SSS Ranked Awakening: All My Skills Are at Level 100
Chapter 20: Death and The Throne of No Escape

Chapter 20: Death and The Throne of No Escape

Chapter 20 – Death and The Throne of No Escape

Leon hit the ground hard. Pain shot through his body, rattling his bones and knocking the breath from his lungs. A groan slipped out as he rolled to the side, coughing once before forcing himself onto his knees. Every part of him ached, every joint screaming in protest, but the pain quickly gave way to something worse—an unnatural stillness and silence that pressed down on him like a weight.

"Argh!!"

Thud.

A painful cry couldn’t help but escape from his mouth.

He straightened slowly and looked around, realizing this wasn’t part of the cave or the dungeon. The place was wrong. The stone beneath his hands was smooth and cold, too perfect to be natural. The walls were straight, clean, symmetrical—almost sterile in their design. Blue torches floated in the air without support, frozen mid-flicker as if time itself refused to move here. Black tapestries stretched across the walls, each one marked with twisted art and symbols that seemed to scream without sound, their designs warped and faces within them half-human and wholly in agony.

And then he saw it.

The throne.

It rose from the floor like a jagged wound, made of bone, black iron, and obsidian, every edge crafted to hurt.

And seated on it—Leon stopped breathing.

Something was there. Human in shape, but clearly not human. Its posture was relaxed, legs crossed, back against the throne like it was lounging, but its presence made Leon’s skin crawl. Its body looked sculpted from obsidian and fractured glass, light flickering inside the cracks of its skin. The face was symmetrical and beautiful in a way that felt wrong—too sharp, too perfect—and it was smiling. Not warmly. Just watching. Like it had been waiting for him.

Leon stood frozen, unable to speak or move. He felt the creature’s gaze settle on him, heavy and precise, as if it were dissecting him in its mind. A massive hammer leaned against the side of the throne, tall as Leon himself, its edges warped and jagged as if shaped by fire and fury. It gave off a faint pulse—slow and steady—like a second heartbeat in the room.

Thump. Thump.

Leon felt it press against his chest, heavy and suffocating, a primal warning that made his instincts scream. His fingers gripped the hilts of his daggers, but even as he held them, they felt like toys, useless against something like this.

If he had known what was at the end of that hidden passage, he never would have jumped. There were no exits here. No doors, no tunnels, no escape. Just him, the throne, and the creature watching him in silence.

Still smiling.

It hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But Leon could feel its focus on him like a blade at his throat. It wasn’t a room for fighting. It was a room for dying. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. And even if he had a choice, he wasn’t sure he could make his legs work. This wasn’t fear he could shake off—it was deep, cold, and familiar. The kind he hadn’t felt since the day he died.

He knew he couldn’t win. The odds were meaningless.

But still, his body moved. One step, then another. Until he stood upright, knees stiff, blades drawn. He couldn’t run. So he’d fight. It didn’t matter how hopeless it was. He had to try. He had to survive. Even if it meant gambling everything on a suicide play, he had to act.

Then, without sound or warning, the creature vanished.

It didn’t blink, didn’t shift—just disappeared. One moment it was there, the next it wasn’t. The hammer still leaned against the throne, untouched. But the creature—gone. Leon hadn’t looked away. He hadn’t blinked. It didn’t dash or teleport. It simply ceased to exist in front of him.

And yet, the pressure in the room didn’t lift. It was still here. Somewhere. Watching. Hiding in plain sight.

And for the first time in his life, more than any hunger or pain he had endured, Leon didn’t want to be seen. Not like this. Not by whatever that thing was.

But it was already too late. It had noticed him.

And whatever was about to happen—it had already begun.

The first strike didn’t come with sound. It came with pain.

CRACK!

Something hit him from the side with the weight of a falling mountain, and a sickening crunch echoed in his ribs. His lungs emptied in a broken gasp as he flew through the air, crashing into the wall with a force that cracked stone.

BOOM.

Blood burst from his mouth as his back slammed into obsidian, his body folding and falling like a shattered puppet.

Thud.

He couldn’t breathe. His right side felt like it didn’t exist anymore. Not cut off—just broken. Nerves scrambled. Bones crushed. And still, he lived.

Why?

Why wasn’t he dead yet?

His eyes, blurred with red, caught movement again—no teleport, just raw speed. The creature was crouched beside him, head tilted like it found him amusing. It reached out, took him by the leg, and slammed him into the floor.

SMASH!

Then again.

SMASH!

And again.

SMASH!

Over and over.

The pain lost shape, becoming one endless wave of agony. He couldn’t scream—his lungs were wrecked.

Then it stopped.

The creature let go. Dropped him without thought and walked off like it was bored.

Clack... clack...

His limbs twitched where they lay, bent in ways they shouldn’t bend. One hand wouldn’t close. His ankle throbbed in the wrong direction.

And it still wasn’t done.

The pain was too much to bear, he felt like he could cry at any moment, but he held it in.

The creature turned and came back. It didn’t hit him hard—just rolled him over with a light kick.

Thump.

He crashed into a nearby pillar, coughed more blood, and lost a few teeth in the process.

Clink...

The creature crouched again, looked at him, and without opening its mouth, it only growled a bit but it felt like his mind would feel a word form that which struck like a hammer.

"Pathetic."

His heart slowed. His vision blurred. He was dying.

And the creature didn’t care.

It paced around him like a child circling a broken toy, hurting him just enough to keep him conscious, just enough to make him feel it all. The blows weren’t random—they were deliberate, methodical, cruel. It wasn’t trying to kill him. It was trying to erase him, one piece at a time.

One arm hung dead. The other was crushed. His legs wouldn’t move. His head was too heavy. Only his eyes worked.

And they locked on the throne.

The creature had returned to it, legs folded, posture elegant, as though nothing had happened. It leaned back, its shape blending into the jagged throne, the blue flames casting sharp shadows across its form. Then it smiled again, calm and distant, its gaze fixed on Leon like a spectator watching the final moments of a dying show.

Leon stared back.

No screaming. No words.

Just broken breathing.

Hhhh... hhhh... hhhh...

And one thought that rose above the pain:

He didn’t want to die like this.

Not as a toy. Not as a victim.

He came to live.

Not fade.

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