Kazuto Mikage advanced through the broken street of the Promenade of the Condemned, each step measured, cautious. The ruins stretched endlessly in both directions, jagged rooftops scraping a sky that was gray, swollen with clouds, and heavy with smoke. The faint hum of the island thrummed beneath his feet, like a heartbeat he could feel in his bones.
He tightened his grip on the Cellblade. The weapon pulsed faintly, as if sensing the danger ahead. The earlier skirmishes with the twisted humanoid creatures had sharpened his instincts, but nothing could fully prepare him for the predator waiting deeper in the Promenade.
A metallic clang echoed across the street. Kazuto froze, listening. The sound repeated, slow and deliberate, each strike echoing through the ruins. He moved forward carefully, stepping over debris, testing the weak floorboards.
At the end of the street, he saw it.
A massive figure, fused with rusted chains and jagged steel plates, lumbered toward him. Its eyes glowed a faint, sickly yellow, scanning, calculating. The ground shook with each step it took. This was no ordinary enemy. This was a mini-boss, the first true trial of the Promenade.
Kazuto's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to calm his breath. The Cellblade hummed, responding to his focus. Fire surged through his veins — not literal fire, but the same warmth that had sharpened his reflexes before.
The creature roared and swung a massive chain-wrapped fist. Kazuto barely rolled to the side, the chains scraping the cracked stone floor, sparks flying. Reflexes, honed by mutation, allowed him to dodge, but he could feel the strain in his muscles. Every second mattered. Every misstep could be his last.
He swung the Cellblade, and it sliced cleanly through one of the steel plates on its arm. The creature snarled, reared back, and swung again. Kazuto ducked, rolling toward the broken rubble beside a collapsed wall. Sparks flew as chains struck stone, vibrating through his body.
Think… anticipate… adapt…
Kazuto's mind raced. This wasn't just brute strength — he had to use strategy. The creature was strong but slow, predictable in its own rhythm. Using the environment, he lured it toward a fallen pillar. As the creature lunged, he sidestepped and rammed his elbow into its torso, pushing it into the rubble. The pillar toppled, trapping one of its legs.
The creature thrashed, roaring, but Kazuto seized the moment. He leapt forward, Cellblade glowing faintly as it sliced into its shoulder. The metallic screech echoed across the street. The creature's movement slowed, but it was far from defeated.
Pain surged in Kazuto's shoulder, a dull reminder of his own limits. The mutation flared again, adrenaline sharpening his senses, guiding his hands, his strikes. He danced around the creature, striking again and again, testing its defenses, watching for openings.
From the shadows above, a familiar whisper floated:
"Learn… adapt… or remain forever."
Kazuto didn't stop. Each swing, each dodge, each calculated move honed him further. He began to feel the Cellblade not as a weapon but as an extension of himself. Its pulse synchronized with his heartbeat. Every cut fed him insight. Every strike trained him.
Finally, with a calculated leap, he struck the creature at its chest. The Cellblade pulsed violently, cutting deep, severing chains, and tearing into the flesh beneath. The creature let out a final, gurgling roar before dissolving into a writhing puddle of cells, black and red, crawling across the stone floor.
Kazuto stumbled back, breath heaving, muscles trembling. He reached out and touched the remains. The cells pulsed again, crawling into his veins in a way he could feel but not control. His body shivered with the new surge — not as painful as the first mutation, but stronger, deeper.
He was changing. Evolving. Learning.
But the island was watching.
From the shadows, the faint glow of a figure flickered, barely visible. Not close, but present. Kazuto felt it — the same presence he had glimpsed before. The voice whispered, soft but commanding:
"The trial is over… for now. But the real test… begins soon."
Kazuto breathed deeply, gripping the Cellblade. His body ached, his muscles burned, and his mind raced. But for the first time, he felt a surge of confidence. He had survived a real trial. He had survived a mini-boss.
And though he didn't yet know the horrors to come, he understood one truth clearly: this island demanded everything, and would give nothing in return.
Kazuto Mikage stepped forward into the shadowed streets of the Promenade, ready to face whatever lurked next. Every pulse in his veins reminded him — adaptation was survival, and the island would not wait.