In a decrepit building on the outskirts of the cursed wasteland zone—one deed too unstable for regular habitation—stood a fortified chamber masked in layers of corrupted sigils and demonic inscriptions.
The walls weren't just walls; they pulsed like organs, forged from a material reeking of decay and rage.
The entire structure had been reinforced with condensed Fallen Curse Energy, so thick and violent in its nature that it shimred visibly in the air, like threads of black lightning crawling over the stone.
The ground was littered with crater marks, seared with charred claw gouges and footprints of monsters long since obliterated.
Inside, the sound of brutal impact echoed like war drums.
BANG!
BOOM!
THRUMMMM!
Each sound ca with a vibration that could be felt even through layers of reinforced stone.
A thunderous voice roared through the space, shaking the cursed dust loose from the ceiling.
"BRING IT ON! MORE! MOOOOOORE!"
And the beasts obeyed.
A cluster of grotesque Hell Demonoid Beasts, each exuding a danger level of 15 or higher, charged forth. They ca in all shapes and malford horrors:
— One had twisted tallic antlers that sprouted like blades from a head filled with too many eyes, its saliva acidic and steaming with rot.
— Another crawled on twelve legs, its skin translucent, revealing a grotesque interior of coiled tendons and blood sacs that exploded as it moved, regenerating every ti with wet, slapping sounds.
— A third resembled a hybrid between a dragon and a centipede, dozens of wings made of bones flapping pointlessly as it slithered across the wall, trailing green fire behind it.
— One towered above the rest, hulking and slow, its body constructed like it had been stitched together from corpses of demons, with each limb moving with independent murderous intent.
Yet despite their ferocity, there was sothing unmistakable in their movents. Fatigue. Reluctance. Fear.
And there he stood. At the center of the storm.
A man—not bulky, but with that terrifying lean, coiled strength of soone who lived to destroy. His upper body was bare, revealing a carved physique with ridges of muscle like hardened armor.
No excessive veins.
No monstrous bulk. Just a battle-sculpted form, sharpened through years of bloodshed. His long violet hair flared behind him like a war banner, streaked with cursed sweat and gore.
Despite the dozens of claws, fangs, and spells ripping toward him, he laughed.
Not maniacally. Not crazily.
But as if… he was deeply entertained.
"Co on, co on, CO OOOON!" he scread with a grin that sent chills down any observer's spine. "Is that all you got? Pathetic!!"
One hell-beast, its eyes glowing blue with corrupted mana, lunged at him with a shriek. The mont its jaws tried to clamp down—
CRACK!
The man headbutted it mid-air. Its skull caved in before it could scream.
Another beast launched an elental fire burst from behind. The fla engulfed him.
But when the smoke cleared, there was nothing but steaming muscle, unburnt flesh, and a wide smirk.
"Cute."
The man grabbed one beast by the neck and spun, smashing it into another, bones crunching like dry twigs.
One by one, the beasts fell. Not because they were weak—but because he didn't flinch. No technique. No weapon. Just brutal, unrelenting fists and feet, like a storm given shape.
He moved like a dancer in a bloody opera. Twisting, slamming, smashing, breaking bodies with elegance. He shouted with every hit:
"USELESS!"
"USELESS!"
"YOU CALL THIS A FIGHT!?"
The beasts tried everything—poison claws, curses, imploding shadow magic. None of it worked. He laughed through it all, his body barely scratched, the few marks he bore only superficial, like a lover's scratch during a passionate night.
After a full ten minutes of violent performance, the chamber was a lake of boiling black blood. Bits of flesh hung from the ceiling.
Bone shards were embedded into the walls.
The once ferocious demonoids now lay reduced to gore—and he stood, flexing his fists, his chest heaving from exhilaration, not exhaustion.
"Tch." He wiped the blood from his cheek with his bare hand. "Still not enough."
From the shadows, a young man in formal attire—cloaked in black and gray with a House of Sutterfouse crest pinned to his lapel—approached, bowing deeply.
"Sir Vance, how was the exercise?" he asked, his tone overly reverent, like a servant talking to a god.
Vance didn't even glance at him. He reached for a towel offered by another attendant and began wiping himself with slow, deliberate movents.
His violet hair clung to his neck and shoulders, glistening with blood and sweat.
"It was… garbage," Vance said, his voice low, grating like a blade being drawn across stone. "The beasts in this backwater city can't even warm up."
"A thousand apologies, sir," the attendant said imdiately, bowing deeper. "This outpost is known for its weaker spawns. The curse fields here are diluted. Next ti, I shall request stronger mutations from the cursed breeding pits in the Black Valley."
Vance exhaled through his nose, tossing the bloodied towel aside. He flexed his arms. Still flawless.
"No need," he muttered. "I didn't co here for beasts."
The attendant tilted his head respectfully. "May I presu… your reason for traveling to this forsaken city is to execute your abandoned younger brother?"
Vance paused, raising an eyebrow as if trying to rember sothing irrelevant.
"Oh. Him," he said casually, cracking his knuckles. "Almost forgot he existed."
The attendant smiled politely. "Shall I arrange for his imdiate capture, sir?"
"No, no…" Vance chuckled darkly, his violet eyes glowing with nace. "Let the little rat co to ."
The attendant dared to ask, "Forgive my curiosity, sir, but why do you desire his death? He is not known to possess strength or status… rely an abandoned bloodline."
Vance's expression shifted. His jaw clenched, and in the low light of the chamber, his scarless face twisted into one of pure disgust.
"Not really him, his little brother, that brat…" he growled, "had the gall to embarrass . . And I'll be damned if I let anyone walk free after making bleed. But he's well protected so I'll beat the crap out of his abandoned full brother instead."
His eyes glowed darker.
The cursed energy around the room responded—whispers forming from nothing, shadows dancing, and the blood on the walls sizzling in fear.
And then suddenly—as the tension was suffocating… The door burst open.
A breathless subordinate rushed in, panting and trembling.
"Sir!" he cried. "Soone is causing trouble outside!"
Vance's neck cracked as he turned to face the newcor, his grin slowly returning.
"Good…" he whispered, cracking his knuckles again. "Let's see if it's finally sothing worth punching."
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