The air in the upper levels of the Great Netherworld Dungeon was thick with the scent of stagnant water and decaying stone. It was a cold, oppressive atmosphere that would have withered the lungs of any living being, but for Red, it was the perfect cradle for his rebirth.
The dungeon floor trembled softly as he moved forward.
His skeletal feet, now encased in the **Striders of the Void**, made no sound against the jagged stone. He moved with a supernatural smoothness, a wraith in obsidian armor. Beside him, Cuttey—the massive Shadow Wolf—was a silent engine of destruction. His paws, tipped with claws that could rend steel, retracted and extended rhythmically as he scanned the darkness. His crimson eyes, twin mirrors of Red's own, flickered with a predatory hunger that had been suppressed for too long.
### The First Harvest
The first obstacles appeared as they rounded a corner into a wide, vaulted chamber supported by crumbling pillars.
**Slimes.**
They were pathetic creatures, translucent blobs of acidic jelly that bounced clumsily across the floor, unaware that the hierarchy of the dungeon had just been overturned. To a novice adventurer, they were a nuisance. To Red, they were the first bricks in the foundation of his godhood.
Red didn't even break his stride. He merely raised a skeletal hand, his gauntlet glowing with a faint, malevolent light.
"**Fire Arrow.**"
In his previous life, this spell would have manifested as a bright, golden projectile of holy light. Now, the mana was filtered through the **Crimson Seed**. The flames condensed instantly into jagged, obsidian-purple bolts of heat. They shrieked through the air, piercing the slimes with surgical precision.
The chamber filled with the acrid smell of scorched mana and dissolving cellulose. The slimes didn't pop; they evaporated, leaving only their hardened, crystalline cores clattering onto the stone like falling hail.
Red stopped. He knelt, his armor clinking softly, and picked up a core. There was no disgust. No hesitation. The lingering humanity that might have recoiled at the act of consuming raw essence had been burned away on the pyre.
He crushed the core in his palm, letting the raw mana flow through his bones. Beside him, Cuttey tore into the remaining slime remains, his jaw dripping with dark, energized ichor.
A translucent system window shimmered into existence before Red's eyes.
***
**[Requirements for Evolution]** * **Mana:** 1,000 / 5,000
* **Monster Cores:** 10 / 10
**[COMPLETED]**
* **Kill Count:** 10 / 100
**[New Skill Acquired]** **Rapid Regeneration (Passive - Rank F):** Your skeletal structure and familiar's hide heal at an accelerated rate by consuming stored mana.
***
Red stared at the notification. The hunger in his core subsided for a fleeting second, replaced by the cold satisfaction of progress.
"…Good," he rasped, his voice echoing off the damp walls. "Then let it begin in earnest."
### The Wolf Pack
As they descended deeper, the environment changed. The damp moss gave way to dry, cracked earth and the smell of wet fur. The shadows here felt heavier, more aggressive.
Movement echoed from the darkness ahead. Ten shadows detached themselves from the walls—**Werewolves**.
These were not the mindless beasts found in the forests of the surface. These were armored in thick, iron-like fur, their muscles rippling with the dark mana of the dungeon. They spread out instinctively, their claws scraping against the stone as they formed a killing circle around the skeleton and his wolf.
Red tilted his skull, the movement accompanied by a dry, mechanical click.
"So many… how convenient," he murmured.
The lead werewolf let out a guttural howl and lunged, but Red was faster. He didn't reach for his sword. He wanted to test the limits of his new mana pool. He raised his hand toward the vaulted ceiling, his fingers splaying wide.
"**Thunder Strike.**"
The mana in the room didn't just surge; it imploded. A moment later, the ceiling seemed to tear open. Lightning descended—not the white-blue flash of a storm, but a violet, jagged bolt of pure Abyssal energy.
The explosion was deafening.
Nine of the werewolves were obliterated in a heartbeat. Their bodies didn't just die; they were reduced to scorched husks, their limbs torn apart by the sheer kinetic force of the mana. The air turned metallic with the scent of ozone and burnt hair.
One survived. The pack leader, larger than the rest, had dodged the direct hit, though his left flank was a blackened mess of weeping sores. Driven by agony and the madness of the dungeon, the beast lunged toward Red, its claws extended in a final, desperate gambit.
Red didn't step back. He didn't blink.
His sword—the **Soul-Cutter**—flashed once. It was a movement so swift it left a trail of red light in the air.
The werewolf's head separated from its shoulders with a clean, wet sound. The body continued its momentum for a split second, crashing into the stone at Red's feet before sliding into a heap of lifeless fur.
Red felt the drain immediately. The high-tier spells were taxing. The magic consumption gnawed at his core like a physical parasite.
"Eat," Red commanded.
He and Cuttey moved through the corpses methodically. Red didn't eat with a mouth; he placed his hands on the warm bodies, and the Crimson Seed acted as a vacuum, pulling the life force directly into his skeletal marrow.
***
**[System Update]** * **Mana:** 3,000 / 5,000
* **Monster Cores:** 10 / 10
* **Kill Count:** 20 / 100
***
"…Still not enough," Red muttered, his voice dropping into a low growl.
### The Ambush of the Living
The hunger was a constant now, a sharpening of his senses. That was why he felt it—the ripple in the air that didn't belong to a monster.
*Killing intent.*
It touched his senses a fraction of a second too late.
*Clang!*
A silver-coated blade struck Cuttey's flank. The massive wolf let out a pained yelp as dark, steaming blood splashed onto the floor. The weapon had been enchanted with "Bane of Evil," a holy attribute that sizzled against Cuttey's abyssal hide.
Red's head snapped toward the source. His crimson eye-flames roared into life.
Four humans emerged from the cover of the broken pillars. They were an adventurer party, well-equipped and breathing heavily.
"A skeleton in legendary plate?!" the swordsman gasped, his eyes wide with greed and fear.
"And a demonic wolf... we were right to ambush!" the attack mage yelled, already beginning a chant for a light-based spell.
"Don't let it move! Protect the mage!" the shield-bearer roared.
They saw Red as a "Unique Boss," a lucky find that would make them rich. They didn't see the man they had once hailed as a hero. They didn't see the soul they had betrayed.
Red moved.
There was no spell. No warning. There was only the sound of the air being displaced.
One step.
One swing of the **Soul-Cutter**.
The swordsman, the shield-bearer, and the attack mage never even saw the blade. Three heads hit the floor simultaneously, their expressions of triumph still frozen on their faces. Their bodies stood for a heartbeat longer, geysers of blood spraying the dungeon walls, before collapsing like puppets with their strings cut.
Silence returned, broken only by the frantic, ragged breathing of the survivor.
The female support mage fell backward, her staff clattering away. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
Red turned slowly. He walked toward her, the tip of his black sword dragging against the stone with a rhythmic, screeching sound.
"No—no—please! We didn't know! We were just—!"
Red didn't answer. He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, his skeletal fingers sinking into her soft skin. He lifted her off the ground effortlessly, her feet dangling and kicking in the air.
"You attacked first," Red said, his voice a cold, metallic rasp. "You hurt my familiar. You came here to kill a 'monster' for gold."
He leaned in, his skull inches from her face. "The monsters aren't the ones in the dungeon. They're the ones who send the children to die in them."
He tightened his grip. A sickening *crack* echoed through the chamber.
Her body went limp.
Red dropped her and turned to the four corpses. A year ago, he would have felt sick. Now, he only felt the requirement. He placed his hands on the fallen humans. Their mana was different—sweeter, more refined than the slimes or wolves.
As he absorbed them, the Crimson Seed pulsed with a dark, satisfied rhythm.
***
**[System Notification]** * **Mana:** 4,000 / 5,000
* **Monster Cores:** 10 / 10
* **Kill Count:** 30 / 100
***
Red stood amidst the carnage. Blood soaked the floor, seeping into the cracks of the stone. Cuttey limped to his side, the silver-burn on his flank still smoking.
Red placed a hand on the wolf's head.
"Rest," he commanded.
**Rapid Regeneration** activated. Red felt his own mana reserves dip as the energy flowed into Cuttey. The jagged wound began to knit together, the black fur regrowing over the charred flesh until the injury was nothing but a memory.
Red looked toward the stairwell leading to the deeper floors. The scent of stronger prey—and perhaps more humans—wafted up from the darkness.
"…Humans," he whispered, the word tasting like ash in his mind. "They taste no different from monsters."
His crimson eyes burned with an eternal, unquenchable fire. He stepped over the headless corpses of the adventurers and walked into the darkness.
The hunt hadn't just begun. It was accelerating. And the world above had no idea what was coming for it.
**[Chapter 11 End]**