Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 102: Trial of Suppression Reversal (II)

Chapter 102: Trial of Suppression Reversal (II)

The second wielded its glaive with brutal power, its long reach and sudden bursts of strength forcing Kael to stay on the defensive.

Caught between them, he was a lone flame flickering in a storm, his body aching, his energy drained, and Eldritch Reversal still on cooldown, its absence a heavy weight on his dwindling options.

But Kael’s instincts—honed through countless battles, sharpened by the pagoda’s relentless trials—kicked in, a spark of defiance igniting within him.

He ducked low, kicking up a cloud of dust to obscure the glaive-wielder’s vision. The husk didn’t flinch, but its reaction lagged by a heartbeat—a fleeting window Kael seized without hesitation.

He closed the distance, gripping Abyssal Fang in both hands, twisting mid-swing to deliver a horizontal slash. The blade met the husk’s throat with a sickening crack, flesh tearing, and spine snapping. Black mist poured from its eyes as it collapsed, twitching, its cursed vitality finally extinguished.

[DING! Shadowed Husk Eliminated – 1/2]

One down. Kael’s chest heaved, sweat mingling with the blood trickling down his brow, soaking into the Shadow Veil Mask. But there was no time to rest—the swordsman’s husk closed in, its blade cutting a deadly arc through the mist.

Kael braced, raising Abyssal Fang to meet the strike. Steel clanged, the impact nearly buckling his knees. He gritted his teeth, pushing back with every ounce of strength, then countered with a feint, dipping his dagger low before flicking it upward toward the husk’s chin.

The husk leaned back unnaturally, its body bending at an impossible angle, the blade grazing its cheek and slicing open pale skin that wept no blood. It retaliated with terrifying speed, its sword slashing toward Kael’s chest.

He turned his body sideways, the blade scraping against his shoulder guard, sparks flying as metal kissed metal. Using the momentum, Kael slammed his knee into the husk’s chest, the impact forcing it to stagger.

The opening was small, but it was enough. Kael took one step forward, then another, his movements fluid despite the pain screaming through his body.

Pivoting on his heel, he slashed from the side, Abyssal Fang cutting clean through the husk’s neck. The head hit the stone with a dull thud, black mist coiling from the severed stump as the body collapsed.

[DING! Shadowed Husk Eliminated – 2/2]

Kael dropped to one knee, panting, his vision swimming. Sweat and blood dripped from his brow, staining the cracked stone beneath him.

"Still Level 11..." he muttered, a bitter edge to his voice. His arms trembled his body a patchwork of bruises and cuts, barely holding together under the pagoda’s relentless onslaught.

[Phase Two – Cleared. The next Phase Begins in 3 Minutes.]

A dry, exhausted laugh escaped him, the sound echoing in the chamber. He glanced at the wall, where the second torch still burned, its silver flame unwavering.

A third torch flared to life, its harsh glow painting the chamber in cold, unforgiving tones, stripping away the shadows and revealing the scars of battle etched into the stone.

Kael didn’t rise. He didn’t move. He sat, his back against the cracked wall, Abyssal Fang resting in his lap. The blade was chipped, its dark sheen dulled, its edge worn but still deadly.

He traced its surface with a gloved finger, a silent acknowledgment of their shared endurance. "Not now, partner," he whispered, his voice low. "Not yet."

The chamber’s oppressive weight pressed against him—not just the suppression of his cultivation, but a deeper malaise that seeped into his bones, his muscles, his very thoughts. He’d fought constructs, beasts, illusions—but nothing drained him like this floor.

It wasn’t just a trial; it was a crucible, designed to break him down to his core and see if he could rise from the mist, rolling in thicker now, this time from above. Kael’s head tilted back, his gaze narrowing as he peered into the darkened ceiling.

A sound like shattering glass reverberated through the chamber, and the stone above split open, the cracks blooming like a flower unfurling into darkness.

From the void descended shapes—multiple, shimmering with a malevolent sheen. Their limbs were long and twisted, neither human nor beast but something in between, a grotesque fusion of both.

[Wyrmkin Reapers – Level 25 – Phase Three]

Three of them, their bodies coiled with serpentine menace, long tails lashing, claws sharp as obsidian. Their heads were encased in black bone masks, jagged and eyeless, exuding a scent of ash and decay that filled the chamber.

Kael’s jaw tightened, his heart pounding. These were no mere husks—they were faster, stronger, and smarter than the Panthers, their presence a promise of a trial that would demand everything he had left.

Kael rose, his feet unsteady, his will unyielding. Thirty minutes remained before their attack, a fleeting reprieve he used to center himself. He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow, each inhale a tether to his fading strength.

His stance shifted, his balance found, his mind retreating to lessons from his earliest days: Breathe before the strike. Fall into a rhythm. Fight like the next move is your last.

A soft hum pulsed within him—not a skill, not a system notice, but the essence of Kael, the cultivator who had survived the pagoda’s trials, who had forged his path through blood and shadow. He drew Abyssal Fang, its tip grazing the stone as he raised it slowly, the blade’s weight a quiet promise in his hand.

The Wyrmkin screeched, a sound like tearing metal, their claws glinting as they prepared to strike. The mist swirled around them, and the third phase began, Kael standing alone against the darkness that sought to claim him.

The first Wyrmkin Reaper lunged, its form a whip of living shadow, claws slicing through the air with a predator’s lethal grace. Kael’s knees bent low, his body dropping into a grounded stance as if rooted to the stone beneath him.

Abyssal Fang met the strike head-on, the clash erupting in a metallic shriek that echoed through the cavernous chamber.

The sheer force behind the creature’s blow sent tremors through Kael’s arms, his boots scraping across the rough stone as he skidded backward, dust rising in his wake. His muscles screamed, but his grip on the dagger remained unyielding, a lifeline in the chaos.

He barely regained his balance when the second Reaper struck, its serpentine tail snapping out with terrifying precision, a blur of motion that cut through the dim light.

Kael twisted, his body contorting to slip past the attack, but the tip grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow cut that burned with an unnatural, searing heat.

He hissed, the sting mingling with the sweat and blood trickling down his jaw, but he didn’t falter. He couldn’t. To hesitate was to die.

The third Wyrmkin flanked him from the left, its claws a storm of razor-sharp death. Kael’s senses screamed, his Predator’s Instincts flaring like a beacon in the dark. He pivoted, planting one foot and ducking low, rolling under the outstretched claw in a cloud of dust.

The air trembled with the force of the missed blow, the stone floor cracking beneath its impact. Kael rose, his heart pounding, only to find himself surrounded.

The Reapers didn’t rush. They circled, their movements deliberate, their glowing eyes fixed on him with an intelligence that chilled his blood.

These were no mindless beasts—they were predators, coordinated and cunning, their every step a calculated threat. Kael’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, each inhale like dragging air through a field of thorns.

His arms were heavy, his legs trembling, his vision flickering at the edges, threatening to betray him. Blood seeped from a dozen wounds, staining his robes and pooling beneath his boots.

Yet, despite it all, a defiant smirk curled his lips.

"Come on," he whispered, his voice raw but resolute, tightening his grip on Abyssal Fang until his knuckles whitened. "Let’s dance."

The Reaper to his right struck first, its claws slashing in arcs trailed by black mist, a noxious shroud that seemed to choke the light.

Kael ducked, the swipe grazing his shoulder, but he twisted his torso with sharp, practiced motion sharp and practiced, Abyssal Fang flashing upward in a vicious counter.

The blade carved a gash across the creature’s side, dark ichor spraying in a steaming arc—thick, oily, reeking of decay. The Wyrmkin didn’t scream.

It didn’t flinch. Instead, it retaliated, its tail snapping out like a serpent, wrapping around Kael’s wrist mid-swing with bone-crushing force.

Kael’s eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance igniting within him. "Wrong move."

With his free hand, he yanked a smaller dagger from his boot, its edge glinting with a cold promise, and drove it deep into the tail’s joint, twisting with brutal precision.

The Reaper recoiled, its grip loosening just enough for Kael to wrench his arm free. He spun out of reach, retreating before the others could capitalize, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Too close. Far too close.

The second Reaper surged forward without pause, its claws hammering down in a relentless flurry, each strike a blur of deadly intent.

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