The world pulsed with grotesque synchronicity. Each surge of monstrous energy from the rift had an answering throb within his wound, his veins alight with a monstrous mimicry. The mutated flowers pulsed faintly at his feet, conduits into this grotesque power surge. This was what they were designed for - not as tools, but as grotesque nodes of this new system he was becoming the architect of.

It wasn't exhilarating any longer, it was necessity. Each spectral serpent Anya sliced with her axe sent its essence not directly into her, but into him. Crude, inefficient... and all he had in this insane battlefield. To fall behind here would be death. With each tendril-turned-mote, with each new bloom wilting beneath him, another piece of control flickered into existence. It was madness, and it held a brutal kind of logic. Anya was the shield, her strength bought to fuel his evolution. She might sense it, might even hate him for it... but for now, his gamble was her survival. A gamble she may well not even fully comprehend.

Then, amidst the chaos, there was a scream. His first thought was a surge of power - another rift tendril lashing out. But something was wrong. Not a new horror had emerged, but Anya's focus had broken. In that fractured second, one of the monstrous tendrils whipped towards her, not aiming for flesh, but to possess. These things did not need to tear you open – they wanted the mind, turning survival into a grotesque puppet show.

There was no hesitation, even as fear prickled his skin. His power flowed not into crude weapons, but extended through the mutated blooms, the conduits now becoming a trap. As the tendril sank into Anya, ready to take over, his Essence Theft twisted on itself. There was an agonizing resistance, a clash of two unnatural energies.

Anya didn't simply yell, she screeched, a sound raw and guttural that drowned out the rift's spectral birth pangs. The essence pulsed back, tearing away from her and back through the grotesque blossoms, fueling a surge of potential that made his bones crackle. She collapsed, not limp, but twitching, the fight not yet out of her but her control shattered. Perfect.

This time, when he stalked forward, there was no pretense of help, only a predator claiming its spoils.

"Forgive me, Anya," he hissed, kneeling beside her. An act of mercy would've been a quick end. Instead, his hands fumbled for the pulse at her throat, not for its beat, but the echo of that spectral energy pulsating weakly just beneath the surface. "But like you said... we have a way out."

For once, Essence Theft did not take crudely. With the tendril still lingering in her, it became a bridge, a pathway. With a sickening twist, he reached not for power, but for… understanding. Anya’s memories didn't break apart, revealing some neat map as he'd hoped. Instead, it was a flood of sensation, of echoes without logic. In a brutal flash, he had flashes of an older Anya - scars, not just physical ones, and eyes made colder by an apocalypse far less forgiving than he remembered. There were hints of monstrous battles, strange mutations, and… alliances that crumbled as fast as they'd formed.

It burned and was gone, leaving a bitter aftertaste and something terrifyingly useful. In these seconds, he held not only an echo of another world, but of its System. There were nuances, differences, yet beneath them, patterns repeated. The monstrous creatures from Jason's own past flickered against Anya's chaotic visions, an impossible timeline converging – not because she held his memory, but because the monstrous force behind the invasion remained constant.

Pulling back, he left Anya gasping, weakened. She held no answers, but had become a weapon of a different sort.

She wouldn't thank him, might try to carve out his heart once she recovered. The question now was: who would reach the peak of power first? Anya's prior experience offered only one thing for certain. For every step he took, for every monstrous twist the System revealed, another would slither from the darkness, each demanding new sacrifices, new horrors. This game had gone from survival, even domination, into something truly unknown. The only sure thing – there was no sharing the throne. The System built worlds only for them to be devoured, and Jason would ensure he was the one with the fangs.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

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Anya's world exploded back into brutal clarity. Every muscle screamed in agony, her mind felt flayed by an unseen force. Yet, through the haze, something burned hotter than pain: unmitigated rage. Her blurred vision settled on Jason, kneeling over her, the look in his eyes no longer apologetic, but chillingly calculating.

She surged – not in a calculated strike, but with the pure violence of a cornered animal. Yet, her body betrayed her. Each movement felt sluggish, wrong, as if another will warred with her own.

Jason didn't even dodge. Instead, he grabbed her with unnatural strength, a cruel counterpoint to her weakened state.

"Anya, stop. It's pointless," he growled, his voice raspy with both the exertion of their shared struggle and a terrifying resolve.

Each second, Anya's mind regained a horrifying thread of coherence. She sensed it then – a foreign presence seeping into her consciousness, like slithering tendrils twisting around her fractured self.

"What have you...done?" Anya gasped, eyes wild.

"You opened the door to this world, Anya. Now, you're helping me understand it. You're showing me how to win," Jason replied. His words weren't a plea, but the chilling calculation of a man who'd crossed a line.

"You bastard! Let me GO!" Anya's thrashing grew more desperate, claws scrabbling futilely against his hold. That's when it sunk in – that sickening knowledge echoing from the darkest recesses of those alien memories. She knew this game, had felt it in that other, more brutal apocalypse. Players weren't just warriors; they were resources, fodder to be pushed, warped, consumed.

Her struggle abruptly ceased. In its place, a cold dread filled her veins, far more terrifying than the monstrous rage. With a strangled sob, she met his eyes, seeing there only the merciless reflection of a System devouring its own.

Jason paused, taken aback by the sudden shift. Was the fight truly gone from her?

Before he could question it, he felt it – a change in the air around them, a subtle pressure. Anya wasn't surrendering. That broken sob turned into a low growl, vibrating from somewhere deep within, where that new, monstrous essence stirred. The spectral touch inside her wasn't simply information – it was awakening.

"Anya, wait–" Jason started.

She lunged, and this time it wasn't with wild despair, but a new, terrifying focus. Tendrils of spectral blue erupted from her skin, not aimless but honed. Not towards his flesh, but toward that invisible connection, the very conduit of his control.

The battleground had shifted. Her desperate swipe turned into a duel of unseen wills, and Jason felt the monstrous connection fraying.

With a surge of fear, he released her. The spectral claws lashed out, not at him, but slashing and tearing into the mutated flora surrounding them. It wasn't simply destruction; it was severing, ripping a hole between him and the system he was twisting like a puppeteer.

"No!" he bellowed, lunging toward Anya. Yet, as he tried to reconnect, it wasn't simply resistance he felt, but a grotesque hunger. One mirroring his own Essence Theft, but hungrier, less controlled, as if her will was only the tip of an iceberg stirring beneath the surface.

Then, realization flashed through him. Not just fear, but the cold certainty of a ruthless choice he'd refused to make until now. Anya wasn't simply a fighter; she'd become a wild card, a monstrous ally who was also a rival, a System leeching off his growth. She'd never accept a subservient role, and worse, there was another consciousness brewing within her that might one day devour them both.

Jason scrambled back as another tendril lashed towards him. In that moment, with Anya snarling as she tore at the roots of his power, he became as decisive as he was brutal. With a twist of his will, he focused not on control, but on overloading the fragile link between her and the System.

There was a blinding flash, and then… stillness.