Marcus returned to the fire rune, flas sparking to life at his fingertips as he pressed it against the bleeding gash along his side. The wound hissed and seared shut in an instant. He gritted his teeth hard enough to pierce his lip, the copper tang of blood mixing with the charred scent of burned flesh.
"First enemy, yet I almost died..."
His voice was low, strained—not with fear, but with a gnawing frustration.
"I need to learn to use my magic more destructively. I keep forgetting this body wasn't honed for lee combat."
His grin ca slow but wide, the pain forcing a twisted smirk onto his face. Bright white light flared behind his pupils once more, intense and sharp like twin halos buried in his gaze. It pulsed faintly, as if responding to his thoughts. He had noticed this phenonon ever since entering this world—always during monts of heightened emotion or near-death focus. But its true purpose? Still a mystery.
He just knew it wasn't normal. It wasn't human. It felt... embedded. Like sothing coded into the very DNA of this borrowed vessel.
An innate talent, maybe. One of the perks of being a transmigrator. A cheat skill disguised as a birthright.
"Co to think of it..."
His eyes narrowed.
"The rewards included a system core unlock..."
He inhaled, slow and controlled, magic flickering to life around him. Three runes suddenly blazed to the surface of his body: fire etched along his right hand like a branded gauntlet, necrotic energy coiling around his left in inky tendrils, and a volatile combustion sigil glowing at the center of his forehead—pulsing like a second heart.
"I'm no longer an assassin."
The words ca out half-laugh, half-confession, like shedding a second skin.
"I need to accept that."
He laughed again—louder this ti—as his entire body ignited with power. Crimson flas roared, necrotic wisps coiled like phantom serpents, and white-hot combustion light radiated from his crown. The colors clashed and collided across his figure, bathing him in a chaotic, divine glow.
"Because right now—"
His voice thundered through the dungeon, echoing like a battle cry.
"I'm a goddamn spellcaster!"
Twisting mid-step, Marcus flung his arm forward, and a wall of searing fla erupted from his fingertips. It tore across the corridor, its heat distorting the air, consuming the very oxygen in its path.
The assassin reacted instantly. A blur. It darted sideways, faster than most eyes could follow, and began its attack once more—sprinting toward Marcus with inhuman speed, daggers raised, no hesitation in its stride.
But Marcus was already moving.
He reached into the fla wall, manipulating its form with a flick of his necrotic-etched hand. The inferno compressed, then coiled—twisting into a blazing whip that hissed with death itself as it surged into his grip.
"Deathfire Whip!"
He shouted, naming the spell in the mont of creation. A burst of crimson-black necrosis rippled down the fiery coil like blood vessels feeding into a living weapon. With a snap of his wrist, the whip cracked across the dungeon, trailing lines of scorched stone in its wake.
The assassin halted mid-charge. Even with no face, Marcus could feel its fear—sothing primal, instinctive. A creature of shadow recognizing the light that could unmake it.
Especially one without magic.
The standstill began. Marcus lashed the whip with precision and fury, each strike painting molten scars along the walls and floor. The assassin dodged with desperation, unable to close the distance. Every attempt was rebuffed, every angle covered. Marcus' control was absolute.
Then—his fire-imbued hand touched his forehead.
The sigils pulsed in unison. Fire and combustion reacted instantly, spiraling into a torrent of raw energy as Marcus kept up the pressure with the whip, forcing the assassin into the kill zone.
"Immolation Inferno!"
His voice tore through the air like a war drum.
The whip unraveled, expanding outward and reforming into a towering wall of fire behind the assassin—cutting off its escape completely. Boxed in.
A brilliant blue fla exploded from Marcus' forehead, a jet of thruster-like energy that scread toward the heavens. It shot down the corridor like a tidal wave made of fire and fury, obliterating everything in its path.
The dungeon trembled.
The assassin bent low, digging in—one knee down, twin daggers crossed in front of its chest, shielding what it could from the oncoming devastation.
[Warning: Low on Mana]
The system's voice echoed flatly in his mind as the flas devoured the corridor, lighting the entire world in shades of violent blue and scorching white. The blast lted everything in its path—stone, shadow, steel—and even Marcus' own clothes were starting to disintegrate, burned thread by thread. His skin scorched under the heat, and agony licked up his sides like fire ants beneath his flesh.
"Fuck..."
He hissed, staggering slightly, smoke rising off his body as the flas slowly died out. His breathing ca in shallow gasps, and his muscles twitched from the overload.
But the corridor?
It was silent.
And the only thing that remained standing in the flas...
Was him.
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