The orb tore free from the shattered skeleton in a blinding surge of light—It shot toward Bittu and sank into his chest without resistance.
Warmth followed. Not fire—something subtler, curling through his veins, seeping into the hollow spaces of his being. It left no mark on his skin, yet deep inside, something shifted.
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Mutated Skeleton.]
[You have absorbed a mutated skeleton. Perception +1.]
[Perception: G → F.]
The voice in his head was clear, cold, absolute.
Perception. The word stirred faint recognition, but the meaning? That arrived an instant later—when the dungeon itself seemed to breathe. The air tasted sharper. The silence had weight. Something unseen brushed at the edge of his mind, delicate yet undeniable.
[Congratulations. You have learned a new skill.]
[Ability: Hands of Torment (Active)]
[Rating: Purple (Unexplored)]
[Description: A series of torturous techniques developed by an undead skeleton.]
The script lingered like an afterimage, its weight pulling at him. Then came the feeling—a thread unfurling inside his mind, soft yet inexorable, weaving strange shapes into thought.
Bittu closed his eyes.
Knowledge flowed—not like words on a page, but like scars etched into bone, patterns born from cruelty. Motions. Grips and Angles of pain.
His breath drew long, steady, as the final whisper settled. He opened his eyes at last, voice quiet—almost reverent.
"…Exquisite. Bloody, but exquisite."
The corner of his lip twitched—not a smile, not quite. Just acknowledgment.
Another ripple appeared before him:
[Your status has been updated.]
[You can now view your skills.]
—
[Bittu sah – Lv. 1]
[Race: Half-Human (Partial Zombie)]
[Class: Jocker ]
[Bloodline: None ]
[Strength: E ]
[Agility: F ]
[Stamina: E ]
[Constitution: D ]
[Perception: F ]
[Spirit: F ]
[Unassigned stat: 0]
[Skills:
– Hands of Torment]
[Class Skills:
– Danger Intuition
– Unknown (Need further analysis)
– Card Manipulation ]
—
His gaze lingered on the screen. One brow arched slightly.
"…Card Manipulation?"
The thought flickered sharp, tinged with dry humor.
'What is this—am I supposed to trick my enemies with some card trick? Make them laugh themselves to death?'
The sarcasm slipped silent into the stale air. Yet his eyes were calm, almost detached, even as memory stirred—the echo of screams, the raw edge of agony. The contrast was jarring.
Before the thought could root deeper, the ground shuddered.
A pale hand clawed free of the earth. Then another.
Bone scraped stone as two skeletons wrenched themselves from the damp dark, sockets glowing faint with that dim, mindless hunger.
Bittu didn't flinch. His fingers flexed once, casual.
"…More."
No anger. No surprise. Only inevitability, acknowledged in a single word.
He started forward.
Then came the ripple again—faint, like a thread plucked deep inside his mind. Two presences. Location unclear, yet certain. Awareness bloomed like ink in water.
'…Perception.'
The skeletons rose fully now, limbs sticking out at unnatural angles, but Bittu was already moving.
The first swung a jagged arm. He stepped aside—clean, precise—shoulder grazing past the strike. His heel lashed out, burying in brittle bone. Crack.
The second lunged. A turn, a pivot—his leg curved like a blade, crushing its skull in a muted shatter.
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Skeleton.]
One stomp ended the first before the second notification faded.
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Skeleton.]
Silence returned—brief, brittle. Bittu exhaled slow. The calm in his gaze didn't waver, but somewhere beneath, a pulse quickened.
'Soundless. And that sensation… so it warns me.'
His thoughts ticked like gears—measured, methodical.
Until the earth broke again.
Four sets of claws this time.
He didn't hesitate. He moved like shadow and steel, his motions flowing with cold certainty. Elbows shattered skulls. Heels splintered spines. Notifications blinked, meaningless ghosts against the dark.
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Skeleton.]
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Skeleton.]
And then—stillness.
"First one. Then two. Now four." His voice was low, almost curious.
"…Eight next?"
The hum in his mind answered before the ground did. Eight ripples. Sharp. Certain.
His steps slowed. His head tilted, eyes narrowing—not in fear, but in calculation.
'Range… five meters. Beyond that, nothing.'
Then they were upon him. Bone-white tide.
He met them in silence, body coiled with lethal grace. A skull crushed beneath his elbow. Another caved under a spinning kick. His strikes were precise, merciless—yet almost… serene.
Until the thought struck, jagged and sudden:
"They die even without the head?"
The words slipped harsh, raw, tearing at the edges of that calm.
"Then why—"
Memory answered.
Zombies.
The name was a blade, cutting through reason. Heat flared—fierce, bitter—rising from the marrow. His breath hitched sharp as images surged: rotting faces, hunger without end, the chains, the laughter, the smell.
His jaw tightened. His hands clenched.
"…They won't die unless their head is crushed." The words scraped low, venomous.
The calm cracked. Just enough for wrath to bleed through.
His heel came down on the nearest skull. Bone burst in a wet crack, shards skittering across stone. Again. And again. Until the pieces were dust.
Something inside howled—finally.
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Skeleton.]
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Skeleton.]
The trait stirred, cold and quelling, but his heart rebelled. Hatred burned—a silent inferno, eating through the frost.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
The roar tore free—not wild, but heavy, guttural, a sound dragged from somewhere deeper than rage. His limbs moved without thought, a storm of crushing kicks and bone-shattering blows. Skeletons fell like brittle toys, their deaths punctuated by the dull percussion of breaking spines.
He didn't stop. Couldn't. The world blurred to fragments of ivory and crimson, until—
—until pain bloomed sudden, savage, ripping him back to the now.
A blow struck home, sinking deep between chest and gut. His body lifted, slammed down hard, breath tearing from his lungs in a choked gasp.
"…Argh—"
The agony was sharp, electric, crawling under his skin like fire ants gnawing at the nerve.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"
The scream wrenched raw from his throat, sharp and savage as before—bones, knives, laughter flooding back like a tide of black glass. For an instant, the dungeon dissolved. Only the pain remained—endless, merciless, a crown of thorns gripping tight.
And Bittu lay there, paralyzed beneath its weight, while the earth trembled once more.