Awakening The Abyssal System

Amidst intense relief after the battle, Buck collapsed onto the creature's body, lying down on its fur, panting and aching. His entire body felt as though it had been swept through a storm of blades. His left shoulder was dislocated, making it nearly impossible to use his left arm.

His expressions bore the brunt of the ordeal. Horror filled his eyes, and his mouth gaped as he desperately tried to draw in as much air as his lungs could hold.

Damn it! My left shoulder is really dislocated.

Still breathless, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, Buck bit into the creature's wing and stepped on his own left hand to stabilize himself while teetering precariously. Pain surged through his fingers as they were crushed under his weight.

It's going to be okay. This happened all the time back at work—people would dislocate their shoulders from sheer exhaustion. Putting my arm back in place shouldn't be that different from what we used to do there.

Life as a worker in Buck's city had been hellish. As the capital of Farad-ay, a kingdom pioneering metalworking and mass production, the city demanded brutal labor. Dislocating one's arm during the first week was practically a rite of passage. Especially for outsiders, it marked the moment coworkers began to acknowledge their existence—if they were lucky.

He recalled the dark factories, where the air reeked of molten metal and sweat, and every shift blurred into the next. The older workers spoke little, their expressions hardened by years of toil, while new recruits learned to suffer in silence. Injuries were common, almost expected, and medical attention was a luxury no one could afford.

Taking a deep breath, Buck twisted his torso sharply, using all the strength in his core to push his shoulder back into place. His bones snapped and realigned with a jarring force.

When his shoulder popped back into position, Buck let out a warrior's cry, falling back to the ground. He bit down hard on the piece of leathery wing in his mouth, the taste wild and acrid, reminiscent of a predator. Tears of agony streaked his face as his pupils narrowed, trying to endure the pain.

The pain far surpassed any previous injury he'd experienced. It throbbed through his arm like a cursed heartbeat, sending shockwaves of torment. Clearly, resetting his shoulder alone had been a terrible idea—but it wasn't as though he had any other options.

His shoulder was now inflamed, the skin around it reddened, marked by hypnotic spirals—a trait unique to his altered form. Buck clutched his shoulder tightly as he struggled to his feet, careful not to bump into anything that might worsen his injuries.

He couldn't stop thinking why is it always like this? Why does the world feel so intent on breaking him? The thought echoed in his mind, bitter and sharp. He was no stranger to pain or despair, yet this ordeal was testing the very limits of his endurance. He had barely survived, yet it feels like death keeps chasing me.

Though his body trembled with fatigue, Buck forced himself to move. Giving up wasn't an option—not here, not now.

What a wretched world. Why does everything want to kill me? Why have I faced death so many times in just a few days?—Hell, I even died once!

The absurdity of his survival felt less like a miracle and more like torture. His memories were clouded, riddled with gaps. He had survived synchronization with the queen of his nest, but at a steep cost. He felt transfigured, no longer human. His body now belonged entirely to the Abyss.

Not only had his memories been altered by a relic, but his entire being had been reshaped. What little humanity had remained in him was now gone. Abyssal offspring were only considered "people" because they were born from human wombs. But Buck's body had been reborn through a relic, infused with the Abyss's miasma.

He was no longer a man but a creature. Even his system reflected this change, listing him as "Lesser" instead of "Private," the rank typically assigned to his kind.

Bitter thoughts churned in his mind as he stared at the lifeless creature before him.

What makes me any different from it now? If an Abyssal offspring killed me, would the system classify me as human—or as one of them?

Answers eluded him. The system didn't speak to its users. It was enigmatic and emotionless, an entity that inspired fear in anyone who encountered it. The system wasn't a friend—it was a force with an incomprehensible purpose, seemingly indifferent to those who relied on its functions.

Lost in thought, Buck's stomach growled loudly, like the roar of a thousand starving felines. Saliva pooled in his mouth before he even realized it. The creature's body before him reawakened the hunger that had gnawed at him during his days trapped in the Forest of the Shrouded Aurora.

But how could he possibly cut through the thick hide of the creature without an exceptionally sharp blade? Even in death, its body retained the formidable resilience of an Abyssal beast.

Buck walked over to the pile of bones, searching for something solid and unporous. The remains were ancient and decayed, but he knew that one part of a skeleton often retained its strength, even after decomposition.

Digging through the brittle bones with his left arm, Buck tossed aside the porous fragments of decayed remains. It was clear the skeletons didn't belong to just one type of creature. The presence of a Cackling Nightwing in this area suggested that a fierce battle might have taken place, leaving behind a carcass for the victor to feast on.

His hunch proved correct. Among the pile lay the massive skull of a Cackling Nightwing, its surface dried out but with a faint sheen glinting from its teeth.

I knew there had to be one here. They're notorious for not leaving carcasses behind—they'd never allow another creature to devour their prey.

Using all his strength, Buck struck at one of the large canine teeth with his foot, hoping to dislodge it.

To his relief, the sharp tooth broke free, tumbling to the ground.

Yes! Finally, I'll get to eat something! And it's meat! I've grown so used to the taste of insects and fungi that I might die just from the sheer delight of eating real meat.

He grabbed the tooth, carefully holding it by its unsharpened root, and hurried back to the creature's body. His mouth watered uncontrollably, and the oppressive heat around him only added to his desperation.

Gripping the creature's thigh, he made an incision with all his might. The tooth bit into the dense fibers of the flesh, slicing through the skin clumsily but effectively. After some effort, Buck managed to carve out a hefty slab of meat—enough to sustain him for four days.

Now, he faced a dilemma. Should he leave the ruins to find a heat source to cook the meat, risking the attention of predators drawn to the scent of fresh blood? Or should he eat it raw and risk contracting parasites?

I'll have to roast it. I can't afford to leave the ruins in this state—and besides, I already have every parasite someone could possibly carry. It's not as if—

A sudden realization struck him as a shot.

If my body was reborn without even the calloused soles of my feet, does that mean I'm completely free of all the parasites and diseases I used to have?

He slowly closed his mouth, pulling his teeth away from the slab of meat.

You've got to be kidding me. I can't waste this chance. My body is practically pure now, free of all that filth. People would consider me a treasure just for this fact. I could walk into any town naked and be treated with dignity! I need to cook this meat.

Though his instincts screamed at him to tear into the flesh with his teeth, his discipline won out.

Of course, he couldn't leave the ruins completely exposed. His scent and appearance might attract more Cackling Nightwings lurking nearby. Using his makeshift blade, Buck began skinning the creature, intending to craft a crude cloak to camouflage himself and a sack to carry as much meat as possible.

The process took hours and hours of labor. Lacking any skill in cutting or stitching leather, he used tendons and smaller teeth to puncture and sew the pieces together. The results were crude—patchy leather, still clinging to bits of flesh and untreated—but surprisingly durable. A work of art to a beginner

The makeshift cloak was tied with uneven strips around his waist, accentuating his lean, slightly athletic frame. The lower edges of the cloak were jagged and riddled with holes, lending him a rough, intimidating air. A hood fashioned from the creature's hide partially obscured his face, completing his makeshift ensemble.

Damn it, I have no idea how to make pants. I'm wearing a dress again… How could I betray myself like this.