The heavy mist clung to the broken stone floor as Ketsu stepped into the next layer of the dungeon.
The terrain had changed again—gone was the darkness of the earlier corridors. Now, he stood in a ruined, overgrown jungle, where enormous trees grew sideways out of walls, and the light above filtered down through an impossible, artificial sky.
He narrowed his eyes. "...A forest in a cave? No, this place doesn't follow logic."
"Maybe because the whole ability revolves about its separate space, it can defy physical laws."
His body ached. His jacket was torn in several places, dried blood forming dark patches. Yet, he walked with the same resolve as before, blades of hardened blood still wrapped around his arms. Cuts stretched along his sides, one leg still regenerating after being torn nearly in half. But he didn't limp.
Off-screen, on televisions across Japan, commentators followed his every move.
"He's climbing like a monster," a young streamer said on a hastily built reaction broadcast. "Look at the floor count. He's cleared thirty-two layers in just over three hours—no rest, no breaks."
"Most haven't even gotten past floor five," another moderator added. "The Crimson Hunter... he might be the only hope. But if he keeps bleeding like that, even he won't last much longer."
Back in the dungeon, Ketsu's breathing remained steady. He glanced at the scars forming on his arms—fresh flesh knitting itself together with an eerie fluidity. The sound of movement came from ahead.
"Time is running out, theres no food in here."
Three demi-humans stepped forward from the underbrush, their bodies mimicking previous species he'd fought—but these ones had cleaner joints, faster reflexes, and actual coordination. Ketsu raised his guard.
"They're improving," he muttered. "Not real demi-humans... but whoever made this, they're refining them."
The first lunged.
Ketsu ducked low, kicked off the moss-covered stone, and slid beneath the creature's swing. His hand reached behind him and snapped his fingers—blood erupted from a small pouch in his jacket, wrapping around his forearm to form a serrated claws.
With a brutal upward swing, he cleaved one demi cleanly in half, forming the claws into an axe mid-motion.
Another came from the side. He didn't turn. Instead, he slammed his foot down into the pool of blood from the first kill, sending sharp red tendrils lashing upward like spikes—impaling the second in mid-air.
The third, smarter than the others, darted behind him. It lashed out, claws raking into Ketsu's back.
He stumbled—but grinned.
The demi paused, sensing something was off.
Then its eyes widened.
Ketsu spun, letting his own blood erupt out from the wound the demi had just created—hardening it onto his foot sending the Demi flying with a kick.
The blood on his foot formed again. This time into a spear throwing it clean through its chest.
The fight was over in seconds. Ketsu stood amid the fading corpses, drenched in sweat and blood. His breath hitched once, then calmed.
He looked at his hands. "They're pushing me. They're getting harder or do I get weaker," he asked himself.
He took a moment to steady himself, resting a hand against a broken wall, his fingers twitching.
"Wait," he said, as he stepped closer to a corpse.
"Maybe I can absorb small portions of their Aura, to at leats get energy back."
He bowed down and touched the corspes, absorbing some of their energy.
He'd been careful not to use too much but he could feel his own limits. If he kept this pace up, with only absorbing aura, even his regeneration wouldn't be enough to keep him standing.
But he had no plans of stopping.
Not yet.
Not until he saw what was behind the final door—
The staircase spiraled down into silence. The final descent.
Ketsu moved slower now, not from injury, but instinct. Something in his spine tensed—an ancient, primal warning whispering through every nerve.
He reached the bottom.
Ahead stood a massive gate—dark steel etched with red..
Ketsu stared for a long moment.
He rose his head, "The end," and stood there for a moment.
Then he walked forward.
He pressed his hands against the giant door and opened it with a slow hiss.
Cold air swept out—It bit through his skin and coiled around his bones.
And there it was.
Standing within a circular arena lit by no natural light, but glowing all the same—was a devil.
Like a shadow covered in miasma, as it opened its yellow eyes.
He instinctively stepped back, even as his blood hardened along his arms again.
He felt a pressure like he never did before.
It was almost like his body wanted to bow down.
"This one's real..." he whispered.
There was no mistaking it. This wasn't another clone. This wasn't a demi-human. This... thing pulsed with pure miasma.
It was the Devil of Laceration.
It raised its head slowly, and every inch of its body shimmered with a cutting presence.
Ketsu's teeth clenched.
He realized something, a horrifying truth curling in his stomach.
"This was never a game meant to be finished," he said aloud.