E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn’t Exist

A horde of monstrosities rushed across the surface of the sea — twisted beasts, half-bat, half-fish. Their slick blue scales glimmered under the sun, clashing unnaturally with their black leathery wings. Their monstrous bat-like heads bore crimson eyes radiating bloodlust, each locked squarely onto one man.

Han.

Levitating off the ground, he descended slowly, his feet touching the water's surface without a ripple. His body bent forward slightly, hands clawed at his sides as he stared down the encroaching army with cold resolve. He didn't care how much planning the Cursed had put into this — how many traps or trump cards they still had hidden. He didn't care how large this wave was or how overwhelming their presence appeared.

All that mattered now… was ending them.

Whatever game the Cursed were playing, Han knew one thing for certain — only the strongest would survive.

And he had every intention of being the last one left standing.

His expression hardened as he stared at another of the Cursed's abominations — a horde of morbid Batscales, charging in coordinated frenzy. Despite their monstrous nature, there was no mistaking their discipline. They were tamed. That was the most chilling part.

Another wave of death.

But it wouldn't be enough.

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride."

With that shout, Han's body blurred, vanishing in a flash of raw speed. The surface of the ocean split beneath the force of his dash. A sonic boom cracked the air as he collided with the first wave of Batscales, his fists glowing with brutal energy.

"Tiger Barrage!"

A thunderous series of punches tore into the charging beasts. Each strike erupted in a shockwave, the ocean below convulsing with each blast. Flesh tore, wings shattered, scales cracked, and the once-orderly charge became a scattered chaos of blood and screams.

But Han didn't stop. He was a whirlwind of fury — fighting not just to win, but to end the slaughter before it reached the weakened Allied Forces behind him.

Meanwhile, far across the island, behind a jagged ridge of black rock, a massive cave sat hidden in the shadows. From the outside, it looked unassuming — its entrance only wide enough for a handful of people at a time. But within… was something far worse.

The interior stretched endlessly. Verdant green moss and leafy vines sprouted from the ground, giving an eerie contrast to the horror unfolding there.

Two enormous red portals pulsed with sinister light, side by side like twin mouths of hell. Every few seconds, more beasts poured out. Each one emerged frenzied — screeching, biting, tearing — but then… they stopped.

Frozen for a heartbeat.

Then their bodies straightened.

Their eyes changed.

They obeyed.

Tamed instantly.

And high above them, the source of this madness sat like a king upon his throne — atop what at first appeared to be a massive black wall.

But it wasn't a wall.

It was a beast.

A monstrous scorpion — its massive chitinous body layered with black and white fur, a grotesque fusion of fur and exoskeleton. It sat still, looming like a god of destruction. But the most horrifying part wasn't its size or appearance.

It was its tail — or rather, tails.

Sic of them — each shimmering in a different color: red, blue, green, black, yellow, and silver. Each tail representing an elemental affinity. This beast had them all.

But even worse… it was feeding.

Endlessly.

Dozens of crystalline beasts cores were dragged to its base by other tamed monsters. The scorpion devoured them — body and all. Seconds later, the armored carapace on its back cracked open like a hatch, revealing something no human mind should ever witness.

A living furnace, spewing forth newborn scorpions, each twisted and malformed like their parent. Not as massive — not even close — but dangerous all the same. Each bore one or two tails.

Only one in several hundred had three.

None had five.

Not yet.

And still they came — a growing swarm of death, bred by a nightmare and tamed by a force more terrifying than anything the heroes had faced before.

The beast was nothing short of abominable.

A grotesque fusion of fur and carapace, it moved not with intent, but with eerie purpose—an unnatural rhythm powered by the consumption of core crystals. With every orb it devoured, the monster's massive exoskeleton would quiver, and from its grotesque tail-like orifice—a gaping maw that resembled a warped doorway—more scorpion-like beasts were birthed. These lesser abominations paled in size, yet bore a frightening resemblance to their progenitor, each carrying one, two, or—rarely—three tails, and each radiating a twisted elemental affinity inherited from their creator.

Yet it wasn't the beast alone that made the scene so disturbing.

Seated leisurely atop its spiked back, nestled between the shifting plates of its armored form, was a figure clad in pitch-black armor. His long black hair was unkempt, strands falling across a face sculpted with sharp, weary features. Deep bags sat beneath hollow eyes that had long abandoned the notion of sleep. He held a glowing yellow orb in one hand, spinning it absently—his expression devoid of excitement, fear, or joy. Just… exhaustion.

This was Quint—one of the feared Dark Emissaries.

He sighed, long and low. "This is really… troublesome."

The orb in his hand flickered, the power of the Enigma Beads clearly weakening. And that worried him. Not because he feared the enemy. Not because he doubted the outcome. But because without the stabilizing effect of the beads, he'd begin to feel the full brunt of his own power. A burden few could comprehend.

It wasn't just draining—it was maddening.

And yet, no one else seemed to understand. Or maybe they did, but still expected him to carry it regardless. Especially Metallo—the loudmouth. Annoying, brash, always talking. But oddly enough, the only one Quint had considered a friend. While the others were distant, Metallo had been there, cracking jokes, making noise, never afraid to speak his mind. And beneath that loudness, he'd felt something real.

But Metallo was gone now.

Killed.

And when Quint received word that the invaders—those responsible for his death—were marching on the Cursed Domain, something inside him shifted. He made a silent promise: None of them would leave alive. Not one.

But even as that conviction hardened in his chest, he felt the weight of regret creep in.

Not because he feared the invaders.

Not because he thought they were too powerful.

But because… he was tired. Bone-deep, soul-withered, tired. Out of all the Dark Emissaries, he was the one facing the greatest burden. Not literally fighting the war, perhaps, but controlling the flow of the monstrous hordes. Shaping the battlefield itself. Managing an entire army of aberrations.

It was hell.

And worse still, the others didn't make it any easier.

Madi was always buried in ancient tomes, detached from the present.

Magus barely spoke at all—always lurking, always watching, unnerving even to Quint.

Freak Eye was too cold, too clinical. Nothing stirred behind that single, ominous third eye.

Garvin? Busy as always, more a phantom than a comrade.

Striker, the jovial one, barely stayed in the domain, spending most of his time beside Drake, who seemed to run the show.

And then there was the last Emissary—the unknown one. No name, no face, nothing but rumors and hushed tones. Quint didn't even want to think about him. He figured only Striker and Drake knew anything. And honestly, he didn't care. Too much effort.

But Metallo… he was different. And now he was gone.

Quint clenched the yellow orb tighter.

Just then, the red portal to his right spiraled open with a screech of twisting space.

From within, a monstrous figure stepped out—taller than the rest, clad in elegant black armor. Its body glowed faintly, and its eyes burned with crimson flame, like twin infernos contained behind glass. Its presence alone bent the surrounding mana, a ripple of pressure sweeping across the cavern.

It wasn't alone.

More beasts emerged behind it—hulking, humanoid creatures with four massive arms, twisted and muscular. Unlike the others, these had an intelligence in their crimson eyes. Controlled, calculated. The kind of monsters that weren't just made—they were designed.

And then, stepping behind them, came one more.

Six arms.

Six crimson eyes.

The aura of a calamity.

The portal boss.

As the five figures stepped out of the swirling red portal, it flickered violently before sealing shut behind them. A brief silence followed—an eerie moment where the air itself seemed to hold its breath. The leader of the group, clad in obsidian-black armor that shimmered faintly with infernal runes, slowly turned its gaze toward the direction where Quint sat.

The Dark Emissary hadn't moved an inch.

Eyes closed, posture slouched as if drifting off mid-thought, he remained atop the massive scorpion-like beast that pulsed with terrifying latent power. The leader hesitated. It was subtle, barely a twitch of its form, but it had sensed it—a ripple of overwhelming energy sleeping just beneath the surface of that monstrous creature. Yet the beast was still distracted, busy tearing into the remains of the beasts cores . That bought them time. If they struck swiftly, they could eviscerate the human before the creature even noticed.

Or so they thought.

They took a step.

Then another.

But before they could close the distance—before steel could be unsheathed or claws could shred the air—Quint's eyes opened.

A dull, ghostly glow radiated from within his pupils, soft at first… and then surging with authority. In an instant, four of the humanoid monsters—each bearing four muscular arms and radiating vicious intent—stiffened. Their savage snarls melted into stillness. Their crimson eyes dulled, like puppets whose strings had just been yanked by a master hand.

Tamed.

Quint hadn't even stood up.

But the leader—this one was different. Its body trembled violently under the influence of Quint's will, but it refused to bow. Its mind clawed desperately against the invading presence, snarling in silent defiance. Then with a roar that sent tremors across the plains, it burst forward, aiming directly at Quint with monstrous speed.

Quint didn't move. He merely watched the charging beast with an expression that could only be described as exhausted indifference.

"This is really… tiring," he muttered under his breath.

The glow in his eyes intensified.

The charging beast slowed.

Then slower still.

Each step became heavier, as though gravity itself had betrayed the creature. By the time it was a single meter away from Quint, it was frozen mid-stride, claws raised and jaw wide open—but unable to move further.

Quint stared into its burning red eyes and gave his command, voice calm and quiet like a tired professor instructing a rowdy class.

"Take your minions… move them outside the battlefield. Cause all the destruction you want. But leave the ones in red untouched. Do whatever you want with the rest."

A faint hum of acknowledgment came from the monster as the hold on its mind finally snapped into place. With slow, obedient steps, the leader turned and led its fellow tamed creatures away—towards the heart of the battlefield, where chaos already reigned. Their presence would be a second apocalypse.

Quint sighed again, a long, tired breath that seemed to carry the weight of entire wars.

"Taming beasts is one thing… taming monsters is a whole other curse," he muttered, rolling his neck as though the act itself were a burden. "Why are those damn heroes putting up so much resistance?"

He wasn't frustrated because he feared losing.

No.

He knew—deep down and with certainty—that their deaths were inevitable. It didn't matter how many plans they made, how many sacrifices they threw forward, or how much strength they tried to muster. In the end, the cursed would reign.

But still… they were annoyingly persistent. Especially the ones from the Tryst guild.

And that meant more effort.

More taming.

More power.

More fatigue.

With a tone soaked in exhaustion and apathy, Quint finally muttered the words to himself, as if speaking to the wind:

"You heroes should just hurry up and die… so I can finally get some rest."

TO BE CONTINUED…...

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