Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 90: Thirteenth Floor

Chapter 90: Thirteenth Floor

Kael’s HP flickered at 6%, his Lvl 21 frame a battered shell as he staggered through the silver ascension gate, the thirteenth floor of the Eternal Ascension Pagoda materializing around him. The obsidian chamber of the twelfth floor dissolved, replaced by a vast, lightless void, the air cold and still, like a tomb sealed for eons.

His Abyssal Fang Dagger pulsed, its blade heavier, denser, glutted on Null Qi from the Nullborn’s core, the Essence Latch barely sustaining his fading stamina. His system pinged—

[Floor 13: Trial of Blind Combat – Fight Lvl 25-31 Primal Warrior constructs while deprived of sight and senses, relying purely on aura perception or instincts, and physical prowess. Note: Opponents increase by threes, and Primal Energy is restricted]

Kael’s silver eyes, dim beneath the Shadow Veil Mask, glinted with defiance. "No sight, no senses? Figures," he muttered, his voice raw. "Pagoda’s got a real sense of humor."

The void hummed, and Kael’s vision blacked out, his Night Predator trait snuffed like a candle. Sound vanished, his ears ringing with silence. Touch dulled, the ground beneath his boots a vague pressure.

His Primal Energy, usually a roaring furnace, was sealed, leaving only his instincts and raw strength. His Predator’s Instincts flared, a faint pulse in the dark, guiding him like a whisper.

He gripped Abyssal Fang tighter, his knuckles cracking, his HP crawling to 8% as Adaptive Regeneration fought his wounds. "Blind and beat to hell," he rasped, his smirk crooked. "Just another day in the office."

Meanwhile, outside at the pagoda’s jade entrance, the air was thick with tension. Cedric, Taryn, Mei-Lin, and Voren huddled on the plain, their wounds bandaged but their spirits frayed.

Cedric’s frost-burned hands clutched his broken staff, his Lvl 18 aura flickering, his face pale. Mei-Lin sat cross-legged, her Lvl 22 wind qi faint, her shattered fan-blade discarded, her eyes sharp despite her sling.

Taryn slouched against a rock, her Lvl 26 frame bruised, her lost daggers a sore memory, her scowl venomous. Voren, the Lvl 35 knight, nursed a gash on his chest, his dented warhammer beside him, his grin replaced by a grimace.

The pagoda’s runes pulsed, the thirteenth floor’s crimson glow flaring, a sign someone had climbed higher than any expected.

Cedric’s jaw dropped, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Thirteenth floor? That’s... insane." He glanced at the others, his frost-burned fingers twitching. "Lysara’s gotta be leading, right? Her jade sword’s a powerful weapon." His eyes flicked to the glowing runes, hope and awe mixing in his gaze.

Mei-Lin’s lips pursed, her gaze fixed on the pagoda. "Lysara’s strong, but those white-robed ones..." She adjusted her sling, her voice low, thoughtful. "They’re too calm, too mysterious. One of them’s up there, I bet." Her wind qi stirred faintly, as if sensing the pagoda’s secrets, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

Taryn snorted, her arms crossed, her face twisting with disdain. "Lysara’s the only one with the guts and strength to reach that high," she snapped, her voice sharp. "Those white-robe creeps might be sneaky, but they ain’t nothing. And don’t even mention that masked loser."

She spat, her eyes blazing. "He’s a weakling, probably got crushed in the first floor’s first phase. If he’s lucky, he’s crying in the second floor’s dirt right now."

Mei-Lin’s brow furrowed, her tone firm but calm. "The masked guy’s not weak. His aura’s hidden, not gone. He’s up there, fighting." She met Taryn’s glare, unflinching, her words carrying quiet conviction. "You saw Voren get tossed. He’s tougher than you think."

Taryn’s laugh was harsh, mocking, her hands waving dismissively. "Tough? That masked idiot?" She doubled over, clutching her side, her cackle echoing. "He’s all talk, strutting like some fancy young master. Second floor ate him alive, bet he’s out cold!" Her smirk was smug, her confidence unshaken, Voren’s ejection still a raw sting to her pride.

***

Inside, Kael stood in the lightless void, his senses gone, his Predator’s Instincts a faint pulse guiding him. Three Primal Warrior constructs materialized, their Lvl 25 auras muffled but deadly, their swords slashing silently.

Kael’s Eclipse Step flickered, his body moving on instinct, dodging a blade that grazed his mantle. He slashed, Abyssal Fang cracking a construct’s armor, sparks flying.

The three of them lunged, their attacks faster, but Kael’s aura perception caught their intent, his dagger parrying a spear thrust. "Blind’s no fun, but I’ve had worse," he muttered, his smirk grim, his bloodline roaring as the trial’s first wave pressed harder.

Kael moved like a shadow swallowed by a deeper shadow—silent, blind, yet sharp in presence. His Predator’s Instincts throbbed again, like a pulse across water, each wave brushing against the shapes of his enemies. Three constructs. One ahead. Two flanking.

No light. No sound. No sensation.

Yet Kael’s breath stayed even. Controlled. His battered lungs wheezed, but he pushed the pain away. His fingers curled tighter around Abyssal Fang. The dagger pulsed faintly, responding to the tension in his muscles, the will behind his grip.

One step. No sound. Don’t overextend.

He ducked low, pivoting off his back foot as a blade cut through the void where his neck had been. He twisted—short, sharp movement—and lashed out.

Crack!

The dagger struck something solid. A shoulder? A helm? He couldn’t tell, but the feedback through his arm was real—satisfying. One of the constructs recoiled. That made two left in close proximity.

He didn’t wait.

Kael moved in, pressing the one he’d struck, sensing the shift in aura, the tremble in aggression as the construct faltered. His dagger danced again—up, down, left—a rhythmless flurry aimed at whatever opening his instincts whispered.

The air shifted behind him.

Too late.

Kael leaned sideways just as another strike cleaved through where his spine had been. He kicked out blindly, and the satisfying clang of metal on metal told him he’d hit something.

He exhaled—slow, steady.

"Three," he muttered. "Now two."

The construct he’d focused on suddenly stopped moving. Kael felt its aura flicker—then vanish. The Trial didn’t give time to breathe.

Three more auras flared in. Stronger. Denser.

[Wave Two: Six Enemies. Level 27–28]

Kael gritted his teeth. His HP hovered around 10% now. Adaptive Regeneration was working—but slowly. Too slowly. His vision was still nothing but endless black.

But now, he could feel the constructs forming. The floor around him shifted subtly, a pressure on his boots like he stood on a hanging thread between pits of fangs.

Six enemies. All surrounding him. Closing in like wolves.

He didn’t wait. Standing still was death.

Kael sprinted forward, not away, but toward the thickest aura. He didn’t need sight. Just the whisper of movement in the void, the tremor of killing intent.

He struck. Hard. Abyssal Fang slashed upward, the curved blade tearing through dense spiritual armor. A groan of metal. A jarring jolt up his arm.

The construct retaliated. Fast. But Kael ducked. He could feel it. Its swing was wide.

Too predictable.

He leapt shoulder-first into its midsection, knocking it off-balance. Then, in the same motion, he stabbed the low-thigh joint. Weak spot.

The construct jerked violently and fell silent. Its aura blinked out.

"Five."

The other five closed in. One from behind. Two from either side. Another pair was waiting to pincer him once he engaged.

Kael didn’t retreat.

He surged right, dragging Abyssal Fang across another’s chestplate, ignoring the blade that grazed his shoulder. Pain spiked—but he embraced it. It made him real. Anchored.

Another construct lunged.

Kael ducked under the spear, pivoted, and slammed his elbow into its chest. The armor cracked. He stabbed upward—dagger meeting chin—then yanked the blade free with a twist.

Clang!

A sword smashed into his ribs. He grunted, body spinning mid-fall. His knees hit the invisible ground hard. HP dropped to 7%.

He coughed—blood dribbling from his lips—but his hand never loosened its grip on the dagger.

Four left.

The final four pressed in without hesitation, their movements in perfect rhythm. Artificial, merciless. They didn’t fear. Didn’t tire.

Kael’s breath came ragged now.

"Still not enough."

He closed his eyes—even though he couldn’t see anyway—and let himself fall backward. The constructs struck—metal whistling through the air.

But he moved.

His body curved mid-fall, twisting as a blade skimmed past his mask. He landed low, rolled, then sprang forward like a coiled beast.

A blade pierced his side.

But he didn’t stop.

Kael’s dagger drove into another construct’s neck. One more gone.

His HP was at 3%.

The remaining three advanced. Their auras pressed like weights on his chest. He couldn’t keep this up much longer.

Still, he stood.

His legs trembled. Blood streamed from his side. But his eyes, though blind, burned with raw will.

Come.

The next clash came like thunder in silence.

Kael caught one sword against his dagger, the second against the vambrace on his left arm. The third thrust toward his stomach.

He twisted.

Too slow.

The tip pierced flesh. He grunted—but drove his foot into the attacker’s knee joint. The construct stumbled. Kael used the moment to twist, slash, and end it.

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