And at that point, I activated.
"Ember step."
Arriving centimeters behind the beast, Eitan rushing at the beast as fast as he could muster.
Point blank this time, not letting him dodge. I activated
"Brand."
The mark appeared on the heart of the beast, his entire mid-section bursting out in flames, disappearing.
But it immediately started regenerating. Even after such an attack.
And then it came, the swing of the greatsword, cleaving its head off.
The head hit the ground with a wet crack.
It didn't roll.
It thudded, stuck, then hissed—steam rising from the severed neck as golden-black fluid spilled onto the obsidian.
We all waited.
One breath. Two.
Then Eitan froze. Not out of fear—instinct.
He took a half-step back. "Get ready."
Joy glanced at him. "It's dead."
Eitan didn't blink. "No. It's not."
The corpse trembled. Not violently. Not like something thrashing in pain.
Controlled. Precise.
The torso lifted, the spine realigning with unnatural cracks. A sound like glass under pressure filled the cavern.
Its severed neck bubbled. Not healing—changing. Bone folded inward. Plates pulled tighter. The golden veins that had once pulsed in its chest were now spreading—webbing through the remains like roots catching fire.
Joy's slate pinged. "Mana spike—no, spike's the wrong word. It's climbing like it's—"
"Evolving," Eitan said, his voice low.
None of us moved.
Even the scorpions had gone still, like prey sensing the wrong kind of storm.
The body convulsed once—then split. Not into pieces, but into form.
It was almost like it was an entirely different creature.
It had no eyes and no mouth, its shoulders and muscles were narrower, but that did not feel like a weakness, it was like it was made more compact. Its arms elongated, and instead of 2 horns, it had a single horn going to the side.
The moment it stood, the ground shuddered.
Eitan didn't hesitate.
"Verdict: Low Fracture. Run. There is no chance of winning."
No debate. No delay. His voice hit like a command straight from the System itself.
To be honest, I didn't want to run.
Not out of pride. Not even out of stupidity.
But because the thing crawling under my skin wasn't fear.
It was recognition.
This wasn't a fight anymore—not one we could win. Not with my current state, not with what little I knew of my System, and definitely not with my still-limited Traits.
This thing... it wasn't just stronger. It was ready. And we weren't.
Oddly enough, that didn't strike fear into me. Just a warning. A clear one. Be prepared next time.
We ran.
The creature didn't follow. Maybe it hadn't fully stabilized yet. Maybe it hadn't seen us as a threat. Or maybe it just knew we weren't going far. Regardless, we could only run.
The scorpions came first—fast, agitated, without formation.
I activated Ember Step—one last burst to gain distance.
Flames erupted beneath my boots, flinging me forward in a flash of heat and motion.
Then—
[Warning: Mana Critically Low.]
The message burned across my vision, hazy and red.
I grimaced.
Seems I overdid it. Not bad for a first run. But I'd need to be smarter next time.
A small Dreadscorpius popped up in front of me—probably burrowed its way through.
"Not that smart, are you?" I muttered, more a tired jab than madness.
I stomped it mid-step and kept running.
Then came the ping.
[Item obtained – Lesser Carapace Core]
I glanced down. Just a flicker of dull green light fading from the crushed corpse. Barely worth the mana it took to Ember Step past its bigger cousins.
"Great," I muttered. "Looting roadkill. Real professional."
But something about the core buzzed faintly in my chest.
A second ping.
[Relic Interaction Detected – Core Resonance: Partial Match]
That shut me up.
Partial match?
I kept moving. Couldn't afford to stop—not with the swarm still behind us.
But that last message stuck to my mind like burrs.
And then—suppression.
Heavy. Sinking. Like gravity doubling mid-stride.
A menacing aura pulsed from the tunnel behind us. The kind that made your bones ache before your mind even understood why.
It was awake.
And I felt it—closing the distance. Slow. Steady. Intentional.
Joy's voice came through the breathless rush. "How are you guys holding up? Anyone have any ideas?"
Her tone was tight—half a joke, half a plea.
Calen grunted behind us. "Ideas? I was hoping you had one."
We were finally out of the tunnel.
The air was colder, thinner. Touched by wind again—but it didn't feel like relief. Just exposure.
Eitan slowed, scanned the treeline, then pointed east.
"Follow me. The emergency beacon's set to broadcast a distress signal to any aircraft operating in the Sub-Saharan corridor."
He paused. "Judging by the pulse, someone's close."
I looked up—barely caught the shimmer of something cutting low across the cloudline. Fast. Big.
Extraction.
But it wouldn't land unless the zone was clear.
Joy caught on first. "We have to survive the next thirty seconds without bringing that thing to it."
Calen cursed under his breath. "We can't outrun it if it's already tracking us."
"Then we don't give it a reason to chase," Eitan said, eyes locked behind us. "No flares. No shouting. No sudden mana spikes. Just move."
We were no match for it. It made sense to run.
Still, my hand hovered to use Crown—itching for one last flare, one last stand. But this wasn't the time. Not yet.
Ahead, the trees thinned.
Then—light.
The aircraft was descending, sleek and low, kicking up dust and mana-static as it hovered just above the clearing. The beacon pulsed once more, then blinked out. Final signal sent.
The ramp dropped.
Joy didn't wait. Neither did Calen.
Eitan staggered, blood still trailing behind him, but he moved. He moved.
I was last.
Just before I crossed the ramp, I felt it again.
That pressure. That watching presence.
I turned.
It stood at the edge of the treeline—far behind, but not far enough.
Its evolved form shimmered faintly in the distortion. Silent. Still.
And then—it looked at me.
No eyes. No face. But I felt it. Like a needle sliding just beneath the surface of thought.
And it bowed.
A subtle, slow incline of the head. Not mockery.
Recognition.
The ramp sealed behind me. We lifted. The team exhaled in relief, tension bleeding into the hum of the engines. For a moment, it felt like we'd made it out.
Then it happened.
A ray of hardened mana, clean and precise, punched through the rear of the aircraft. Lights flickered. Alarms erupted. The frame shuddered as systems failed one after another.
We dropped.
It had hit us.
And we were about to have to face it head on.