Chapter 4: The Crucible of Flesh
The transition from Mortal to Acolyte was usually described in holy texts as a gentle awakening—a warm embrace by a patron deity that filled the body with light and boundless energy.
For Jack, it felt like being tossed into a meat grinder.
The dark, heavy energy that erupted from the system didn't gently coax his meridians open; it battered them down like a battering ram against a rotted wooden door. Jack collapsed onto his back in the mud, his back arching so violently his spine popped. A scream tore from his throat, but no sound came out, his vocal cords paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of the pain.
Black, viscous mist poured from his pores, mixing with the rain and his own blood. It was purging the mortal impurities from his body, but doing so with the subtlety of a house fire.
He felt his broken right arm—the fractured radius and ulna—suddenly twist.
CRACK. SNAP.
The bones forcibly realigned themselves under the command of the dark mana. Muscle fibers tore and knitted back together instantly, thicker and denser than before. The deep gash on his ribs stitched itself shut, leaving behind a jagged, silver scar. The skin on his knuckles hardened, resembling tempered leather.
He was drowning in an ocean of agony, his consciousness teetering on the edge of the abyss, until suddenly, the tempest vanished.
Jack gasped, his eyes snapping open. He lay in the cold mud for a long moment, staring up at the canopy of the Whispering Woods. The rain had stopped, and the pale light of a crescent moon filtered through the twisting branches.
He slowly pushed himself up.
There was no pain. His right arm, previously shattered and useless, felt incredibly light. He clenched his fist. The air around his knuckles gave a faint, sharp pop from the sudden compression of force.
He was no longer a Rank 0 Mortal. He had crossed the threshold. He had stolen fire from the gods.
The crimson system interface flickered to life in his vision, the letters sharper and more defined than before.
[BREAKTHROUGH COMPLETE.]
[Host has reached Rank 1 (Acolyte - Initial).]
[Mortal impurities purged. Cellular density increased by 400%.]
[System Upgrade: Level 2]
* [New Feature Unlocked: Abyssal Storage.] (A 10x10x10 ft dimensional pocket accessible only by the Host. Time stands still within the storage.)
* [New Feature Unlocked: Basic Appraisal.] (Allows Host to view the basic stats and Rank of targets and items.)
[Distributing Quest Reward: 1x Mythic Skill.]
[Skill Generated: Abyssal Extraction (Active)]
* Description: The Heavens horde their power; the Abyss takes it. By physically consuming the heart-blood or Divine Seed of a slain enemy, the Host can permanently extract raw Stat Points, and occasionally, fragments of their Skills or elemental affinities.
* Warning: The assimilation process forces foreign energy into the Host's body. Extreme pain tolerance is required. Over-consumption may lead to cellular detonation.
Jack read the glowing red text twice, his breath slowing.
"Abyssal Extraction..." he murmured.
InElyria, a person's power was strictly capped by their patron god. An Acolyte of a minor river spirit could never surpass the raw strength of an Acolyte of a war god, no matter how hard they trained. But this skill... this system... it broke the fundamental laws of the world. It meant his potential was limitless, provided he was willing to butcher his way to the top and endure the agony of consuming his enemies.
"Status," Jack commanded.
[Status Window]
* Host: Jack
* Rank: 1 (Acolyte - Initial)
* Path: God Slayer (Null Affinity)
* Strength: 45
* Agility: 40
* Endurance: 55
* Skills: [Pain Tolerance (Passive - Mid)], [Brawling (Passive - Mid)], [Abyssal Extraction (Active - Mythic)]
His stats had more than doubled. He looked over at the massive, ruined stone pillar beside him. Without bracing himself, he casually threw a straight punch into the solid rock.
BOOM.
His fist sank three inches into the stone, sending a web of spiderweb fractures up the pillar. His knuckles weren't even scratched. A dark, feral grin spread across Jack's face. Ten years of suffering in the mud. Ten years of being called trash. This was what power felt like.
But a low, echoing howl in the distance shattered his moment of triumph.
The scent of the Bristleback's blood and the violent surge of mana from his breakthrough were acting like a beacon. The Whispering Woods were waking up, and higher-ranked Fallen Beasts would soon arrive to scavenge.
Jack's survival instincts, honed in the Slag-Wards, snapped to attention. He didn't have time to celebrate. He had work to do.
He walked over to the carcass of the Iron-hide Bristleback. The beast was massive, its stone-like armor plates shattered by the wire and trap. Jack grabbed his rusted iron spike from the mud. It felt as light as a twig in his newly enhanced grip.
Using his sheer, Rank 1 strength, he drove the spike into the gaps of the beast's armor, carving through the thick muscle and bone with brutal efficiency. It was gruesome, bloody work. He was covered up to his elbows in hot, dark blood, but he didn't care. In the slums, you didn't waste meat.
He carved out the massive haunches and the thickest cuts of belly meat. "Store," he commanded.
Instantly, hundreds of pounds of raw meat vanished into thin air, deposited safely into his Abyssal Storage. A wave of profound relief washed over him. He would never have to starve on a piece of stale rye bread again.
Next, he dug deep into the beast's ruined chest cavity, his hands searching for the prize. Beneath the crushed ribs, he felt a small, hard object radiating a faint, sickly-yellow warmth. He yanked it free.
It was the beast's corrupted Divine Seed—a jagged crystal the size of a walnut, pulsing with Earth-element mana.
[Target Item Appraised: Rank 1 Earth-Attribute Seed Fragment.]
[Status: Highly Corrupted. Lethal if consumed by normal Acolytes.]
[System Recommendation: Utilize 'Abyssal Extraction'.]
Jack held the glowing crystal. The howls in the forest were getting closer. He could hear the snapping of branches in the thick fog.
He didn't hesitate. He tossed the crystal into his mouth and swallowed it whole.
The reaction was instantaneous. A ball of molten lead ignited in his stomach. The foreign Earth mana violently rejected his system, trying to tear its way out of his gut. Jack dropped to one knee, clutching his stomach, his teeth gritted so hard he thought his jaw would shatter.
[Activating Abyssal Extraction...]
[Assimilating foreign Earth-Attribute...]
[Warning: Host's pain tolerance is being severely tested.]
Sweat poured down Jack's face. His muscles spasmed wildly. It felt like he had swallowed a bag of jagged glass and lit it on fire. He slammed his fists into the mud, anchoring himself, refusing to pass out.
I survived the slums, he roared in his mind. I survived the Awakening! A dead pig's rock won't kill me!
After two agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity, the burning sensation began to cool, dissolving into a heavy, grounding warmth that spread outward to his bones and skin.
[Extraction Complete.]
[Host has absorbed raw Earth-mana.]
[Endurance +5]
[Strength +2]
[Fragmented Skill Acquired: Iron-hide (Passive - Low)] * Description: Skin hardens slightly upon impact, reducing physical damage by 10%.
Jack exhaled a long, ragged breath, spitting a glob of bloody saliva into the dirt. He felt his skin. It looked completely normal, but underneath the surface, there was a new, dense layer of resistance.
He had just cannibalized a beast's power and made it his own.
The bushes fifty yards away rustled violently. A pair of glowing red eyes pierced the fog, followed by another, and another. A pack of Rank 1 Shadow-Wolves had arrived for the carcass.
Jack stood up slowly, wiping the blood from his face. His newly acquired strength surged through his veins, whispering promises of violence. But he was practical. He was alone, outnumbered, and mentally exhausted.
He had his meat. He had his power. It was time to become a ghost.
Without a word, Jack turned his back on the pack and sprinted into the dark forest. His speed was terrifying—he cleared the distance to the treeline in seconds, leaping effortlessly over massive fallen logs, his boots barely making a sound on the damp leaves.
As he ran back toward the distant, smog-choked silhouette of Aethelgard, Jack looked at his bloodstained hands. He was still wearing the rags of the Slag-Wards. To the world, he was still Jack, the Null, the Forsaken.
But the world was wrong.
The gods had built an empire on borrowed power. Jack was going to build his on their graves.