The power gathered around the crimson-eyed figure's hand reached critical density, energy compressed into space that reality itself was rejecting. The air screamed, molecules tearing apart from forces that shouldn't exist in mortal dimensions.

Then it released.

BOOM.

The blast consumed everything in its path, crimson energy exploding outward in wave that caught Bephemoth center mass. The apex predator was lifted off its feet despite weighing several tons, bulk thrown backward with force that defied physics.

The creature crashed through the chamber wall, stone that had stood for millennia simply ceasing to exist where Bephemoth's body passed. The impact created opening into passages beyond, revealing tunnels extending deeper into the fifth floor than the boss chamber alone suggested.

Dust filled the air, making visibility impossible for several seconds. When it cleared, Bephemoth was visible in the wreckage, body partially buried under collapsed stone. The apex predator struggled to rise, movements sluggish in ways that suggested serious damage despite its prehistoric durability.

The crimson-eyed figure stepped through the hole in the wall, marked face showing satisfaction. The separated shoulder had somehow reattached during the energy release, torn tendons reconnecting through whatever force sustained the body beyond normal limitations.

Bephemoth emerged from the rubble, shaking dust from its massive form. The visible heart beat erratically, rhythm disrupted by trauma that even berserker state couldn't completely override. Multiple ribs were clearly broken, chest cavity deformed where the blast had impacted.

But the apex predator was far from finished. The charge that followed was desperate, Bephemoth throwing everything remaining into assault that would either succeed or leave it completely vulnerable. The twisted limbs pumped with force that sent cracks spreading through stone floor, bulk accelerating despite injuries that should have prevented movement entirely.

The crimson-eyed figure met the charge, raising both hands as power gathered simultaneously around each palm. The energy was different from before, more refined and controlled despite being quantitatively greater.

The hands came together in clapping motion as Bephemoth entered striking range.

Clap.

The sound carried weight beyond simple acoustics. Shockwave erupted from between the palms, expanding outward in sphere that consumed everything within thirty feet. The force was somehow directional despite appearing omnidirectional, channeled to strike only forward.

Bephemoth was caught in the center, body arrested mid-charge. The visible heart stopped beating for a full second, muscle spasm from shock overriding automatic function. Blood vessels throughout the creature's body ruptured simultaneously, internal pressure spiking beyond what circulation could withstand.

The apex predator crashed to the ground, bulk hitting stone with impact that lacked the force previous falls had generated. The creature was weakened, injuries accumulating faster than regeneration could address.

The crimson-eyed figure approached slowly, allowing Bephemoth time to attempt rising. The marked face showed satisfaction mixed with something approaching disappointment.

Bephemoth struggled upright, using all four limbs despite several being compromised. Breathing was labored, each inhale sounding wet from blood filling damaged respiratory system. But it remained standing, refused to submit despite outcome being obvious.

The apex predator lunged one more time, jaws open wide in attack that carried desperation rather than confidence. The movement was slower than previous attempts, injuries finally overwhelming even berserker state's ability to ignore physical limitations.

The marked figure caught Bephemoth's jaws in its hands, stopping the bite through application of strength that had been building throughout combat. But this time there was no struggle, no contest. The grip simply closed, fingers tightening around upper and lower jaw with pressure that exceeded what bone could withstand.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The sounds came rapidly as Bephemoth's jaw structure failed. Teeth shattered, bone splintered, the entire front portion of the skull being systematically destroyed.

The apex predator tried to pull away but the hands held firm, maintaining contact while continuing to compress. The visible heart beat frantically, panic overriding berserker fury as primitive awareness recognized this was beyond anything it could survive.

Then the crimson-eyed figure began pulling, hands moving in opposite directions while maintaining grip on the shattered jaws. The motion was deliberate, steady application of force that promised terrible conclusion.

Rip.

The sound was wet and final, flesh tearing and bone separating as Bephemoth's lower jaw was removed entirely. Blood sprayed from the catastrophic wound, regeneration completely overwhelmed.

The marked figure discarded the torn jaw casually, the mass of bone and flesh hitting the ground.

Thump.

Bephemoth collapsed, body finally surrendering to accumulated trauma. The visible heart continued beating but the rhythm was weak and irregular, organ function deteriorating as blood loss reached critical levels.

The creature's crimson eyes remained aware despite impending death, consciousness sharp enough to process what had happened even as life fled.

The crimson-eyed figure knelt beside the dying apex predator, marked face showing respect that hadn't been present during combat itself.

Bephemoth's breathing became shallow, life draining rapidly. The creature's eyes remained fixed on the marked figure, intelligence behind them processing final moments with clarity that belied its limited awareness.

The marked figure placed one hand on Bephemoth's skull, palm pressing against bone. Power flowed from the touch, crimson energy spreading across the dying creature's body in patterns that looked almost gentle.

Bephemoth's eyes closed slowly, consciousness fading. The visible heart beat one final time, then went still. The apex predator that had ruled the fifth floor for unknown centuries was dead.

Light erupted from the corpse as dungeon mechanics activated, body dissolving into particles that drifted upward. The process was more dramatic than previous floor bosses, entire chamber illuminated by radiance from everywhere simultaneously.

When the light faded, three items remained where Bephemoth had fallen. A skill core pulsing with exceptional quality, equipment gleaming with powerful enchantments, and a necklace of crystallized essence.

The Bephemoth Heartstring.

The crimson-eyed figure left them where they lay, making no move to collect the items. Instead it straightened, turning to survey the destroyed chamber.

The voice emerged, layered tones speaking as if recording something that would be heard later rather than communicating in present moment.

"This was five percent. Still pathetically limited compared to what I once wielded, but sufficient for threats at this level. The vessel held together better than expected, though the strain was considerable. The body adapted during combat, pathways expanding and core reinforcing to accommodate power it wasn't designed to contain. Expert Peak now, jumped three sub-ranks through stress that would have killed anyone without proper foundation."

The marked face tilted slightly, examining the hand that had delivered such devastating force.

"Interesting how the old instincts return when given opportunity. The hunt, the evaluation of opponent capability, the calibration of force to provide challenge without overwhelming. I'd forgotten what that felt like after eons in nothing. Bephemoth was adequate practice, remnant of the Terror Generation that I once hunted across continents. It survived longer than most of its kind did, fled into this pocket dimension when the gods commissioned me to eliminate them. Found it eventually, obviously, or it wouldn't be dead now."

The voice paused, something shifting in tone.

"The gods feared what the Terror Generation represented, creatures that had existed when mana was purer and evolution produced things that could threaten divine authority. They tasked me with extermination, promised rewards and recognition if I succeeded where their own champions had failed. I accepted because the challenge interested me, because testing myself against apex predators from that era would push my capabilities."

The marked face showed expression that was difficult to interpret, neither satisfaction nor regret but something between.

"I succeeded, naturally. Hunted them across three continents, eliminated dozens of creatures that lesser cultivators couldn't even approach safely. Bephemoth was one of the few that escaped initially, fast enough to reach this dungeon before I could corner it. I'd planned to retrieve it eventually but circumstances changed before that became possible."

The voice grew quieter, taking on edge that suggested anger compressed across impossible timespan.

"The gods who'd commissioned the hunt grew concerned about what I'd demonstrated during the campaign. A mortal who could eliminate apex predators that had required divine intervention in previous eras, someone advancing through cultivation without needing celestial blessing or approval. I represented threat to the order they'd established, proof that mortals could achieve power rivaling deities through personal effort rather than granted favor."

The marked figure's hands clenched briefly, crimson energy flickering around the fists.

"So they conspired. Dozens of gods working together to create prison from which even I couldn't escape, dimension outside reality where existence itself became torture. They called it the Abyss, sealed me there with techniques designed to ensure I'd never threaten their authority again. Claimed it was necessary for cosmic balance, that allowing mortals to achieve my level would destabilize the order between mortal and divine realms."

The voice carried weight that made the air feel heavy despite speaking to absent audience.

"They were wrong about what I represented but correct about what I'd become. The Demon Lord of Liberation, title I earned by demanding freedom from limitations the gods placed on mortal advancement. The strongest mortal turned deity, though godhood was forced through accumulation rather than sought through worship. An anomaly that broke laws binding both mortals and gods because those laws were corrupt, designed to maintain hierarchy rather than enable genuine progress."

The marked face showed that too-wide smile, expression mixing pride and dark amusement.

"I transcended every boundary they'd established, proved that cultivation could exceed what divine blessing provided, demonstrated that mortality wasn't inherent limitation but constructed cage. That's what they couldn't tolerate, why they worked together to imprison me despite needing my service moments before. The fear that other mortals would follow my path, would demand liberation from chains disguised as natural order."

The voice was building intensity, power manifesting in response to remembered injustice.

"Asura. That's what I was called, what I am even reduced to fragment inhabiting borrowed flesh. The name carried across eons despite their attempts to erase my existence from history, whispered in legends about the one who challenged gods and nearly won. They sealed me thinking isolation would break what combat couldn't destroy, that eternity in nothing would reduce me to mindless fragment."

The marked figure raised both hands, examining them as if seeing through flesh to something deeper.

"But I endured. Maintained identity through eons in void where consciousness itself was eroded, held onto purpose even when everything else was stripped away. And when opportunity finally presented itself, when this vessel's soul was briefly cast into my prison through that accursed bloodline technique, I seized the chance. Bound myself to cultivation base that carries lineage those gods thought they'd exterminated, merged with descendant who doesn't even know what legacy flows through his veins."

The voice softened slightly, taking on notes that might have been anticipation.

"This body will grow strong enough to eventually bear more than fragments. Ten percent, twenty, perhaps one day even approaching totality. Each manifestation stresses the vessel but also strengthens it, forces adaptation that accelerates development beyond what normal cultivation provides. The process is dangerous but necessary if genuine liberation is ever to be achieved."

The crimson began fading from the eyes, bright maddening color dimming as manifestation prepared to conclude.

"The vessel has adapted again, jumped to Expert Peak through stress of containing five percent during sustained combat. Foundation is solid, body recognized the threshold for Master rank but wisely stopped before attempting breakthrough. Good instincts, even unconscious he understands some advances shouldn't be rushed."

The markings on the face started dissolving, black lines fading as transformation reversed. The hair tips shifted back from crimson toward white, gradient disappearing.

"Sleep now, young vessel. You've accomplished what you came for, survived what should have killed you, advanced further in single expedition than most achieve through years of careful cultivation. The engagement gift lies where Bephemoth fell, waiting for you to collect once consciousness returns."

The voice was barely audible now, manifestation concluding as the entity retreated toward dormancy.

"Grow strong. Advance properly and refine your foundation. Because what's coming will make this dungeon seem trivial, and I need this vessel capable of containing more when genuine challenges arrive."

The last traces of crimson faded completely. The marked figure stood motionless, suspended between states as ancient presence withdrew and original consciousness prepared to resume control.

Then the eyes opened, blue rather than crimson, confusion and disorientation immediately evident.

Raze was awake.

Pain hit first, comprehensive agony suggesting his body had been systematically destroyed and imperfectly restored. Every muscle ached, every joint protested, nerves screaming about damage beyond what normal recovery could address.

But beneath the pain was power, cultivation base humming with energy that exceeded anything he'd possessed before. The core felt fuller despite being at same developmental stage, pathways wider and reinforced in ways suggesting they'd been stressed beyond limits and adapted.

He pushed himself upright, movements awkward as he adjusted to body that felt simultaneously familiar and alien. The chamber was destroyed beyond anything he remembered, walls collapsed and floor cratered in patterns speaking to violence exceeding what his memories could account for.

Bephemoth was gone. The apex predator nowhere visible despite this being its lair.

But on the floor where the creature had apparently died, three items gleamed in the dim bioluminescent light. A skill core, equipment, and a necklace that made his breath catch when he recognized it.

The Bephemoth Heartstring.

The engagement gift he'd risked everything to obtain, lying there as if placed deliberately for him to collect.

Raze stood slowly, testing his body's responsiveness. Functional despite accumulated damage. He approached the items carefully, kneeling to examine them before storing everything in his Inventory.

The blank period had occurred again. Something taking control when death was imminent, accomplishing what he couldn't have managed alone. The same thing that had eliminated the Syndicate enforcer, now apparently having killed the dungeon's final boss.

He checked his status, summoning the interface despite knowing what it would reveal.

Ding.

[Status Window]

Name: Raze Dragonheart

Age: 17

Rank: Expert (Peak)

Core: Tempered (Peak)

Expert Peak. Three sub-ranks in single event, progression that should have taken months compressed into whatever had occurred during the blank period.

Raze dismissed the interface, mind working through implications. The entity had manifested again, saved his life again, advanced his cultivation through methods bypassing normal limitations.

Questions without answers, mysteries compounding with each manifestation.

But those were concerns for later. For now, he had what he'd come for, had achieved the objective justifying the risk.

He began walking toward the stairs leading back to the fourth floor, back to where his unconscious companions waited, back toward the surface and life continuing despite unsolved mysteries.

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