The monster charged, and the very ground seemed to quake beneath its thundering steps.
Its breath escaped in harsh, wet gasps, plumes of mist rising in the frigid night air. Blood — its own — matted the beast's blackened, blood-infected fur, dripping in heavy rivulets onto the forest floor. Yet even crippled, it moved with terrifying power.
Luciel stared down death.
His battered frame trembled from blood loss and sheer exhaustion, but his mind — cold and ruthless — sliced through the haze of pain and fatigue.
Pain meant nothing. It was only another variable to be calculated, another weakness to factor into survival.
His left arm hung uselessly at his side, the shoulder dislocated from the earlier impact. His ribs burned with every breath, sharp edges grinding beneath torn flesh. His legs — battered and bruised — barely held him upright.
But he stood.
Still. Unyielding.
Because yielding meant death.
The monster's muscles coiled, its broken limbs tensing for a final leap. Green, fever-bright eyes locked onto him, a low growl vibrating the very air between them.
Luciel shifted subtly, his good hand curling into a loose guard position. He couldn't outmatch the creature's strength — he didn't need to. He needed to survive long enough to end it.
Adapt. Endure. Counter.
The monster lunged again, jaws gaping wide, exposing rows of broken, blood-slicked teeth.
Luciel didn't flinch. At the last moment, he sidestepped, pivoting on the balls of his feet. Pain screamed through his battered body, but he forced it down, burying it beneath layers of cold focus.
The creature crashed past him, its claws ripping deep gouges into the earth.
Luciel turned sharply, his breath ragged, vision flickering at the edges.
The beast recovered fast — faster than he anticipated.
It twisted, snarling, and charged again.
Luciel's mind raced, mapping the battlefield with every heartbeat.
Twisted roots, slick moss, uneven terrain — every hazard was a weapon if used correctly.
Lead it. Trap it. Kill it.
He darted toward the patch of tangled roots, the ground dipping sharply into a natural hollow. His steps were measured, deliberate, despite the trembling in his limbs.
The monster followed, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground. It snarled, frustration bleeding into its movements.
Luciel reached the hollow first, pivoting hard and slamming his good hand against the wet earth.
A spike of ice erupted from the ground — jagged, imperfect — but enough.
The beast barreled straight into it.
There was a sickening crack as the ice tore into its shoulder, opening a fresh wound. Blood spattered the ground, steaming where it hit the frozen air.
The monster shrieked, a sound of pure hatred.
Luciel staggered back, clutching his ribs. The exertion sent fresh waves of agony through his battered body.
He couldn't hold much longer.
The creature, maddened now, circled him warily, foam flecking from its broken jaws.
Luciel's vision blurred.
He needed to end this.
He couldn't win a battle of attrition.
Already, his limbs felt sluggish. His mana reserves — never large to begin with — were scraping the bottom.
His gaze flickered to a puddle.
Perfect.
The puddle wasn't large — a shallow basin of muddy water pooled between two tangled tree roots — but it would serve.
If he could just lure the beast closer…
He feigned a stumble, allowing his legs to give out slightly, arms sagging.
The monster's eyes narrowed.
It took the bait.
With a guttural roar, it charged again, ripping chunks of earth free with each step.
Luciel forced his body to move, to pivot just enough that the creature's charge aligned perfectly with the puddle.
His hand — slick with blood — slammed into the freezing water.
Mana exploded outward.
The puddle shuddered violently. Frost raced across its surface, spiraling into ghostly tendrils. His vision blurred from the strain, but he gathered everything he had left — every scrap of mana, every fragment of willpower. His world narrowed to a single focus.
Freeze!!
The puddle obeyed instantly, the water crystallizing with violent speed. But Luciel wasn't shaping delicate needles or brittle spikes this time.
He forced all his mana, all his remaining strength, into a single, savage command.
Rise. Pierce. Kill.
The puddle erupted.
A massive spike of jagged ice shot skyward with a deafening crack, the ground trembling from the force of its eruption.
The monster was mid-leap, momentum carrying it helplessly forward. It couldn't dodge.
—Pierce!!
The spike punched through the underside of its jaw, splintering bone, tearing through muscle, and erupting cleanly out the top of its skull.
The beast spasmed once.
Twice.
Then it went utterly still.
Locked in place, frozen by the very earth it had bled upon.
Blood rained down in heavy droplets, hissing against the frozen ground. The beast hung there, grotesque, impaled like a grisly banner.
Dead.
The battle was over.
Luciel staggered in place, his hand still pressed to the now-frozen puddle. He felt the last of his mana seep away, his body trembling violently. His knees buckled. The world tilted, spinning.
And he collapsed.
The cold of the ground seeped into his torn skin, numbing the agony. His mind drifted, the edges of consciousness fraying. But Luciel refused to black out. Gritting his teeth against the overwhelming pain, he forced himself to breathe — shallow, ragged draws that burned in his chest.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. The forest was silent, as if holding its breath.
No new threats. No movement. Only the faint sizzle of blood on frozen ground.
Slowly, Luciel rolled onto his side, pushing himself up with trembling limbs. Every motion sent spikes of agony radiating through his body. He hissed under his breath but endured it.
First priority: Stop the bleeding.
With shaking fingers, he tore strips from the remains of his blood-soaked undershirt.
He wrapped them tightly around the worst wounds — his side, his temple, his forearm where a claw had raked deep — binding them with ruthless efficiency. Pressure first, stop the blood loss. Pain was secondary.
He moved stiffly to a nearby tree, braced his back against the rough bark — and set his dislocated shoulder against it.
He took a slow breath.
Three... Two... One—
—CRACK!
Luciel slammed his weight forward. His shoulder popped back into place with a wet, grinding noise. A blast of white-hot agony nearly dropped him to his knees. His stomach twisted violently. Sweat poured down his face, stinging torn skin.
But he stood.
Barely.
He leaned against the tree for a moment longer, waiting for the nausea to pass. His left arm was functional again — barely. But it would suffice. Enough to move. Enough to kill again if he had to.
After a few minutes, Luciel pushed off the tree and staggered toward the fallen monster. The beast remained skewered on the massive ice spike, twitching occasionally as the last vestiges of life fled its ruined body.
Luciel stood before it, studying it with cold, clinical detachment.
The pressure he had felt from it during the battle… the density of its mana…
E+ rank.
He was certain of it now.
An E+ ranked beast, slain with nothing but cold calculation, unstable mana, and a battered human body on the edge of collapse.
There was no pride in the achievement. No triumph. Only fact.
Data. Survival. Progress.
Luciel stepped closer, one hand resting lightly on the thick base of the frozen spike. His crimson eyes — sharp, emotionless — stared up at the impaled beast.
Then, with a sharp, violent motion, he raised his boot—and kicked the ice spike hard.
—CRACK!
The ice shattered at the base, and with a heavy, final thud, the monster's corpse toppled to the ground, shaking the earth.
Luciel staggered slightly from the impact, but steadied himself.
His breathing was shallow, but his mind remained clear.
The monster lay sprawled before him now, blood pooling into the dirt.
Luciel crouched, ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness, and gripped the protruding chunk of ice with his good arm.
With a wrench, he pulled the makeshift weapon free from the creature's skull.
Blood fountained briefly.
Luciel's face remained utterly expressionless.
He turned the ice spike over in his hand — fractured, worn, yet still sharp at the tip.
Good enough.
His gaze shifted back to the monster's cooling body.
There was something inside.
There was always something valuable inside.
Without a word, Luciel stepped forward — ice spike glinting under the dying light — and drove it downward, carving into the corpse without hesitation.
With trembling hands, he began to tear into the creature's chest cavity, using a broken shard of ice as a makeshift blade.
The process was messy, the stench of blood and viscera overwhelming. Flesh tore beneath his makeshift blade. Bones cracked. Hot blood steamed in the frigid air.
Luciel's hands worked mechanically, detached from the gore.
Pain throbbed through his battered frame, each movement reopening shallow wounds, each breath a battle against the encroaching darkness at the edges of his vision. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it.
He pushed deeper.
Through the thick muscle.
Past the splintered ribs.
Until finally —
Luciel's bloodstained fingers brushed against it.
There.
A faint glow.
Buried deep within the monster's chest, nestled among ruined organs and splintered bone, a glimmer of something pure.
Something powerful.
A prize earned through blood and agony.