The crimson void dissolved not into darkness, but into a different kind of oppressive atmosphere. Donarstraza didn't so much land as find herself abruptly existing in a vast, cavernous chamber. The transition was jarring, like switching channels on a cosmic TV. One moment, infinite nothingness punctuated by hellfire runes; the next, solid (if uneven) obsidian floor beneath clawed feet she hadn't consciously realized she possessed until they scraped stone.
The air was thick, humid, and smelled of ozone, sulfur, and something metallic – blood, maybe, long dried. Dim, sourceless light filtered down from high above, illuminating towering pillars carved with nightmarish bas-reliefs depicting scenes of devastation and winged figures raining lightning. At the far end, silhouetted against a backdrop of jagged, volcanic rock visible through a colossal, broken archway, sat a throne. Or rather, the shattered remains of one. Made of the same black stone veined with crimson, it looked like a mountain had sat on it. Only one armrest remained vaguely intact, ending in a vicious, draconic claw.
Home sweet home? The thought surfaced, laced with Elina's sarcasm but underscored by a deep, unsettling resonance from Donarstraza's core. This place felt familiar, like a half-remembered nightmare. It also felt… empty. Oppressively so. And cold, despite the lingering warmth radiating from her own skin.
She took a hesitant step. The movement was fluid, powerful, yet unfamiliar. Her center of gravity was different. Higher. The weight of the horns and wings required constant, subtle adjustments. She stretched a hand – long fingers tipped with sharp, obsidian nails – and flexed. Power thrummed beneath the shimmering purple-red skin, a sleeping giant.
System. The word formed in her mind, a desperate plea for guidance in this terrifying new reality.
Instantly, the familiar blue rectangles flickered into existence before her eyes, overlaying the ruined throne room.
[Status]
Name: Donarstraza
Title: Fallen Goddess of Lightning and Ruin (Dormant)
Level: 1 (0/100 XP)
Class: Primordial Absorbaatrix
Health (HP): 150/150
Mana (MP): 50/50 (Regen: 5 MP/min)
Stamina: 200/200 (Regen: 10/min)
[Attributes]
Strength: 15
Dexterity: 12
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 20
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 25 (???)
Free Attribute Points: 5
[Traits]
★ Mana Vampirism (Lv.1): Drain mana from targets. Conversion Efficiency: 50%. Chance of Intoxication: Low.
★ Demonic Physique (Lv.1): Enhanced Strength, Constitution, Regeneration. Weakness to Holy/Light.
★ Primordial Spark (Lv.1): Innate Affinity for Lightning Magic. +10% Lightning Damage.
Lightning! There it was. Buried in the traits. Primordial Spark. A flicker of excitement warred with the lingering panic. Lightning! That was cool. Properly god-like. Way better than just… absorbing stuff. Though the 'Absorbaatrix' thing still made her metaphorical skin crawl.
She scanned the stats. Level 1. Level freaking One. And only 50 MP? That felt… pathetic for a goddess. The Charisma stat blinking with question marks was weird, but the five free points were tempting. Where to put them? Strength? More muscle for when the orcs arrived? Intelligence? More mana? Or… Wisdom? Maybe that would help her not accidentally combust herself with mana intoxication. The choices felt monumentally important and utterly bewildering. She mentally poked the points, hovering over Intelligence, then Strength, then back. Paralysis by indecision.
Skills, she thought next.
[Skills]
★ Basic Mana Perception (Passive Lv.1): Sense ambient mana and mana signatures within 10 meters. Faint.
★ Mana Drain (Active Lv.1): Initiate physical contact to siphon mana from a target. Drain Rate: 5 MP/sec. Cost: 1 MP/sec to maintain. (Requires Mana Vampirism)
★ Lightning Arc (Active Lv.1): Unleash a bolt of raw lightning. Damage: [Intelligence x 1.5] + [Primordial Spark Bonus]. Cost: 15 MP. Range: 15 meters. Cast Time: 1.5 seconds.
Lightning Arc! Finally! Something she could actually do. Something destructive! Something… that cost nearly a third of her pitiful mana pool. And took a second and a half to cast. In a fight, that felt like an eternity. Still, the urge to try it, to feel that power crackle at her fingertips, was almost overwhelming.
Her exploration was interrupted by a sound. A skittering, scratching noise, like claws on stone, coming from a shadowed alcove near the broken throne. Fear, sharp and sudden – Elina's fear – spiked through her. She whirled, wings flaring instinctively with a leathery snap that echoed loudly in the cavernous space. The movement felt powerful, imposing, though her heart hammered against ribs that felt unnervingly dense.
Two small, hunched figures froze in the archway's gloom. They were about three feet tall, covered in coarse, rust-red fur, with beady black eyes and wickedly curved claws. Their snouts twitched, sniffing the air. Imps. The word surfaced from the murky depths of Donarstraza's returning memories. Minor demons. Vermin. Usually harmless unless in swarms.
But these two looked petrified. Their eyes were wide, fixed on her towering form, her glowing golden eyes, her spread wings, the obsidian horns. They trembled violently, a low whine escaping one of them. They weren't seeing a Level 1 newbie. They were seeing Donarstraza. The Fallen Goddess. The living legend who supposedly bathed continents in lightning. Their fear was palpable, a thick, acrid scent joining the sulfur in the air.
"Uh… hi?" Donarstraza managed, her voice echoing strangely – lower, richer, vibrating with power she didn't feel. It sounded incredibly commanding, utterly at odds with her internal panic.
The imps shrieked, a high-pitched, grating sound. They didn't attack. They didn't flee immediately. They just… cowered. Pressed themselves flat against the obsidian floor, whimpering.
Okay… intimidation bonus? She mentally shrugged. Works for me. She needed information. And maybe… maybe they had mana? A tiny, experimental sip? The Mana Drain skill description floated in her mind.
Hesitantly, she took a step forward. Just one. Her clawed foot clicked on the stone.
The imps reacted as if she'd fired a cannon. With terrified squeals, they scrambled backwards, tripping over each other in their haste. One fumbled, falling onto its back, legs kicking uselessly in the air. The other turned to flee down a dark side passage.
"Wait!" Donarstraza called, the command rolling out effortlessly. The fleeing imp froze mid-scuttle, rigid with terror. The one on its back whimpered piteously.
She focused on the fallen imp. Mana Perception. A faint, flickering blue aura appeared around the little creature, weak and pulsing erratically with its fear. Target acquired. She extended a hand, willing the connection. Mana Drain.
A thin, visible tendril of bluish energy snaked from her fingertip, lancing through the air and connecting with the imp's chest. A cold, tingling sensation flowed back up the tendril into her. Her MP gauge ticked up: 51... 52... 53 MP. It was slow. The imp shrieked again, a sound of pure agony mixed with terror, thrashing weakly but unable to break the connection. Its blue aura dimmed rapidly.
Guilt, sharp and unexpected, stabbed through Donarstraza. This felt… gross. Like kicking a puppy and stealing its lunch money. She immediately severed the connection. The imp gasped, curling into a shivering ball, its aura faint and flickering. Her MP sat at 54/50? Overflow? A notification blinked:
[Mana Intoxication (Minor): Efficiency reduced by 5% for 10 minutes. Slight dizziness detected.]
A wave of light-headedness washed over her, accompanied by a faint buzzing in her ears and a weird, detached euphoria. Oh, great. So I get tipsy on imp juice. She shook her head, trying to clear it, the horns making the motion feel heavier. The euphoria warred with the lingering guilt and the constant, low-level thrum of her demonic physiology. It was a deeply unpleasant cocktail.
The other imp, seeing its companion released, let out another squeal and bolted down the dark passageway, disappearing into the gloom.
"Scheiße," Donarstraza muttered. So much for subtle information gathering. She looked down at the quivering imp at her feet. It stared up at her with utter, abject terror. They fear me, she realized, the weight of it settling heavily. Everyone here probably fears me. They think I'm this all-powerful monster back from the abyss… and I can barely drain an imp without getting mana-drunk.
The absurdity was staggering. She was a cosmic fraud. A goddess-shaped piñata waiting for the orcs to take a swing. She needed power. Real power. Fast. Leveling up wasn't optional; it was survival.
Her gaze fell back on the terrified imp. It flinched violently. Kill it? The thought came, cold and pragmatic, surfacing from the Donarstraza part of her psyche. It was weak. It was terrified. It was… XP? Probably. The system hadn't mentioned anything about XP gain yet. But logic dictated…
Before she could consciously decide, a jolt of frustration, fear, and the lingering buzz of mana intoxication surged through her. It coalesced in her chest, a hot, prickling pressure. Without thought, without aim, she thrust her hand out towards the shadowed alcove where the imps had first appeared, wanting to vent, to destroy something, to feel control.
"Lightning Arc!"
The words tore from her throat, not a shout, but a crackling command that echoed with thunder. Golden light flared violently around her outstretched hand. Pain lanced up her arm – not searing, but a harsh, static jolt. The energy gathered, spitting and hissing, for what felt like an eternity but was probably only that 1.5 seconds. Then it erupted.
Not a clean bolt. It was a jagged, sputtering lance of raw, golden energy, more like lightning vomit than a precise strike. It tore across the chamber, missing the cowering imp entirely and slamming into the alcove wall with a deafening CRACK-THOOM!
Obsidian shards exploded outwards. Smoke and the sharp scent of ozone filled the air. Where the bolt hit, a jagged, blackened scar marred the wall, molten rock dripping sluggishly. The noise was incredible, echoing and re-echoing through the vast chamber like a god's hammer blow.
Donarstraza gasped, staggering back a step. Her MP gauge plummeted to 35/50. Her arm throbbed. But the surge of raw power, the sheer destructive force unleashed, sent a thrill through her that momentarily eclipsed the fear and the guilt. I did that. It was messy, uncontrolled, and terrifyingly powerful.
[Combat Alert!]
[Lightning Arc used on Environment!]
[Target Destroyed: Minor Rock Formation]
[Experience Gained: 10 XP]
XP! Ten whole XP! She was 10/100 towards Level 2! Elation warred with the realization of how much energy that single, wild blast had cost.
The imp at her feet wasn't cowering anymore. It was utterly still. Stone still. Its beady eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the smoking crater she'd just made. A dark stain spread beneath it. It hadn't been hit, but the sheer proximity to her unleashed power and the deafening noise had apparently stopped its tiny heart. A notification blinked, cold and impersonal:
[Target Eliminated: Lesser Imp]
[Experience Gained: 5 XP]
[Total XP: 15/100]
She stared at the small, lifeless body. She hadn't meant to kill it. Not directly. But her mere presence, her uncontrolled outburst… it was lethal. The guilt returned, sharper now, mixed with a chilling understanding of the raw, dangerous potential simmering inside her. This wasn't a game. This power was real, and it was messy.
A scuffling sound came from the passage the other imp had fled down. More skittering, but this time accompanied by heavier footsteps and guttural, hissed whispers. Others. Drawn by the noise. Drawn by the lightning.
Panic surged again. She was down mana. She had no weapons. She barely knew how to use her skills without hurting herself or causing unintended fatalities. The fear radiating from the approaching demons would be palpable, but it was fear of Donarstraza the Legend, not Donarstraza the Level 1 newbie who just mana-vomited lightning and accidentally scared an imp to death.
She needed to hide. She needed to understand this system. She needed to level up. And she needed a weapon. Something solid. Something that didn't rely on her erratic mana pool or risk mana intoxication. An image flashed in her mind: the broken obsidian throne, specifically the one intact armrest ending in that vicious draconic claw. It was about the length of her arm, thick, heavy stone. Crude. Brutal.
As the sounds of approaching demons grew louder, Donarstraza, the Fallen Goddess of Lightning and Ruin (Level 1), did the only sensible thing. She turned and lunged towards the shattered throne, her wings instinctively folding tight. She needed to break off that claw-armrest. Fast. Before the locals showed up expecting a divine wrath and found a desperate, underpowered teenager wielding a piece of furniture.
The orcs were coming in 187 days. Right now, surviving the next five minutes felt like the bigger challenge. And maybe, just maybe, that obsidian claw would give her +1 Strength. She really hoped it did. This goddess gig was turning out to be way more DIY than advertised. Lightning was flashy, but sometimes you just needed a big rock to hit things with.