"Attack! What are you standing around for? Kill it!" Zarum shrieked, his voice sharp and piercing, more like the wail of a fire siren than a commander.

For a moment, several warriors faltered, startled by the abomination before them. Yet instinct and training soon took over. They rallied, channeling their skills with desperate urgency, while Zarum remained on the rear line, his hand crackling with arcs of lightning. At first he had assumed the creature's missing arm had been torn away in battle, but no. There likely had never been one. It fought flawlessly even in its incomplete form.

Corpses carpeted the blood-soaked earth. Seventy men lay broken already, and still none had landed a single telling blow. The very environment seemed to bend to the monster's will as shadows writhed and lashed at the warriors like living things, while black spikes erupted without warning to impale those foolish enough to keep their distance. Zarum hurled bolt after bolt of searing lightning, but each one struck only empty air, or worse, one of his own soldiers. It was as if the creature could sense every attack before it was unleashed, weaving effortlessly through the carnage with cold, calculating precision.

Its fighting style was unpredictable. One moment it retreated, cloaked in darkness and breathing waves of suffocating shadow as though about to flee, only to lunge forward, carving men apart with savage sweeps of its claws. Even with only one arm, it was stronger, faster, more cunning than any opponent Zarum's warriors had ever faced. For something ten levels weaker to completely overwhelm them was unthinkable, yet here it was, reducing his troops to meat and terror. Zarum clenched his jaw and continued firing, waiting, praying for his elite squad to return from their hunting trips. He had never imagined a single enemy could cause so much devastation.

"Everyone to the wall! Lightning isn't working. Try fire!" Zarum bellowed, after one of his bolts finally landed true only to vanish into a puff of smoke against the monster's shoulder. The condensed darkness absorbed every ounce of mana. Fire, Zarum reasoned, would eat through such a defense. Fire clung, seared, and devoured relentlessly, eventually it would exhaust even this shadow-born fiend.

Beside him, a warrior obeyed without hesitation. The lightning that had danced around his arm fizzled out as he raised an open palm. Heat shimmered in the air as a sphere of burning red energy formed, glowing like molten stone. The fireball swelled, its crackling flames radiating scorching waves that licked the battlements. Only for the orb to suddenly twist, its flames guttering into a mass of writhing black fire.

The soldier screamed, panic etched across his face, and hurled the corrupted flame into the dirt before it could consume him. Zarum's eyes widened as he saw the man's hand. Fireball spells, no matter how intense, were designed never to harm the caster beyond minor burns. But this, this was different. The man's flesh blackened as festering darkness burrowed deep beneath the skin. His fingers convulsed, his arm spasmed violently, and within seconds his entire body shook as if he were standing naked in a blizzard. The aura of that unholy flame had wormed its way into his very soul.

"Do not use fire skills! I repeat, do not use fire skills!" Zarum roared. Confusion rippled along the wall. Just seconds ago he had ordered the opposite. But before he could explain, the monster reacted.

It must have sensed the disruption. Its head snapped toward the wall, the one eye gleaming like shard a of night, and then its body moved, shadows coiling into spears. Dozens of spikes erupted, each two meters long, jagged and barbed. They hurtled through the air faster than arrows.

Twelve warriors cried out at once as the spikes tore into them, skewering bodies and pinning them to the wall like grotesque trophies. The barbs dug deep, making extraction impossible without tearing their flesh apart. Blood dripped down the wall in heavy, sickening rivulets as the defenders screamed.

And the creature, cloaked in shadow, smiled showing its needle like teeth.

He longed to help, but his fighters were tossed aside like ragdolls, their bodies smashing against the rooftops of the makeshift homes they had built only hours earlier. Zarum's eyes widened as he watched them twitch and convulse. The wounds that marred their flesh spread with unnatural blackness and then, horrifically, their very bodies began to dissolve into streams of liquid shadow.

What in the abyss was happening here? Zarum's thoughts spiraled. Panic clawed at his mind, but he crushed it down with sheer will, reinforcing his soul until the crushing weight pressing upon him eased slightly. His elite squad had finally arrived. Zarum raised his voice, commanding them as he had so many times before, and vaulted over the wall. His soldiers followed as he charged the abomination. Numbers would win in the end, he told himself. No creature could endure forever against sheer manpower. Yet as he ran, his sprint slowed to a jog… then to a sluggish pace. Even one of the sluggish desert snails from his homeland could have outpaced him now.

A dreadful thought stabbed through his mind. The creature was feeding on his warriors' suffering, growing stronger with every death. The realization froze him. Ahead, the monster dashed backward, and from the sea of darkness a tendril surged upward to intercept a lightning bolt hurled by one of his men. The black appendage blocked the crackling energy without effort. Zarum could tell it wasn't even going all out.

A blur of motion followed and suddenly the beast was upon one of his fighters. With its single hand twisted into a claw, it struck. The warrior saw the opening and countered with a punch brimming with force. But the attempt was futile. The creature's elongated talons of pure darkness carved effortlessly through the man's fist, face, and chest in a single devastating swipe. Blue blood sprayed high into the air before the soldier crumpled.

Before the corpse could even hit the ground, a tendril burst from the creature's body. It impaled the falling dead and drove straight through into another fighter behind him. The second man screamed as the darkness devoured him, both bodies unraveling into streams of shadow that were swallowed into the monster's form.

"Boss… what's the plan?" one of Zarum's elite asked, his voice strained with fear. They had caught up, but none seemed eager to close the distance. The question gnawed at Zarum's chest. What was this thing? And how, by the scorched sands of the desert, could it still be considered crippled?

"If only Master Tarum were here," Zarum thought bitterly, despair coiling in his chest. His trainer could have ended this nightmare in a heartbeat. Instead, Zarum stood before the greatest foe of his life, knowing he might lose many of his finest warriors before it was brought down, if it could be brought down at all.

"This is insane," muttered Terum, the tallest among them, a hulking warrior known for raw power. His voice trembled despite himself. "It's toying with us. And it only has one arm."

"We would do the same," Zarum snapped back, forcing strength into his tone. "Do not falter! We have been forged for this very moment. With our teamwork, we are stronger. Attack!"

He launched forward, though his heart whispered the truth. He did not believe his own words. Perhaps it was the overwhelming aura gnawing at his spirit, perhaps the despair of watching his comrades die like insects. But as the monster turned its single, violet eye toward him, he felt his conviction waver. There was no malice in that gaze, only cold determination, sharper and deeper than even his master had ever shown.

If they did not kill this abomination now, it would rise through the ranks with terrifying speed. Natural treasures littered new worlds like this one and if the creature found even a single one, its power could become unstoppable. But why, then, was it still F-grade? The thought offered no comfort. His men knew the truth of his rallying cry as well as he did. This was desperation, nothing more.

Zarum clenched his fists, forcing down his fear. He thought of his younger siblings waiting at home, their futures bound to the success of this incursion. If he failed, they would be punished, along with all who had placed their trust in him. The thought burned in his chest like fire, giving him just enough strength to resist the crushing influence of the monster's aura.

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His head cleared, and he gestured sharply. His squad split, circling from the flanks while he and Terum charged head-on. The beast noticed instantly. From the shadows at its feet, spikes shot upward, whistling through the air. The fighters ducked and avoided them easily, only to realize too late that the spikes were nothing but bait.

The ground erupted. Dozens of tendrils lashed out at once, writhing like serpents of pure darkness. They pierced flesh, arms, legs, torsos and over twenty fighters were impaled in a heartbeat. Screams tore through the battlefield as the tendrils lifted their victims into the air, coiling around them with merciless strength. Flesh dissolved into shadow, bodies crumbled into liquid night, and one after another, they were absorbed into the creature's growing tendrils of pure darkness.

The shrill, agonized screams of his kin echoed across the battlefield, so piercing they could have shattered glass. In only a few heartbeats, the tendrils finished their feast and slithered back into the shadows, leaving nothing but silence and broken bodies behind. Zarum and his squad began to circle the creature, their movements slow and deliberate. Yes, it had butchered scores of soldiers despite being outnumbered, but his elite squad was a different matter entirely. They were stronger, faster, and sharper than the fodder. This thing couldn't possibly stand against them.

Yet the monster offered no taunts, no arrogant words of triumph. Instead, it slipped back a step, narrowly avoiding a wind blade that sliced past its form by a hair's breadth. Then it exhaled a cloud of festering darkness, rolling toward them like the breath of a dragon. Zarum veered right while Terum darted left, their squad spreading out to encircle the foe. When Zarum regained sight of it, the creature was no longer where it had stood. It had appeared eight meters away, a claw wrapped around the skull of one of his men. With a sickening crunch, the head burst apart like rotten fruit, spilling brain and blood across the dirt.

Rage surged through Zarum as he saw a shadow-tendril snake from the monster's ruined shoulder, latching onto the corpse and devouring it in a shroud of liquid night. He roared, leaping high and slamming his fist into the ground. The earth quaked under his strike, a wave of force rippling outward. It was a perfect chance for one of his comrades to land a hit. But the creature responded with terrifying precision, springing into the air just as darkness surged upward like a pillar beneath it. It landed atop the writhing column of shadow as though it were solid stone, extending its lone hand in a languid gesture. Ten black spikes erupted, hissing through the air.

They weren't aimed at Zarum. They soared over his head, streaking toward the fighters stationed along the wall. He resisted the urge to glance back. The aim seemed too wild to be deadly. Striking ten separate targets with such accuracy should have been beyond even this abomination. There had to be limits. There had to be.

But the truth gnawed at him. His people were born in deserts of shadow. Their skies were veiled with clouds, their lands drowned in twilight. They had mastered darkness, and their spells reflected it. Yet here, against a creature forged of festering night, their affinity was worthless. Light skills didn't exist in their culture. Crafting such spells would cost fortunes, and no one would buy them. That left only fire as their alternative, and fire had already betrayed them. Backfiring, corrupting its users, turning their own flames into weapons against them.

Now the creature perched three meters above them on its writhing pillar, and none dared to leap after it. One mistimed strike, one missed dodge, and the monster would gut them in an instant. A fighter on Zarum's flank dared to act, unleashing twin wind blades. The beast danced between them with fluid ease, as though mocking the attempt. Then, in the same motion, a tendril shot from the pillar and impaled the man clean through the chest. His scream rose high before cutting off abruptly as his body was dragged into the pillar itself.

Zarum's eyes widened as he saw it. Inside the creature's missing eye, darkness churned and pulsed like a living thing. The air grew heavier, suffocating. Without even looking his way, the abomination lashed out, another tendril erupting from its pillar and lancing toward Zarum. He threw himself aside, the attack tearing through the ground where he had stood. When he looked back, his heart sank.

The monster was exhaling its noxious mist again, engulfing his comrades. Two fighters staggered, their skin bubbling and peeling away as their bodies liquefied into shadow. They shrieked, fell, and then, after inhaling the cursed vapor, their cries ended in wet, choking gurgles. Only four remained. Four, and not a single blow had landed true.

Breathing hard, Zarum reached into his pouch and pulled out a small black pill. His fingers tightened around it. It was a last resort. His people had no natural skill to enhance their power, so their alchemists had forged this instead. Consuming it would triple his strength and flood his body with feral aggression. It was feared enough that rival clans avoided open war against them. But there was a price. The pill killed the user once its power burned out. It was meant for only one purpose. To unleash devastation before falling with honor.

And now, Zarum realized, that moment might have come.

Zarum stared at the pill, his thoughts racing to his little brother and sister. If this incursion failed, they would be forced into daily missions. Missions far beyond their strength, likely their deaths. Only twenty percent ever reached E grade, and his siblings were still barely G grade. He could run, attempt to save himself, but then his family would suffer the consequences. Or he could strike the creature down, even at the cost of his own life and at least then his family might be spared. The incursion's survival meant their reward, their safety.

With a long, heavy sigh, he gave the command to his team. One by one, they swallowed the black pill, the bitter powder burning as it slid down their throats. Immediately, power surged through Zarum's veins, a scorching heat that made him feel as though he could uproot the massive trees surrounding the camp. His elite fighters mirrored his actions, bracing themselves for the coming battle.

But the creature acted first. It leapt down with impossible speed, bisecting Terum with a single, brutal swipe before the pill's full effect could even awaken. Simultaneously, a three-meter spike of writhing darkness erupted from beneath another fighter, impaling him and leaving his body dangling grotesquely. The monstrous pillar of shadow erupted into a tidal wave that crashed toward Zarum. He sprinted to the side, channeling every ounce of energy into his fists, preparing a lightning-charged punch of unmatched speed and force. He inhaled sharply, attempting to penetrate the creature's domain, only to see that it had already annihilated the last of his elite team, even with their newfound strength.

It wasted no time. The creature lunged at him, a blur of darkness and death. Zarum did not flinch. He swung his fists with all his might. His aura flared, repelling parts of the creeping mist, but the creature moved with unnatural, fluid grace, sidestepping his attacks as though he were weightless. Before Zarum could strike again, a searing pain tore through his midsection. His legs went numb, his body refusing to obey, and the world slowed as he felt gravity dragging him toward the ground.

He turned his head, barely able to see, and watched in horror as the creature stalked through the camp, paying him no heed. It didn't even glance in his direction.

"I'm sorry," he thought desperately of his family. He closed his eyes as a dark tendril, sharp as a blade, shot toward him from the creature's back.

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