, its walls sheer and unforgiving, his phone useless without a signal, and the Purple Star's radiance now extinguished, plunging the chasm back into suffocating silence.
Yet as Leon pondered his predicament, a faint whisper of cool wind brushed gently across his neck, startling him into alertness—wind, here? Impossible, in such a sealed tomb of rock and silence. He turned swiftly toward the sensation, recognizing the subtle current flowing unmistakably toward the Purple Star itself.
Leon stepped around the meteor, breath hitching as his fingers brushed against a faint crack running along its far side. He crouched, squinting—it looked too narrow for anything to pass through, barely a slit in the rock.
Irritated, he pressed his hand against it.
The stone gave way.
Chunks flaked off under his grip, soft as crumbling chalk. He froze. Looked at his hand.
A violet glow pulsed faintly from his skin.
"...What the hell?"
It didn't feel like strength—it felt like possession. But whatever it was, it worked.
He dug in, not waiting for the doubt to settle, wrenching at the stone until the gap widened enough for him to slide through sideways, shoulder brushing hard against the rock.
The passage widened without warning. Leon had expected a crawlspace, maybe enough to squeeze through—but instead, the rock gave way to a chamber that shouldn't have existed.
He stepped inside.
The walls caught his eye first. They glinted faintly, like damp stone, but when he touched them, they felt dry—almost warm, like something that had been buried for too long.
There was no torchlight. No glow. And yet, he could see.
Not clearly. Just enough. The air had a weight to it, as if it held on to light that wasn't there anymore.
He paused. The silence wasn't silence.
Whispers curled along the edges of the chamber, faint and formless. Not words—just pressure behind his ears, as if something buried too deep was trying to rise.
Leon swallowed, forcing the air down his throat. His nerves sparked with the warning of something he couldn't yet see.
He walked.
The violet glow crept with him, brightening gradually as he moved deeper. It wasn't comforting—it felt like a lure.
At the end of the cavern, the flame waited.
It floated just above the ground, still and quiet. No flicker. No warmth. Just shape and color—unnatural, violet, alive.
Leon stopped, chest tight.
It didn't burn.
It watched.
Leon hesitated, fixated upon the unsettling brilliance. Could this also be a source of power for him, or another trap of fate? Yet trapped within these walls, no alternative remained—either reach out and grasp the unknown, or perish quietly, unnoticed.
Slowly extending his fingers toward the Violet Flame, he felt nothing but icy coldness, briefly reassuring him enough to continue his approach—until abruptly, the flame surged ferociously upward, coiling rapidly around his outstretched arm with a force both vicious and alive.
Pain engulfed him instantly, flesh blackening and crumbling to ash in silent horror, his throat already consumed, denying even a scream.
The dark seals etched across his body fought vainly against the devouring flame, their protective power swallowed effortlessly, consciousness fragmenting in the burning torment.
"Is this how it ends?" he thought dimly, and a moment later, his consciousness dissolved as his body crumbled quietly into ash.
Silence filled the cavern completely until, impossibly, hands glowing faintly violet rose from the ashes, cradling within them a golden heart, gently pulsing as though freshly awakened.