My Charity System made me too OP

Leon took a breath and stepped barefoot into the obsidian flames.

There was no warmth. No burning.

At first.

Then the fire spoke.

Not in words—but in sensation. The moment his skin passed through the veil of flickering black flame, something inside him was unmade. The fire didn't consume flesh—it searched memory. And it found everything.

The very first blow he'd taken from Kragg—the hammer-punch that cracked his shoulder.

The shock of his ribs bending.

The torque in his spine when he redirected force.

The moment his forehead slammed against carapace.

All of it—replayed in full fidelity.

Not images.

Not sound.

But pure, tactile memory.

The Shellfire ignited his nervous system. Every pain signal returned in pristine, brutal detail—flooding back as if happening now.

Leon fell to his knees.

Muscles spasmed. Bones ached with phantom impact. He gasped as his body writhed—not from damage, but from truth. He was reliving his battle—but not as memory.

As data.

Don't resist.

Let it flow.

This pain is instruction.

He heard the Shell Pulse—not as a sound, but as a vibration in the marrow. It guided his breathing. Slowed his heart. Coaxed the screaming nerves to understand instead of reject.

One breath. Two. Three.

Leon gritted his teeth and let it in.

The ache in his knuckles became awareness of tension distribution.

The crack in his ribs transformed into clarity about structural flex.

The whip of Kragg's punch? It became a map of torque vectors across Leon's own shoulder.

What was once trauma became information.

What was once suffering became structure.

His entire body began to glow from within—veins outlined in dim red light, his skin flickering like volcanic glass under pressure. Shell Pulse was no longer a technique he used.

It was a second skin, coded into him through agony and acceptance.

And then—

BOOM.

The black fire flared crimson.

Runes on the chamber walls pulsed in recognition. Obsidian cracked and re-formed beneath his feet as if acknowledging a completed circuit.

Leon's eyes snapped open—glowing with molten red rings.

His heart beat once—echoing like a drum.

Shell Pulse: Tier II – "Shell Reverb" Unlocked.

You now retain 20% of kinetic data from all prior battles. Physical trauma is recorded and rechanneled as stored explosive force. Can be triggered manually or reflexively. Each use temporarily increases muscle fiber density and joint resilience.

He stood.

There were no burn marks.

No injuries.

But his musculature had changed. Compact. Efficient. Every ligament tighter. His body was no longer just trained—it was tempered. Like folded steel.

The obsidian flames died down—satisfied.

And Leon exhaled, steam rising from his mouth like dragon breath.

He'd entered as a brawler wielding Shell Pulse.

He left as a living weapon that remembered violence.

Kragg let out a low, rumbling laugh—more vibration than sound. The Ant Champion extended one heavy hand, palm open in a gesture of rare respect.

"You wear pain like we do—until it teaches, not tortures. That is our creed." He nodded toward the obsidian token. "The mark of 'Endurance-Transformed' is given to few outsiders. Treasure it. It means the fire accepted you."

Leon turned the token in his fingers. The glyph was simple—just three jagged strokes intersecting in the center—but something about it hummed with power. With memory. It pulsed faintly in his palm, warm and real.

Roselia stepped in beside him, brushing soot from his shoulder. "So what now, Champion?"

Leon gave a faint smile. "Now we keep climbing. I need to reach Rank 60."

Kragg's heavy antennae twitched. "Then go to the Obsidian Temple. It lies in the hollow beneath this city, carved through the heartstone of the world-root. There, the next ten stand between you and the Gatekeeper."

"Gatekeeper of 60…" Leon repeated. "What are they like?"

Kragg paused, then spoke with reverence.

"He was born from the core fire itself. His fists are furnace-bound. His presence bends the breath from weak lungs. He has held that rank longer than anyone living in this layer. If you defeat him, you won't just climb the ranking—you'll earn the right to train in the Furnace Rings themselves."

Milim's eyes lit up. "Ooooh. Sounds like we're punching lava next."

Roselia leaned playfully on Leon's shoulder. "You're going to get addicted to punching things, aren't you?"

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Addicted? No."

He glanced at his still-glowing hands, and flexed them slowly.

"Committed."

Milim grinned. "He already was."

The party moved as one, walking through the darkened tunnels beneath the coliseum. Obsidian crowds bowed or stepped aside with murmured clicks and trills. Word was already spreading: the outsider who passed the Shellfire.

And beneath the city, the ancient Temple doors were opening.

The group descended further into the labyrinthine tunnels of the Obsidian Ant City, the air growing warmer and denser with every step. Faint red glows illuminated their path as veins of molten rock crisscrossed the cavern walls, giving the impression of a living, breathing entity. The echoes of their footsteps faded into the distant hum of the city's energy.

When they finally reached the Temple of Ten Fists, it was nothing like they had expected. The entrance loomed ahead—a massive obsidian archway framed by ancient glyphs pulsing with faint crimson light. The door itself seemed alive, shifting and undulating as though it were responding to their presence.

Kragg stood at the threshold, nodding toward Leon. "The trials within are unlike the arena. Each challenger is tested not only in combat but in spirit. You will face ten champions. Each fight is layered in meaning."

Leon approached, holding up the token. The glyph on it glowed brighter in response, and the doors began to part with a deep, resonant groan. Beyond, the interior of the temple stretched out, vast and endless, bathed in a dim, flickering light that seemed to emanate from the very walls.

"What's the catch?" Roselia asked, her eyes narrowing.

Kragg turned to her. "Only the challenger may enter the inner sanctum. Allies may observe, but they cannot interfere."

Leon turned back to his companions. "Stay sharp. If things go wrong, be ready."

Roselia gave him a soft smile. "We always are."

With a final nod, Leon stepped through the doorway, leaving his companions at the edge of the chamber. The air inside was thick and heavy, the ground warm underfoot. As the doors closed behind him, a deep voice echoed through the vast space.

"Welcome, outsider, to the Temple of Ten Fists. Here, strength is forged, not given. To ascend, you must defeat each of the ten ranked champions who stand before you."