The road east narrowed as it approached the cliffs. Trees thinned into jagged stone, and mist rose from the cracks like the breath of the earth itself. Ahead, the cavern yawned: a black mouth carved into the mountain, its teeth jagged, its throat whispering with unseen depths.
The dungeon.
Noctis slowed his steps. From the shadows of a rocky outcrop, he watched.
Adventurers swarmed the clearing before the entrance. Tents pitched in tight clusters, cooking fires guttering in the morning wind. Horses whickered at the edges, tied to posts, while merchants in battered cloaks hawked potions, bandages, and sharpened steel.
The scene was organized chaos. Some groups laughed too loudly, brash and eager to prove themselves. Others sat in silence, blades on their knees, their eyes hollow from nights spent watching friends die inside. The dungeon consumed everyone differently.
Noctis leaned against the rock, still cloaked. His armor hummed faintly beneath the fabric, but no one spared him a second glance. To them, he was just another traveler pausing before danger.
But he listened. Always listened.
"…another patrol didn't come back. Mobs swarmed them—lizards with spines."
"…lower floors are shifting. Heard someone mention the Titan stirred again."
"…we should wait, gather more numbers. Going in with six is suicide."
"…but the rewards—gear, enchantments, coin. If we get the Titan's core, we'll never need another job."
The word Titan kept surfacing, whispered like both promise and curse. Their voices trembled even when they tried to sound bold. Noctis smiled faintly beneath his helm. They did not understand what it meant to face a Titan. To him, it was not a foe but a banquet.
At the dungeon's mouth, guards kept loose order, counting heads, recording names, and collecting fees. Guild scribes scratched quills across ledgers, while priests blessed those who dared to enter. Light shimmered faint on their staves, weak compared to the bishop's fire but enough to comfort the ignorant.
Noctis's gaze flicked toward them. Holy light pulsed faintly, searching, testing. He felt it brush against his cloak, but his armor and his will held firm. To them, he was only shadow.
A party of five emerged from the cavern then, bloodied and limping. Two dragged a third whose arm hung in ribbons. Their eyes were wide, wild. The crowd parted for them, silent, some in awe, others in dread. They had survived another night—but barely.
The clerics rushed to them, chanting soft prayers, pressing glowing hands to wounds. The scent of sanctified magic burned Noctis's nose. He turned his head slightly. It would be unwise to linger too close while blessings were being spoken.
Instead, he studied the flow of groups. Some went in fresh-faced, arrogant. Some came out shattered. The dungeon took its toll without pause. It was a steady river of prey, and he was already imagining how their screams would taste when the time came.
But he was not ready to reveal himself. Not yet.
He turned from the main path and circled wide, slipping into the tree line that bordered the camp. He moved unseen, Predator's Tremor Sense painting the vibrations of every boot, every word, every twitch of a blade. His Grid hummed quietly, waiting.
Tonight, he thought.
Tonight, he would step into the mouth of the dungeon. He would leave the adventurers to their chaos, let them thin the mobs, and then follow deeper where their courage failed. And when the Titan appeared—when its roar shook the caverns—he would be the one waiting.
For now, he watched. Listened. Learned.
The campfire smoke curled upward. Laughter, curses, prayers—all blending into one tired chorus. The adventurers did not know they were feeding both the dungeon and the predator who lurked at its edge.
Noctis tilted his helm back toward the cavern mouth. Darkness pooled there, patient, endless.
And he smiled.
The camp before the dungeon dimmed with nightfall. Fires burned low, adventurers huddled in groups, some drinking, others sharpening steel before they dared the caverns again. The priests who had blessed them by day now slept, their wards faint and thin.
Noctis moved at last.
He stepped from the tree line in his blood-forged armor, cloak trailing dark. No one stirred. The night carried him like smoke.
His Perception mapped the camp: a dozen tents, thirty souls in all. Many exhausted, some drunk, others restless and whispering. The beat of their hearts was a chorus to him. The Grid pulsed. Hunger sharpened.
He entered the first tent without sound. Three men slept inside, blades stacked at the door. Noctis's hand closed into a fist.
[Skill: Crimson Expanse]
The field erupted silently. Blood rushed from their bodies before they could even stir, their throats gagging on half-formed cries. Their flesh shriveled, their bones cracked inward, and their essence flowed into him like a tide.
He drank without mercy. The tent reeked of iron and terror, then silence.
He slipped out, leaving only husks.
In the second tent, two women sat awake, speaking in low voices about their fear of the dungeon. Noctis let the Binding Stare bloom behind his eyes.
The violet light caught them. Their words stopped mid-breath. Their pupils dilated, breath shallow, wills drowned in his command.
"Stand," Noctis said.
They obeyed.
"Come with me."
They followed. Blank, hollow, obedient.
He moved on. Tent by tent, he devoured or dominated. Warriors bled into his Crimson Expanse, their corpses folding in on themselves like empty skins. Archers gasped once before Phantom Barrage shredded them into silence. A mage reached for her staff before Ghost Vein dragged him into her shadow, fangs waiting.
By midnight, most of the camp lay emptied, corpses shriveled, belongings gathered.
The survivors were women. Three of them, eyes hollow, bodies trembling, voices stripped of protest. He had taken their wills with Binding Stare.
"Serve me," he commanded.
They obeyed.
Through the long hours of night, the camp echoed with their cries. Their moans mingled with the silence of death that had claimed their companions. The Grid pulsed as he drank carefully from each of them, not enough to end them, but enough to bind them deeper into his thrall.
By dawn, the campfire smoke drifted faint. The tents sagged, empty. Treasures, blades, and coins were tucked away into his Blood Storage.
Noctis stepped from the ruins of the camp, the women following behind him. Their clothes were disheveled, their eyes glazed, their bodies marked with exhaustion and submission. They did not resist. They did not question.
They were his.
He turned toward the cavern mouth. The dungeon's breath spilled cold mist into the air. The Titan stirred within.
Noctis smiled beneath his helm.
Now he would enter with servants at his side.
The cavern swallowed him whole.
Cold air rushed outward as Noctis stepped inside, mist curling around his boots. The three servants followed a short distance behind, their eyes glazed, their steps obedient. They carried torches, their flames weak compared to the darkness pressing against the walls.
Noctis raised a hand. "Stay back."
They obeyed instantly, halting at the threshold where stone narrowed into a black throat. Their place was not at his side in battle. They were tools, little more than vessels—pointers if needed, sustenance when desired.
The fight was his alone.
The first mob announced itself in sound before sight. A hiss, deep and wet, echoed from the chamber ahead. Then came the clatter of claws against stone. Shadows moved—long, low shapes crawling from the walls, scales glinting faintly in the torchlight.
Lizards. Dozens of them. Their spines rattled, tails lashing, tongues flicking the air.
Noctis drew the Broodfang Reaper. Its form shifted in his hands, lengthening into the guan dao. The blade gleamed faintly red, hungry.
The lizards surged forward.
Noctis lunged to meet them.
The guan dao stabbed, straight and precise. The first beast skewered, shrieking as blood poured from its mouth. He twisted, letting its weight drag the weapon, then snapped the blade into scythe mode. The curve hooked backward, cleaving through a second lizard's spine.
The survivors swarmed.
Noctis spun the weapon, blade whistling. He stepped through the mob with hack-and-slash precision, one strike flowing into the next. A sweep of the guan dao, a reverse pull with the scythe, then a brutal slam with the greatsword form. Claws raked stone where he had stood, but Ghost Vein carried him into their shadows, reappearing behind them to strike again.
A tail lashed. He let it come. His hand shot out, Crimson Grasp bursting into tendrils that seized the limb and tore it free in a gush of blood.
[Skill: Crimson Expanse]
The field bloomed around him. The lizards shrieked as blood ripped from their bodies in streams, leaving husks that collapsed into the stone.
The last few staggered, tails whipping weakly. Noctis raised his hand.
[Skill: Phantom Barrage]
One arrow of shadow split into a dozen mid-flight. The lizards tried to scatter, but the phantoms bloomed where they dodged, pinning them to the ground in silence.
The chamber fell still.
Noctis exhaled, lowering the Reaper. Its form folded back into greatsword mode. Blood essence swirled around his armor, drinking into the Grid.
The servants moved forward timidly, torches raised, eyes blank. One pointed deeper into the cavern, her voice soft and mechanical. "More. Deeper."
Noctis nodded once. "You follow. You do not fight. You live to serve."
"Yes, master," they answered as one.
He walked on, boots echoing in the cavern, Grid burning brighter with each step.
The tunnel widened into a chamber carved by old water. Stalactites dripped overhead, and the air was thick with damp rot. Noctis's boots sank into mud as he entered, servants halting at his wordless signal. Their torches guttered, throwing long shadows along the walls.
The shadows moved.
From the dark crevices, heavier forms emerged. Not the lean lizards of the entrance but bulkier shapes, armored with jagged plates of bone and scale. Their claws were longer, their eyes glowing yellow with a deeper hunger.
Elite kin.
A dozen of them crawled into the open, tails whipping, jaws snapping. Behind them came two larger beasts, twice the size of the rest. Their spines bristled with natural armor, ridges hard as iron. One hissed, the sound echoing like a grinding stone.
The servants shrank back, their fear muted only by Binding Stare's hold. They whispered one word in unison, flat but trembling. "Danger."
Noctis smiled faintly under his helm. "I know."
The Broodfang Reaper unfolded into guan dao mode. He stepped forward.
The pack surged.
The first beast lunged, claws aimed at his throat. Noctis slid beneath the swipe, guan dao stabbing up through its jaw and bursting from its skull. He yanked the weapon free, spun, and cleaved the tail from a second attacker.
The chamber filled with hisses and roars. The elites encircled him, pressing hard.
Claws raked his armor, scraping sparks but leaving no mark. Teeth snapped at his limbs, but Ghost Vein carried him through their shadows, reappearing behind them to cut deep into armored hides. Blood sprayed, steaming in the cold air.
A heavy tail slammed down, cracking stone. Noctis caught it in one hand, Crimson Grasp wrapping around the limb like chains. With a pull, he wrenched the beast off its feet, smashing it against the wall. Its armor cracked.
Another came from behind. Noctis pivoted, Reaper folding into greatsword form mid-spin. The blade smashed through the beast's side, sparks flying as scales split.
The two largest elites advanced. One spat a line of acid that hissed across the floor, eating into stone. Noctis leapt high, cloak trailing, then twisted in midair.
[Skill: Helix Bore II]
A spiral of blood-forged force burst from his hand. The drill projectile tore through the first elite's armor, punching a hole through its chest and spraying chunks of bone and flesh across the chamber.
The second roared and charged.
Noctis landed in its shadow. The Reaper shifted to scythe mode with a screech of steel. He hooked the blade around its armored neck and pulled. The creature thrashed, claws gouging deep into stone, but Noctis braced and ripped. The scythe tore through the joint, decapitating the beast in a spray of ichor.
Silence.
One by one, the bodies collapsed, blood pooling around him. The Grid burned with hunger, essence begging to be devoured. Noctis opened the Crimson Expanse, and streams of blood rushed into him, their strength unraveling into nodes and power.
The servants watched from the edge, torches trembling in their hands, their faces expressionless but their eyes wide. They whispered again, hollow but awed. "Master."
Noctis stood amidst the corpses, blood running down his armor, the Reaper folding back into sword form. He exhaled slowly, savoring the feast.
The chamber stank of blood and ichor. The corpses of the armored lizards still twitched faintly, their scales cracked, their acid glands leaking into the stone. Noctis stood in the center, crimson mist still fading from the Crimson Expanse. His armor gleamed slick with blood.
He closed his eyes.
The Grid burned bright.
[Beast-Kin Branch Expansion Detected]
New nodes flared into existence:
Scaled Carapace — passive armor, layered defense.
Acid Gland Adaptation — minor corrosive resistance; Predator Magic node "Corrosive Lash" unlocked.
Tail Spike Reflex — blood-forged counterstrike, manifesting as a whip-swipe of energy.
Lizard Reflex Memory — passive increase to agility, sharper movement timing.
Tremor Sense II — extended range, refined detail.
He traced the nodes with his mind. His body already hummed with the adaptations: reflexes sharper, skin tingling with a faintly tougher layer, awareness widening as vibrations painted the dungeon floor in sharper relief.
He opened his eyes. The corpses were already forgotten.
"Come," he said.
The servants obeyed.
A short while later, torches guttered low in the corner of the hall. Armor, weapons, and equipment lay scattered across the stone, discarded in a heap. Even Noctis had shed his bloody plates, standing bare of steel yet still radiating command. The women waited, eyes glassy under Binding Stare, their breathing quick and shallow.
The first stepped forward and placed her palms flat against the wall, body arched, back to him. She braced herself as he closed in, her movements soon matching his rhythm—rocking forward and back in time with his control. Her gasps rose into sharp moans, echoing down the hall.
Another pressed close against his side, lips trailing against his skin, her breath hot as she whispered devotion between moans. The third clung from the other side, her hands roaming, her mouth desperate against him.
Their voices carried through the chamber, bouncing off the stone until the cavern became a chorus of moans and gasps. The sound was more haunting than joyful—like worship turned carnal.
Then Noctis stilled.
Tremor Sense flared. The floor shuddered with many claws scraping stone. A mob was closing fast.
"Enough."
The servants froze, still panting, their bodies trembling with exhaustion and longing.
Noctis raised a hand. At once, bloody armor surged into existence across his body, plates forming with a hiss of crimson steam. The Bloodfang Reaper coalesced into his grip, blade unfolding as if it had always been there.
From the corridor ahead, shapes darkened the passage. Dozens of scaled beasts surged forward, spines rattling, acid dripping from their jaws.
Noctis stepped forward, shadows thickening around him, golden rings flaring in his eyes.
"Good."
And then he dashed into them.
The mob filled the hall in a living tide. Their claws scraped like a chorus of knives. Their scaled hides glistened in the torchlight with acidic sheen. Dozens pressed forward at once, bounding over the corpses of their own kind.
Noctis met them head-on.
The Bloodfang Reaper swung wide in guan dao form, blade catching the first rank at the shoulder line. Flesh tore, scales burst, acid hissed into the stone. Noctis pivoted with perfect footing, the scythe's back edge reconfiguring mid-swing. He dragged the crescent through a second lizard's flank, shearing it open before it even knew it had been struck.
Acid spat toward him from the side. He turned his head, reflex already triggered. [Acid Gland Adaptation] pulsed, his skin hissing as droplets landed—burns that should have eaten into flesh fizzled into harmless steam.
He smiled.
One lunged for his back. His body answered before his will did. [Tail Spike Reflex] flared. A whip of crimson energy lashed out behind him, curving like a barbed tail. It impaled the creature through the chest and slammed it into the wall, where it writhed only once before collapsing.
He pivoted again. Tremor Sense stretched wider than ever—[Tremor Sense II] drew the battle in layers, every clawbeat marked, every vibration measured. He saw the mob not as shapes but as a shifting map of weight and movement.
He used it.
The guan dao plunged forward, but halfway through the thrust he twisted the handle. The Reaper folded, locking into scythe form mid-attack. The creature dodged the thrust and thought itself safe—until the reaping blade curved back, cutting deep into its spine from behind.
Noctis didn't pause. He dragged the weapon free, snapping into greatsword form and cleaving downward. Two more fell in halves.
He roared—and the Grid roared with him.
[Predator Magic: Corrosive Lash] ignited in his palm. He swept it outward. A streak of liquefied shadow-acid lashed across the ranks, cutting through scale as if it were parchment. Screams shrieked and then choked as the lash dissolved bone.
The swarm faltered, but only to regather. They surged as one.
He was already moving. Hack-and-slash rhythm kept him alive. Sidestep. Slash. Backstep. Thrust. Step in. Sweep. His claws lashed out between swings, raking a skull open. His boot crushed another's jaw with a kick that snapped teeth like glass.
They bit. They clawed. They slammed their tails at him. [Scaled Carapace] absorbed it. Every blow that landed only rang against the blood-forged armor, sinking shallow where it should have crushed bones.
The Grid pulsed again. The fighting style was changing. His limbs moved sharper, faster—[Lizard Reflex Memory] honed his reactions until he flowed like water through every strike.
A larger elite shoved its way forward. Its hide was thicker, its bite stronger. It roared and lunged with a headbutt that would have broken stone. Noctis sidestepped a hairsbreadth to the left. Tremor Sense had already told him the path.
"Slow."
The greatsword split its skull down the center.
Blood sprayed. Acid hissed. The hall became a rain of corrosion and gore.
Noctis stood tall amid the carnage, armor dripping with black ichor. The Bloodfang Reaper shifted from guan dao to scythe and back again, spinning in his grip as if it weighed nothing. Every shift was an answer. Every strike was doctrine chained with instinct.
Dozens became none. The last lizard staggered on half-shredded legs. He stepped forward and ended it with a thrust that pinned it to the wall.
Silence followed, broken only by the drip of acid eating into stone.
Noctis exhaled, the smile still on his lips. "Better."
The corpses twitched. He opened his hand.
The Crimson Expanse bloomed.
A field of blood spread out in a ten-meter dome, tendrils weaving through scales, skin, bone. Screams rang out for a moment even from the dead as their essence was stripped. Bloodlines unraveled and poured into him.
The Grid lit like fire. Nodes burst, linked, evolved.
Noctis returned to where the servants waited. They had regained some strength, though their legs trembled and their chests still heaved with shallow breaths. He smiled faintly, letting the bloody plates peel away from his body until nothing remained but pale skin.
"Continue," he commanded.
They obeyed without hesitation.
Soon the hall was filled again with the sound of flesh and breath. Their moans echoed up to the ceiling like a hymn twisted into something darker. Time blurred. Noctis moved among them as though the battlefield had never ended, their hands on him, their voices begging in half-broken cries.
Three hours passed before he slowed. His body hovered above one servant, her form arched beneath him. She writhed, her voice peaking in a ragged moan. He pressed forward one final time, muscles taut, holding the rhythm until the very end.
Her cry cut through the dungeon's silence.
Noctis leaned down. His fangs brushed the curve of her neck. For an instant he felt the hunger surge, the desire to pierce, to drink, to finish her as he had finished so many others.
But he stopped.
Her arms came up instead, trembling, wrapping around his neck. Her head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut. She passed out in silence, breath shallow but steady.
Beside them, the other two lay asleep where they had collapsed on the stone, their bodies curled loosely, hair tangled, their exhaustion written plain.
Noctis rested there for a moment longer, feeling the faint warmth beneath him. Then he pushed up, gaze shifting.
The battlefield still reeked of ichor. The corpses of the swarm sprawled where they had fallen, yet untouched by his hunger.
Noctis extended his hand.
The Blood Field bloomed. Crimson tendrils slithered outward, wrapping each corpse in its grasp. They shriveled, cracked, and bled into mist, dissolving into essence that spiraled back into him.
The hall grew quiet again. The only sound left was the faint echo of the women's soft, unconscious breaths.