Chapter 17: Lacking
At first, he was stunned. But the longer he read, the more the truth sank in. The cleavers, they weren't all-slaying weapons like he'd hoped.
"Butcher's Wrath… strong name. Will they get stronger?"
[Yes. Weapons are symbiotic-grade. They will evolve alongside User.]
That eased him, slightly. Convenience aside, the damage didn't impress him. Even the glow of the panel seemed to dull the more he read.
[Weapon Profile // Butcher's Wrath]
[Type // Artifact]
[Category // Melee]
[Sub-Category // Symbiotic]
[Rank // F]
[Attack // 3 – 7 // Slicing Damage]
[Durability // Indestructible // Bound to Host Biology]
[Description]
[Twin cleavers fused into the user's forearms through invasive symbiosis. These weapons are extensions of the host's flesh and will.]
[1st Effect // Passive]
[Kills made with Butcher's Wrath activate Racial Ability Feed]
[2nd Effect // Passive]
[All Kills made with Butcher's Wrath Reduce All Skill Cooldowns by 15sec]
[3rd Effect Passive]
[All Skills that modify host physiology apply to Butcher's Wrath.]
[4th Effect]
[LOCKED]
[5th Effect]
[LOCKED]
[6th Effect]
[LOCKED]
[7th Effect]
[LOCKED]
[Time to Draw // Time to Sheath]
[5 sec // 5 sec]
[Cooldown // 30min]
[Flavor Text]
["Not held. Not wielded. You are the Butcher."]
Three to seven damage. That was it. He did the math...barely. Ten strength plus the weapon's max, seventeen damage total. Maybe twenty at most with buffs and Rend.
"How much health does an imp normally have?"
[Five to seven at peak.]
His eyes widened as he looked at his claws.
"One hit... I can kill my entire race with one hit..."
The words sank deep. He flexed slowly. In that moment, staring down at the brutal scars running up his forearms, the truth was obvious.
Right now, he stood at the top of his kind.
The apex.
Clenching his talons, he finally had a plan. He'd reviewed his gains, tracked his growth, and decided what came next.
A few things he pushed aside for now. The twinback growths, still useless and vague, and the new racial ability from the blood bead. Locked. Even the name was blurred out. No clue how to unlock it, so he shoved both to the back of his mind.
His first priority was to evolve, to do that, he needed to raise his Soul Integrity another 5%. Didn't sound like much. But he already knew better.
Directly after his sacrifice during the cleaver bonding, he'd thought that by slaughtering over a hundred of his own kind he would have pushed the number higher.
But it hadn't budged.
"How many imps do I need to kill to reach 50%?"
[Calculating... two thousand three hundred forty-three. Recommendation: seek purer souls.]
He clicked his teeth, annoyed. Soulmass. His power, but also his leash. Killing only raised his Integrity if his Soulmass was full. Anything less went into replenishing his resource pool.
"I'll kill a few humans when I reach Earth, they should be better..."
Stretching, he stood and crawled out of the scabbed hole. Staying low, he sniffed the heavy, rotten air. The map guided him, he checked twice. Direction locked in, he moved to the edge of the hair patch.
Pushing aside a greasy clutch, something cold shot up his spine. His teeth bared instantly as he jerked back.
"System!"
His voice stayed low, but the panic was sharp.
"Why didn't you warn me?! There are Carrion Hounds everywhere!"
[Scan scope: restricted to User senses. No remote detection capability.]
That didn't help. Still, now that he had seen them, new markers lit up on his map. Ten green X's.
'Why green?'
[Green marks current threat level. Carrion Hounds are designated F Rank Demons.]
"Who's stronger? Me or them?"
[User.]
No calculation needed. He was surprised, but it made sense. His strength and agility were both at the peak of F rank. One more point and they'd break into E.
"Charon said I had three days to reach the Gate. How much longer do I have, and how far is it?"
[Request: User permission required to access embedded memory data provided by Charon Entity.]
"Fine."
He should've known better.
Lightning exploded through his skull. His eyes slammed shut as he dropped to his knees, clutching his head. For what felt like minutes, searing wires, burning hot, were threading through his brain. Like something was scraping behind his eyes, peeling them from the inside out.
Then just as fast as it came, the agony stopped. He collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, as the system's cold voice returned. No concern. Just fact.
[Memory integration complete. Estimated distance to destination: five days running on foot. Time remaining until deadline: 2 Days, 17 Hours, 45 Minutes, 24 Seconds.]
"That's impossible!"
He clamped his mouth shut, chest tight as he shot up, almost puking from the sudden motion. He froze, listening. No response. Slowly, he crept back to the edge again, and peeked out with one eye.
The slaughterfield was still crawling with the Carrion Hounds.
At least a dozen. Some gnawed on the last of the fleeing imps, others wandered aimlessly, sniffing the air, snapping their maws at nothing.
He remembered. They couldn't hear or see. They hunted by scent and vibration. That helped. He forced himself to calm down.
Staring out at the numerous enemies, his mind started to turn.
'Maybe it's not impossible... if I can level, I can get faster.'
"System, if I put everything into agility, how many levels would I need to get fast enough to make it?"
[Calculating... Taking into account projected AP gain and natural stat progression. User requires 2 levels. This would raise Agility to 18, entering E Rank. Estimated maximum speed: 52 miles per hour.]
His mouth went dry.
"How much time would that give me to level?"
[18 hours.]
"How many Carrion Hounds would I need to kill?"
[Eighty-seven.]
"Eighty-seven… I can do that."
His claws tightened.
Ding.
No voice. Just cold efficiency. A timer blinked into view. 17:59 and ticking.
His jaw clenched as he summoned the cleavers.
Pain came with them. No surprise. But that didn't make it easier. Tendons pulled tight like hooked wires, yanking at muscle and skin. Bones cracked and slid as the handles pushed free, dragging wet veins and raw meat with them. He bit down, swallowing the grunt as they locked into place.
Heavy, and solid. His hands flexed against the familiar weight.
His eyes swept the map. Six nearby, within reach. He crawled low, slipping out past the hairs until he spotted the closest one. It was alone. Sniffing lazily along a seam of flesh.
'Perfect.'
He tensed. Coiled...then spat.
A thick glob of mucus and bile, black and green, arced through the air. It hit the ground with a wet slap fifteen feet ahead. The hound froze. Head up. Nostrils flaring.
It moved. Slow, cautious. But it moved.
This was it. Once they locked on to his scent, they wouldn't stop until they had ripped apart and devoured every last piece of him. He knew that. The only reason he hadn't been attacked earlier was the greasy stench of the hair patch masking his own.
He braced. Fingers tight on his cleavers. Muscles trembling as they compressed. He felt his hunger rise. The need. Not just to kill, but to burn. To curse the world itself.
And now he could.
'Hellfire.'
[SM // 13 → 12]
[+10% Damage]
[–1SM/5sec]
The shift hit like a knife to the spine. No heat. No flame. Something worse. A freezing lance instantly bore into his chest and spread through his arms. It burned cold, numbing and sharp like glass slicing through marrow.
His veins darkened. His claws stiffened.
And then, they ignited.
They weren't flames. They were black, and starved. They climbed his claws then clung to the cleavers like rotting smoke, flickering low and tight along the edge. Not wild. Not alive. Hungrier than that. They writhed in small, violent jerks. Desperate. Like something trying to crawl free.
The imp's eyes glowed as he watched them. The cleavers felt different now. Sharper. Not heavier, but deeper, as if they wanted more than blood.
But he knew, they wanted souls.
No more hesitation. No more planning.
It was time to feed.