Chapter 48: First Born
They didn't grow...they forced themselves out. Flesh split and curled back in wet folds as the shapes clawed their way free of the severed fingers.
Azakh-Tur's eyes lit with a cold red glare. His mouth hung open without thought, the two stumps on his hand falling from between his teeth, still pumping dark blood.
The first came out thrashing, chest and arms thick with knotting muscle that bulged under skin too new to hold it. Tendons pulled tight, snapping free with muffled pops. The second dragged itself out low to the ground, longer in the legs, each one strung like wire. Its tail uncoiled behind it, thin, black, and far too long, whipping side to side in agitated bursts.
They ripped the last scraps of themselves apart, claws sinking into their own meat, peeling loose ribbons of gristle. Blood slicked their fingers and dripped from their teeth in thin threads. Steaming breath tore in and out of them, fast, sharp, and wet.
They straightened to the full height of three feet, heavier and harder-looking than any common imp, but their faces made it certain. Ashkin.
[System // Notification]
[Broodlings x2 // Spawned]
[Would User like to assign names?]
[Confirm: Yes / No]
"Names?"
[Naming strengthens the bond between creator and spawn. However, power is a weapon that should not be given without thought.]
"So there's a time not to name them? Why?"
[An army should not consist entirely of generals.]
Lightning. The word army lodged in his head. It rolled heavy through his chest, sparking something that made his fingers flex. He hadn't considered them as more than bodies, until now.
He looked at them. The bigger one leaned forward, chest and arms thick with corded muscle, claws scraping against the stone. The leaner one's tail lashed in tight, snapping arcs, his legs trembling with pent-up drive. Both fixed their gaze on him, then dropped their heads in unison.
He could feel it. A pull ran between them, intangible, but constant presence pressing against his mind.
Doing his best to think of a name, he dug through fractured memory, pulling at scraps until his attention locked on the larger one.
"You came first, even if only by a moment. So you'll carry the first thing I ever knew."
His lip curled back.
"Pain."
Bloodlight detonated off the broodling's skin, flooding along veins before sinking into the muscle. Pain rolled his shoulders, joints cracking loud, then loosed a scream that echoed against the walls.
The smaller one's eyes burned at his brood mate, the look raw, full of envy, but his attention snapped the moment Azakh-Tur spoke.
"And you...you'll take the first thing I felt when the system bound to me. Panic."
Another burst of bloodlight, harsher, the tendons in Panic's jaw stood out, grin stretching too far as his body absorbed the glow. His eyes rolled back to bloodshot whites, his tongue falling out as he reveled in his naming.
But as soon as the light died, both knelt.
Two wet, uneven voices rasped together.
"Father."
"Father."
[System // Notification]
[Achievement Unlocked // First Born]
[Requirements // Spawn and name your first set of Broodlings x2]
[Reward // Armor x1]
The system's reward meant nothing. That word, Father, stuck under his skin. His lip peeled back.
"Don't call me that. Call me Boss."
"Yes, Boss."
"Boss."
Pain waited, unmoving, eyes locked. Panic twitched without pause, head snapping in quick bursts.
"Let's take a look…"
With a thought, Pain's profile surfaced before him.
[Broodling // Pain]
[Classification // Demon Spawn]
[Subclass // Broodling (Imp)]
[Rank // E]
[Level 1]
[Core Stats]
[STR // 14]
[VIT // 12]
[AGI // 11]
[INT // 12]
[HP // 140]
[EXP // 0/94]
[NATURAL WEAPONS]
[Claw // F // Slashing Damage 18–20]
[Crit Chance // 5%]
[Notes]
[Heavier claw strikes; more force behind the cuts.]
[Bite // E // Piercing/Crushing Damage 21–22]
[Crit Chance // 10%]
[Note]
[Stronger bite pressure; cracks thicker bones.]
[Tail // F // Blunt Damage 16–17]
[Crit Chance // 5%]
[Note]
[Thicker, knotted tail tip; used to slam or trip enemies.]
[DETAILS]
[Appearance]
[Forward-curving horns (short but thicker at the base) // Bulkier upper body compared to standard broodlings // Leathery skin with prominent scarring along limbs // Beady or dull red eyes, wide-set jaw]
[Behavior]
[Aggressive posture; pushes forward in close combat // Holds ground longer before retreating // Prioritizes threat elimination over scouting // Obeys spoken or mental commands via Brood Link]
[Habitat]
[Artificially spawned from MC's flesh; no natural habitat]
[Notable Traits]
[Heat Resistance // A]
[Dark Vision // S]
[Wall Crawler // C]
[Stealth // B]
[Abilities]
[Feed // Passive]
[Can consume any organic flesh to restore 2 HP // Not tied to soul integrity; functions even on spoiled or inert flesh]
[30-second cooldown between uses.]
[Brood Link // Passive]
[Maintains a mental link with summoner and other Broodlings // Transmits basic emotions, location awareness within 50 meters // Can relay simple mental commands // Breaks if outside range or if the Broodling dies]
[Weaknesses]
[Fragile skeleton; blunt damage +25% bonus]
[No magical resistance]
[Bold in combat but reckless without command]
[Note]
[Cannot evolve; limited to mutation or class development]
"Fuckers are stronger than I was..."
The thought hit harder than expected. Jealousy stirred, sharp and brief, before the last line on Pain's profile killed it: mutation or class development only.
"They get their own classes too? Good. This is gonna be fun."
His eyes moved between the two. Wohan Seo-jin's memories had reshaped what the word "class" meant, no longer a narrow path, but an endless field with no edge. The classic roles—warrior, mage, priest—were just the surface. Beneath that, anything was possible. A craftsman's hands. A farmer's calluses. The stage glare of an idol. If it could be imagined, it could be shaped into power.
Normally, a shard dictated the potential of those paths. But these two weren't shard-born...they were his. Their potential hadn't been touched yet, and something deep in him knew he'd chosen right.
Broodspawn was the perfect class.
He pulled up Panic's data. Most of it mirrored Pain's, same weapons, same tether, same resistances and traits. The difference was in the numbers and the posture. Panic's agility outpaced his strength, his movements sharper but less heavy. Unpredictable in behavior, every shift of his eyes felt like a twitch toward violence.
At least for now, it seemed first-spawned broodlings came out near-equal. Variants cut from the same flesh, waiting for the world to shape them.
'Maybe when I evolve again they'll spawn with better stats...'
His thoughts snapped back to ealier. His inspection of his gains had shown his next evolution was, unsurprisingly, redacted. Only one line remained uncovered: reach Level 25. But that could wait. Below, the swarm still moved.
He picked a target.
"Inspect."
A panel opened.
[Creature // Elderwarren Rabbit Kit]
[Rank // F]
[Classification // Beast – Juvenile Carnivore]
[Realm Origin // Fae]
[Description]
[Appears similar to a normal rabbit, brown and white fur, tall ears, and a harmless demeanor. Beneath the surface, its muscles are dense for its size, and its bite is designed to shear flesh rather than chew plants. Inexperienced compared to adults, but still capable of blinding or maiming if underestimated]
[Level 7]
[HP // 42]
[Stats]
[STR // 5]
[VIT // 4]
[AGI // 12]
[INT // 2]
[WIL // 2]
[Abilities]
[Leapstrike // Quick forward lunge up to 2 meters]
[Gnaw // Short burst bite dealing moderate damage to soft targets]
[Behavior:
[Hunts in packs of 5–15 kits, often as a vanguard for adult swarms. Aggressive when cornered, but more likely to mob isolated targets. Drawn to movement and high-pitched noise]
[Weaknesses]
[Light bone structure; vulnerable to blunt trauma. Relies on speed over endurance, slows drastically if injured]
[Loot]
[Small Beast Pelt (F-rank)]
[Elderwarren Meat (Low quality)]
[Chance: Rabbit Fang (Crafting Material – F-rank)]
[Tactical Notes]
Eliminate from range when possible; avoid prolonged melee to reduce injury risk from numbers.]
He looked at the loot line and felt his excitement drag. No Network, no drops, nothing he could use besides exp. Another reason to get connected the second he got out.
He closed the panel and let an idea settle. Gnarled Fang snapped into his palm. He raised the tooth-blade so both broodlings could see.
"Since this is your first meal, let's make it a contest."
Their attention locked on the fang. Pain leaned in, breath steady, tail low. Panic's tail flicked in quick cuts; teeth clicking against each other as he watched the weapon.
"The rules are simple..."
He paused, letting the blade-tip sway between them, then toward the swarm below…
"Whoever stacks the most kills gets this. Understand?"
Panic nodded repeatedly, tail lashing.
"Yes boss! Yes, yes, yes..."
Pain nodded once. No words.
"Then eat. Food's getting cold."
The broodlings locked eyes for half a breath. Panic moved first, kicking off Pain's face, using it as a springboard to dive into the pit. Pain shrieked with rage, the sound scraping stone, and hurled himself after with no care for landing.
Azakh-Tur grinned, already tearing chunks of rock from the wall. The stones fell heavy in his palm. He tossed one, caught it, felt the weight bite into his hand.
"This'll be fun."
Below, Hell had teeth.
Panic hit first, tail hooking a ledge to break speed. He landed on the backs of the Elderwarren kits, claws splitting skin, teeth punching through skull. He moved like a cut wire, never still, each step another wound, another scream.
Pain dropped like a hammer. No dodging. No finesse. He met their charge head-on, arms ripping bodies in half. Skulls cracked in his hands. Spines bent and popped. Mouth full of fur and meat, he chewed until the head came away.
Azakh-Tur's UI flooded with damage alerts and healing ticks in the same breath. He hurled a stone, the impact collapsed a kit's ribs before it could bite Pain's leg. Another hit caved a skull mid-lunge. The pressure eased just enough for Pain's wounds to knit.
"Issues..."
He shook his head, muttering, eyes following the chaos.
"Both of them."
Panic's kills turned strange—hooks with his tail, throat bites that lasted too long, a slow drag of claws before the kill. His grin widened, then broke into laughter, wet and sharp. The sudden eruption from Panic caused Pain to suddenly glare at his brood mate with pure hatred, but it only drove him to tear faster, harder.
"They're perfect."
Azakh-Tur's grin matched Panic's. His hunger matched Pain's. He wouldn't say it, but pride curled in his chest as he watched them work...his first spawn, carving their mark in blood.
The level-up chimes didn't hurt either.