The mont Liam allocated the points, sothing inside him snapped into place.
A rush of sharpness coursed through every nerve in his body, like his brain had just been wired to perfection.
His senses expanded.
His limbs felt lighter, more responsive, as if ti itself had slowed down for everything but him.
Agility: 188.
It was more than just speed—it was perception, reflex, timing, precision, coordination.
There was a reason he didn’t dump the points into strength or endurance.
He wasn’t losing this fight because he wasn’t powerful.
He was losing because these bastards were too fast, too coordinated. His reactions, his ability to read and respond—it just wasn’t enough before.
But now?
Now it was different.
The mont Liam opened his eyes again, they glead with new clarity.
In the blink of an eye, he moved.
To Lana, watching from a distance, it was like he disappeared in a gust of wind. Even the firelight struggled to catch his blur of motion.
BOOM!
He reappeared in front of one of the armored vampires, fist already cocked back. The vampire reacted just in ti to flinch—barely avoiding the first punch.
But Liam was already throwing the second.
CRACK!
The blow smashed into the vampire’s chest like a cannon, sending him flying backward like a ragdoll, crashing through broken trees and chunks of debris.
Liam stood there for just half a second, chest rising and falling calmly.
The reflexes he just displayed weren’t human.
They weren’t even close.
The remaining three vampires realized it instantly.
They didn’t charge blindly.
No—now they surrounded him.
Positioning themselves in a wide triangle, they stood just outside his reach, hands glowing as blood energy gathered in each palm.
Liam’s eyes narrowed.
He knew what was coming.
In perfect unison, all three slashed their arms outward.
Whoooosh!
Three razor-thin, glowing red energy slashes blasted toward him, screaming through the air at terrifying speed.
To anyone else, it would’ve been death.
Even Lana, watching from a nearby slope, felt her breath freeze in her lungs. Her hand clutched her chest as her pupils dilated.
"No..." she whispered, fear spreading across her face. "There’s no way he can dodge that..."
The attacks were coming from three different angles—left, right, and front. There was no way out.
Except Liam didn’t panic.
His eyes sharpened, mind calculating everything in less than a second.
Distance. Angle. Trajectory. Escape point.
Then he activated it.
[Dragon Steps – Level 2]
Suddenly, the world bent around him.
Liam’s feet hit the ground with explosive force, and then—BOOM—he shot out at an impossible angle.
The glowing red lines sliced through the air, but Liam was gone.
He blurred past the leftmost attack, ducked beneath the second, then twisted his body in mid-air like a serpent to evade the final slash by re inches.
He reappeared just before one of the vampires, his hand already clamping down around the guard’s throat.
The armored vampire barely had ti to gasp.
Liam’s hand tightened, lifting the vampire clean off the ground.
Then it began.
BANG!
A punch to the face.
BANG!
Another.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Each blow was like a hamr forged by gods. The sheer speed and strength in Liam’s fists now made the air ripple around them.
The vampire’s head snapped back violently with each strike, helt denting more and more.
BANG!
Blood splattered from the nose gap in the helt.
BANG!
One of the fangs cracked and flew out of his mouth.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Liam didn’t stop.
His body moved like a machine—ruthless, precise, relentless.
He didn’t give the vampire a single second to regenerate. Every ti the wounds tried to close, he’d hit again—faster, harder.
This was it.
He’d realized sothing during the beatdown.
These things were insanely durable. Their regeneration was off the charts.
But it wasn’t infinite.
If he hit them hard enough, fast enough, brutal enough—he could overwhelm their healing factor.
Not kill them instantly, but disrupt their system so badly it bought him ti.
He wasn’t fighting to just land one hit.
He was fighting to brutalize.
And it was working.
Finally, after a dozen punches that blurred the vampire’s face into a swollen ss, Liam dropped the limp body to the ground.
The vampire gasped for breath, eyes barely open, trying to recover—but his regeneration had halted, stunned by the sheer trauma.
Liam stepped back, blood dripping from his knuckles.
His chest rose and fell calmly again.
He looked at the remaining two vampires now, both of whom had taken a more cautious stance.
They weren’t charging in anymore.
Liam’s speed had shifted the battlefield.
He wiped the blood off his chin and tilted his head at them.
"Next."
"Step back," Boris said, his voice low but firm.
The two remaining vampires didn’t hesitate. They exhaled deeply—relief flooding their undead veins—as they backed away from Liam’s line of sight.
They knew.
Even if they didn’t want to admit it, they knew.
Only Boris stood a chance now.
The pair moved quickly, dashing toward the two fallen comrades Liam had ravaged. One still lay unconscious from the savage beating, his regeneration stunted and body twitching erratically. The other was the first Liam had struck down with the Feather Shards skill—still alive, though barely.
His skin was pale, drenched in blood, a gaping hole where his stomach used to be. His armor had been blown apart, and his breathing was shallow.
But he hadn’t turned to ash.
He wasn’t dead... yet.
The vampires reached him and imdiately began checking his pulse and stabilizing him. But their attention wasn’t on the battlefield anymore.
They left it to their leader now.
Boris walked forward, calm and steady, his boots pressing softly into the blood-stained forest floor.
His cold gaze stayed fixed on Liam.
"You’ve got thick skin," Boris said finally. His voice was smooth, deep, laced with sothing close to amusent. "Every ti I think I’ve seen what you can do, you pull sothing else out of your ass."
Liam didn’t respond.
He stood still, breathing low, his eyes locked on Boris, watching—calculating.
Boris continued, unfazed. "So tell ... how exactly did you get your powers?"
Liam stared.
Then he muttered a single word.
"Fuck off."
Boris chuckled at that, shaking his head slowly like a man indulging a particularly arrogant child.
"Still keeping secrets," he murmured. "That’s fine. Won’t matter in a few minutes anyway."
Then, he did sothing Liam didn’t expect.
He reached into his armor.
Liam’s muscles tensed imdiately, body on edge as Boris pulled sothing out from beneath the thick, black chestplate.
It was a dagger—small, jagged, and ugly.
But it radiated power.
It looked like it was carved straight out of volcanic rock. The blade shimred with faint cracks running through it, glowing red and orange like magma pulsing beneath stone.
As soon as it was exposed to the air, Liam felt sothing... wrong. The air changed, as if every particle around the blade trembled in fear.
Then—
[DING!]
[WARNING!]
[Avoid the dagger!]
Liam’s eyes widened.
[Toxic Relic Detected: "Bloodfire Fang"]
[Effect: Lethal contact. Even a scratch will result in irreversible internal damage.]
[System resistance ineffective against this relic. Imdiate evasion is advised.]
Liam’s heart dropped into his stomach.
What the hell was this thing?
He swallowed hard and asked inwardly, "System... what does it do?"
The reply ca instantly.
[The ’Bloodfire Fang’ is an ancient relic created by vampiric high priests during the Crimson Era. A stab or slash from this weapon causes the victim’s blood to boil within their veins. The process mimics deep-frying in molten oil—agonizing, slow, and irreversible. Victims do not die quickly. They remain conscious, trapped in unbearable agony until the body gives out.]
Liam’s expression dropped.
"What the f—" he whispered under his breath.
His skin crawled.
He had seen so ssed up things before. He had endured pain, torture, near-death.
But this?
This was monstrous.
Boris caught the change in his expression. His eyes narrowed sharply, and the corner of his mouth curled into a knowing smirk.
"Oh?" he said. "What’s wrong, Liam? Don’t tell ... you know what this is?"
Liam didn’t reply.
He couldn’t.
Not with his jaw clenched that tight.
But the look on his face said everything.
Boris’s smirk turned into a grin—wide and cruel.
"I was right," he said, lifting the dagger and admiring its glow. "You do know what it is. And you also know..."
He took a step forward, dagger glowing like it had a pulse of its own.
"...that this will be the end of you."
---
User Comments
0 comments from readers