Chapter 30 — The Rift That Eats the Weak
Darkness was not empty.
It breathed.
Alex felt it the moment he tried to stand.
The ground beneath him shifted—not collapsing, not stable, but listening. Fractured slabs of pale stone overlapped at impossible angles, stitched together by veins of crystallized mana that pulsed faintly, like exposed nerves. Every movement sent vibrations crawling outward, rippling through the Rift in widening circles.
He froze mid-step.
Too late.
Something answered.
A soft scrape echoed from the dark, slow and deliberate. Not the careless sound of beasts, not the frantic movement of scavengers.
Footsteps.
Measured.
Patient.
Alex pressed himself flat against a jagged wall, breath shallow, heart pounding so violently it felt like it would tear through his ribs. His body was wrecked—muscles torn from overuse, bones aching with microscopic fractures, lungs still burning from corrupted wind backlash.
The stolen blessing churned inside him.
Restless.
Hungry.
He swallowed and focused.
[Environmental Hazard: Extreme]
[Host Condition: Critical]
[Survival Probability: 6%]
Six percent.
Lower than before.
The Rift was adjusting.
His eyes slowly adapted to the gloom. The corridor ahead widened into a cathedral-like cavern, its ceiling lost in shadow. Pale growths clung to the walls—elongated crystal nodules that pulsed with sickly blue light, illuminating drifting motes of dust that moved against the air currents.
Then they stepped into the light.
Elves.
Not the scattered hunters from before—this was a unit.
Five of them.
Tall, slender, their pale skin etched with faint green markings that glowed softly with each breath. Their armor looked grown rather than forged, layered plates of bone and bark fused seamlessly to their bodies. Their weapons were cruelly elegant: curved blades, hooked spears, bows strung with translucent fibers that hummed softly.
Their eyes locked onto Alex simultaneously.
No surprise.
No hesitation.
Recognition.
The tallest elf raised a hand.
The others spread out in practiced silence.
Alex's stomach dropped.
"They've learned," he whispered.
They attacked.
Alex ran.
The first arrow screamed past his ear, embedding itself into the wall behind him with a wet, grinding sound. He dove forward as a spear sliced through the space where his head had been, rolled across jagged stone, and came up stumbling.
Pain flared through his side where an earlier wound reopened.
He didn't stop.
The cavern floor fractured abruptly, opening into a field of floating platforms suspended over a churning void. The void wasn't empty—it writhed, shadows moving beneath its surface like submerged limbs.
Alex leapt.
His foot barely caught the edge of the first slab. His fingers slipped on blood-slick stone, and for a split second, gravity pulled him downward.
The wind inside him reacted.
Not controlled.
Not gentle.
A violent burst of black, serrated air exploded outward, slamming him onto the platform hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. The slab cracked beneath the force.
Alex gasped, coughing blood.
[Warning: Internal Damage Escalating]
The elves followed effortlessly.
They danced across the drifting platforms, movements precise, balanced, terrifyingly calm. One loosed another arrow. Alex twisted instinctively—the wind surged again, deflecting it, but the backlash sent agony tearing through his spine.
He screamed.
Another elf lunged.
Alex raised his hands, panic overriding thought.
The corrupted wind condensed into thin, jagged streams—compressed air sharp enough to cut stone. It sliced forward in an uncontrolled arc, tearing through the elf's shoulder and chest.
The elf didn't fall.
It shrieked.
A sound sharp enough to pierce Alex's skull.
The others reacted instantly, altering their formation, flanking him from multiple directions. One blade grazed his thigh, carving deep. Another struck his forearm, sending numbing pain shooting through his hand.
Alex stumbled, barely staying upright.
Blood dripped from his fingers.
His vision blurred.
"I can't—" he gasped. "I can't keep doing this."
The System responded.
[Host Stability Declining]
[Assimilation Progress: 9%]
[Recommendation: Adaptive Escalation]
"Say it clearly," Alex whispered through clenched teeth. "What do you want from me?"
Silence.
Then—
[Devour Option Available]
Alex's heart stuttered.
Devour.
Not passive siphoning. Not instinctive extraction.
A choice.
A real one.
He ducked under another strike, rolled, and collapsed behind a broken pillar as blades struck stone where his head had been moments earlier.
His hands shook violently.
Devour meant crossing something he couldn't uncross.
"I survive without it," he told himself desperately. "I can keep running."
The Rift answered with a tremor.
The platforms shifted violently. One slab shattered entirely, sending an elf plummeting into the void below. It didn't scream for long.
The others didn't hesitate.
They closed in.
Alex crawled backward, lungs burning, limbs heavy, mind unraveling. He remembered Galen screaming. Remembered the wind tearing free. Remembered how easy it had felt once he stopped resisting.
Another arrow embedded itself inches from his eye.
Alex snapped.
"No," he whispered. "I'm not dying here."
The elves lunged together.
Alex stood.
And chose.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Devour."
The world lurched.
The corrupted wind inside him howled.
Black chains erupted from his core—not physical, not visible to normal sight, but unmistakably real. They wrapped around the nearest elf, sinking into its chest where its core pulsed faintly beneath armor and flesh.
The elf screamed.
Not rage.
Fear.
Alex staggered as something poured into him—raw mana, memories of movement, instinct, violence, structure. His veins burned black. His teeth clenched so hard he felt them crack.
[Devour Initiated]
[Target: Rift Elf — Lesser Combat Unit]
[Assimilation Rate: 3%]
The elf convulsed violently, armor cracking, body shriveling as its core collapsed inward. The others recoiled, their formation breaking for the first time.
Alex fell to one knee, gasping, blood streaming from his nose and ears.
But he was still alive.
Stronger.
He felt it.
Not power—clarity.
The wind responded differently now, less explosive, more… attentive. When he moved, it moved with him, not against him.
The remaining elves shrieked in fury and charged.
Alex met them.
He didn't swing wildly this time.
He stepped aside, letting the wind carry him just out of reach, then sliced upward with a compressed arc that severed a leg cleanly. Another burst shattered a platform beneath an elf, dropping it screaming into the void.
The last one hesitated.
Alex saw it.
Fear.
He advanced slowly, limping, bloodied, eyes dark.
"You hunted us," he rasped. "Now you run?"
The elf loosed an arrow point-blank.
Alex raised a hand.
The wind caught it midair, crushed it, and hurled the fragments back through the elf's skull.
Silence fell.
Alex collapsed again, shaking uncontrollably.
[Devour Complete]
[New Passive Data Integrated]
[Assimilation Progress: 12%]
[Warning: Psychological Load Increasing]
He lay there for a long time, staring into the Rift's twisted sky, chest heaving, mind burning with alien impressions—battle instincts, movement patterns, the cold logic of hunters who saw prey as resources.
Alex clenched his fists.
"I'm still me," he whispered again, forcing the thought down like an anchor. "I choose."
The Rift did not argue.
But deeper still, something stirred.
Something larger.
Older.
The elves had avoided this place for a reason.
Alex dragged himself to his feet and moved forward, into the deeper dark, knowing he had crossed a line he could never uncross.
Behind him, the Rift swallowed the bodies.
Ahead of him, something waited.
And Alex Rim—bleeding, corrupted, and no longer weak—walked toward it anyway.
=================
[system preference]
[host: Alex Rim]
[race:human(corrupted)]
[exp : 107/200]
[STR: 10]
[AGI: 10]
[END:10]
[PER:10]
[abyssal energy: 12/30]
[system sync: 17/1000]
[rank:F(late)]
[blessing: Abyssal wind ]
[shop:locked]. [quest:2]
[skill: minor regeneration, abyssal wind control ( 15/100%)]