Statues did not bleed.

  Yet the destruction painted something far worse than blood ever could.

  Stone bodies ruptured and split apart, collapsing into jagged rubble and drifting clouds of dust. Cracks webbed across reinforced torsos before exploding outward. Heads severed cleanly from shoulders. Limbs sliced off with surgical precision.

  They did not scream.

  But the silence felt violent.

  Every single golem had been reduced to fragments.

  At the center of that devastation stood Haruto.

  He stood tall, unmoving, one foot resting atop the severed head of a stone guardian. Dust swirled around him like the aftermath of a storm that had chosen him as its eye.

  His blood scissor claws gleamed under the torchlight.

  Not a crack.

  Not a scratch.

  The left-handed blades were impossibly sharp, their edges refined by the Astrons he continued to channel into them. The more energy he fed them, the denser and keener they became, slicing through reinforced stone as though it were damp parchment.

  The right-handed gauntlet, in contrast, was raw force incarnate. Dense. Brutal. It crushed enhanced golems like fragile eggshells beneath a boot. Where the left severed, the right obliterated.

  Two weapons. Two philosophies.

  Precision and annihilation.

  Both forged from his own blood.

  That was the true terror.

  Anything shaped from that gluttonous substance inherited its devouring properties. Even the slightest contact triggered digestion. Defense meant nothing. Durability meant nothing. The blood did not cut.

  It consumed.

  His demonic eyes glimmered faintly as he stared down at the shattered remains.

  Gluttony.

  Not hunger.

  Not yet.

  He reached down and placed a hand against one of the broken torsos.

  Then he activated it.

  A single droplet of blood slipped from his fingertip and struck the ground.

  The droplet expanded.

  It did not splash.

  It spread.

  In an instant, a crimson flood surged outward, engulfing every fragment of stone in the chamber. The golems dissolved within seconds, their hardened bodies breaking down and vanishing as though they had never existed.

  The flood retracted.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Into him.

  Strength poured into his veins.

  His breathing hitched.

  His pupils trembled.

  The sheer density of Astrons compressing into his body was suffocating. His sense of self wavered beneath the weight of it. Every consumption sharpened something inside him.

  And dulled something else.

  The more he devoured, the louder the silence in his mind became.

  An ominous aura clung to him now, faint but undeniable. His gaze lifted slowly toward the path ahead.

  There were more.

  He could feel them.

  More to destroy.

  More to consume.

  More to make his.

  With a burst of wind, he vanished.

  The torches along the tunnel flared to life as he passed, igniting one after another in obedient succession, marking territory that had been conquered through absolute eradication.

  Another formation of golems awaited him deeper within.

  He did not slow.

  A grin curved across his face.

  It did not feel entirely like his own.

  By now, he had memorized their attack patterns. Axes swung. Blades descended. Stone fists crashed down.

  He slipped between them as if walking through falling leaves.

  Effortless.

  At the center of the group, he placed his hand against the ground.

  The tunnel floor cracked.

  Blood surged upward through the fractures, crystallizing into jagged chains that snapped outward and coiled around the golems’ limbs and torsos. They struggled, stone grinding against stone, but resistance meant nothing.

  He pulled.

  Heads tore free.

  Arms ripped loose.

  Bodies shattered apart in a spray of debris.

  It felt…

  Amazing.

  That was the problem.

  Haruto froze.

  The silence that followed felt heavier than the battle.

  He turned his head slowly, looking at the dismembered remains scattered around him. They were enemies. Constructs. Obstacles.

  So why did it feel like something inside him was celebrating?

  He swallowed.

  This was what he had feared.

  He hesitated only briefly before activating his ability once more, dissolving the remains and drawing the power into himself.

  There was no alternative.

  Strength was survival.

  If he faltered, everyone else would pay the price.

  The blood returned to him again, thicker this time, heavier.

  He clenched his jaw, compressing the rising bloodlust deep within his chest. It clawed upward, demanding release. Suppressing it felt like wrestling an ocean into a bottle.

  It was emotional warfare.

  He had always prided himself on discipline. On analysis. On rational control.

  But this…

  This was something else.

  Every use strengthened the urge.

  Every victory amplified the craving.

  And yet he trusted himself.

  He trusted that he remained in control.

  A quiet thought whispered beneath that confidence.

  What if that trust is part of the influence?

  What if the skill itself nurtures that belief?

  What if he has already begun surrendering, piece by piece, while convincing himself he is still steering?

  The idea sent a cold shiver through him.

  Creepy.

  Dangerous.

  He forced the thought aside.

  Focus.

  The objective remained unchanged.

  Reach the others.

  Reunite.

  That came first.

  Everything else could wait.

  He launched forward again, even as he felt his own grip on himself loosening by degrees too small to measure.

  …

  His speed was no longer merely fast.

  It was abnormal.

  Hana’s eyes widened as she tracked the blue marker on her system map. Haruto’s position accelerated at a rate that defied everything she had seen from him before.

  “What is he doing?!” she muttered, disbelief tightening her voice.

  The distraction cost her.

  A frogman lunged forward, spear thrusting straight toward her.

  Annoyance flashed through her.

  She compressed her body, reshaping mid-motion, and unleashed a concentrated blast of pressurized fire breath. The spear, the wielder, and the damp air around them evaporated in a burst of heat.

  No hesitation.

  She propelled herself forward immediately, detonating fire beneath her to match his increasing pace.

  Only she understood the full danger at the end of the labyrinth.

  The smallest red dot.

  The unnatural movement.

  The presence that erased everything in its path.

  He cannot confront it alone.

  She skipped past the remaining monsters in her lane, ignoring their shrieks as she surged forward. The system registered the bypass instantly.

  Unconquered territory.

  As a result, the torches lining the tunnel refused to ignite.

  Darkness swallowed the corridor behind her.

  In this labyrinth, progress without extermination carried a price.

  No light.

  No claim.

  No proof of dominance.

  A silent penalty for those who ran ahead without clearing the path.

  But Hana did not slow.

  She did not care about dungeon completion metrics.

  With her internal senses and blazing soul guiding her, she advanced through the suffocating dark.

  Darkness would not separate them.

  Not now.

  Not when something at the throne was already waiting.

  …