Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 93: Trial Of Blind Combat (III)

Chapter 93: Trial Of Blind Combat (III)

[System Alert: Final Wave Initiated

Wave Five: Thirteen Enemies – Lvl 31-32 Constructs]

Kael’s mind stilled. ’Thirteen’

He couldn’t even stand. His arms twitched, fingers barely curling. His body was a ruin, spent beyond recovery.

He tried to rise, to drag himself upright, but his muscles refused to obey. The void pressed down on him, a suffocating weight that whispered of defeat.

And yet.

The auras emerged—thirteen stormfronts, each one heavier than the last. Stronger. Hungrier. Their presence clawed at his chest, a pressure that threatened to crush what little life remained in him. The constructs stepped into the Trial, their intent a palpable force, a promise of annihilation.

Kael couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. But something stirred, not in the void.

In him.

A ripple, faint at first, like a thread being pulled taut within his core. A flicker of something ancient, something primal.

[System Notice: Unique Condition Met.]

[Bloodline Awakening: 7% — Threshold Reached.]

[Requirement Fulfilled: Survival under Total Sensory Deprivation while maintaining hostile combat against enemies of a higher level.]

[Triggering — ??? Bloodline Fragment Awakening.]

Kael’s body jerked, a spasm that tore through him like lightning. This wasn’t pain—it was change. A cracking, like a chrysalis splitting open. Something inside him uncoiled, stretching, awakening.

[Initializing: ??? Bloodline – Proto-Awakening.]

The void breathed.

He didn’t see. Didn’t hear. But a new sense bloomed in the darkness—a pulse, deeper than aura, sharper than Predator’s Instincts. It wasn’t just the shapes of his enemies he felt now.

It was their intent. Their hatred. Their kill drive. And beneath it all, their weaknesses. The imperfections in their design, the cracks in their artificial souls.

Kael’s body moved.

Not by conscious will, but by something older, something buried in his blood. His arms reached out, gripping the blood-slicked floor.

Slowly, impossibly, he rose. Bones ground against each other. Muscles locked and spasmed. Blood dripped in rivulets, painting the invisible ground.

He stood.

The thirteen constructs froze. For the first time since the Trial began, they hesitated, their auras flickering with uncertainty. Kael didn’t smirk. Didn’t taunt. He simply stepped forward.

One pace.

Two.

The void shivered, as if the darkness itself feared what he had become.

The constructs charged, a tidal wave of steel and malice.

Kael became a phantom.

He flowed through their ranks, no longer dodging by mere inches. His body moved with an eerie grace, slipping between blades, weaving through thrusts.

Abyssal Fang flashed—a temple strike, a thigh stab, a knee driven upward in a brutal arc. He spun counterclockwise, a blur of death, leaving shattered constructs in his wake.

They were no fools. They adapted, attacking in pairs, then trios, their movements synchronized to overwhelm him. One flanked from behind, too fast, too soon. A sword aimed for his spine.

Kael twisted mid-strike, his shoulder taking the blade’s bite. But he used the momentum, stepping into the attacker’s space, nullifying its force. Abyssal Fang found the construct’s core, and another aura shattered.

The battle became a dance—a brutal, bloody waltz. Kael’s body moved beyond his control, guided by the strange new pulse within him. Constructs fell, one after another, their numbers dwindling as his wounds multiplied.

Yet he fought on.

This was no longer about survival... This was war.

Kael’s breath rasped in his throat, a jagged sound that carried no fear, no surrender. It was the sound of becoming. The void around him was a suffocating absence—no air to breathe, no sound to anchor him, no light to guide his way.

Yet it pulsed now, alive with a rhythm that echoed the ancient surge awakening within his blood. It wasn’t a mere stirring anymore; it was a torrent, a primal force clawing its way to the surface, reshaping him from the inside out.

[System Update: Proto-Awakened State – Active Duration: 87 Seconds Remaining]

The notification didn’t manifest as words or sound. It was a knowing, a visceral certainty burned into his mind. A countdown. A fleeting window where he could either shatter under the weight of his transformation or rise to meet it.

His body was a wreck—skin torn, muscles frayed, blood seeping from wounds too numerous to count. Yet the pulse in his bloodline held him together, defying the collapse of his mortal frame.

Nine constructs remained. Their auras no longer flared with reckless aggression. They tightened, a constellation of malevolent intent, circling him like predators sizing up a wounded beast.

But they weren’t mindless. They calculated their movements precisely, their coordination a silent agreement to end him.

Kael didn’t wait for their verdict.

He moved.

A flash step, a blur of motion that defied his broken body. His instincts, sharpened by the bloodline’s awakening, guided Abyssal Fang with lethal precision. But it wasn’t just the dagger. His elbow crashed into a construct’s throat-plate, the impact reverberating through his own shattered frame.

He spun, his heel slamming into the neck of another mid-lunge, snapping its head back with a sickening crunch. Abyssal Fang carved a crescent arc through the air, slicing deep into a rib joint, severing alloy and aura alike.

[Kill Confirmed.]

[Kill Confirmed.]

Seven.

Each strike came at a cost. His skin split with every twist, fresh blood mingling with the drying crimson that coated his armor. His muscles screamed, fibers tearing with each movement.

Blood loss wasn’t a threat—it was a constant, a tide he could no longer stem. Only the unnatural grip of his bloodline kept him upright, a force beyond his understanding weaving his body together when it should have collapsed.

He exhaled, and the void rippled, as if acknowledging the storm within him.

The constructs had adapted. They didn’t need sight, yet their movements now carried an eerie clarity, as if they could see him—not his body, but the pulse of his bloodline, the anomaly he’d become.

Their coordination tightened, a silent symphony of death. Two flanked him, one striking low, another high. A third lingered behind, baiting him to dodge, ready to punish any misstep.

Kael didn’t just see their movements. He felt their plan—the pressure behind each strike, the rhythm of their steps, the faint flicker of instability in their aura cores. It was as if the void itself whispered their weaknesses to him.

His body moved with unnatural precision, guided by something deeper than instinct. He ducked beneath the high blade, its edge grazing his hair.

Stepping into the low strike, he let the spearhead carve a shallow line across his side, the pain a distant echo compared to the fire in his veins. His hand snapped out, seizing the spear’s shaft and wrenching it sideways.

The construct stumbled—a fatal mistake.

Kael’s knee met its chestplate with a resounding thud, driving it backward into the waiting third. Their balance shattered, auras flickering in disarray. Abyssal Fang struck like lightning, piercing through both cores in a single, fluid motion.

[Double Kill Confirmed.]

Five.

The pain surged back, no longer dulled but contained, held at bay by the bloodline’s relentless grip. It didn’t numb the agony—it simply allowed him to endure it.

His left leg dragged, the muscles refusing to obey, the damage catching up with every heartbeat. The pulse in his bloodline wavered, its strength ebbing like a tide retreating from the shore.

Still, he raised Abyssal Fang, its blade glinting faintly in his mind’s eye, a beacon of defiance.

The remaining five constructs formed a phalanx, their shields locking into an impenetrable wall, blades and spears bristling like the spines of some ancient beast. They moved as one, a relentless tide of steel and malice.

Kael didn’t charge. He breathed.

One... two... three.

The void shifted, as if bending to his will. He stepped forward—and vanished.

A sidestep, a maneuver born of the bloodline’s awakening. No name, no system indicator—just pure, instinctive motion. He reappeared inside their formation, a phantom in their midst.

His dagger flashed, stabbing into a throat joint with a crack of splintering alloy. His palm struck another’s chin, lifting and dislocating it before Abyssal Fang plunged through the core beneath.

The formation faltered, their unity breaking under his onslaught. He grabbed a third construct by its helm, driving it face-first into the ground. A single stomp crushed its skullplate, the sound echoing in the void’s silence.

[Triple Kill Confirmed.]

Two.

The constructs backed away, their auras flickering with something new—uncertainty. They didn’t understand what he was, and neither did Kael. But they knew now: he wasn’t the prey. He was the threat, an outlier defying their calculations.

One lunged, a desperate gamble. The other flanked, aiming to catch him off-guard. Kael let the first strike land.

A spear pierced his shoulder, metal grinding against bone. The pain was a white-hot explosion, but Kael didn’t scream. He twisted into the strike, using the momentum to spin. Abyssal Fang sliced through the flanker’s knee, then drove upward through its backplate, shattering its core.

[Kill Confirmed.]

The construct that stabbed him tried to retreat, yanking the spear free. But it was too late. Kael’s free hand gripped the shaft, pulling the construct toward him.

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