My gaze drifted from the last dissolving wolf to the vast, impossible cave. The question of its origin, the date on the phone, my missing family – they still lingered, but the immediate threat was gone. My path was clear: I had to understand this power, this Tongue of the End. And I had to find a way to reduce that damned percentage.
Leaving the cavern of slaughter, I continued my journey towards the colossal tower of Babel. The outskirts, once familiar, were now a desolation. Every building was empty, every street silent, save for the low growls and rustles of the new inhabitants. Monsters. They swarmed the decaying urban landscape, grotesque abominations born from whatever cataclysm had reshaped the world. And they were my prey.
My previous existence had been defined by what I didn't have. Now, my existence was defined by what I consumed. My initial encounters were brutal, a series of painful lessons in the application of my nascent powers. I died countless times, each death a sharp tutor. The Tongue of Death allowed me to escape annihilation, to regenerate, to rise. The Tongue of Corrosion proved invaluable, turning hardened scales to dust, flesh to putrid ooze. And with each kill, a burst of cold, invigorating energy surged into me, feeding my strength, honing my senses, making me faster, tougher.
I moved with a ruthless efficiency I could never have imagined in my former life. Days bled into nights, the sun a pale, indifferent eye above a ruined world. My primary focus was the constant hunt, the relentless pursuit of death energy to reduce that glaring percentage. I began to identify specific creatures whose demise yielded more potent energy, whose death cries resonated deeper with my Tongue of Death. I learned to draw them out, to herd them, to kill them with an almost artistic precision. My Death Aura became a weapon in itself, an oppressive field that choked their will to fight, making them easier targets.
The city, once bustling with millions, became my personal hunting ground. Buildings that once housed businesses and homes were now labyrinths of shadows and echoes, perfect for setting traps, for ambushes. The thrill of battle mingled with the grim necessity, forging a new kind of consciousness within me. I was no longer merely surviving; I was thriving on the very edge of oblivion. My proficiency, the mysterious percentage on my hand, slowly, agonizingly, began to drop. -97%... -95%... -92%...
The landscape itself shifted and warped around me as I ventured deeper into the city. Streets warped, buildings twisted, defying the laws of physics. It was as if the tower was a living entity, subtly reshaping reality around itself. Yet, through it all, my focus remained. Every creature I encountered, every challenge I overcame, deepened my understanding of the Tongue of the End. It wasn't just about death and decay; it was about finality, about bringing things to their absolute conclusion, about claiming their essence.