The world held its breath.
The roar of the crowd, the shriek of the siren, the screams, all of it was eclipsed by a single, wet, sickening squelch.
The Bone Dagger, a primitive tool that should have shattered, slid through the soft tissue of the Behemoth's eye. A torrent of thick, black fluid, viscous like crude oil, erupted from the wound.
The Riftfang Behemoth, the unstoppable engine of destruction, let out a sound it had never made before.
A shriek of pure, unadulterated agony.
It reared back. Its colossal head thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge the source of the excruciating pain.
Edward clung to the dagger. His small frame was whipped around like a ragdoll. The force threatened to tear his arm from its socket. But he held on with a grim, death-like tenacity.
He was no longer just a boy. He was a parasite. A hunter who had latched onto his titanic prey.
He used the beast's restless movements to his advantage. As it thrashed, he found purchase with his feet against its armored snout. He pushed. He drove the dagger deeper.
The Behemoth's scream grew sharper. Its only eye rolled in wild panic.
The crowd, which had been fleeing, now stood frozen. Their gazes were locked on the impossible scene.
They saw the "Rankless trash," the boy they had laughed at, locked in a life-or-death struggle with the monster that had overpowered their greatest champions.
It wasn't a heroic battle. It wasn't a noble knight facing a dragon.
It was something more primal. More terrifying.
Edward moved with a fluid, predatory grace that was utterly alien. He used the monster's own body as his battlefield. He scrambled up its armored face. His movements were inhumanly fast and precise.
He drew the dagger free. A spray of black fluid. He immediately struck again.
This time, he targeted the softer cartilage around the beast's jaw hinge. The Behemoth roared. It snapped its massive teeth. But Edward was already moving. He weaved around the attack with an agility that seemed to defy physics.
He didn't have the power to break its carapace. He knew that.
So he didn't try.
He fought like a jackal attacking a lion. A death by a thousand cuts. He targeted its joints. Its nostrils. The soft flesh of its inner mouth whenever it roared.
Each strike was a small wound. But the cumulative effect was driving the behemoth into a state of blind, pain-fueled madness.
From a broken seat in the stands, a young woman watched. Her fear was forgotten, replaced by a cold, calculating curiosity.
Priscilla, the royal prodigy, saw not chaos, but a technique. A brutal, efficient dance of death that prioritized weakness over strength.
Nearby, Sarah, now free from the rubble, stared with wide, unblinking eyes. His face was a mask of cold, predatory focus. But his actions were still those of a protector.
Edward landed on the beast's broad back. The Behemoth bucked and turnedquickly. It tried to throw him. But he held on.
This was his chance. He needed to end this.
He focused. He drew on the small reservoir of energy within him. The power of his new skill, Soul Rend, welled up inside him.
He slammed his free hand down on the beast's back. Right over where its heart should be.
"Soul Rend," he whispered. A guttural command.
An invisible pulse of pure, malevolent energy shot from his palm. It phased through the thick obsidian carapace as if it wasn't there. It struck the Behemoth's spiritual essence. Its very life force.
The monster's roar cut off. It became a choked, gurgling sound. Its massive body shuddered violently. Its muscles seized up. It stumbled. Its legs buckled.
For the first time, it looked not just wounded. But dying.
The attack had rotted it from the inside out.
But it wasn't dead yet.
With a final, convulsive burst of strength, it twisted its body. Its massive horn swept upwards. A last-ditch effort to impale the source of its agony.
Edward saw it coming. He could have dodged. He could have leaped to safety.
But in that split-second, a cold, terrible calculation played out in his mind.
He needed to get closer. He needed to end this now.
He made his choice.
He deliberately let the horn strike him. He shifted his body at the last second. It wasn't a fatal blow. The sharpened point of bone punched through the flesh of his left shoulder. An agonizing, grinding tear. The pain was a supernova. A white-hot explosion that threatened to overwhelm him.
But it worked.
He was impaled. Pinned to the monster. But he was also within reach of the wound he had created with Soul Rend.
He ignored the searing pain. He ignored the feeling of his own hot blood soaking his tattered uniform. His vision narrowed. His world reduced to that single point of weakness.
This was his final, desperate gambit.
He plunged his right hand deep into the spiritual wound. His fingers sank into something that felt not like flesh, but like cold, dying energy.
And then he activated the core of his new, monstrous power.
He activated Soul Assimilation.
The effect was instantaneous. Apocalyptic.
The Riftfang Behemoth screamed. A sound not of this world. A final, soul-shattering shriek of utter violation.
Its very life force, the immense, ancient power of an A-Rank monster, was being ripped from its body. A torrent of raw energy flooded into Edward.
The crowd watched in stunned, horrified silence.
The "Rankless trash" was not just killing the monster. He was consuming it.
They saw the beast's massive form begin to desiccate. Its tough, obsidian hide turning grey and brittle. Flaking away like ash. They saw its muscles wither. Its colossal frame shrinking in on itself.
Edward was at the center of this horrifying vortex of un-creation. His body a conduit for a forbidden, terrifying power.
The students and faculty looked at him not with awe or gratitude. They looked at him with a deep, primal fear.
He had saved them. Yes. But he had done it like a demon.
He was not a hero. He was a monster who happened to be on their side. For now.
The Behemoth's final shriek faded. With a soft, final whoosh, its entire colossal body crumbled into a massive pile of fine, black dust.
A wave of power, so immense it was almost painful, slammed into Edward's soul.
`[+1500 SP]`
`[Level Up!]`
`[Level Up!]`
`[Level Up!]`
The notifications were a frantic, overwhelming cascade. He barely registered them.
He fell to his knees in the center of the arena. His impaled shoulder was now a clean wound. The horn had dissolved with the rest of the beast.
The sudden influx of power was too much. It overloaded his system. Raw, untamed energy leaked from his very being. His eyes, his normal, human eyes, began to glow with a malevolent, predatory red light.
He was the victor. He was the savior of Sunstone Academy.
And he had never been more alone.
A final system notification, one that only he could see, filled his vision. Its text was stark and chilling.
A promise of a new, more dangerous war that had just begun.
`[Warning: High-Level Soul Assimilation has attracted unwanted attention. The Inquisition has been notified.]`