The basement was a tomb of damp concrete and rusted pipes, illuminated only by the rhythmic, orange pulse of the furnace upstairs. Alex sat cross-legged on the cold floor, his bare back against a lead-lined wall.
The mana-neutralizer Old Jack provided had suppressed the fire, but the "debris" remained. In his [Divine Sight], his own body looked like a fractured mosaic. The stolen Strength spheres were like jagged stones wedged into his muscle fibers, and the Agility essence was a chaotic swarm of sparks trapped in his nervous system.
[Status: Attribute Bloat (Critical)][Warning: Permanent Stat Loss will occur if Refinement fails.]
"I don't just pick them up," Alex whispered, his teeth grit against a new wave of localized pain in his forearms. "I own them."
He closed his eyes and activated [Attribute Alchemist].
This wasn't a passive collection anymore. It was a war. He reached inward with his consciousness, grasping the raw, red energy of the Behemoth's Strength. Instead of letting it sit on the surface, he forced it down, pushing the essence into the marrow of his bones.
CRACK.
His radius and ulna groaned under the pressure. The sensation was akin to being crushed by a hydraulic press from the inside out. Blood began to seep from his pores—black, viscous impurities that the scavenged power was purging from his system.
[Refinement Progress: 12%... 24%...]
The "Unstoppable Force" fragment was the hardest to tame. It felt like a miniature sun spinning in his solar plexus, refusing to be dimmed. Every time Alex tried to weave it into his DNA, his heart rate spiked to dangerous levels.
Upstairs, the heavy thud of Jack's prosthetic leg moved across the floor.
"Don't fight the flow, kid!" Jack's voice drifted through the ventilation duct, sounding bored but sharp. "Treat it like scrap metal. You don't ask the iron where it wants to go. You hammer it until it fits the mold!"
Hammer it.
Alex's mental image shifted. He stopped trying to gently absorb the power. He envisioned his will as a massive, void-black forge hammer. He slammed it down on the glowing fragments of the Behemoth's soul.
Strike. The Strength spheres shattered and melded into his tendons. Strike. The Agility sparks fused with his synapses, turning his reflexes into instinct. Strike. The "Unstoppable Force" fragment finally cracked, its crimson light bleeding into his very cells.
[Refinement Complete.][Conversion Rate: 15% (Initial Bonus applied due to SSS-Rank compatibility).][Permanent Stats Gained: Strength +4, Agility +3, Constitution +5.][New Passive Unlocked: Scavenger's Resilience (LV1) — Reduces Attribute Rejection pain by 10%.]
The agonizing heat vanished, replaced by a cold, surgical precision. Alex opened his eyes. The basement was pitch black, but he could see the thermal signatures of the rats scurrying in the walls. He could hear the micro-vibrations of the furnace.
He stood up. His body was leaner, the soft edges of youth replaced by the hard, corded muscle of a predator. He felt... balanced. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel like a victim of the System. He felt like its master.
He walked over to a discarded iron support beam leaning in the corner. It was two inches thick, solid construction-grade steel.
Alex didn't wind up for a punch. He simply placed his hand on the metal and squeezed.
The steel groaned. Under the pressure of his new [Constitution] and [Strength], the beam buckled like wet cardboard. Deep indentations of his fingers were left in the metal, as if it were made of clay.
"Not bad," a voice rasped from the stairs.
Old Jack stood there, silhouetted by the light from the shop above. He was holding a bowl of grey, unidentifiable stew.
"Most people die during their first refinement. You didn't even scream," Jack noted, tossing a rag toward Alex. "Clean yourself up. You smell like a corpse that's been through a blender."
Alex wiped the black impurities from his skin. "How much do I owe you for the room?"
"The Behemoth shard paid for the month," Jack said, leaning against the doorframe. "But if you want to keep growing, you'll need more than just raw stats. You need a way to move through the city without the Drake Syndicate spotting those silver eyes of yours."
Jack tossed a heavy, hooded cloak onto the table. It was matte black, made of a material that seemed to swallow the light.
"The 'Scrap Yard' is hosting a private auction tomorrow night," Jack continued. "A high-rank exploration team found a 'Void-Locked Chest' in the ruins of the Old World. They can't open it. They think it's junk."
Alex's eyes sharpened. A chest that couldn't be opened—the perfect feast for a man who could strip the essence of any lock.
"I'll be there," Alex said.
"Good. Because Victor Drake will be there too," Jack grinned, showing a few missing teeth. "And he's looking for a new 'scavenger' to replace the one he 'lost'."