The marsh reeked of iron and steam. The drake staggered in the mire, bleeding from its side, tail hacked to a stump, one wing trapped against its own shadow. Yet its eyes still burned, yellow and wild, refusing surrender.
With a roar that rattled the swamp, it hurled itself forward in blind rage. Noctis braced for claws, but at the last instant the beast twisted, slamming the broken span of its wing into him like a club. The impact thundered through his armor, staggering him back into the mud. His ribs groaned under the pressure, his HP guttering in the Grid's glow.
The tail stump swung wide, catching his legs and knocking him low. Water splashed high as he steadied himself on the greatsword. The drake lunged again, jaws gaping, the heat of its breath burning through the helm's slit, fangs glistening with saliva.
Noctis met its eyes.
The violet ring burned into being, locking the beast's gaze.
[Skill: Allure's Gaze III — Binding Stare]Effect: Compulsion. Stun + Hold.
For a heartbeat the drake froze, its frenzy caught in the compulsion. Its wings faltered, its jaws slowed. That pause was enough.
Noctis surged forward. His blade dragged a perfect vector across its exposed throat, cutting through scale and flesh in one motion. Blood erupted hot, steaming in the mist. The beast convulsed, wings flailing, claws thrashing, but its body was already collapsing under its own weight.
He pressed in cold and final. Tortoise Collapse shifted its staggering mass downward, forcing it to drop onto its own forelimbs. Kill Order sequenced the moment in the Grid, lining every node toward inevitability.
Noctis raised the greatsword and brought it down clean through the skull. Bone split, marrow burst, and the yellow glow in its eyes flickered out. The marsh fell silent.
He crouched, set his hand on the steaming scales, and opened himself. Devour surged. Flesh dissolved into mist, blood and marrow pulled into him, bone unraveling until nothing of the drake remained but gouges in the mud and the reek of iron. The Grid roared with new light as Beast Essence nodes ignited one after another.
The lattice of his Blood Grid twisted and thickened. Scaled Resilience bled into his flesh, hardening his frame against blades and blunt force alike. A new node pulsed—Wingbeat Surge—channeling the beast's wing strength into ground-born bursts of speed, dashes that rippled air like shockwaves. Predator's Maw flickered across his melee tree, a primal bite strike grafted into his arsenal. Marsh Hunter Instinct spread through his Perception, sharpening scent and hearing in damp terrain until the whole swamp rang clear in his mind.
The Grid pulsed brighter, Beast Essence feeding back into Soldier's Edge and Vector Cavalier, sharpening them further. He breathed once, steady, feeling the new power settle into place.
The marsh was quiet again, reeds swaying gently, as though the battle had been only a dream.
The marsh lay quiet behind him, reeds whispering over still water where the drake had fallen. Only the smell of blood and steam clung to the mist, fading with every step he took away from the kill. Noctis tightened the straps of his greatsword across his back and began the walk north, boots sinking into muck with each stride.
The Grid still glowed faint with new Beast nodes, humming under his skin. Each pulse promised strength, but the body that carried it sagged against the weight of the sun. Even under the helm, his breath came heavier. The day pressed on him like lead.
The clouds thinned as the morning burned, light spreading across the marsh. His armor held, the sealed plates and runes shielding his flesh from direct touch, but suppression bit deeper than skin. The daylight gnawed at his essence, cutting his strength, making each step heavier than it should be.
By the time the marsh thinned into firm ground and road, fatigue crept in steady waves. He followed the dirt track along the tree line, avoiding the open center where merchants' wagons rolled. Better to stay in shadow than tempt a curious eye.
The walls of Varath rose in the distance by the time the sun was high. The city's gates bustled with wagons returning from night routes, guards checking loads with practiced routine. From a distance, the smell of stone and smoke rolled across the fields, washing the swamp from his senses.
Noctis slowed, weighing his options. The guild reward could wait. The body needed rest first. Too much daylight, too much suppression—he would push his Grid to collapse if he lingered in it.
He adjusted the helm, kept his stride measured, and passed through the gate without challenge. The sealed armor and steady gait marked him as another mercenary back from work, not worth a guard's suspicion.
Inside, the city was alive with its usual rhythm: merchants shouting from stalls, children darting between wagons, adventurers swaggering back toward the guild. For him, all of it was noise. The only thought was of shade, a locked room, and the cool weight of darkness.
He turned down a side street, boots striking stone, and made for the inn.
The door to his room closed behind him with a muted thud. Noctis unbuckled the greatsword and let it rest against the wall, helm sliding free with a hiss of breath. He crossed to the bed and let his weight drop, the sealed armor creaking as fatigue pulled him into the mattress. The sunlight had gnawed at him all day, draining marrow and muscle alike. Even the Grid pulsed weaker, dimming nodes under the press of suppression.
He closed his eyes. Darkness folded over him.
When the knock came, it was evening, the tavern's din below silenced into the soft scrape of chairs being stacked. Noctis stirred, eyes narrowing, then rose and opened the door. The maid stood there, head lowered, hands folded against her apron. Her breath caught as his gaze met hers.
He extended a hand and took hers, drawing her inside without a word. As commanded, she had come to him at night.
Hours blurred into shadow. When silence returned, the floor was littered with scattered clothes, and the girl lay curled against the sheets, sweat gleaming on her skin as she drifted into heavy sleep. Noctis rose, fastening the plates of his blood armor back into place. The crimson glow beneath the runes pulsed brighter now, strength restored with nightfall.
He smiled faintly under the helm. The night was his.
Outside, the city had quieted. Lanterns guttered low, leaving alleys in half-dark, and the moon poured silver across the roofs. Noctis moved like shadow through the streets, out past the gate, and into the forest beyond. The air was cooler here, clean of smoke, rich with the scent of moss and earth. His body surged with energy.
He hunted.
The forest grew denser, branches knotting overhead, paths narrowing into deer trails. He followed a faint trace of movement—dragged lines across soil, broken branches bent down from above. A spider's trail. Not the small kind, but something far larger.
The path led him to a fissure in the hillside, wide and black like a wound in the earth. Threads of webbing clung to the edges, pale under moonlight, each strand as thick as his finger. The smell that drifted out was sour and thick, old kills left to rot in silk.
Noctis stepped inside.
The cave swallowed sound. His boots sank into layers of web, brittle shells cracking underfoot. Then he heard them—dozens of faint clicks, a low rustle that rolled across the chamber walls.
A horde of giant spiders stirred in the dark.
Noctis rested his hand on the hilt of the greatsword. The Grid pulsed bright with fresh Beast nodes, eager to be tested. He smiled under the helm, teeth glinting faint in the glow of his own crimson armor.
The hunt was just beginning.
The cave trembled with the sound of clicking mandibles and the scrape of countless legs. Web strands quivered, vibrating under the sudden motion of bodies spilling from cracks and alcoves. The first wave of spiders emerged—each the size of a hound, armored in dark chitin, eight eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.
Noctis drew his greatsword. The blade sang in the tight space, crimson glow pulsing faint along the edge. He advanced one step, then two, meeting the swarm head-on.
The first spider leapt, mandibles wide. His sword split it down the center, but the body writhed even as it fell, legs clawing at the ground before the light in its eyes faded. The next three came close behind. He swung wide, hacking through one, then slammed his shoulder into another, blade ripping out its side. The third skittered up the wall, trying to flank. Noctis pivoted, dragging the blade through an arc that caught it mid-lunge, shattering chitin in a burst of ichor.
They did not stop.
The horde pressed in, a wall of black limbs, mandibles snapping, web threads raining down from above. He cut, shifted, cut again. One spider lunged low—his boot pinned it to the ground and his sword cleaved its head. Another climbed across the ceiling—he stepped aside as it dropped, skewering it upward through the thorax before wrenching the blade free in a spray of blood.
Every strike was answered by more.
Dozens poured forward, bodies slamming against each other to reach him. He did not use his AoE sweeps; he wanted precision, endurance, adaptation. He moved like a shadow folded in steel, weaving between legs, ducking mandibles, rolling under strikes. Each kill took more than one blow—first to crack the shell, second to split the muscle, sometimes a third to finish the heart.
The Grid pulsed with rhythm. Tempo beat in his ears, giving cadence to the storm of his movements. Ranger's spacing dictated the flow, keeping his distance just enough to survive the press. Vector lines flickered through his vision, angles marking where his next cut would find purchase.
His blade struck again and again. Hack. Slash. Rip. Tear. The cave floor became slick with ichor, webbing stained black with spider blood. Bodies piled, legs twitched in dying spasms. For every one he dropped, two more poured from the walls.
It was endless.
But Noctis did not mind. His breath came steady, armor pulsed with crimson, and his eyes narrowed in fierce delight. The fight was not a burden—it was a forge. Each strike taught him. Each dodge sharpened him. Every clash of claw on steel refined his instincts.
He slid between two spiders, blade carving one apart, elbow slamming into the other to shove it back before cutting low to sever its legs. Another charged—he rolled aside, letting its mandibles sink into a carcass, then cut its head free before it could pull loose. The Grid throbbed bright, nodes sparking under the pressure of repetition, his body growing more fluid with every motion.
The swarm kept coming, gaps filling as quickly as he carved them open. Mandibles clattered in the dark, a chorus of hunger and rage. Noctis stood at the center, blood-soaked blade flashing again and again, every stroke deliberate, every motion honed.
It was a never-ending fight. But for him, that was the point.
He was testing his limits. And he was evolving.