Lucian woke to silence.
He didn't know how many minutes or hours had passed in the darkness of the fissure, but the sleep had done its job. His mind was clearer, though his body felt like a rusted machine. His muscles were stiff, locked tight by the freezing temperature. He curled his fingers inside his gauntlets, testing them one by one. They moved sluggishly, numb but functional.
I'm still here, he thought, a grim relief settling in his chest. I didn't freeze to death. Not yet.
He forced himself to stand, his stolen armor scraping against the stone walls. His stomach cramped, demanding fuel. He reached into his pouch and retrieved the last piece of bread. It was frozen solid, a brick of ice and dough. Lucian chewed on the crust, forcing the dry, cold shards down his throat. It wasn't enough to fill him, but it was enough to fuel one last push.
He looked back toward the entrance where the monster had been sniffing earlier. Going back that way was suicide. The beast could be waiting, patient and hungry.
I need a new route. I'm not dying in a hole.
He turned his gaze deeper into the crack. The mountain fissure ran like a scar through the earth, but at the far end, a faint, pale light trickled in. A way out.
Lucian squeezed through the narrow gap. The stone pressed against his chest plate and pauldrons, metal shrieking against rock. He pushed, twisted, and finally stumbled out into the open air.
The mist here was thinner than before. Lucian stood on a narrow ledge halfway down the mountain, and for the first time, he saw where he was.
Below him lay a vast, bowl-shaped valley. It was a graveyard of nature. A forest of white trees stretched endlessly, their leafless branches clawing at the gray sky like skeletal fingers. There was no green. No life. Just petrified wood and silence.
But in the center of the dead forest, something pulsed.
Ruins.
Massive, broken walls of white marble rose from the snow, surrounding a central structure that stood defiant against the decay. It looked like a temple, or perhaps a sanctuary, glowing with a faint, eternal luminescence that seemed to repel the gloom.
Lucian squinted, wondering if the blood loss was making him hallucinate. But the light remained steady.
That's where I need to go, he decided. It's the only thing in this hellscape that isn't trying to kill me. Or at least, it has walls.
He began the descent.
The snow was deeper on this side of the mountain, reaching his thighs, fighting him with every step. He slid down the slope, half-falling, half-running, crashing through the brittle branches of the dead trees.
Snap. Snap. Crack.
The noise was deafening in the silence. Lucian winced with every step, knowing he was announcing his presence, but speed was the only defense he had. He was halfway to the ruins when the snow behind him exploded.
BOOM.
There was no warning. No slow, ominous footsteps this time.
The monster dropped from the cliffs above, landing with the weight of a falling boulder. The impact sent a shockwave through the snow, knocking Lucian off his feet. He scrambled up, spinning around, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of the black sword.
It was there.
The three heads stared down at him. Twelve red eyes burned with hateful intelligence. It hadn't left. It had circled around the mountain, anticipating exactly where its prey would emerge. It wasn't just a beast; it was a hunter.
"You persistent bastard," Lucian hissed, fear and anger mixing in his gut.
The monster roared—a sound that vibrated in Lucian's marrow—and charged. It didn't use strategy. It didn't need to. It was pure rage given form. It barreled through the skeletal trees, snapping trunks like twigs, closing the distance in seconds.
I can't outrun it, Lucian realized. The snow was too deep. The sanctuary was too far.
Odds of winning: 0 percent.
Fight.
It was a suicidal thought. He was a starving boy against a biological tank. But he had no choice.
As the monster lunged, raising a massive stone fist to crush him, Lucian didn't retreat. He stepped into the attack. He channeled every ounce of his fear, every drop of his survival instinct, into one desperate swing.
"DIE!"
The black sword flashed.
SHING.
Metal met flesh. The blade, forged from high-quality steel, bit deep into the creature's lower torso. It sliced through the stone-like hide and carved a long, gushing wound across its chest. Black blood sprayed onto the white snow.
The monster shrieked—a sound of shock and pain. It staggered back, clutching the wound with two of its six hands.
Lucian stood there, the sword trembling in his grip, eyes wide. I hurt it. I actually hurt it.
For a fleeting second, hope flared in his chest.
But then, the monster looked up. The red glow in its eyes intensified, shifting from anger to blinding, incandescent fury. It stopped screeching. It went silent. It moved faster than Lucian's eyes could track.
One of the upper arms, ending in a razor-sharp claw, swept horizontally through the air. Lucian tried to raise his sword to block. He tried to dodge. But he was moving in slow motion compared to the beast.
He felt a sudden, massive impact on his right forearm. There was no pain at first—just a cold, numbing shock and the sight of an object spinning away into the snow.
Then, he saw it.
His hand.
His right hand, still gripping the hilt of the black sword, landed in the snow five feet away. For a second, Lucian just stared at the stump of his wrist. It looked clean, almost surgical. Then, the blood came. A fountain of crimson erupted, spraying across his visor, painting the white world red.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The scream ripped from his throat, raw and primal. The pain hit him like a physical blow, bending him double. It wasn't just pain; it was the sensation of his soul being torn apart.
The monster stepped forward, raising another claw to finish the job. To take his head next.
Adrenaline, cold and sharp, flooded Lucian's system. It overrode the pain. It overrode the shock. It left only one command: Survive.
Lucian turned and ran.
He clutched his severed wrist to his chest, his left hand gripping the armor tightly to stem the flow, but the blood kept coming, dripping a macabre trail behind him.
Run. Run. Run.
His vision swam. Black spots danced at the edges of his sight. The world tilted. Behind him, the monster roared, enraged by the smell of fresh blood, and gave chase. Lucian didn't look back. He couldn't. He focused entirely on the glowing white ruins ahead.
They were fifty meters away. Forty. Thirty. He could hear the heavy footfalls closing in. Thud. Thud. Thud. The heat of the monster's breath hit his back.
"Move!" he screamed at his legs, which felt like jelly.
He crashed through the final line of dead trees and threw himself toward the entrance of the sanctuary—a massive archway filled with shimmering light. The monster lunged, its claws scraping the back of his greaves.
Lucian crossed the threshold and collapsed onto the white stone floor. He spun around, clutching his bleeding stump, waiting for the invisible wall to stop the beast. Waiting for the sanctuary to save him.
But there was no magic barrier. No divine protection.
With a roar that shook dust from the marble ceiling, the three-headed tyrant smashed through the archway. Its massive stone shoulders shattered the entrance, sending debris flying. It didn't explode. It didn't die. It stepped onto the pristine white floor, bringing the filth of the wasteland with it.
"Ah..." Lucian let out a breathless sound.
Hope died instantly.
The creature loomed over him, twelve eyes glowing with sadistic triumph. It knew it had won. It could smell the fear. It could smell the death on him. Lucian dragged himself backward, his boots sliding on his own blood, until his back hit the cold stone of the central altar.
Cornered. One hand gone. Sword gone. Strength gone.
The monster raised all six arms. It wasn't going to make it quick. It was going to tear him apart piece by piece, just like it had done to the slaves. Just like it had done to the guard.
"Is this it?" Lucian whispered, his voice cracking. "I survived the cold... the hunger... just to end as dog food?"
His vision darkened. The blood loss was taking him. But as the darkness encroached, a strange, cold rage began to bubble in his chest. It wasn't fear anymore. It was indignation. Why? Why do I have to die? Why am I the weak one?
The monster brought a fist down—slowly, toying with him. It smashed the floor inches from Lucian's leg, shattering the stone. The creature gurgled, a sound like wet gravel. It was laughing.
Lucian looked up, his eyes meeting the central eye of the beast. "Don't... look down on me," he hissed.
Suddenly, time seemed to stretch. The sound of the wind faded. The monster froze in mid-motion. A voice—not from the system, but from somewhere much deeper, somewhere ancient and arrogant—echoed in the sanctuary.
[Do you desire to live, little worm?]
Lucian grit his teeth. "I desire... to kill it."
[Hoh?] The voice sounded amused. [Not salvation? Not safety? You want violence?]
"I want..." Lucian looked at his severed wrist, then at the monster that was mocking him. "I want to stand above it. I want to be the one looking down."
Silence stretched for an eternity. Then, the voice laughed. It was a terrible, beautiful sound.
[Good. Arrogance suits you. The Sin of Pride accepts your offering. Your flesh for My power. Your humanity for My crown.]
Blue text ignited in the air, searing Lucian's retinas.
[System Error... Overridden.]
[Awakening: Lightseeker.]
[Condition Met: The User has stared death in the face and chosen dominance.]
[Trait Acquired: Pride (Tier ??)]
[Regenerating...]
Pain. Agony unimaginable. It started at his wrist. Black smoke erupted from the stump, swirling and solidifying. Bone knitted together. Muscle wove itself from the shadows. Skin formed, pale and perfect.
In a heartbeat, his hand was back. But it felt different. Heavier. Cold as ice.
The world snapped back into motion. The monster roared and brought its fist down to crush Lucian's skull.
BAM.
The impact shook the ruins. Dust billowed out. The monster grinned, feeling the resistance of the hit. But as the dust settled, the monster's grin faltered. Its fist hadn't hit the floor.
Lucian stood there. He was holding the monster's massive stone fist up with one hand—his new hand. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't struggling. He held the tonnage of the creature's strike as if it were a feather.
"You know," Lucian said, his voice changing. It was smoother now. Deeper. Laced with a terrifying calm. "I really hated looking up at you."
He squeezed.
CRACK.
The sound of stone crumbling echoed through the hall. The monster shrieked, trying to pull its hand back, but Lucian didn't let go.
"Now," Lucian looked up, his eyes glowing with a faint, violet light. "It's your turn to look up."
He pulled. With a motion that defied physics, Lucian whipped the twelve-foot giant off its feet and slammed it into the marble floor. BOOM. The sanctuary quaked. The monster howled, thrashing its six arms, trying to scramble away. It knew. The predator had become the prey.
Lucian walked forward. He didn't run. He didn't rush. He passed his severed hand lying in the snow—the old hand, still clutching the black sword. He kicked the frozen fingers open and the sword flew into the air. He caught it. The black blade hummed, reacting to his new energy. It turned darker, shadows coiling around the steel.
"You have three heads," Lucian mused, approaching the terrified beast. "That seems excessive."
The monster lunged, claws desperate, aiming for his throat. Lucian didn't dodge. He simply vanished. A blur of black motion.
SLASH.
One head flew into the air, spinning, eyes wide with shock. Black blood sprayed the white walls.
The monster screamed—a dual-voiced harmony of agony. It tried to back away, crashing through the pillars, trying to escape the ruins it had just broken into.
"Where are you going?" Lucian appeared in front of it, hovering in the air for a split second. "We're just getting started."
SLASH. SLASH.
Two arms fell to the ground, severed at the elbows. The monster collapsed, weeping, bleeding, thrashing in the snow outside the ruins. It was no longer a tyrant. It was a victim.
Lucian landed softly on the snow. The storm raged around them, but the wind seemed to avoid him now. He walked up to the creature, which was now dragging itself away with its remaining limbs.
"Pathetic," Lucian murmured.
He raised the sword. The final blow wasn't a battle technique. It was an execution. He drove the blade down, piercing the creature's second heart. The beast convulsed once. Twice. And then went still.
Steam rose from the corpse. Black blood pooled, melting the snow, creating a dark mirror beneath them. Lucian exhaled, the violet light fading from his eyes, leaving them their natural dark color, but sharper. Colder.
He felt tired. Not exhausted, just... heavy. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a strange emptiness. He sheathed the sword.
He climbed up the bulk of the dead monster, finding a spot between the shoulders where the armor plates were flat. He sat down, one leg draping over a twitching limb that had finally stopped moving. Six arms sprawled in the snow around him like the petals of some grotesque flower.
He pulled a strand of hair from his face. The tie had come loose during the fight. He didn't bother fixing it.
"Why is the first thing you wanted to do with this power, save the world?"
His voice cut through the howling wind. He nudged the severed head with his boot—the one that had landed five feet away.
"What has the world ever done for us that it deserves saving, huh?"
The head stared back. Silent. Judging, maybe. Or empty. Hard to tell with the dead. He crouched, bracing his forearms against his knees. Blood flaked off his gauntlets. He studied the creature's central eye—the big one, the one that had wept when he'd driven his blade through its second heart.
"The world doesn't need saving, creature." He traced a finger along the monster's frozen snout. "It's beyond saving at this point."
Fog rolled between them, swallowing the horizon. Above, below, in every direction—just white. Just cold.
"No, no, no." He stood atop the corpse, his armor groaning with the movement. "What it needs is to be corrected."
He looked out into the white void, where the System windows were still floating, waiting for him to accept his new reality.
[Tutorial Complete.]
[Welcome to the End of the World, Lightseeker.]
He smiled.
"Perhaps I should just show you what the world could be."
He walked into the white, leaving the corpse behind. The fog closed around him like a curtain.
The severed head watched him go.