The dungeon was silent but for the shallow breathing of the servants sprawled across the stone. Their bodies still trembled from exhaustion, their faces slack with the kind of sleep born only after total surrender.
Noctis stood over them, crimson mist fading from his last feast. He could feel the weight of the corpses dissolving inside him, the Grid still humming with fresh power. But for now, he wanted the chamber still.
He raised his hand.
[Sanctified Shroud]
The air thickened. A veil of blood-forged light spread outward, yet to the eye it gleamed with the false glow of divinity. To the senses, it felt like a holy ward — the kind priests etched around shrines, the kind adventurers trusted to hold back corruption. The mimicry was perfect.
The veil settled across the chamber in a dome. Its presence blurred sound, dampened vibration, and cloaked scent. To any who wandered near, it would feel sanctified, protected — a place to avoid disturbing. In truth, it was his ward, seeded from blood and faith, bending perception into obedience.
Noctis lowered his hand. He watched as the three women shifted faintly in their sleep, their breathing evening out, their bodies loosening into deeper rest.
"Good," he murmured.
They would rest peacefully. And if anything intruded, he would know.
He sat back against the wall, armor dismissed once more, golden eyes still burning in the dark. The veil pulsed around them like a heartbeat, and for the first time in many nights, the chamber felt secure.
He closed his eyes and opened the Grid.
[Blood Grid Interface — Active]
New branches pulsed bright red across the lattice. The feast on the lizards had forced rapid mutations:
Beast-Kin Branch (Expanded):
Scaled Carapace II — reinforced passive armor, acid halved, slashing resistance increased.
Acid Gland Adaptation II → Predator Magic upgrade: Corrosive Torrent unlocked.
Tail Spike Reflex II — dual lash counterstrike.
Tremor Sense II+ — heartbeat-level detection radius extended to 40m.
Lizard Reflex Memory II — predictive movement boost, +Agility, +Perception.
The nodes pulsed in harmony with his heart. Noctis flexed his fingers, already feeling the sharper balance of speed and strength.
Then he shifted the Grid's view to his status:
HP: 8,200 / 8,200
Blood Essence: 6,600
Faith Essence: 88
Iron Essence: 530
Soul Essence: 105
Wraith Essence: 10
Apex Essence: 6
Beast Essence: 1,140
Attributes:
Strength: 196
Agility: 246
Endurance: 210
Perception: 265
Will: 270
Satisfaction flickered in his chest. But his gaze moved again, this time to the Predator Magic List — the spells that had been rewritten by his consumption of adventurers and beasts.
Elemental Predator Magic (Current List):
Predator Flame — mutation of Fireball; burns hotter, clings to flesh like tar.
Predator Frost — mutation of Ice Shard; shards spiral inward after impact.
Predator Gale — mutation of Wind Slash; slices as thin lines that multiply mid-air.
Predator Bolt — mutation of Lightning Bolt; chains into nearby shadows.
Corrosive Torrent — evolved from Acid Gland Adaptation; a spray that melts armor and slows prey.
Shadow Volley — projectile duplication into delayed shadow copies.
Helix Bore — drill projectile for armor piercing.
Silent Pin — bind shadow to terrain, locking prey in place.
He studied the list, weighing the synergy. Ranged coverage was nearly complete. He had piercing, chaining, locking, spreading, and corrosive types. What he lacked was overwhelming scale — something battlefield-wide. That would come with deeper feasts, he thought.
The servants slept on, unaware of the storm of power forming beside them.
Noctis closed the Grid and leaned back against the wall, eyes still awake, mind already planning the next floor of the dungeon.
The three women stirred. One blinked awake first, rubbing her eyes, then the others followed with groggy murmurs. Noctis rose from where he had been sitting cross-legged against the wall, eyes golden in the fading shimmer of the Sanctified Shroud.
"Get ready," he said simply.
They obeyed, gathering the scattered pieces of their gear. But as they strapped on their armor, a low rumble broke the silence. All three froze, embarrassed, until the sound came again: the hollow growl of empty stomachs.
Noctis tilted his head. He had almost forgotten. They were still human. His eyes narrowed faintly at the reminder of frailty.
"Prepare your own food," he ordered.
The servants nodded quickly, fumbling through packs taken from the adventurer camp outside the dungeon. They cooked what little rations remained — hard bread, strips of dried meat, boiled roots in a tin pot over a torch flame. They ate quickly, nervously, aware of his watchful gaze.
When they finished and checked their gear again, Noctis turned. "Follow."
The Shroud collapsed into nothing. The dungeon's silence returned.
They descended deeper. The passage widened into another cavern, this one ringed with broken pillars and stalagmites. The air smelled wet, sour, filled with the musk of beasts.
The growls started first, echoing from the walls. Then shapes poured into the chamber: more scaled lizards, thicker than the last, some armored in bone plates, others with ridged tails glowing faintly with venom sacs. Dozens.
Noctis stepped forward.
The Bloodfang Reaper unfolded into greatsword form with a hiss. He raised it, then lowered the tip.
"Stay behind," he told the women.
Then he moved.
The first lizard lunged. He sidestepped, blade flashing — but instead of only steel, his free hand pulsed with red flame.
[Predator Flame].
The fireball struck point-blank. The creature shrieked as its scales ignited with tar-like burn. Noctis drove the greatsword through its chest before the fire finished spreading.
Another came from the side. He turned his wrist. The Reaper snapped into scythe form. He hooked the neck, dragged it sideways, then lashed his other hand forward.
[Predator Frost].
An ice shard spiraled into the beast's ribcage, detonating inward as the body folded in half against the wall.
Three more surrounded him. Their tails whipped, jaws snapping. Noctis leapt backward onto a pillar, claws digging in.
[Predator Gale].
Wind slashes fired from his blade as he swung in an arc, slicing across the three simultaneously. One dropped. Two staggered.
Noctis kicked off the pillar, body flipping. The Reaper shifted into guan dao mode mid-fall. He thrust, impaling one. The other tried to retreat — too slow. He wrenched the blade free, twisted it into drill-form.
[Helix Bore].
The projectile fired point-blank, spiraling through the beast's skull and exploding it into gore.
He landed on both feet, weapon already reverting into greatsword.
But not all of them died instantly. The thicker ones absorbed hits and still moved, wounded but snapping. Noctis wove through them, weaving hack and slash rhythm, cutting one before dashing off the wall, stabbing another, clawing a third across the eye.
They swarmed him, but he wasn't anchored to the floor.
He used everything — pillars, stalagmites, even the ceiling. Every surface became a foothold. He blurred through the cavern like a crimson phantom, striking, rebounding, slashing, casting.
[Predator Bolt] chained into shadows when he launched it, striking two creatures that thought themselves safe behind a rock.
[Silent Pin] nailed another's shadow to the wall, freezing it in place so he could dash past and carve open its belly with one precise cut.
The rhythm was endless. Dash, slash, flame. Leap, scythe, frost. Spin, claw, bolt. Pivot, guan dao thrust, gale slash.
To any outsider, it would have looked like madness — a storm of steel, flame, frost, and blood. To him, it was method: doctrine woven with instinct.
The floor slicked with ichor. The walls steamed with scorched blood. The ceiling dripped shards of ice that melted before they struck ground.
Noctis landed again, crouched, blade dripping. The last beast staggered toward him, its chest heaving, wounds gaping. He let it come closer.
Then his hand snapped forward.
[Corrosive Torrent] burst out in a spray. The acid tore through the creature's hide, burning down to the bone. It shrieked once, then collapsed in a pool of its own liquefied scales.
Silence returned.
Noctis exhaled slowly. His blood-forged armor steamed, crimson mist fading around him. He could feel the Grid humming, demanding to catalog the essence of the fallen. He raised his hand.
The Blood Field opened.
Tendrils of red light spread across the cavern, piercing every corpse, drinking marrow, dissolving scales. The women shivered as they watched, but they did not scream. They knew their master was feeding.
Noctis smiled faintly. He had tested his new arsenal. It worked.
The three women stirred. One blinked awake first, rubbing her eyes, then the others followed with groggy murmurs. Noctis rose from where he had been sitting cross-legged against the wall, eyes golden in the fading shimmer of the Sanctified Shroud.
"Get ready," he said simply.
They obeyed, gathering the scattered pieces of their gear. But as they strapped on their armor, a low rumble broke the silence. All three froze, embarrassed, until the sound came again: the hollow growl of empty stomachs.
Noctis tilted his head. He had almost forgotten. They were still human. His eyes narrowed faintly at the reminder of frailty.
"Prepare your own food," he ordered.
The servants nodded quickly, fumbling through packs taken from the adventurer camp outside the dungeon. They cooked what little rations remained — hard bread, strips of dried meat, boiled roots in a tin pot over a torch flame. They ate quickly, nervously, aware of his watchful gaze.
When they finished and checked their gear again, Noctis turned. "Follow."
The Shroud collapsed into nothing. The dungeon's silence returned.
They descended deeper. The passage widened into another cavern, this one ringed with broken pillars and stalagmites. The air smelled wet, sour, filled with the musk of beasts.
The growls started first, echoing from the walls. Then shapes poured into the chamber: more scaled lizards, thicker than the last, some armored in bone plates, others with ridged tails glowing faintly with venom sacs. Dozens.
Noctis stepped forward.
The Bloodfang Reaper unfolded into greatsword form with a hiss. He raised it, then lowered the tip.
"Stay behind," he told the women.
Then he moved.
The first lizard lunged. He sidestepped, blade flashing — but instead of only steel, his free hand pulsed with red flame.
[Predator Flame].
The fireball struck point-blank. The creature shrieked as its scales ignited with tar-like burn. Noctis drove the greatsword through its chest before the fire finished spreading.
Another came from the side. He turned his wrist. The Reaper snapped into scythe form. He hooked the neck, dragged it sideways, then lashed his other hand forward.
[Predator Frost].
An ice shard spiraled into the beast's ribcage, detonating inward as the body folded in half against the wall.
Three more surrounded him. Their tails whipped, jaws snapping. Noctis leapt backward onto a pillar, claws digging in.
[Predator Gale].
Wind slashes fired from his blade as he swung in an arc, slicing across the three simultaneously. One dropped. Two staggered.
Noctis kicked off the pillar, body flipping. The Reaper shifted into guan dao mode mid-fall. He thrust, impaling one. The other tried to retreat — too slow. He wrenched the blade free, twisted it into drill-form.
[Helix Bore].
The projectile fired point-blank, spiraling through the beast's skull and exploding it into gore.
He landed on both feet, weapon already reverting into greatsword.
But not all of them died instantly. The thicker ones absorbed hits and still moved, wounded but snapping. Noctis wove through them, weaving hack and slash rhythm, cutting one before dashing off the wall, stabbing another, clawing a third across the eye.
They swarmed him, but he wasn't anchored to the floor.
He used everything — pillars, stalagmites, even the ceiling. Every surface became a foothold. He blurred through the cavern like a crimson phantom, striking, rebounding, slashing, casting.
[Predator Bolt] chained into shadows when he launched it, striking two creatures that thought themselves safe behind a rock.
[Silent Pin] nailed another's shadow to the wall, freezing it in place so he could dash past and carve open its belly with one precise cut.
The rhythm was endless. Dash, slash, flame. Leap, scythe, frost. Spin, claw, bolt. Pivot, guan dao thrust, gale slash.
To any outsider, it would have looked like madness — a storm of steel, flame, frost, and blood. To him, it was method: doctrine woven with instinct.
The floor slicked with ichor. The walls steamed with scorched blood. The ceiling dripped shards of ice that melted before they struck ground.
Noctis landed again, crouched, blade dripping. The last beast staggered toward him, its chest heaving, wounds gaping. He let it come closer.
Then his hand snapped forward.
[Corrosive Torrent] burst out in a spray. The acid tore through the creature's hide, burning down to the bone. It shrieked once, then collapsed in a pool of its own liquefied scales.
Silence returned.
Noctis exhaled slowly. His blood-forged armor steamed, crimson mist fading around him. He could feel the Grid humming, demanding to catalog the essence of the fallen. He raised his hand.
The Blood Field opened.
Tendrils of red light spread across the cavern, piercing every corpse, drinking marrow, dissolving scales. The women shivered as they watched, but they did not scream. They knew their master was feeding.
The Grid pulsed. New nodes shimmered. Stats climbed.
[Blood Grid Mutation: Active]
Predator Flame II — fire burns hotter; spreads like oil on flesh.
Predator Frost II — shards embed and explode after delay.
Predator Gale II — slashes multiply mid-air; wider arc.
Predator Bolt II — chains to three additional targets.
Corrosive Torrent II — acid spray extended radius, slows enemies on contact.
Silent Pin II — double-bind; can nail multiple shadows.
Helix Bore II — greater piercing torque; can bore through armored joints.
Scaled Carapace III — armor now absorbs 60% slashing/blunt.
Tremor Sense III — expanded to 50m; detail includes breath cycle.
Stats:
Strength: 205
Agility: 258
Endurance: 220
Perception: 273
Will: 272
The corpses finished dissolving into mist. Noctis lowered his hand. His eyes drifted to a larger body sprawled near the wall. He pointed at it.
"You three. Cook it."
The servants blinked, then nodded quickly. They dragged the corpse forward and began cutting. But the scales were too thick, their blades scraping uselessly.
Noctis watched for a moment, then stepped forward. He dug his claws in and tore the armor apart with one clean rip, exposing the pale meat beneath.
"Now cut."
They obeyed, slicing chunks into manageable pieces. Soon they had a pile ready to roast — but no fire to cook it.
"Find something to burn," Noctis said.
The women gathered broken wood, scraps of old adventurer gear, and bone shards. They arranged them in a pile. Noctis extended his hand.
[Predator Flame] ignited the heap instantly. The fire caught and spread, crackling high. The servants placed the meat over it, letting it roast in the flickering light.
Noctis smirked, the glow painting his fangs. "Eat. You'll need all the strength you can… if you're to serve me later."
Their eyes widened faintly, but they obeyed.
The hall filled with the smell of roasting beast-flesh.
Noctis sat back in the shadows, watching the firelight flicker, already thinking of the next hunt.
The fire cracked in the cavern's hollow, filling the air with the greasy smell of roasting meat. The servants sat near the flames, each holding a strip of cooked flesh on a dagger's tip. Their faces glistened with sweat from the heat, but they ate with quiet determination.
Noctis leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching. His golden eyes reflected the fire like molten metal.
The first servant broke the silence. Her voice was low, almost hesitant. "Master makes sure we eat. Even when he does not need food himself." She looked down at the strip of meat, chewing slowly. "I never thought… I would be protected, here."
The second laughed softly, nervous but genuine. "Protected? You mean owned." But her gaze softened as she glanced toward Noctis. "And yet, better this than the dungeon alone. I'd have been bones by now."
The third licked her lips, more bold, shoulders straight despite her fatigue. "I don't care what word we use. He keeps us alive. He gives us strength. And…" Her voice lowered, a blush creeping across her face as she glanced away from the others. "The pleasures he gives… I never imagined such things."
The others fell quiet, but the unspoken truth was clear in their eyes. Fear was there, yes — the kind that came with knowing they served a predator who could end them at any moment. But alongside it was something else: awe, gratitude, even a strange devotion that bordered on worship.
They ate until the meat was gone, their stomachs finally settled. One leaned back against the stone, sighing in satisfaction. "He feeds us. He fights for us. He makes us feel alive, even in this cursed place."
Another whispered, almost as if confessing a secret to the flames. "And when he takes us… it feels like being devoured, but without dying. I… I don't want it to stop."
The third looked toward Noctis directly, eyes shining in the firelight. "We will serve, Master. However you command us."
Noctis said nothing. He watched them finish their meal, their whispers washing over him like the distant murmur of prey that did not realize it had already accepted its fate.
The fire burned lower. The dungeon's silence returned, broken only by the faint hiss of fat dripping onto coals.
Noctis closed his eyes, satisfied. They had eaten. They would live another day. And when the night deepened, they would serve again.
They descended without pause.
The first mobs came easy: scattered packs of scaled lizards, winged bats clinging to the ceiling, bone-armored crawlers that snapped at shadows. Noctis cut them down in rhythm, his movements clean, his magic flowing between strikes. The servants stayed behind him, silent and obedient, carrying torches and watching as his bloody armor flared and dimmed with each kill.
Hours bled away.
By the time they reached the deeper halls, the fights grew harder. The mobs came in larger numbers, their hides thicker, their claws sharper. Noctis met them all the same — hack and slash weaving with spells, his blade shifting form mid-combat, elemental fury layered into every doctrine. Fireballs clung to scales, ice shards spiraled through throats, lightning chained into shadows, torrents of acid hissed against armored hides.
The servants grew pale at the carnage, but their awe never dimmed. Each time the Blood Field spread to devour corpses, they felt the chamber darken with power.
Time blurred again.
Finally, the air changed. The dungeon's stench grew heavier, the walls slick with thicker webs of corruption. The sound of beasts faded, replaced by a deep thrumming pulse, like the dungeon itself was breathing.
They entered the last cavern before the boss.
It was enormous — a hollow of stone pillars broken like teeth, the ceiling lost in shadow. Corpses of adventurers lay strewn across the floor, some half-devoured, others little more than bones wrapped in shredded gear. The servants froze at the sight, clutching their weapons tighter.
Growls echoed.
From the far end, the last mob emerged — the dungeon's elite guards. Hulking creatures, larger than the lizards, their bodies plated in jagged bone armor, their eyes burning faintly with sickly green light. Dozens of them spread across the cavern, tails spiked with venom, claws dripping with ichor.
Noctis smiled faintly.
"Good."
The Bloodfang Reaper hissed into scythe form, blade gleaming crimson. His armor flared back into being, steam curling from every plate.
He stepped forward.
The final guard mob before the boss had arrived.
And he was ready.