Death was nothing more than a cliché opponent.
In his past life, Sutton Bernard had ground death into the dirt a thousand times in the shadow of illegal underground boxing rings. He remembered the deafening final roars, the stench of cheap ozone mixed with sour sweat, and most of all, the crisp snap of his ulna shattering as his right arm—the legendary "Human Weapon"—delivered a blow that transcended human limits.
The human body was, after all, a mortal vessel. As darkness devoured his consciousness, there was no fear in Sutton's heart, only a manic, frenzied craving: "Give me a frame of steel and iron! Give me a husk capable of housing a God's soul!"
Suddenly, the darkness tore apart with a strained shriek.
Broken Blade Canyon. Once known as the "Gateway to the Plains," it was now a nauseating meat grinder. Sutton heaved himself up from a mountain of corpses, shoving aside the severed limbs covering him. The sensation was jarringly alien—his fingertips were no longer soft pads, but dark, scythe-like talons. His skin was matted with coarse grey fur clotted with gore.
Hiss—Hah—
Every breath felt like swallowing liquid fire. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, the metallic tang of rust-like blood, and the bitter chemical odor of "Soul-Burning Agents" consumed by the Cartier Empire's soldiers before their suicide charges. He looked down, inspecting his new body. A mere werewolf pup of the Dalse Tribe—scrawny, frail, and abandoned on the battlefield as mere cannon fodder.
However, as Sutton flexed his knuckles, a jolt of unprecedented thrill shot through his mind. His vision had shifted into a high-frame-rate world of grey and red; his hearing caught the crunch of a ghoul gnawing bones a kilometer away as if it were right in his ear.
"This shell might be malnourished..." A low vibration rumbled in Sutton's throat—his soul's roar. "But this skeletal resilience, this latent explosive power... it's a masterpiece born for slaughter!"
Beyond the haze, a Cartier heavy swordsman in shattered plate armor was dragging a mangled leg through the mud. He panted heavily, reaching greedily for a heavy broadsword stuck in the dirt. Sutton didn't roar. In the underground rings, sound was the reaper's doorbell. He lowered his center of gravity, his spine compressing like a coiled spring. It was the muscle memory of human martial arts, but supported by a werewolf's powerful arches, it transformed into a predatory rhythm akin to teleportation.
He moved—a blurred shadow skimming the ground. His claws pressed into the damp silt and soft moss with absolute silence. The warrior didn't even realize he had been eclipsed by a shadow. Sutton's claw pressed gently against the gap in the heavy neck armor. He didn't scratch; instead, his spine twisted violently, channeling his entire body's kinetic energy into his fingertips.
It was an instantaneous eruption of peak force. The shockwave bypassed the armor, liquifying the soldier's internal organs on the spot.
With a muffled thud, the swordsman collapsed, eyes clouded with lingering confusion. Wisps of pale red mist seeped from the corpse, coiling into Sutton's fingertips. The withered vortex in his abdomen let out a thunderous boom, greedily devouring this vitality.
"This isn't just martial arts." Sutton's pupils narrowed into golden slits, flickering with a rapacious glint. "This is life-plundering. The more I kill, the stronger I become!"
Suddenly, a scent foreign to this purgatory—the aroma of ripe peaches mixed with expensive silk—drew Sutton's gaze. Inside an overturned royal carriage, Princess Cecilia huddled on damaged velvet cushions. Her ivory gown was torn, revealing porcelain skin shivering with terror. Purple Anti-Magic Shackles bit into her wrists, leaving stark red welts.
"Please... don't come any closer," she trembled.
Sutton's demonic shadow loomed over her. There was no bestial lust in his golden eyes, only a cold, calculating scrutiny.
"Where is the Dragon Marrow Elixir?" Sutton's voice was low and raspy, vibrating with a force that seemed to tear the air.
Cecilia's pupils shrunk. Driven by survival, she grabbed Sutton's blood-stained claw and pressed it firmly against her heaving chest, her warm breath hitting his fur. "Take me away... the elixir is on me. I can give you everything, just don't let me fall into the hands of the Orgrimmar Tribe..."
"A tempting bargain," Sutton sneered.
Suddenly, the earth groaned. "Drop the woman, you piece of filth!"
A three-meter-tall Minotaur Lieutenant—Orgrim, wreathed in blood-colored Berserk Battle Qi—burst through the ruins, swinging a 200-pound black iron greataxe like a heavy tank. Simultaneously, Sutton felt a cold sting at his spine. Cecilia had produced a silver poison needle from her sleeve, pressing it against his vitals.
A giant axe in front, a poison needle behind. Sutton didn't even blink. His voice was cold enough to freeze blood. "A clever ambition. But try to stab it, and I'll crush your heart before you finish the motion."
Faced with the charging beast, Sutton didn't retreat; he lunged. His spine undulated like a Great Dragon, and his muscles swelled instantly. As the axe swung down, he pivoted, turning his body into a fired cannonball. He slammed his shoulder into the Minotaur's armpit—the weakest point of its Battle Qi defense.
It was a violent collision of concentrated mass. The three-meter mountain of flesh was physically lifted off the ground, the sound of snapping ribs echoing clearly. Sutton then grabbed the beast's wrist, spun with its momentum, and swung the thousand-pound body like a meteor hammer, hurling the princess toward safety in the process.
The movement was fluid, fast as a thunderclap. He snatched a broken spear from the mud and, the moment the Minotaur hit the ground, drove it precisely through the beast's gaping throat, piercing through the skull.
Boom! Dust settled.
Sutton stood atop the monster's corpse, steam rising from his body. Before the princess's eyes, he reached into the Minotaur's chest with his bare hands, ripped out the still-beating heart, and crushed it!
A sense of infinite power flooded Sutton's marrow. He turned, his golden vertical pupils locking onto Cecilia.
"Now, Princess. You'd better pray your elixir is as miraculous as they say. Otherwise..."
He hoisted the limp princess up, his figure turning into a streak of crimson lightning as he vanished into the mists.