He squirmed around trying to free himself, when he suddenly felt something digging into his hip. Hard leather. A rough handle.

Veyra.

The memory of her angry, worried face flashed in his mind. "Take it. It's better than that rotting wood. Aim for the eyes."

Sol's hand flew to his waist.

"Not… today," Sol roared, his voice a feral snarl.

He ripped the bone dagger from his belt.

HISS!

The snake struck.

Sol didn't try to dodge. He didn't try to block. He thrust his hand forward, meeting the strike head-on.

SHUCK.

The impact jarred his shoulder to the socket. The sound was wet and sickening.

"Grrrraah!" Sol screamed, adrenaline flooding his veins.

The snake's head stopped inches from his nose. His hand was covered in black, viscous blood. He had driven the bone dagger upward, jamming it into the soft underbelly of the snake's jaw, pinning its mouth shut from the bottom up.

The cobra convulsed. A silent, gargling hiss erupted from its throat.

It thrashed wildly, its coils tightening in a spasm of agony that nearly cracked Sol's spine. . It whipped its body, trying to dislodge the blade, slamming Sol's head against the ground repeatedly.

"Die!" Sol screamed, his vision red.

He ripped the dagger out in a spray of black blood and stabbed again. And again.

He stabbed it in the neck. He stabbed it in the eye. He stabbed it until the warm spray of its blood coated his face, blinding him.

"Die! Just die!" He didn't use any fancy technique. He just used pure, unadulterated violence.

He used every ounce of the Vitality he had stolen from Evara, every scrap of strength in his enhanced muscles. He drove the dagger deeper for one final time, and twisted the rough blade.

CRACK.

The bone blade pierced through the roof of the mouth and drove straight into its brain.

The Cobra twitched and went rigid. It shuddered once, twice and finally with one last twitch, it collapsed, right on him.

The coils around Sol's legs went slack, falling away like dead rope.

"Haa… haa… haa…"

Sol lay there, gasping pinned under the heavy, reeking carcass, panting so hard his chest ached. Black blood dripped onto his face, hot and metallic.

"I'm alive! I'm fucking alive." He couldn't help laughing hysterically.

He checked his body. The slam against the tree should have broken his ribs again. The constriction should have shattered his shin. But he was fine. Sore, yes. Bruised, definitely. But unbroken.

"This body..." Sol muttered, flexing his hand. "It seems like it can really take a beating."

And as he lay there, sucking in the humid air, he felt it again… that buzzing, itching heat deep in his muscles. The bruises from the constriction were already fading. The slash on his back had stopped bleeding entirely.

He shoved the body off with a grunt. "Ugh." And sat up slowly, wiping the snake's blood from his eyes. He looked at the corpse, then at his trembling hands.

"I won," he whispered, a dark, terrifying grin spreading across his bloodstained face. "Without the magic. Without the cheat."

He looked at his hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the rush of the kill.

He realized then that his body wasn't just healing; it was adapting. It was learning the rhythm of the fight faster than his mind could process.

He stood up, swaying slightly. He looked down at the Obsid-Cobra.

Its scales were pitch black, absorbing the dim light.

"You," Sol murmured, touching the slick hide. "You're coming with me."

He didn't just want the meat. He wanted the skin. A cloak made of this... a cloak that blended into shadows... that would be useful.

Especially for the "accident" he had planned for Vurok.

Suddenly thinking of something, he hurriedly focused on the ash grey energy swirling in his chest and lashed it out, projecting it onto the Cobra's carcass.

Thrum.

To his delight, it worked. A tether snapped into place, connecting him to the beast. Ecstatic, he didn't hesitate and focused his will and pulled, dragging the creature's soul toward him.

Immediately, the Ash-Grey energy surged, hungry and violent, tearing the essence from the corpse and flooding his system. A massive rush of cold clarity hit his brain… far stronger than what he had felt from the orange viper. His senses expanded instantly, pushing back the oppressive gloom of the Western Zone.

The rush wasn't just a physical sensation; it was an expansion of consciousness.

If the Neon Viper had been a shot of cheap espresso, this was a plunge into a frozen lake. The cold clarity flooded his mind, scouring away the adrenaline fog and the lingering panic of the fight.

Sol gasped, his eyes flying wide open. The gloom of the Vorash Forest didn't lighten, but it... resolved. Every shadow, every leaf, every hidden danger sharpened into terrifying high definition.

Before, the darkness had been a wall of menacing shapes. Now, it was a map of data. He could feel the texture of the shadows. He could distinguish the type of silence hanging in the air… the terrified silence of prey hiding from him, the indifferent silence of the trees, the hungry silence of something watching from the canopy.

He looked down at the carcass. The ash-grey tether finally snapped, the last dregs of the Cobra's primal spirit drained dry.

"Incredible," Sol whispered. His voice sounded different to his own ears… detached, lacking the tremor of fatigue.

He checked his internal reservoir. The Ash Gray energy level hadn't budged… it was still just fuel. But the tank itself... the mental capacity to hold and direct that fuel... felt stretched, reinforced.

"It wasn't just a sensor boost," Sol realized, flexing his fingers. "It was a compatibility upgrade."

The Cobra was a creature of stillness and ambush. By devouring its essence, he found that he hadn't just gained energy; he had absorbed its instinct. He felt a newfound patience settling over him, a cold, reptilian stillness that quieted the constant, anxious chatter of his modern mind.

He felt he could stand here for hours without blinking, just watching the leaves fall, waiting for a target.

The realization made him think back to the Orange Viper. After absorbing that soul, he had felt twitchy, aggressive, and prone to sudden bursts of violence. He had attributed that manic energy to the thrill of his first kill or a spike in spiritual power. But looking back, he realized he had been acting like the Viper… striking fast, thinking little.

"I was wrong," he whispered, the realization sending a different kind of chill down his spine.

He shivered. This power was far deeper than he had imagined. He wasn't just stealing their souls; he was skimming their memories, their instincts, perhaps even their very essence. He didn't know the limits of this yet, or the cost, but he knew one thing: with every kill, he was becoming something... more powerful than he had even imagined.

He looked at the dead snake with genuine appreciation.

He looked down at the twisted carcass with genuine appreciation.

"You were a nightmare," Sol murmured, patting the crushed skull with a strange mix of respect and mockery. "But you're going to make a hell of a coat."

He didn't dawdle and hurriedly set to work, who knows which nightmare would jump out.

Skinning the Obsidian Cobra should have been impossible. The scales were interlocked like organic plate armor, turning the edge of his crude flint knife. But Sol didn't hack or saw.

He worked with a new, fluid efficiency, his hands guided by the lingering muscle memory of the beast itself. He knew exactly where the connective tissue was weakest, slipping the blade between the plates as if he had done this a thousand times.

He peeled the hide away in long, wet strips.

As he lifted the first section of skin, he paused.

In the dim, dappled light of the forest floor, the hide didn't shine. It didn't glisten with blood or slime. It seemed to drink the light. It was a matte, velvety black that looked less like a skin and more like a hole in reality.

Sol draped a piece over his arm. His arm seems to vanish in the shadow.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"Active camouflage," he whispered. "Or close enough."

This wasn't just loot. This was the centerpiece of his plan for Vurok.

Energized, he worked faster. He harvested the choicest cuts of meat… dense, pale muscle that radiated a faint, cooling energy even in death. He wrapped the rations in broad leaves, masking the scent with crushed herbs, and packed them away. The rest, he couldn't carry.

Reluctantly, he dug a deep pit beneath the roots of a massive tree, burying the carcass to retrieve after the Rite… if the scavengers didn't get to it first.

Finally, he picked up the rolled bundle of black hide. He felt the texture… cool, impossibly smooth, and lighter than silk. He couldn't help but nod in satisfaction.

It was a masterwork of nature. Now, he just needed to wash it, and he would be master of shadows too.

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