The stench of corruption grew thicker with every silent step Charlie took, a miasma of blood, rot, and otherworldly malice that clung to the humid air. He moved through the dense undergrowth like a ghost, his Unbreakable Body allowing him to push through thorny vines and tangled roots as if they were cobwebs. The psychic pull from the System was a roaring fire in his skull now, leading him to a place where the jungle's vibrant life had been snuffed out.
He found it in a small, secluded grotto, where a stream trickled over mossy rocks into a dark pool. The place should have been an oasis, teeming with life. Instead, it was a charnel house. The ground was littered with the savaged carcasses of jungle creatures: a capybara disemboweled, a family of monkeys torn limb from limb, their small bodies scattered like broken dolls, and a magnificent scarlet macaw, its vibrant feathers stained a muddy brown with its own blood. Their bodies were not merely killed; they were desecrated, arranged in a grotesque tableau of suffering.
Perched on a rock in the center of this grim gallery was the source of the carnage. The Lesser Demon.
From his vantage point high in the branches of a colossal kapok tree, Charlie watched, his face an impassive mask of mud and fury. The demon was roughly humanoid but horribly wrong. Its skin was the color of a day-old bruise, a mottled purple-gray, stretched tight over a frame of corded, wiry muscle. It was hunched over the remains of a young deer, its long, three-fingered claws tearing at the flesh, stuffing raw, bloody chunks into a wide, lipless maw filled with needle-like teeth. Its head was overlarge and vaguely reptilian, with two small, backward-curving horns and large, intelligent eyes that glowed with a malevolent, ember-like light. A thin, whip-like tail twitched and flicked behind it, impatiently. It was the physical embodiment of spite.
Charlie's hand rested on the hilt of the heavy machete strapped to his back. His body was a coiled spring of potential energy, every muscle fiber humming with the power of his Unbreakable Body 2 Stars. He watched as the demon finished its grisly meal, tossing the deer's severed head aside with a casual flick of its wrist. The act was so contemptuous, so dismissive of the life it had just consumed, that a cold, pure rage solidified in Charlie's heart.
He shifted his weight, the branch he was on groaning softly. The demon's head snapped up, its glowing eyes scanning the darkness. Its senses were sharp. It knew it was being watched.
Charlie didn't wait for it to find him. He spoke, his voice low and carrying, cutting through the jungle's ambient hum with the chilling clarity of a death sentence.
"You are so fucking ugly."
Then he leaped.
He didn't climb down. He launched himself from the 30-foot-high branch, a human missile aimed at the heart of the grotto. He landed on the rocky ground with the force of a small meteor, the impact sending a web of cracks spidering across the stone beneath his feet. He rose to his full height, the mud on his face making his eyes seem to burn even brighter.
The Lesser Demon recoiled, letting out a surprised, guttural hiss. A human? its ancient, wicked mind thought, the knowledge Javier had painstakingly drilled into it surfacing. Here? The master said this region was uninhabited save for a few primitive tribes. This one… does not look primitive. It sized Charlie up—the powerful build, the cold fury in his eyes, the utter lack of fear. This was not right.
The demon did what it was designed to do. It attacked with terror. It drew itself up, its wiry frame seeming to expand, and it unleashed a shriek that was not of this world. It was a sound woven from the agony of tortured souls and the grating of celestial gears, a sound designed to shatter the sanity of mortals and send them fleeing in mindless panic.
Charlie didn't even blink. The Fearless perk was a shield of absolute adamantium around his psyche. He simply stood there, waiting, his expression one of mild annoyance.
The demon's shriek faltered, its glowing eyes widening in confusion. Why is it not afraid? All mortals fear the Voice of the Pit! It tried again, a series of clicks and guttural roars, but the human remained unmoved. Dumbfounded and enraged by this defiance, the demon abandoned psychological warfare and lunged, its claws scything through the air.
It was fast, unnaturally so. Its claws, sharpened on the bones of its victims, were aimed at Charlie's throat. But Charlie didn't dodge. He stood his ground, a grim curiosity on his face. He wanted to test his new body. He wanted to see what this thing could do.
The claws raked across his chest. The force was incredible, enough to have disemboweled the old Charlie. But against his Unbreakable Body 2 Stars, the attack was blunted. The claws skittered off his hardened pectorals, leaving behind four shallow, parallel gashes—more like angry scratches than life-threatening wounds. They bled, but the pain was a distant, muted sting.
System Update: Hits received: 4/100,000.
The demon stared at its claws, then at the trivial wounds on the human's chest, its mind unable to process what had just happened. In that moment of stunned hesitation, Charlie acted.
He braced himself, activating his new ability. He felt the residual kinetic energy from the demon's strike—a buzzing, electric potential—gather in his core. He channeled it. His right arm blurred forward in a 4-Star Boxing jab, a piston of controlled destruction. The redirected energy, a full 75% of the demon's own attack, amplified his strike tenfold.
The punch connected with the demon's jaw. It wasn't just a punch; it was a localized explosion. The sound was like a thunderclap, a sharp, wet CRACK that echoed through the grotto. The demon's head snapped sideways with such violence that its neck bent at an unnatural angle. It flew backward, tumbling through the air like a discarded toy, and slammed into the granite rock face with a sickening crunch.
It lay there for a moment, twitching, a gurgling sound coming from its throat. It pushed itself up, its jaw hanging loose, its ember-like eyes now blazing with pure, unadulterated hatred. It unleashed a stream of curses in a language that was ancient when the mountains were young, a litany of demonic invective that grated on the ears.
"K'tharr! V'lorgash n'athrak! ZUL!"
"I have no idea what you're saying," Charlie said, his voice dangerously calm as he began to walk forward. "But I'm guessing it isn't a compliment."
The fight began in earnest. The demon, realizing its terror tactics and brute force were ineffective, became a whirlwind of desperate, feral violence. It leaped from rock to rock, its movements a chaotic blur, lunging at Charlie from all angles.
Charlie became a phantom. He dodged, he weaved, his Agility Spike and Battle Instinct turning the fight into a deadly dance. A clawed swipe that should have gutted him missed by a millimeter as he pivoted on the ball of his foot. He let a few strikes land, tactical decisions to rack up his hit count—a scratch on his arm, a gouge on his shoulder—each one adding to the 100,000 he needed for his next evolution. The pain was a familiar companion now, a mere data point in the calculus of combat.
For every hit he took, he returned ten. His fists were hammers, his kicks were battering rams. He landed a brutal Muay Thai knee strike to the demon's midsection, eliciting a wet, choked gasp. He followed with a sweeping Taekwondo axe kick that brought his heel down on the demon's shoulder, dropping it to one knee. The demon lashed out with its tail, a whip of scaled muscle, but Charlie caught it in one hand, his grip like a vice, and used it to spin the creature around, slamming it face-first into the mud.
The demon was desperate now. It scrambled away, its intelligent eyes wide with a terror it was accustomed to inflicting, not feeling. It saw an escape route, a narrow gap in the rocks leading back into the jungle's concealing darkness. It bolted.
It was fast, but Charlie was faster. He didn't chase. As the demon scrambled through the gap, Charlie reached over his shoulder and drew the heavy, gleaming machete. He took a single, calm step forward, his body a perfect conduit of power. With a flick of his wrist that was all controlled, he threw the blade.
It spun through the air, a silver disk of death, and buried itself to the hilt in the back of the Lesser Demon's neck, severing its spinal cord. The creature dropped, its limbs twitching for a moment before falling still. The grotto fell silent, the only sound the gentle trickle of the stream.
Charlie walked over to the corpse, his face grim. He felt… strange. The kill had been necessary, righteous even. But the act of taking a life, even one so vile, left a cold, hollow space inside him. He pulled the machete free, wiping the black ichor on the damp leaves.
The System chimed, its voice now devoid of its earlier contempt, replaced by a tone of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
Objective Complete: Harbinger's Seed Purged.
You have cleansed this territory of a demonic blight. The natural order is grateful.
Reward: $20,000, +5% to Battle Instinct (Total: 62%), Skill Book: 'Primal Roar'.
Bonus Reward: For inflicting maximum suffering upon the demonic entity, an additional $5,000 has been granted.
Charlie stared at the message, a dark, humorless smirk touching his lips. "Damn, System," he muttered, "you really, really hate demons."
The System's response was immediate and unequivocal.
Yes. Next time, make it suffer more.