Cutlass to demon Lass PT1

[You have killed level 1 demon]

[You have level up to level 2]

[You have gained 5 survival points]

Clark's eyes fluttered open, he found himself lying on the cold, hard floor of a dimly lit store. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to piece together the fragments of his fractured memory. The last thing he remembered was fleeing from a nightmarish creature through the forest, his heart pounding with fear and desperation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his muscles protesting with every movement. The room spun around him, and he blinked away the lingering haze of unconsciousness, his senses gradually returning to him. With a groan, he pushed himself upright, his gaze sweeping across the cluttered shelves and dimly lit aisles of the store.

Through the dusty windowpane, he saw that it was evening outside, the fading light casting long shadows across the deserted streets beyond. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, for he knew that he had been unconscious for far longer than he had realized.

With a sense of foreboding, he cast his gaze around the room, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the scene before him. The floor was slick with blood, the metallic scent hanging heavy in the air. Shattered glass littered the ground, and the shelves were overturned, their contents strewn haphazardly across the room.

Fear gripped his heart like a vice as he realized that he was not alone. Whatever had happened here, it had been violent and brutal, leaving behind a trail of destruction in its wake. With trembling hands, he reached out and grasped the hilt of the cutlass lying nearby, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light.

And then, without warning, a strange blue glow filled the room, casting eerie shadows against the walls. Clark's heart skipped a beat as a digital prompt materialized before him, its words flashing in stark white letters:

[Requirements have been met]

[You have successfully awakened the Judgment Day system]

Dread washed over him like a tidal wave as he stared at the screen in disbelief. What did it mean?

[Name: Clark Williams

Age: 21

Level: 2

Survival points: 10

Strenght: 7

Agility: 6

Stamina: 8

Endurance: 5

Intelligence: 1

Charisma: 3

Luck: 5

Perception: 4

Mana: 10

Store: Locked

Skill: ☆ Auto Regeneration

Quest: Kill 10 Mutated demon with the cutlass and wash the blade in the blood all of the killed demon to evolve the cutlass

Into a ☆ Demon Lass

Notification: Survival points can be used to upgrade status points]

Clark suddenly just thought about putting all ten points into strength and he suddenly dropped to the ground and body began to hurt unbearable and his arm became significantly bigger.

As Clark cautiously stepped out of the bloodstained store, his senses overwhelmed by the sight and smell of death, he felt a shiver run down his spine. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and decay, and the dim glow of the streetlights cast long. eerie shadows across the pavement.

Before him lay a gruesome tableau a group of grotesque, mutated demons huddled around a grisly feast of human remains. Their twisted forms writhed in the flickering light, their distorted features contorted in a frenzied orgy of violence and savagery. Clark's stomach churned with disgust and horror at the sight, bile rising in his throat.

But it was the demons' faces that chilled him to the bone. Each one was split in three, their mouths gaping wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth, dripping with blood and gore. The sight was enough to make Clark's blood run cold, his grip tightening on the hilt of the cutlass in his hand.

Summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, Clark forced himself to step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. The demons' ears twitched at the sound of his approach, their heads snapping up in unison as they sensed his presence.

With a guttural growl, they abandoned their feast and turned to face him, their eyes blazing with feral hunger. Clark braced himself for the inevitable attack, his muscles tensing as he prepared to defend himself against the onslaught.