Blood Fury Delirium

"Ah shit." Corwyn muttered as he held his halberd tightly in his hands. It was Kronosday, or Saturday. It was also the start of his weekly dungeon runs and his first few ventures down into the lower-mid-floors.

The twelfth and eleventh floors were largely populated by Hard-Armors, armadillo-like creatures that had tough shells needing a strength of B rank or higher to break through. Often, Adventurers would flip them over and gut their softer bellies as to kill them easier.

Silverbacks were also popular on these two floors, massive ape-like monkies that while less durable than the tank-like Hard Armors, they were far, far quicker and deadlier than the slow and predictiable Hard Armors.

Silverbacks also often came in pairs on floor Twelve, so fighting two at once while also dealing with Imp spawns, the rare Orc, the threat of floor thirteen sending Almiraj packs up, Middle Floor migrations, Infant Dragons, and more. The Twelfth floor was a deadly bottle neck that was often invaded from the Middle Floors when monsters fled from higher level Adventurers.

It was social faux pas to route monsters into higher-level areas, as by consequence one was being willfully ignorant or uncaring of Adventurer parties fighting in upper-floors. High-Level Adventurers didn't often have too much trouble dealing with such events, slow minotaurs and monsters of the middle floors not putting up much fight against them, but it was still a danger that was present on such floors.

Corwyn himself was in the Twelfth floor right now, he'd just fought off a duo of Silverbacks, his Halberd finding identical resting places inside their temples as the back spike easily pushed in their skulls and destroyed the brains of the beasts.

Then came a Hard Armor and one of his fears had come to realization.

His halberd broke. The haft had snapped, and to his shame he'd admit to neglecting his woodworking skill and the maintenance of said haft.

Enchanted with a single charge of durability, the weapon was still a mundane thing. At common rarity the enchantment was as weak as it came, and at Uncommon the Durability Enchantment he gave his weapons would be up there with the Durandal Attribute from the Blacksmith Developmental Ability.

Corwyn could admit to being a bit flagrant and reckless with his spending of Charges on items that may or may not truly be needed, however, it was his power and he used it as he saw fit. Sadly, his old weapon, while certainly repaired and maintained to a decent standard, wasn't rated for the hands of an adventurer who was hitting in the SS Ranks of Strength against armor that was infamous for doing just the exact thing that happened to the Halberd.

Now, with nothing more than a stick in his hands, Corwyn could fully state as he stared at a duo of Silverbacks slowly crawling out of the mists of the Twelfth floor. That and the almost mocking laugh of the hard armor's reptilian tongue and its swaying mace-like tail.

His hand lowered to his side and drew out his back-up weapon; a simple one-handed warhammer.

'I'm not completely fucked, but this is indeed looking a bit hairy.' Corwyn thought as he backed away slowly, letting his rage and battlelust stew and simmer as he waited for the unsaid 'go'.

Then a roar sounded out, the cracks of stone as a monster broke through into life shook Corwyn's bones.

A fracture deep into the mists spread out and Corwyn stumbled as he lost his balance slightly, before from that fracture came the shadowed head of a dragon that slowly turned its glowing eye that shined through dense mist; staring right. At. Him.

"Ah shit." Corwyn muttered as he dropped his halberd to his feet and held the neck and handle of his warhammer tightly instead.

"Well, no time like today." Corwyn whispered to himself. "Everyday is a good day to die, really." He chuckled.

"Ordered to die." He started chanting, taking a step forward and raising his previously defensive posture.

The beasts hissed and growled, the silverbacks in their strange primitive intelligence made way for the newly born infant dragon as it lumbered forward.

"Left for Dead." Corwyn gave his hammer a few swings as he started walking towards the challenger. Normally such would require him to pause and stand still, lest he blow up in a Ignius Fatius or whatever they called it. However, this spell was really just cast by 'compacting one's Mind before letting hate burn it'. He assumed that most spells were like that, and could be cast without an Aria and through simple manipulation of Mind. He didn't know what made it so easy for him though and why other people weren't doing it like this though.

"Rise through Strength." His fingers bit deeply into the steel of his warhammer, and he felt the metal flex at his strength.

"Return through Valor." He rose his chin to the eyes of the Infant Dragon, the beast snorting as two prides battled in the meeting of their eyes.

"Betrayed by Greed." The dragon lowered, the silverbacks growled and got ready to pounce, the Hard Armor hissed.

"Revenge through Hate." Corwyn growled, and the spark of magic within his soul ignited a flame of burning wroth and hate.

His veins burned, his body creaked as an unending well of hate flooded his body and splashed against his soul. The tides of blood surrounding his soul boiled and bubbled, the obelisk that was his grand anima rose its impassive head and tilted it with a stoic and alien hate.

Corwyn seethed, his teeth grinding together as steam fluxed off his body and his muscles swell. They swell so much that his skin started tearing at its seems and blood started to flow at a rapid pace.

He drew on his connection to the Blood God and from that connection, he commanded the blood into lashing claws and whips of hateful blood. The lashes slapped and cracked against the confused and slowly backing away Silverbacks, the Hard Armor had one of its eyes split by the crack of a blood whip, and the Infant Dragon backed away slightly as it stared with confusion at the strange and now deadly appearance of the little mortal.

Corwyn barred his teeth in a mockery of a smile, before letting out a haunting laugh. "I'm going to break your fucking spine." It was not yell, it was simply stated. He stepped forward and lunged.

The ground under his foot cratered slightly at his speed, and with a thunderous scream Corwyn clocked up his warhammer and gave a powerful blow to the beast's jaw.

The dragon's head was slapped away, a ruinous crack of bone and metal meeting with superhuman force rang out deeply into the surrounding mist as it too was blasted away by the attack.

The dragon leapt back, snarling weakly with hateful rage as its jaw was broken and dislocated. From its mouth shattered teeth dangled out and clattered down to the stone ground of the twelfth floor as it reared up and sent its mass down to crush the fool that would attack it so.

Corwyn snarled and leapt out of the way, before dashing back in and raised his hammer above his head in a smiting blow to the beast's right rear leg.

Bone once again cracked and the infant dragon limped away in constant retreat. Corwyn charged but the dragon limped away and slashed at the man with its left frontal leg, forcing the man to block and get launched back into the earth.

His back hit the stone harshly before he flipped over himself and landed on his feet digging deep furrows into the ground. Snarling, Corwyn dashed forward as his body was already fixing itself and re-engaged in combat, or rather a flipped game of cat and mouse.

The dragon would keep its distance and try to get hits in while the man would dash in and try to shatter and main another limb or do as he promised and break its spine. Any time the Dragon tried charging up a breath attack, Corwyn would strike its throat or jaw and remind it that was a dumb idea.

As Corwyn was thrown back, only to charge into the fight again and again, his blood leaked rapidly from his body as his skin was ripped off his swelling muscles. This reveled bright crimson red muscle and leaking veins. Each step Corwyn took, liters of blood dripped off his armor that was being ripped to shreds, showing a demonic man that didn't even bother to react to the pain of being flayed alive and simply kept focusing that hate and rage into the fight.

This blood that leaked from Corwyn's body formed into pools of deadly traps that'd grab and drown monsters in shallow pools, and shards of sharp blood that darted to attack the monsters circling the fight. This blood smelt divine to the monsters as it started spreading throughout the mists, soon attracting hordes who were either killed in the slowly developing maelstrom of blood rain, or got in Corwyn's path as he charged and clashed against the Infant Dragon, turning the beast into one large bruise each time he charged.

In those same charges, monsters would get pulverized by slashes of his hammer so fast the human eye would struggle to catch the attack, or they'd get trampled upon and the strength of his steps would turn their bodies into broken cripples; easy targets for the blood storm surrounding Corwyn to rip them to shreds and drain their own blood to add to its growing fury.

The blood storm started generating its own winds, and the scent only got stronger as dozens of monsters ran from the few adventurers diving at the early-early morning of the day Or the late-late night. Hordes would appear and dive into the red mists, only to be turned into mulch and fed into Corwyn's hate.

The Infant Dragon meanwhile, while a Level 2 enemy, was getting its ass handed to it. While it might look like they were in a stalemate, Corwyn had two goals here.

One was to torture this fucker until its bones were naught but shards on the floor and its blood was his to own.

The other was to milk this event for all it was worth and really grind that Agility, Endurance, Strength, Magic, and Dexterity.

Each time he was hit back by the beast, he gained Endurance. Each time he charged back in at superhuman speeds and trampled monsters under his feet, he gained Strength and Agility. Each bone he broke gave him Strength and Dexterity, and the longer he lasted in this state; the more magic he'd gain.

That then led to the question of 'how long could he last'? Corwyn only had 001 Mind, which led him to believe he shouldn't be able to keep this up for long, if at all.

However, he quickly found the 'cost' of using this berserk state without the necessary mind.

It started consuming his body.

He felt it eat away at his muscle, his bone, his energy, his mind. Yet, there was one thing that it was also consuming that he fed it plenty of.

His blood, and the blood of those around him.

As long as he had blood, of which he technically had an enteral amount of it, he could keep going.

The thought made him laugh, his mind long since deranged and blood drunk off the battle and rage that flooded his soul. That haunting laugh never ended as he slammed his hammer into the claws of the beast, and when the head snapped off and he started using his fists to bludgeon the dragon to death, he didn't stop laughing.

He didn't stop laughing as is nails stripped off the beast's hide and scales.

He didn't stop laughing as his fingers wrapped themselves around its spine.

He didn't stop laughing as he ripped it out and used it to bludgeon a Silverback to death.

He started giggling as he climbed up the stairs, a fresh dragon hide inside his satchels.

He smiled at Adventurers who shuffled around the blood stained mad-man who didn't have any skin and was dressed in blood-soaked rags.

He giggled softly as he accepted an offered healing potion from an Adventurer who recognized him. 'Ah, that was Mikoto, wonderful girl that. Takemura and her should make plenty of cute brats.' He laughed at the burning blush on the woman's face and choking sounds from her teammates when he said as such.

He giggled when they offered to escort him to the surface, denying as he said he needed to make himself a new skin at the forge. He sauntered away, giggling to himself as he squeezed a killer ant between his palms and slathered its burst grey matter against the dungeon wall.

He drank the potion and felt his new skin heal over his receding muscles, no longer so swollen. He hummed a soft song under his breath as he stepped into the bath-houses placed at Babel Tower, took a bucket, washed the blood, and joined the streets like nothing happened. He felt his strength start to leave him, before he stepped into the smithy and smiled at Rinok.

"Ah? Brat, the fuck happened to your armor? It's scrap!"

"Haha, Dragons are fucking fun to bully." Corwyn fell forward and clocked out on the floor.