The golden light pulsed once, twice, then began to flash rapidly like a broken slot machine. Rows of garbled, unreadable text spun wildly across the holographic interface.
[ Rolling Random Innate Technique... ]
[ Processing... ]
The heavy bell tolled a second time. The spinning text slammed to a halt.
[ Innate Technique Unlocked: Anatomy Shift ]
A sharp, stabbing pain spiked directly behind his eyes. It wasn't a physical injury. It felt more like someone cramming a massive instruction manual directly into his brain through his skull. He stumbled, catching himself against the dirt wall of the cavern with one of his new, heavy hands.
The headache faded after a few agonizing seconds, leaving behind absolute, chilling clarity.
In this world, curses and sorcerers inherently understood their techniques the moment they unlocked them. It was pure instinct. And right now, that instinct told him exactly what Anatomy Shift was.
It was straightforward. As long as he fueled it with Cursed Energy, he could manipulate his own biology. He could grow extra limbs, stretch his proportions, shift his organs around, or alter his skeletal structure. His physical form was essentially clay, and his energy was the tool molding it.
"Okay," he muttered. The deep, grating rumble of his own voice still caught him off guard. "Let's see it."
He held up his left arm. It was thick, covered in tough, ash-gray hide, and ended in those four wicked talons. Focusing on his forearm, he pictured a specific change and pushed a chunk of his newly expanded energy pool directly into the limb.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The thick hide on his arm split open with a sickening, wet tearing sound. Raw muscle fibers writhed and twisted over each other. Bone pushed through the tissue, snapping and reforming at a rapid pace. It didn't hurt, but the sensation of his own meat aggressively rearranging itself made his stomach churn.
Within three seconds, a completely new, fully functional third arm sprouted just below his left elbow. It was smaller than his main arm, but covered in the same gray hide and tipped with sharp claws.
He willed it to move, and the new hand opened and closed in perfect sync with his thoughts.
"Disgusting," he said, staring at the extra appendage. "But insanely useful."
He cut the flow of Cursed Energy. The third arm immediately lost its shape, melting down and pulling back into his forearm. The split skin zipped itself shut, leaving smooth hide behind like nothing had happened.
Checking his internal reserves, he gauged the cost. That little trick burned through about fifty points of Cursed Energy. Not exactly cheap, but with his new maximum sitting at 1,200, it was incredibly manageable.
He looked down at his torso. Thick, ash-gray hide. A broad, heavily muscled chest. Legs like concrete pillars. Sure, it was a massive upgrade from a gelatinous blob, but it was built for blunt-force brawling. It was clunky. Ugly.
If I can grow an arm, the thought chewed at the edge of his mind, why am I stuck looking like a rejected Godzilla extra?
He hated the bulk. He wanted speed. Agility. Something that didn't look and move like it belonged in a muddy trench.
He knew a fully human disguise was out of the question. He could feel the limits of the technique buzzing in his head. He didn't have the cellular memory or the right type of energy to mimic soft human skin, hair, or normal eyes. Trying to force a human face right now would just result in a fleshy, melted nightmare that would draw even more attention.
But a different kind of monster? A better one? That was definitely on the table.
Closing his eyes, he focused inward. He didn't want to be a walking tank. He wanted to be a scalpel. He pictured compressed muscle, elongated limbs, and a streamlined frame built for dead sprints and silent drops.
He funneled a solid three hundred points of Cursed Energy into his entire skeletal structure at once.
This time, it hurt.
A violent, full-body spasm dropped him to his knees in the dirt. His heavy ribs cracked loudly, folding inward and locking together in a tighter cage. The thick, leathery hide covering his arms and chest pulled taut, shrinking as his bulky muscle mass violently compressed.
The sound of his own body breaking and reshaping echoed in the empty cavern—a continuous, wet crunching mixed with the sharp snapping of dense bone.
His heavy, muscular snout shortened, pulling back into his skull. The jagged teeth didn't disappear, but the jawline narrowed, becoming sharp and predatory rather than broad and blunt. His thick legs stretched, the joints snapping and realigning to support explosive, fast-twitch movement. The ash-gray hide smoothed out entirely, taking on a darker, almost pitch-black sheen that seemed to absorb the dim tunnel lighting.
The agonizing restructuring stopped just as suddenly as it started.
Panting, he pushed himself off the dirt floor. The difference was night and day. The suffocating weight of his previous form was gone. He felt impossibly light.
He held up his hands. The thick, blocky fingers were replaced by elongated, slender digits ending in razor-sharp, jet-black talons. He ran a hand over his face. The massive, crocodilian snout was gone, replaced by a smooth, bone-plated mask that stopped right above his jagged jawline.
He shifted his weight side to side. His body reacted instantly. No lag, no clunky momentum. Just pure, coiled tension, like a compressed spring.
"Much better," he whispered. The voice was still a grating rasp, but it lacked the hollow, booming echo of the larger brute form.
He checked his internal reserves. Maintaining this streamlined shape cost a steady trickle of energy, a low hum in the back of his mind. If his reserves ran out, he would snap back into that heavy, hulking base form. But with over eight hundred points left, he had hours before that became a problem.
He rolled his shoulders, testing the tight coil of new muscle, and took a single step toward the cavern exit.
"I'm telling you, the Window said it was right in the center."
The voice echoed loudly down the dark transit tunnel, freezing Akira in his tracks. It was a young guy, his tone dripping with bored annoyance.
Before Akira could even react, Cursed Olfaction flared wildly.
It wasn't the sour-milk stench of a low-level curse, and it wasn't the heavy, rotting-meat smell of the dead Grade 3. It was sharp, clean, and terrifyingly dense. It smelled like ozone and polished steel, cutting straight through the lingering miasma of the cavern.
Humans. But not normal humans.