Top-Level Extra: Lord of Adaptation

[Four minutes]

...

Dane moved swiftly.

Without a moment to waste, he passed his blade to his left hand and seized the drowning chain with his right.

His grip nearly faltered under the weight, but he managed to hold firm.

Quickly, he wound the heavy chain around his ankle, securing it.

The bastardous creature lunged for him once more. There was no escape—no narrow passage to slip through.

He was trapped.

He had to take the hit.

Claws tore into his shoulder blade, ripping through flesh. Blood spilled freely, and a searing pain shot through him, rage swelling in its wake.

Dane let out a sharp hiss, his grip tightening on the chain.

'That hurts...'

"Damn you!"

Pain surged from the section wrapped around his arm, the hardened links pressing into his skin like a vice.

Worse still, the coarse metal bit into his ankle, leaving raw, reddened welts—soon, it would tear deeper.

He had no choice but to endure. Fighting unrestrained in this state was out of the question.

The spider-like creature struck again. Dane, wincing against the pain, fumbled with his left hand and hurled his blade towards it.

The Shore recoiled, springing back to evade the attack.

Dane noted its reaction.

So, it was wary. Then he would have to be merciless.

A grim determination settled over him as he pushed himself upright. His stance wavered but held.

He shifted the sword back to his right hand, where the chain still coiled around his arm.

His left was useless in battle. If he was going to fight, he would do it properly.

Quickly, once again, Dane struck with what little strength he had left.

The creature, however, was agile, twisting and weaving through his attacks with unnatural speed, its claws lashing out in a desperate attempt to pierce him.

He couldn't keep up.

His body was failing him—his movements became sluggish, his vision blurring.

Adaptation was impossible.

So, he relied on his wits.

Gritting his teeth, he deliberately feigned another clumsy strike, allowing the Shore to lunge forward, confident in its advantage.

The instant it committed to the attack, Dane shifted—his real strike coming from below.

With a vicious snarl, he drove his blade straight into the creature's skull.

"You fucking bastard!" he spat, twisting the sword mercilessly.

The jagged edge scraped against bone, splitting it apart with a sickening crunch.

The creature shrieked, its body convulsing.

But he wasn't finished. Not yet.

Fueled by fury and desperation, he yanked the blade free and, without hesitation, rammed it into the beast's throat, then its chest, then deeper still.

Again.

Again.

He struck without restraint, each piercing thrust met with a wet squelch as black blood gushed from the wounds, thick and rancid.

The stench of decay filled the air, but Dane didn't stop.

He wouldn't stop until it was dead.

Yet, despite the brutality, no panel appeared. No notification. No confirmation of the kill.

His breath hitched.

It was still alive.

A fresh wave of exhaustion crashed over him. His limbs trembled.

His wounds screamed in protest.

But there was no time to finish it off.

One minute left.

"I swear, I will hunt down your kind myself. I will drive you to extinction personally—as payment for all the pain you've caused me. Bitch! Or whatever the hell you are—hermaphrodite, sexless freak, I don't care!"

He reasoned that if this creature possessed a spider-like gene, then naturally, it would be an hermaphrodite—bi-gendered.

"Trash!"

He had no choice.

With a strained gasp, he dismissed his blade, the weight of it vanishing from his grasp. He turned, dragging himself forward, gripping the chains once more.

Every movement sent agony ripping through his body, his balance unsteady, his legs on the verge of giving out.

Still, he forced himself to move.

He staggered. Stumbled. Nearly collapsed. But he couldn't afford to stop.

If he could cry, he would have done so without hesitation.

***

At long last, after enduring unbearable pain, he had finally reached the end.

The dense fog that had cloaked the area began to dissipate upon his arrival.

The space before him was vast, devoid of any vegetation—except for the black roses that carpeted the ground in an endless spread.

Not a single patch of earth was left uncovered by their dark, mesmerising petals.

Roses were naturally sharp; he had to tread carefully.

Yet, he had never seen roses of this colour before. They were... hauntingly beautiful.

Then, under the dim light ahead, he saw something he never thought could exist in this place.

First, there was no visible source of light—yet the oak tree standing in the centre bore a soft silver glow, its reflection shimmering against the darkness.

It loomed above everything else, a lone beacon in this strange, desolate land.

And beneath it—

A body lay.

Bloodied. Wounded.

"Freak! Like I have time to admire this shit."

His gaze flickered over the figure again, breath hitching.

"That's my body. Finally."

It lay cradled in a bed of black roses—an eerie yet breathtaking sight.

But something was wrong.

He couldn't see its face, only the battered frame.

However, it was undoubtedly this character's body.

In a complicated, twisted way—it was also now him.

He had accepted such a reality.

A weak grin broke through his exhaustion as he stumbled forward, nearly collapsing.

The jagged thorns of the roses sliced into his bare feet, shallow cuts blooming against his skin.

Thin trails of blood merged with the black petals, marking his path.

...

[Ten seconds left.]

...

But then, it hit him.

This was still his subconscious.

Which meant... that couldn't be his original body.

Then what the hell was it?

***

His eyes snapped open. His lungs seized as he inhaled sharply.