..
Damian's legs trembled, barely able to hold him, but—
He stood.
Despite the pain.
Despite the agony.
Despite everything.
His sword's focused mind effect burned into overdrive, keeping him conscious.
His breaths were ragged, his vision blurry.
But as he tightened his bleeding grip on his sword—
The remaining hounds watched him rise.
And—
For the first time—
They hesitated.
..
---
Location: The Eclipsed Labyrinth.
Year: 2026
Date: February 17th
Time: 10:48 PM
POV: Third Person
---
Damian stood on shaking legs, his bloodied black hoodie hanging in tattered shreds, clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. His black mask, soaked with his ragged, hot breaths, felt suffocating, but he kept it on—perhaps out of habit, or perhaps to hide the grimace of pain that twisted his face.
The five remaining Stygian Hounds circled him, their ember-filled eyes watching, their muscular forms tensed, smoke rising off their charcoal-black fur.
They weren't just attacking anymore.
They were waiting.
Waiting for him to break.
Waiting for him to drop dead.
But he wouldn't.
He couldn't.
Damian tightened his grip on his sword, his fingers trembling from the sheer effort. The blade dripped red, the stench of blood thick in the air, mixing with the scorched scent of the beasts.
Every part of his body screamed in agony.
His left arm hung uselessly, his right leg barely supported him, and his shoulder throbbed, a mess of torn flesh and exposed muscle. Fresh blood poured from his wounds, staining the stone beneath him in dark pools.
But the worst was the burning.
His injuries weren't just painful—they were scorching, as if the hounds' fangs and claws had injected liquid fire into his body. Every breath he took burned, and with each movement, his body threatened to collapse.
Damian Derulo 'I should be dead… I should've collapsed already…'
But he haven't—not yet.
And the hounds knew it.
One of them twitched—a subtle, almost imperceptible movement.
That was all the warning Damian needed.
It lunged.
His body reacted before his mind caught up.
With gritted teeth, Damian twisted his torso, bringing his sword up in a desperate arc—
*SCHLIK!*
The hound's momentum carried it straight into the blade, the metal sinking deep into its throat.
Blood sprayed.
Its ember-lit eyes dimmed, and with a final, wheezing snarl, the beast collapsed, twitching once before going still.
Four left.
But Damian paid the price.
The sudden movement sent a searing jolt of pain through his back, and his legs buckled beneath him. He fell to one knee, gasping, his body shaking violently.
His vision blurred, the edges of his world darkening.
Damian Derulo 'No… not yet…!'
A deep, guttural growl rumbled behind him.
Another attack.
His mind screamed—MOVE!
But he couldn't.
*RIP!*
Agony exploded through his side as a hound's claws raked into his ribs, tearing through flesh like wet paper.
Damian's breath hitched, his masked face twisting in sheer torment as warm blood leaked from the deep gashes.
He forced his body to roll, barely dodging the next attack. His vision swam, his heart pounding erratically, his strength fading with every second.
Another hound lunged.
He had no time to react.
*CHOMP!*
Its fangs clamped onto his right forearm, the pressure alone crushing bone.
Damian's scream tore through the dungeon, raw and filled with unfiltered agony.
The hound shook its head violently, trying to rip his arm apart.
His vision went white from the sheer blinding pain.
He could barely think.
Barely breathe.
His body was reaching its limit.
'Move… move… MOVE!'
With a final desperate cry, he swung his sword downward with his remaining strength—
*SCHLK!*
The blade plunged into the hound's skull, the metal slicing through its head like a hot knife through flesh.
The beast went limp, its jaw loosening—but not before tearing away a chunk of Damian's arm in the process.
His entire arm erupted in hellish pain, blood spurting violently, painting the ground in thick crimson streaks.
He was dying.
But so were they.
Three left.
He could see them, their dark, smoking forms looming over him, their ember-lit eyes burning with predatory hunger.
They knew he was at his limit.
They sensed the end was near.
But Damian wasn't done.
Not yet. Not until they were all dead.
With a final burst of defiance, Damian staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his ruined arm, his entire body screaming in protest.
His black hoodie was soaked through, clinging to his wounds like a second skin. His black mask, once pristine, was now splattered with his own blood, barely covering the labored, ragged breaths escaping him.
He lifted his sword one last time, the weight of it feeling heavier than ever.
The remaining three hounds watched.
And then—
They charged.
And Damian—
Stepped forward to meet them.
Damian threw himself forward, his battered body screaming in protest, his mind barely holding on as he met the lunging Stygian Hounds head-on.
His right arm, the only functional limb he had left, trembled as he swung his sword in a wild arc.
*SCHLIK!*
His blade carved into the neck of the closest hound, severing its head cleanly.
Blood sprayed across his face, soaking into his already-drenched black mask, the warm liquid slipping past the fabric and into his mouth.
The taste of iron and ash burned his tongue.
But there was no time to react.
No time to stop.
Another hound was already on him.
Damian barely managed to twist his body, avoiding the brunt of the attack, but—
*RIP!*
Its claws tore into his side, shredding his hoodie and slicing deep into his ribs.
A brutal, blinding pain flared through his entire being.
His body jerked violently, and he nearly collapsed.
But the third hound was already lunging.
And Damian had nothing left to dodge.
*CHOMP!*
Its fangs buried into his left thigh—
And ripped.
His world exploded into agony, and for a moment, everything went white.
Damian screamed, his throat raw and hoarse, the sheer unbearable pain searing into his mind like molten metal.
The hound shook its head violently, trying to tear his leg clean off.
His bones cracked.
His flesh split.
He was seconds away from being ripped apart.
But Damian refused to die.
With a guttural roar, he swung his sword downward—
*SCHLK!*
The blade plunged through the beast's skull, sinking all the way to the hilt.
The hound jerked violently, then went limp, its fangs sliding out of his leg with a sickening squelch.
Damian staggered back, his ruined leg barely able to hold his weight.
His entire body was broken, his clothes tattered and soaked in blood, his black mask slipping down slightly, revealing the edge of his cracked lips and pale skin.
He was one step away from collapse.
But there was one hound left.
And it was watching him.
Waiting.
Like it knew he was finished.
Damian panted, his breaths ragged and uneven, his vision swimming with dark spots.
Damian Derulo 'Move… just one more time…'
He forced his body to stand.
Forced himself to raise his sword one last time.
The hound growled lowly, lowering its stance—
And then, in a blur of black smoke and fangs—
It charged.
Damian barely saw it move—
But his body reacted on instinct.
With the last shred of strength he had left—
He thrust his sword forward.
*SCHLUCK!*
The hound's own momentum carried it straight into the blade, the metal piercing through its chest and out its back.
The beast whimpered, its ember-like eyes widening in shock.
Damian gritted his teeth and twisted the blade.
With one final shuddering breath—
The hound collapsed.
Its massive body hit the ground with a dull thud, the final remnants of smoke and embers fading from its lifeless form.
Damian stood there for a moment, his breath shallow, his vision darkening, his sword trembling in his grip.
*Silence*
For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no growling.
No thudding footsteps.
No snarling fangs waiting to tear him apart.
He had won.
But at a terrible cost.
His legs buckled.
His sword slipped from his fingers.
His body gave out.
And as he collapsed to the blood-soaked floor, his eyes fluttering shut, his only thought was—
'Did I really survive… or am I just dying slower?'
..
.
--
[ February 19th ]
[ 7:15 AM ]
--
*Gasp!*
Damian's eyes snapped open, his body jerking as his lungs dragged in a painful breath.
His vision was blurry, his mind clouded, and for a moment, he couldn't tell where he was.
The last thing he remembered was fighting for his life—his sword swinging in desperation, his body being torn apart, and the unbearable, searing agony.
And yet—
He was still here.
Alive.
But barely.
His body remained motionless, sprawled out on the cold, unforgiving ground, his limbs feeling like they had been shattered and stitched back together with fire.
The pain wasn't just lingering—it was etched into his bones, like a cruel reminder that he had somehow cheated death.
Everything hurt.
Both arms felt like they had been ripped from their sockets.
His legs—nothing more than piles of screaming nerves.
His ribs, his back, his shoulders—they all throbbed with a relentless, pulsing agony that refused to fade.
And worst of all—
The phantom pain.
It felt as if the hounds' fangs were still lodged into his flesh, as if their claws were still raking across his skin, tearing him apart over and over again.
His hoodie was in tatters, shredded in too many places to count.
His pants—barely holding together, covered in filth and dried blood.
His black mask, once a barrier between him and the world, had hardened, stiff with layers of dried blood, pressing against his skin like a second, suffocating layer of flesh.
Beneath him—
A pool of dried blood, his own life essence, now a dark, crusted stain on the cold ground.
Damian Derulo 'Why… am I still alive?'
The thought crawled through his mind, sluggish and heavy.
He should have died.
The blood loss alone should have killed him.
The pain should have been too much to bear.
His body should have given out long before now.
Yet, here he was.
Broken.
But breathing.
His dry, cracked lips parted as he tried to turn his head—
"AGH!"
A fresh wave of agony shot through his entire being, sending a sharp, blinding pain straight to his skull.
His throat burned, but no scream escaped.
Even if he wanted to cry out, his throat was parched, drier than a desert, and his stomach twisted in hunger.
He could feel his pulse pounding against his skull, his body weak, as if his own flesh had given up on him.
But he wasn't dead.
Not yet.
His bleary gaze drifted upwards, staring at the cracked, stone ceiling of the dungeon.
His heart pounded weakly in his chest.
What if another dungeon monster found him?
The thought sent a wave of fear crashing into his gut, colder than ice.
He was in no condition to fight.
Not like this.
Not even to run.
He remained still, his body refusing to move, alone with his thoughts and pain, trapped in a prison of his own flesh and agony.
The minutes crawled by, stretching into eternity, and his body refused to heal, refusing to give him even a sliver of relief.
Half an hour passed.
His breathing slowed.
His eyelids grew heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and blood loss.
And as his mind drifted into the shallow depths of unconsciousness once more—
He prayed.
Not for survival.
Not for salvation.
But for rest.
Even if only for a moment.
..
.
--
[ February 19th ]
[ 11:46 AM ]
--
"Argh…" Damian groaned, his voice barely above a whisper as a new wave of pain surged through his body. He attempted to move his arms, and though they were cracked and felt like they had been put through a meat grinder, they were still functional—barely. For the past six minutes, he had been trying to force his broken body into motion, but progress was agonizingly slow. He had woken up ten minutes ago, disoriented and exhausted, but the first thing his mind registered was the excruciating pain suffocating every inch of him. Lying there helplessly was not an option. He may have been lucky enough to remain undetected so far, but he wasn't going to test fate. He needed to move.
Damian let out a frustrated growl, his body trembling from the effort. Why? he thought bitterly. Why does shit like this always happen to me? Every slight movement sent lightning bolts of agony tearing through his nerves, and to make matters worse, his sword was nowhere to be found—neither were the bodies of the hounds.
There seemed to been a dungeon shift during the period of his unconsciousness.
He was unarmed, defenseless, and stuck in the middle of a dungeon that could throw another wave of bloodthirsty monsters at him at any second. His luck had been absolute garbage lately, and now, it was worse than ever.
With a deep, shaky breath, he forced himself to focus. 'Origin Status'
A familiar translucent screen flickered into existence before his eyes.
//
____________________________________
[ Origin System Interface ]
---
* [Name] : Damian Derulo
* [Race] : ??? Unknown ( No Longer Fully Human )
* [Title(s)] : [The Ender (Peak Absolute Grade)]
* [Power Tier] : Echo (Awakening Stage)
* [Identity] : Survivor of a Death-Resulting Ordeal.
____________________________________
[ Facets ]
---
1.[Eternal Consumption] - Absorption of even more complex powers, including conceptual ones of those you kill by consuming their remains.
2.[Entropy Surge] - Causes rapid decomposition upon physical contact with anyone or thing.
3.[Oblivion Chains] - Conjures chains that latches onto targets, draining them of their vitality and strength.
____________________________________
[ Resonances ]
---
1.[Undying] - Prevents Permanent death, but it in turn increases your sensitivity to pain.
2.[Survivor Instinct] - Heightened reflexes and danger perception.
3.[Absolute Termination] - Anything you completely destroy cannot be restored.
____________________________________
[ Relics ]
---
None
____________________________________
//
Damian sighed, frustration simmering just beneath the surface as he rolled his eyes. 'That explains it'. The unbearable pain? 'That damn [Undying] Resonance was the reason. 'Why wasn't that explanation there before?' He narrowed his eyes at the screen, the annoyance plain on his face.
'Does it only show up after I experience it firsthand? If so, that was the most sadistic design flaw imaginable'.
He clenched his fists—only to hiss through his teeth as the raw wounds on his hands burned like open flames licking at his flesh.
Damian hated this.
And the worst part?
He had a feeling it was only the beginning.
..
.
--
[ February 19th ]
[ 1:12 PM ]
--
Damian Derulo 'I've been here for hours, yet I still can't move…' Damian gritted his teeth, frustration gnawing at the edges of his mind as he lay stiffly on the cold, unyielding ground. Every inch of his body felt like a corpse stitched together with barbed wire—tight, stiff, and agonizingly painful. The ache in his bones had settled into a dull, unbearable throb, and his muscles were so tense it was as if they were locked in place. His hoodie and pants, both tattered and stained with dried blood, clung uncomfortably to his body, adding to his discomfort. His throat was still dry, his stomach empty, and every passing second felt like a ticking countdown to his inevitable demise.
And then—
Something changed.
A strange energy surged into his body from seemingly nowhere, a force so foreign and sudden that his breath hitched. His skin prickled, his body stiffened, and then—fire. Unbearable heat and an intense itching sensation spread across his flesh like he was being burned from the inside out. His veins pulsed as if liquid magma coursed through them, and beneath his torn clothes, his wounds began to knit themselves together. Damian clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he tried not to scream. He could feel his fractured bones snapping back into place, his torn muscles mending at a speed that shouldn't have been possible.
The pain, the overwhelming discomfort, the sensation of something rebuilding him—it all lasted no longer than three seconds.
And then—nothing.
The energy vanished just as abruptly as it arrived, leaving Damian panting, his body trembling from the sheer shock of what just happened. He barely processed it before the pain that had imprisoned him for hours suddenly lessened—not gone, but dulled to a tolerable level.
His breath was ragged as he slowly, hesitantly, moved.
His arms obeyed him. His legs twitched and responded. He wasn't fully healed—far from it—but it was enough. Enough for him to move without feeling like he was being torn apart. His cracked bones? Mended just enough to hold together. His deep wounds? Closed, though they still stung. The excruciating pain? Dulled.
With a shaky groan, Damian sat up.
It was slow, sluggish—every fiber of his being resisted the motion—but he did it. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his breath coming in sharp gasps as if he had just run for miles. His body still felt weak, his limbs still heavy, but for the first time since he woke up in this dungeon, he could move.
"What the fuck just happened?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and rough. His heart pounded in his chest as his mind scrambled to piece things together. He had a hunch—a very strong one—about where that strange energy had come from, but without confirmation, he wasn't ready to make any assumptions.
Not now. Not yet.
He exhaled sharply and shook his head, shoving his questions to the back of his mind. He could deal with this mystery later. Right now, he had bigger problems. He was weaponless. And while he wasn't entirely defenseless—his Facets were still there—using them meant dealing with more pain, and after everything he had been through, he wasn't eager to add any more suffering to his plate. That said, if he got attacked, he wouldn't have a choice.
With effort, he pushed himself to his feet, his body still weak but functional. The moment he stood, a fresh wave of dizziness washed over him, and he swayed. He stumbled back, catching himself against the nearest wall before sucking in a breath. His hoodie stuck to his back, damp with sweat, and his knees felt like they might buckle at any moment, but he was up. He was standing. That was enough.
For now.
Leaning against the wall, he took a few minutes to steady himself, his fingers curling and uncurling as he forced himself to breathe. Then, with slow, careful steps, he began walking.
He didn't know where he was going. He didn't have a plan.
But standing still?
That was not an option.
.
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued....
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