Dharka's roar shook the forest.
It wasn't an ordinary angry cry. It was the roar of a creature that had lost everything—and no longer cared about life or death. The vibration spread through the tree roots and up Brama's spine, like a small quake from the earth's core.
A red aura engulfed the beast's massive body. Hot steam hissed from between its hardened scales. Its eyes—now blazing red—locked onto them both. Its breath was heavy, but not from exhaustion. It was the breath of pure hatred.
> Ding!
[Dharka has entered Berserk Mode:
All attributes doubled.
Passive skill "Ignore Pain" activated.
Duration: 5 minutes.]
VIT: 400 (800) STR: 370 (740)
AGI: 220 (440) INT: 125 (250)
DEF: 400 (800)
Brama couldn't help himself.
"…this is seriously bad."
"System, distribute stat points to both of us, now!"
> Ding!
Brama – Level 7 (3000/3800)
VIT: 34 STR: 30 AGI: 61
INT: 25 DEF: 35
Ruda – Level 7 (500/3800)
VIT: 50 STR: 40 AGI: 70
INT: 70 DEF: 25
Before he could think further, Dharka lunged—not crawling, not walking, but charging. No pause. No warning. The massive body shot forward like a stone arrow, smashing the ground and tearing through the air.
Ruda immediately flew up, flapping hard to dodge. Brama rolled to the side, barely missing the sweep of that massive tail.
The ground where he had just stood was utterly destroyed. A crater formed, rocks cracked, tree roots jutted out like splinters of bone.
The assault came like a storm. One. Two. Three. Each slash and strike carried absurd force. Trees toppled. Bushes and rocks were flung everywhere. The forest itself seemed to be slaughtered.
Brama… could only dodge.
No time to attack. No time to think. Just one goal: survive.
"He's insane…" Brama thought. "This isn't a beast anymore. It's a missile fueled by hate."
Meanwhile, Ruda soared in circles above, trying to stab at Dharka's head, leaving shallow scratches. But Dharka's hide didn't flinch. Not even a drop of blood came out.
Brama shouted between panting breaths.
"System! Find its weakness, now!"
> Ding!
Weak point identified. However, during Berserk Mode, all pain is ignored. Attacks to weak points have no significant effect.
"…so even his weakness is useless?" Brama cursed internally.
> Ding!
However, once Berserk Mode ends, Dharka's estimated vitality will drop drastically due to internal damage. If attacked at the right moment, death is highly probable.
Brama closed his eyes for a moment.
"How much time has passed?"
> Ding!
1 minute out of 5.
"...One?!" Brama growled. "It felt like a year!"
Sweat streamed down his temples. His heart pounded—not just from adrenaline, but from growing despair. He knew: he couldn't keep this up.
But Brama wasn't the type to give up.
Even if the whole world stood against him.
He began moving faster—not just dodging, but directing Dharka's movements. He threw stones in certain directions, then ran the opposite way. Baiting. Laying paths.
Ruda continued distracting from above. His small strikes made Dharka lose focus at times.
They weren't fighting. They were stalling.
Second by second. Minute by minute. Brama's body began to slow. Small cuts on his arms and legs added up. His breathing grew heavy. Even the air felt hotter from Dharka's intensifying aura.
4 minutes passed.
And Brama saw it.
Dharka's movements began to falter. Still powerful, but not precise. The once-straight tail strikes now curved. His breathing was ragged. His red eyes blinked slower.
He glanced up. Ruda saw it too.
"Ruda," Brama shouted softly. "A few more seconds. Be ready."
Ruda flew higher. His wings flapped hard, body trembling as if charging up.
Then...
> Ding!
Berserk Mode duration has ended.
Vitality dropped drastically.
Body status: Vulnerable.
Brama didn't wait. He charged forward.
"Now!"
Ruda dove. But this time, it was different. His body glowed faintly—not with fire, but with a red aura radiating through his feathers. His claws gleamed.
The strike landed square on Dharka's back, making the creature shriek. Its body convulsed. That was when Brama leapt—and stabbed his spiritual dagger into Dharka's neck.
One powerful thrust. One final groan.
The massive body convulsed—then fell.
The ground trembled. Leaves fell. And silence returned.
> Ding!
You have slain: Dharka, Lv. 17 – EXP:
Brama + EXP: 10,200
Ruda + EXP: 10,200
> Ding!
Brama Level Up: Lv. 7 → Lv. 9
VIT: 40 | STR: 34 | AGI: 61
INT: 25 | DEF: 45
Ruda Level Up: Lv. 7 → Lv. 9
VIT: 50 | STR: 45 | AGI: 70 | INT: 70 | DEF: 40
---
A few minutes later.
Ruda slowly descended, eyes fixed on Dharka's body. He approached and bit into the large red stone protruding from Dharka's chest. A Spirit Stone.
Without hesitation, he swallowed it.
> Ding!
Ruda has consumed a Lv.17 Spirit Stone – Energy integrated.
New Skill Unlocked: Blood Wing Burst
> Description:
Ruda channels blood energy into his wings, increasing flight speed and wing-slash damage by 300% for 15 seconds. Cooldown: 2 minutes.
Brama stood frozen.
"…300%?"
He turned to Ruda, who now flapped his wings with a force that felt… different. As if the wind itself moved to his will.
"System," Brama said, still panting. "If I eat a Spirit Stone too… can I get a skill?"
> Ding!
Version 1.0 has no safety protocol for Spirit Stone consumption. If the host wishes, proceed at your own risk.
Brama looked at the screen. Then at the stone in his hand. Gorakh's stone. Dark red, pulsating faintly.
"…So I'm the guinea pig?"
He chuckled. Exhausted. Frustrated. Amazed. All at once.
"I've eaten raw meat, slept on rocks, ran from giant monsters… and now I'm supposed to eat a rock?"
He shook his head.
Not yet.
Not now.
---
A few hours later.
They sat under a large tree. Brama was skinning some of Dharka's meat, wrapping it in large leaves as provisions.
Blood was everywhere. Its scent spread—and it attracted something.
Other creatures began appearing.
But… they didn't attack.
They approached and started devouring Dharka's corpse. Viciously. Greedily. Like wolves feasting on another pack's kill.
Brama simply watched.
"Shame you all came late," he muttered. "If I'd killed you, maybe I'd get more EXP."
Beside him, Ruda sat calmly. Not attacking. Not afraid. As if saying: We've had our share.
Brama watched silently from behind the bushes.
Several wild beasts were now swarming over Dharka's corpse, devouring its flesh greedily. The sounds of claws scraping against bone, gnashing fangs, and soft hisses blended into a wild orchestra born of Arunika's jungle.
But Brama wasn't just watching.
He was observing patterns. Movements. Instincts. Trying to see whether these beasts had any uniqueness—or were they merely larger versions of wild animals from his old world.
"Still just as ravenous..." he muttered inwardly. "But... there's something different."
He squinted. Among the horde, he noticed one detail: those that had Spirit Stones—glowing faintly on their chests or backs—acted more aggressively. As if they weren't just feeding, but asserting dominance.
Meanwhile, creatures that were clearly of higher level—he could guess from their size and the intensity of their auras—were much calmer. They didn't rush. They waited for an opening. Pure predatory instinct. As if they knew that among beasts like these, true strength wasn't measured by who clawed first—but by who knew when to claw.
Brama glanced at his shoulder. Ruda was still there. Silent. Wings folded tightly against its body, eyes sharp, but posture calm.
"What do you think, Ruda?" Brama whispered. "Should we strike… or just watch?"
Ruda gave a soft sound.
> "Kwaaaack…"
Almost like a breath. Gentle. Barely audible. But Brama understood the meaning: I'm ready—but the choice is yours.
He lowered his head for a moment, then decided.
"No," he said softly. "There's no need to kill unless we must. Let's watch. Let's learn."
They retreated slowly into the shadows of the roots, blending into the dark.
---
Somewhere far away…
The sky was red. The air was hot. The ground cracked like the skin of an ancient dragon.
Another explosion—loud, sharp, and earth-shaking. Trees were ripped from their roots, floating briefly before crashing down. Winds spun violently from a single point—the center of the battle.
"Keep attacking! Don't give him room!" shouted someone from atop a large boulder.
The voice belonged to Amon, a tall youth with long golden hair tied back. His face was covered in dust and blood, but his eyes—sharp like a hawk spotting prey high in the sky—were unwavering.
Before him, a massive creature roared in fury.
Raivernox. (The Hunter's Soul)
Level 110. Its body was the size of a battleship. Two heads. Scales as black as coal with magma-like patterns. Its breath carried both poison and fire. Its claws could cleave through solid rock.
A soul beast of the hunter class.
"He's too strong!" yelled Zore, Amon's right hand. A burly man in a red wind-cloak that flapped violently each time Raivernox roared.
"We have to fall back! If we don't—"
"No!" Amon cut him off. "Raivernox is the final condition for evolving my Soul Chicken into a Golden Roc. If he escapes now… everything will be for nothing!"
Zore clenched his teeth, but didn't argue further.
---
On the battlefield
Their seven-man squad was scattered, each controlling a Soul Chicken—small creatures with different elemental powers: fire, ice, stone, wind, lightning, water, even light. They attacked together, synchronized in formation.
But their strikes—though coordinated—only scratched Raivernox's scales. Like mosquito bites.
"We're not hurting it..." whispered one member, his voice trembling.
Another added, "He's not even serious… It's like he's... playing."
One of the squad, a bespectacled teenager, looked at Amon and Zore from afar.
"They're so strong... But why are we always the ones pushed forward first?"
A comrade replied softly, not turning, "Because we're not the protagonists. We're just... pawns."
Silence. Even the thunder of battle couldn't drown out that line.
---
The Final Move
Amon stood tall. His face was serious.
"Zore. It's now or never."
Zore nodded. "Fusion?"
"Fusion."
They looked at each other—then in an instant, their auras exploded. Their bodies merged with their respective soul beasts. Golden and crimson lights blazed across the sky.
Amon → Roc Knight (Lv. 90)
Massive wings. Golden armor. Glowing eyes. His body now stood at two and a half meters tall, his aura radiating heavenly might.
Zore → Crimson Talon Monk (Lv. 88)
His red cloak fused with his skin. Wings ignited. His palms glowed a blazing red.
Raivernox hissed. Both heads roared together. A wave of spiritual pressure swept across the area, knocking the rest of the team to the ground.
The true battle began.
Zore dove forward—his palm slicing through the air. Raivernox leapt, whipping one of its tails. An explosion rang out as the two collided mid-air.
Meanwhile, Amon floated high, his hands forming a circle.
"Solar Feather Annihilation..."
Golden aura gathered. His wings fully expanded. From them, thousands of glowing feathers slowly formed—floating like a rain of hellfire.
> Ultimate Skill: Solar Feather Annihilation
Thousands of light-feathers explode simultaneously, burning and slicing through the enemy's energy. Side effect: drains half the user's soul energy. Cooldown: 24 hours.
"Zore! Hold him—FIVE more seconds!"
Zore, in his Crimson Monk form, kicked a large boulder into the air, used it as a stepping stone, and launched another attack. His wings sliced through the air like blades.
Raivernox roared in anger. One of its heads lunged to bite Zore, but he spun midair—landing on Raivernox's back, then struck hard at its left head.
"FINISH IT!" Zore shouted.
Amon spread his arms.
An explosion of light.
Thousands of golden feathers rained down on Raivernox from the sky.
> ZzzzzzhhhhRRROOOOMMMM—
The sound was like a thousand spiritual blades cutting through space.
Raivernox screamed. Its scales shattered. Both heads thrashed, trying to resist the onslaught. But the feathers burned through its aura, weakening it.
Amon collapsed to his knees, face pale. Half his energy gone.
Zore swooped down. His wings glowed deep crimson.
> Skill: Crimson Guillotine Wing
Wings turn into sharp scythes, slashing in one direction, targeting the enemy's vital point.
The slash cut across the neck of Raivernox's right head.
The beast staggered. One head still writhed, but the other fell, black blood exploding onto the ground.
Raivernox collapsed.
The earth cracked. The sound of impact echoed far and wide.
---
Amon staggered forward, approaching the massive corpse.
His face was drenched in sweat, but his eyes shone with deep satisfaction.
He touched the chest of his soul chicken, now standing small beside him.
"Now... just your final evolution," he whispered. "To become the Golden Roc…"