The Drakorath

The beast had made a grave mistake.

At first, Jack was clueless about what sort of creature stood before him, so he'd prepared for the worst. It was better to assume it was stronger and more vicious than he could handle, given its height and the deadly gleam in its eyes. Instinct told him that fear would make him easy prey, so he forced himself to show none. His heart pounded in his chest, but his face remained steely.

"If I'm going to survive this, I've got to act first and think later," he muttered under his breath, the words as much to steady his nerves as they were a tactic.

In his mind, he rehearsed a plan: hold his ground, fight if he had to, but above all, look for any chance to escape. He knew the saying well: 'He who runs lives to fight another day.' To Jack, that wasn't a sign of cowardice—it was a sign of wisdom. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that he was destined to encounter this creature again. Perhaps if he survived this time, he'd learn something to use against it in the future.

But something strange happened. As soon as he shut down his fear, the beast stopped short. It seemed hesitant to approach him. Jack narrowed his eyes. The sudden shift made him suspicious, and he began to recall everything he'd read in the royal library about creatures like this. One beast in particular sprang to mind—the Drakorath.

The Drakorath was known for a cunning ability: it could change its shape, adopting the form of larger, more intimidating creatures to terrify weaker prey into submission. With its prey paralyzed by fear, the Drakorath would then activate a secondary ability that petrified the victim in place, making escape impossible. But, crucially, if the prey showed no fear, the Drakorath often hesitated to attack, as it relied on fear to get an advantage. For the Drakorath, a high-risk fight was rarely worth its own life. As soon as Jack remembered this, the creature's odd behavior began to make sense.

He held his ground, watching as the beast locked eyes with him, and he could see the tension mounting between them. In a flash, the creature began to transform, shedding its fearsome exterior and revealing its true form—a creature entirely different from the towering, monstrous figure it had projected just moments ago. Where there had been a menacing figure now crouched a small, rodent-like creature with soft, gray-brown fur, wide, panicked hazel eyes, and tiny, clawed paws.

"Causing trouble despite your size, huh?" Jack muttered, unimpressed. For all its small stature, he felt no sympathy for the Drakorath. In fact, he felt a strange surge of anger toward it. This beast had tried to take his life, and now it was time to settle the score.

The system pinged, and a message appeared before him.

[Appraisal Skill Activated!]

[Beast: Drakorath]

[Level: 3]

A smirk crept across Jack's face. "So, you're not useless after all," he muttered, giving the system some begrudging praise. He finally had some useful intel.

"Good. Now those long hours in the library won't go to waste," he whispered to himself, his spirits lifting.

The Drakorath's energy was depleting rapidly, thanks to his repeated use of [Dark Blast]. It was a slow but effective spell, chipping away at the creature's strength over time. Though it didn't pack a lot of power in a single hit, it had steadily weakened the Drakorath, wearing it down to a point where it was much easier prey.

The creature's movements became more labored, and Jack was catching up. He could see its muscles trembling with fatigue, its once-lithe steps now mere staggers. Despite his growing advantage, Jack felt an odd exhilaration, a feeling he'd never experienced before. His heart pounded, but not from fear—this was something else, something primal. He'd never played games as a child, never known the thrill of a chase, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was finally getting a taste of something he'd always been denied.

Was this the exhilaration of hunting, of being the predator rather than the prey?

The Drakorath turned to look at him, eyes wide with terror, as though trying to comprehend what kind of creature would pursue it so relentlessly.

But that single glance was its final mistake.

Jack's body moved before his mind even registered it. He leaped over a thick tree root, closing the distance in one smooth jump. As he landed, a sense of pure exhilaration electrified his veins.

"Soaring Flames!" he bellowed, a fiery spell gathering in his palms. Intense heat crackled in the air, licking up from his hands like eager flames. With a swift motion, he unleashed the scorching blast. The Drakorath let out a final, agonized squeal, the sound strangled as flames rapidly consumed its small, trembling form.

He watched as the fire enveloped it, the creature's body turning to charred ash. It was done. The beast had been his first kill.

Ding!

[Beast Killed: 1/10]

[Reward: +10 Soul Essence]

A grin split his face as the notification from the system flashed. This was beginning to feel like a game—a thrill he'd never had the chance to enjoy. But before he could fully relish the victory, a different message appeared.

[The time has come; a soul must be offered in exchange for power.]

Jack frowned, baffled by the strange wording. "What's this system ranting about? Did something break?"

But before he could ponder it further, an intense pain shot through his skull, a searing ache that felt as if something were tearing through his mind. He doubled over, gripping his head, struggling against the fiery torment flooding his senses.

In the darkness that stretched through his mind, he saw faint images—visions that seemed to come from somewhere beyond him. He was standing in a vast, empty expanse, a void that extended in all directions. In the distance, something loomed in the darkness, coming into sharper focus. It was a massive, ancient altar, imposing and ominous, rising up from the endless void like a monument to forgotten gods.

"All must bow before the lord of the dead! All souls pure and good shall become a part of the legion," a voice echoed, low and dreadful, as if a hundred voices were speaking in unison. The words reverberated in his mind, an ominous chant that filled the dark void with a sinister energy.

Jack struggled to process what he was seeing. The altar gleamed with a strange, dark light, its surface adorned with symbols that twisted and shifted, never settling into any shape he could recognize. And then, slowly, a figure began to materialize before the altar, draped in shadows, a faceless presence radiating an aura of unfathomable power.

He could feel it—a hunger emanating from the figure, a pull that reached into his very soul, as if it were calling to him, demanding something precious.

"Jack… it awaits," the voice murmured, and in that instant, he felt something stirring deep within him, an instinct that was both foreign and familiar. It was a primal urge, a need to offer something in return for the power he had just claimed.