Lucas froze.
An unnatural chill crawled down his spine.
He turned—
slowly, instinct screaming even before his eyes confirmed it.
Behind him, where Rudeus's mutilated body had fallen…
the corpse was standing.
No—
it wasn't just standing.
It was stitched back together by some vile force, though the wound still poured blood like a broken river.
Crimson gushed from his split torso, from his mouth, and even from his eyes, which bled tears of red.
His body quivered, spasmed—jerking like a puppet whose strings had been yanked too hard.
Then it began.
The transformation.
Ugly.
Disgusting.
Unnatural.
Bones cracked—
muscles tore—
his flesh stretched beyond human limits.
Rudeus's frame ballooned grotesquely, his bones jutting outward like blooming spikes.
His ribcage erupted from his chest, turning into jagged spines that wrapped around his torso like twisted armor.
His spine split and stretched, a crooked, exposed column of bone running from skull to tailbone, sharp and raw.
His arms lengthened, unnaturally thin and twisted—
the fingers fusing and sharpening into elongated, bony claws designed to rip and tear.
His legs contorted into beast-like limbs, bent at impossible angles, resembling more of a spider or predator than a man.
Now, he moved on all fours, monstrous and feral.
His entire body had dried, cracked like dead bones bleached under the sun—
a walking pile of skeletal fragments given foul, unholy life.
But it was the face that killed all hope.
It retained a human shape… barely.
But the features were warped—sharp, skeletal ridges replacing soft flesh.
His eyes had become empty black hollows, endless and lightless voids.
His mouth split into a maw of jagged, predatory teeth, gleaming wetly.
It didn't smile.
It grinned—
a twisted, agonized grin as though the creature was savoring its own suffering.
Behind the broken walls of a nearby house, a small boy peeked out—
and immediately recoiled in terror, choking back a scream.
The monster that had once been Rudeus towered now at nearly nine feet, its grotesque bones grown beyond normal human anatomy.
There was no life left inside it.
No soul.
Only hunger and wrath.
And then—
with a swift motion, the monster swung its massive claw—
a hand that had transformed into a blade of pure bone.
One swipe.
Just one.
The terrified villagers kneeling nearby, their hands clasped in desperate prayers—
were split clean in half.
Their bodies sheared horizontally, as though sliced by an invisible guillotine.
Blood erupted from the severed torsos, spraying the ground like crimson fountains.
Their dying screams echoed for a heartbeat—
and then silence.
Corpses collapsed around the monster in wet, broken pieces.
Lucas's chest tightened.
Even he—
who had fought and killed before—
felt a cold shiver of fear crawl into his heart.
The creature turned its hollow gaze toward him.
And then, mockingly, it dragged its blade-like hand across its own face, smearing the warm blood across its skull-like visage.
The gesture was slow, deliberate—
like a predator marking itself before the final hunt.
Suddenly—
crack—!
two bones erupted from its exposed spine, curving upward like jagged wings.
With a sickening pop, the bones detached and hit the ground with a dull thud.
Before Lucas's eyes, those bones twitched—
then morphed, twisting and folding into shape.
Two new creatures emerged—
each about four feet tall, smaller versions of the main monster, sharing the same skeletal structure and grinning skull faces.
Without warning, they lunged forward.
Fast.
Faster than expected.
Their clawed limbs slashed through the dirt as they charged straight for Lucas, aiming to tear him apart.
Lucas inhaled sharply.
His right hand clenched around the shaft of his Guan Dao, and he felt the surge of his Wrath channel into it.
Violet sparks danced across his arm, snapping and crackling.
The blade pulsed in answer, glowing faintly dark pink with condensed energy.
"Hah—!"
Lucas swung.
The broad blade cut through the air, falling short by a full meter from the incoming monsters.
But it didn't matter.
From the arc of the swing, a violent slash of dark pink electricity exploded outward—
a whip of crackling energy that lashed forward like a storm.
ZzzzRAK—!
The slash struck both creatures mid-charge—
and in a blink, they were split cleanly in half, their upper and lower bodies flying apart.
But it didn't end there.
The moment their severed bones hit the ground, they began to crumble—
turning to ash, their twisted forms disintegrating into dust that scattered in the wind.
Lucas exhaled, steadying his breath.
But his eyes remained locked on the true monster—
the towering, nine-foot abomination that had once been Rudeus.
Because it wasn't done.
Not yet.
The towering monster let out a guttural, bone-rattling shriek—
and charged.
Its claws gouged deep trenches in the ground as it lunged like a beast.
Lucas gritted his teeth, both hands gripping the shaft of his Guan Dao.
No Wrath this time—
just steel and will.
As the creature's blade-like arm slashed horizontally, Lucas pivoted—
the Guan Dao's broad blade intercepting with a heavy clang.
Sparks flew as bone met metal.
Before the monster could recoil, Lucas stepped in, twisted his hips, and drove the back-end spike of the Guan Dao straight into its exposed ribs.
A sickening crunch.
The monster staggered.
Lucas didn't stop.
With a sharp shout, he spun the weapon and brought the full weight of the broad blade down—
cleaving into the creature's skull.
Bone cracked.
The monster spasmed once—
then collapsed, twitching violently before going still.
Lucas stood over the broken corpse, panting—
his grip on the bloodstained Guan Dao unyielding.
It was over.
The dragon still lay sprawled on the ground, its massive body trembling.
It didn't dare move—
too afraid to even lift its head.
It had witnessed everything.
Rudeus, who was a hundred times stronger than it…
and in that monstrous Long Bone form, five hundred times stronger…
yet Lucas had crushed him.
Easily.
The small boy stepped out from behind the ruined house, wide-eyed.
He swallowed hard, then spoke, voice trembling but filled with awe.
"You…big brother, you're so strong… so much stronger than anyone…"
Lucas gave him a faint smile.
With a casual motion, he stored his bloodstained Guan Dao back into his inventory—
the weapon vanishing as if it had never existed.
But then, the boy's gaze flicked toward the dragon.
Fear instantly returned to his face.
He scrambled behind Lucas, hiding like a frightened cub.
Lucas turned his head and fixed the dragon with a deathly stare.
The beast's entire frame tensed.
Its eyes dropped to the ground, trembling, beads of sweat pouring down its snout.
It dared not meet Lucas's gaze.
Suddenly—
a deep, thunderous boom echoed from the rocky mountains beyond.
Lucas's eyes snapped toward the sound.
The portal he had used earlier was still glowing faintly against the cliff,
but above it…
the mountain range where Wei Jun had gone—
something heavy had struck.
Hard.
Lucas's chest tightened.
A flicker of worry.
Wei Jun…
Without wasting a second, Lucas strode over to the dragon, his voice cold but commanding.
"Get up. Take me to that mountain. Now."
The dragon flinched—
panic flashing in its golden eyes.
Sweat poured even harder, but it obeyed.
It pushed off the ground, preparing for flight.
Lucas climbed onto its head with practiced ease.
His stamina was already partly drained from the battle—
riding was the smart choice now.
Just as the dragon prepared to lift off,
the boy suddenly called out, desperation in his voice.
"Big brother! Please—take me with you! I don't want to stay here with these cowards! Please! They're useless—I'm scared!"
Lucas glanced at him.
His mind raced—he was in a hurry, Wei Jun might be in danger—
but he made the snap decision.
Without a word, he reached down and pulled the boy up, settling him behind him on the dragon's neck.
"Hold on tight," Lucas muttered.
The dragon launched skyward—
and they soared toward the mountains where the next storm awaited.
Meanwhile—
Inside Lingquan Corporation, chaos rippled through every floor.
Panic had taken hold.
Whispers turned into shouts, and security staff ran back and forth, their faces pale.
At the heart of it all…
was the portal.
Lucas's portal.
Unlike the usual vibrant blue or golden glow that everyone was familiar with,
this one—
was black and white.
A swirling gradient of dark and light that clashed unnaturally.
No one had ever seen such a thing before.
And it scared them.
The first man who had noticed it—
a young employee, eyes wide with terror—
was now sprinting through the polished corridors, headed straight for the President's room.
His shoes skidded slightly against the floor, but he didn't slow down.
Just as he reached the grand door…
his crimson screen suddenly flared to life on his wrist.
Without him even touching it.
His heart jumped.
The screen showed a live battle feed—
Lucas.
Facing off against a man with long brown hair: Rudeus.
At first, it looked like Rudeus had the upper hand, landing hits on Lucas with terrifying speed.
But something felt off.
The man's breath hitched.
He looked closer—
there were no signs of time stop on the crimson screen.
Everything flowed normally.
Just like Lucas had experienced it.
His palm turned clammy.
His throat dry.
He was now standing right outside the President's door.
The feed still running.
The portal still swirling in basement in black and white.
And his gut screamed at him—
something bigger was happening.
The President's room loomed at the end of the polished corridor like a fortress of authority.
Its towering double doors were crafted from blackened oak, with golden veins running through the wood like lightning trapped in time. Above the frame, the Lingquan Corporation's crest—a coiled dragon encircling a rising sun—was etched in gleaming brass. The walls around the entrance were lined with subtle patterns, sleek but oppressive, designed to remind anyone standing here of the power that lay beyond.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted entirely.
The floor was dark marble, cool and spotless, reflecting the faint glow of the ambient lights embedded into the ceiling like artificial stars. The walls were a rich, deep gray, soundproof and laced with thin silver accents that shimmered faintly whenever one moved.
But the centerpiece of the room—
was the President's desk.
A long, solid slab of dark stone with golden trims, so polished that it looked like black glass. On top of it rested a high-end computer system, its triple screens curved around the center like a command station.
The machine wasn't just powerful—it was custom-built, with Lingquan's private tech.
Flawless performance, no latency, and data streams flowing in real time from around the world.
Behind the desk sat the President himself.
His chair was not just leather but reinforced with memory foam and pressure adjustment tech—comfort engineered for someone who spent hours ruling from behind this desk.
The air inside was cold. Deliberate.
Every inch of this office whispered:
Control. Power. Watchfulness.
Seated deep into the leather chair, the President barely moved.
His black coat and pants hung loosely over his aging frame, as though the fabric itself was weighed down by the decades he had carried. His face was a map of wrinkles—creases carved deep by time and the burden of authority. Clean-shaven, his scalp gleamed under the soft ambient light, completely devoid of hair. His eyes, half-lidded and dull, barely seemed alive, and his skin—pale and thin—stretched taut over fragile bones.
Not muscular. Not slim.
Just… old.
Yet, despite his frail appearance, the air around him was thick with pressure.
Before him floated his personal crimson screen, wide and vivid, displaying the brutal battle between Lucas Halt and Rudeus Arclight. Every blow, every frozen moment, every cut—it all played in stark, terrifying detail.
The door slammed open.
A staffer burst in, panting heavily, his chest heaving as though he had sprinted the entire corridor in a single breath. His face was pale. His words stumbled out between gulps of air.
"Sir, there's a huge proble—"
But he couldn't even finish.
The President's voice, dry and cracked like old parchment, cut through the room.
"Dark Quest," he muttered, his thin lips barely parting. "I already know. You're watching the same broadcast on your crimson screen."
The staffer froze, swallowing hard.
Dark Quest.
Even hearing the name sent a chill crawling down his spine.
A cursed event that appeared once in decades, its odds one in a billion. When Dark Quest activated, it hijacked any normal quest and twisted it—escalating its difficulty to nightmare levels. The rewards were legendary, but no team in history had ever returned victorious. Not once.
Every Dark Quest was broadcast live across every crimson screen in the world.
No one could enter. No one could escape.
Death was always guaranteed—at least one.
And now, Lucas and his team were trapped inside it.
Who among them would die… no one knew yet.