The Shadow-Wrought Valley did not offer mercy, and neither did Malachi.
With the black iron ring—the Gravity Seal—clamped onto his finger, Blake felt as though the world had turned into a swamp of invisible lead. Every step was a calculated battle against his own anatomy. His 3rd-layer Steel-Skin felt like it was being crushed inward against his ribs, and his Void-Blood, usually so fluid and aggressive, sluggishly moved through his veins.
"The Reaper is a crown, Blake," Malachi said, walking ahead with effortless grace, his boots barely disturbing the black needles of the forest floor. "But a king who cannot stand without his crown is just a beggar in fancy robes. If you summon the Divine Reaper for every scrap of a fight, you are telling the world you are weak."
Blake gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles bulging. He didn't answer; he couldn't spare the breath. He focused entirely on his footwork. He tried to replicate the Sterling Gale movements, but the gravity turned the elegant slides into clumsy, heavy stomps.
No, Blake thought, his eyes burning. The Gale is for those who want to dance around a problem. I am a Reaper. I walk through it.
He stopped trying to be fast. He started trying to be heavy. He adjusted his center of gravity, sinking his weight into his hips, allowing the seal's pressure to ground him.
[System Notification: Host is under extreme gravitational stress.]
[Physical conditioning accelerating... Bone density increasing...]
Suddenly, a low, vibrating growl echoed through the ravine. The mist ahead shifted, parting to reveal a creature that looked like a nightmare carved from obsidian. It was a Shadow-Drake—a Rank 2 beast. It stood ten feet tall, its body covered in scales that absorbed the dim light, and its eyes were two slits of molten violet.
Unlike the Lurkers, the Drake possessed a rudimentary intelligence. It sensed the pressure coming from Blake and recognized a threat.
"Kill it," Malachi commanded, leaping onto a high branch to watch. "And Blake? If I see that green scythe manifest before the beast is dead, I'll break your other arm myself."
Blake took a deep breath, feeling his lungs strain against the weight. He didn't call for the Divine Reaper. He didn't even reach for a weapon. He stood there, a 15-year-old boy in a dark tunic, facing a monster that could crush a carriage with its tail.
The Drake lunged.
Despite its size, it moved with a terrifying, liquid speed. Its claws, each as long as a dagger, swiped at Blake's head.
In the past, Blake would have used spiritual energy to boost his reflexes. Now, with the seal suppressing his energy flow, he had to rely on pure perceptive instinct. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch. The claws whistled past his ear, the wind of the strike cutting a thin line into his cheek.
Blake didn't retreat. He stepped into the Drake's guard.
His movement was slow—agonizingly so—but it was solid. He drove his shoulder into the Drake's chest. The impact felt like hitting a stone wall, but his Steel-Skin held. He felt the beast's scales grate against his flesh.
"Raaagh!" Blake roared, his voice thick with the effort.
He swung a heavy, unrefined punch toward the Drake's soft underbelly. Without the Reaper's energy, the strike lacked the emerald flare, but it carried the concentrated weight of his 3rd-layer physical power.
THOOM.
The Drake let out a huff of air as Blake's fist sank into its gut. The beast recoiled, surprised by the raw physical force of the "small" human. It lashed out with its tail, a massive whip of bone and scale.
Blake saw it coming. He couldn't jump high enough to clear it with the seal active, so he did something insane. He planted his feet, crossed his arms, and took the hit.
The tail slammed into his ribs. Blake was sent skidding twenty feet across the clearing, his boots carving deep furrows in the black earth. He hit a tree with a sickening crack, but he didn't fall.
[Internal damage detected. Resilience attribute activating...]
[Bone density +2. Steel-Skin tempering: 45%...]
Blake spat out a mouthful of blood, a wild, dark grin spreading across his face. "Is that all?"
He felt it now—the secret Malachi was trying to teach him. By suppressing the Battle Spirit, the body was forced to evolve to fill the void. His muscles were tearing and reknitting themselves second by second, becoming denser, more efficient.
The Drake, infuriated, opened its maw. A glob of corrosive shadow-fire gathered in its throat.
Blake didn't wait for the projectile. He charged. Each step cracked the ground beneath him. He was a human cannonball, fueled by pure, unadulterated willpower.
The Drake fired.
Blake dived, the shadow-fire scorching the air above him. He rolled and came up right under the beast's neck. He reached up, his fingers hooking into the gaps between the neck scales.
With a surge of strength that made the veins in his forehead turn purple, he began to pull.
The Drake thrashed, its claws tearing at Blake's back, shredding his tunic and carving deep red lines into his Steel-Skin. Blake ignored the pain. He channeled his intent—not his energy, but his intent—into his grip.
"Yield... or break!"
CRUNCH.
The sound of the Drake's neck vertebrae snapping echoed through the clearing. The massive beast went limp, its violet eyes fading to grey. It collapsed into the dirt, pinning Blake beneath its massive weight.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then, the Drake's body began to dissolve into black mist. Blake lay in the dirt, gasping for air, his body a map of blood and bruises. The mist flowed into him, but this time, he didn't let the Reaper take it all. He forced the essence into his own muscles, his own bones.
[Host has defeated Rank 2 Shadow-Drake using raw physical power.]
[Strength +5. Resilience +8.]
[Steel-Skin tempering: 75%.]
Malachi dropped from the tree, landing softly beside Blake. He looked down at the boy, who was struggling to sit up under the weight of the Gravity Seal.
"You didn't use the scythe," Malachi noted, his runic eyes showing a hint of rare approval.
"I didn't need it," Blake wheezed, wiping blood from his eyes. "The Reaper is what I am. But my hands... my hands are what I do."
Malachi reached down and tapped the Gravity Seal on Blake's finger. The weight doubled.
Blake's face hit the dirt instantly.
"Good," Malachi said, turning and walking deeper into the valley. "Now do it again. There's a pack of them three miles north. If you can't walk there by sundown, you're sleeping in the muck."
Blake didn't complain. He pushed his palms into the earth, his arms shaking, and slowly—inch by agonizing inch—he forced himself back onto his feet.