I sat on a rock, back pressed against a gnarled tree. Amanda stood watch, silent and sharp-eyed, her presence steady as ever. That left me alone with the glowing status screen in front of me—seventeen attribute points and a skill point waiting to shape the next step of my survival.

So far, my abilities were useful but scattered. I could see levels, heal wounds, and turn pain into power. Handy in a pinch, sure, but not defining. They were reactions, not foundations. Tools for getting by, not thriving.

I needed more than that. I needed an identity—a core skill that could shape my build, my life, my purpose. Something that didn’t just prop me up after I got hurt but let me dictate the fight from the start. I wasn’t here to be a punching bag. I was here to endure, to fight, to save—not at my own expense, but because I could take the hits others couldn’t.

Healing in the Multiverse wasn’t just about mending wounds. It was about turning the inevitable into an advantage. If it didn’t kill me, it made me stronger. Simple as that. I could stand at the front, weather the storm, and still have enough strength left to drag someone else out of the fire. I didn’t just want to survive. I wanted to be the reason others did, too.

I scrolled through the skill tree, eyes flicking past tempting options—flashy, destructive, fleeting. None of them whispered "build around me." They were daggers in the dark, quick bursts of power, but nothing that screamed permanence. I wasn’t looking for a trick. I was looking for a pillar.

Pain. Endurance. Survival. Those were my truths. Searing Vigor already let me push past limits, but only when the world had already broken me. That wasn’t enough. I didn’t want to need to bleed first. I wanted control, leverage—something that turned my resilience into an active threat, not just a passive defense.

Then my gaze settled on a single skill.

Painbound Dominion.

The description was short, almost clinical: Establish an area as your dominion. All enemies within are compelled to attack you, drawn by a subconscious pull. Each blow endured or given strengthens your hold, accumulating Pain Counters for every instance of damage taken. Accumulated counters increase your ability to influence enemies’ actions, weakening their resistance and clarity of thought. Influence fades rapidly outside your dominion.

I read it twice. Then a third time.

It wasn’t just a taunt. It was control—control earned through suffering. The more I endured, the more the enemy’s will unraveled. Not just blind aggression, either. Real influence. Force them to falter. Make them hesitate. Turn a predator into prey, step by step, until they stood frozen, unsure why they’d ever dared to face me.

It clicked. My endurance wasn’t just for soaking hits. It was leverage. An axis to spin the battlefield around me. Stand. Endure. Control.

I glanced up. Amanda was still at the edge of the clearing, pretending not to watch, arms crossed and gaze flicking between the tree line and my frozen expression.

“About time,” she muttered, like she could see the decision written across my face.

I didn’t reply. My thumb hovered over the skill prompt for a heartbeat longer, mind racing.

Could I really shape my entire build around this?

Hell’s Reprieve had taught me that pain wasn’t just an obstacle—it was currency. Searing Vigor turned it into raw power. But Painbound Dominion? That turned it into control. Into strategy.

No more scrambling for openings. No more waiting for the world to break me first. I’d define the fight. Set the terms.

I tapped Confirm.

A rush of heat flooded my chest, not the burn of Searing Vigor or the sharp sting of healing, but something deeper—like a chord struck in my core, resonating outward. The system chimed softly, almost approving.

Skill Unlocked: Painbound Dominion.

I exhaled slowly, the notification fading from view.

With Vigor fueling me and Reprieve patching me up, Painbound Dominion wasn’t just a skill—it was the battlefield itself, bent to my will.

“Figured it out?” Amanda asked, pushing off the tree and sauntering closer.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m done just surviving.”

Focusing on my new skill, I dug deeper into its details. It didn’t just sit there like a static perk—it scaled. With Endurance and Willpower. My smile grew. Endurance was already my strongest attribute, the foundation of everything I’d built. And Willpower? That made perfect sense. This wasn’t brute strength; it was dominance, enforced through sheer force of will.

The more I endured, the more control I could exert. The longer I stood, the harder it would be for anyone to stand against me.

I pulled up my status screen and dumped the majority of my 17 points into willpower, bringing it securely into my 2nd highest attribute spot.

Name: Kale Orrmons

Race: Demon

Level: 13E

* Strength: 15

* Agility: 15

* Endurance: 35

* Dexterity: 15

* Intelligence: 15

* Wisdom: 15

* Charisma: 15

* Willpower: 30

* Mana Control: 15

* Perception: 14

The screen flickered away with a thought, leaving only the familiar weight of the swamp pressing in. My heart hammered—not from fear, but from anticipation. This was it. A step beyond scraping by. A build. A path.

Amanda glanced at me, sharp eyes narrowing as she caught the shift in my posture. “Looks like you’ve figured it out,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t expect you to make it this far, this fast.”

Her words should’ve felt like praise. Instead, they sounded like goodbye.

Before I could respond, she stepped forward and pulled me into a tight hug. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t teasing. It was final.

“We have to part ways,” Amanda said softly, voice steady but eyes shadowed with something deeper. “For you to truly find your path, I can’t be here holding your hand.”

I stiffened. “Wait, what? That’s ridiculous. We—”

She pulled back, hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “No, Kale. You don’t need me here anymore. You’ve outgrown the training wheels. But I’m not abandoning you.” Her gaze softened. “In one month’s time, I’ll be at the Colosseum. Find me there and show me how much you’ve grown.”

From out of nowhere, she produced two items: a strange silver pendant etched with runes and a tightly rolled scrap of parchment—the exact kind I’d pulled from Dalen’s corpse. My breath caught.

“Sign this,” Amanda instructed, unfurling the parchment. The text was simple, almost absurdly so: By this bond, Kale Orrmons names Amanda Mead as teacher. Amanda Mead names Kale Orrmons as pupil.

I hesitated. “That’s it? No hidden clauses? No fine print?”

Her smile was tired but genuine. “That’s it. I’m not the system, Kale. I don’t need to trap you to teach you.”

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That landed harder than I liked. Silently, I reached out and touched the parchment, focusing my will into the act of signing. A faint shimmer of green light traced the letters of my name before the paper dissolved into nothingness.

Amanda nodded, satisfied, and held up the pendant. “This does two things. First, it lets me find you anywhere on this planet. Second, it counts down to the next objective I’m giving you.”

She flipped the pendant over. The runes flickered, dull and inert.

“Kale,” she said, voice firm but quiet, “one month from today, you’ll be level twenty-five. At least. That’s your goal. We’ll meet at the Colosseum then.”

I blinked. “Twenty-five? That’s—”

“Doable.” Her eyes hardened. “You don’t get to crawl anymore. You run, or you die.”

Before I could argue, she tapped the pendant and slipped it around my neck. The runes flared to life, casting a soft green glow across my chest. The countdown had begun.

Then she stepped back, arms loose at her sides, like she’d already made peace with the decision. “One month, Kale. Don’t disappoint me.”

And just like that, she was gone, melting into the shadows of the swamp without another word. I stood there for a long moment, fingers brushing the warm metal of the pendant, the weight of her challenge settling on my shoulders like an old, familiar burden.

But it didn’t crush me.

It steadied me.

I wasn’t downtrodden. I wasn’t lost. I had a goal, a path, and the tools to walk it.

Squaring my shoulders, I strode into the swamp, eyes sharp and senses open. Time to test my new skill.

It didn’t take long to find prey.

A hulking form basked on a half-submerged log, jagged black scales glinting under the pale light filtering through the canopy. Thick limbs, spiked ridges, and cold, unblinking eyes.

Blackthorn Gator. Level 14.

A higher level than me. Bigger. Meaner. Deadlier.

Perfect.

My hand tightened around Fangpiercer. My heart slowed, steady and deliberate.

Painbound Dominion thrummed in my mind, eager and waiting.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” I muttered, stepping into the gator’s line of sight.

Its eyes flicked toward me, and the water stilled.

The fight was on.

The gator's eyes locked onto me, cold and calculating. It didn’t lunge. Not yet. Apex predators didn’t waste energy. It was waiting for me to get closer, to step into the kill zone.

Too bad for it. This was my zone now.

Painbound Dominion. Activate.

The world didn’t shatter or scream. There was no flash of light, no dramatic announcement. Just a shift.

Shadows spilled outward from my feet, spreading in a perfect circle across the mud and tangled roots. The edges shimmered, not like mist but like heat haze, warping the air above the boundary. It wasn’t darkness, not truly—more like the swamp had been drained of vibrance, the greens fading to muted charcoal, the browns darkening to lifeless umber.

My dominion. My rules.

The Blackthorn Gator stirred, muscles rippling under scaled hide. Its lips curled back, revealing rows of jagged teeth stained from countless kills. But it didn’t move. Not yet.

Because now, I was the center of gravity. It couldn’t look away. Couldn’t ignore me.

I stepped forward, slow and deliberate, dagger held loose in my hand. Shadows rippled beneath each step, like ink swirling in water.

The gator hissed, tension coiling in its limbs.

“Come on,” I muttered, feeling the weight of the domain pulse in time with my heartbeat. “You want me? Come get me.”

It snapped.

Water exploded as the beast surged forward, jaws wide, aiming for my torso. Fast, but not faster than I’d expected. Not faster than the countless drills Amanda had hammered into me.

I twisted, tail sweeping low. The gator’s momentum carried it forward, its jaws snapping shut on empty air. My tail struck the back of its foreleg, not hard enough to break bone, but enough to make it stumble.

Pain Counter: 1.

The shadows around us thickened, dark tendrils curling upward like smoke, marking the first thread of control. I grinned, adrenaline spiking as the notification flickered in the corner of my vision. One hit. One thread woven into the fight.

The gator recovered fast, claws raking through the mud as it pivoted, thrashing its tail toward my legs. This time, I didn’t dodge. I braced.

The impact hit like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs and sending me skidding back, boots carving furrows in the muck. Pain flared along my side, sharp and immediate.

Pain Counter: 3.

The gator charged again, emboldened by the hit. But it didn’t realize the balance was already shifting. The pull of the domain grew stronger, subtle threads tightening around its mind. The shadows at the circle’s edge quivered, the boundary solidifying as my endurance fed the skill.

My mind sharpened, the sting of impact bleeding into focus. The gator’s movements seemed slower now, just a fraction—but enough.

I sidestepped the next lunge, Fangpiercer flashing out to carve a shallow line across its snout. The beast roared, more in fury than pain, but it didn’t matter.

Pain Counter: 5.

The shadows beneath the gator flickered, tendrils brushing against its limbs like ghostly chains. My grip on its will strengthened.

“Drop your head,” I murmured, voice low and steady, testing the waters.

The gator hesitated mid-step. Its head dipped—not much, but enough to betray the influence pressing down on its mind.

It worked.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I could feel the threads now, not literal but tangible in some abstract, instinctual way. Each blow endured had woven another strand, binding the gator tighter to my will.

But the counters would fade if I didn’t press the advantage.

The gator shook off the hesitation and lunged again, jaws wide. This time, I didn’t dodge. I dove forward, straight into the beast’s path, raising my arm to shield my face.

Teeth closed around my forearm, sharp spikes puncturing flesh and muscle. I bit back a scream, heat flooding my veins as blood slicked my skin.

Pain Counter: 10.

The shadows surged, swirling faster within the circle. The world outside the boundary seemed distant now, washed-out and dull. Only the fight mattered. Only my dominion.

The gator’s breath was hot against my skin, its grip firm but not crushing—yet. It was testing me, waiting for me to panic.

I didn’t.

“Release.”

The command wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t a desperate plea. It was calm. Cold. Absolute.

The gator’s jaw spasmed, muscles locking up as the threads of dominion tightened like a noose. Its eyes widened in confusion as its own body betrayed it.

It let go.

I ripped my arm free, blood dripping from puncture wounds already beginning to close, thanks to Hell’s Reprieve. The pain didn’t vanish—it sharpened, feeding the dominion, reinforcing my hold.

The gator stumbled back, sides heaving. I could feel its panic now, subtle tremors running through the connection. It wasn’t just fighting me anymore—it was fighting its own instincts, its own will, drowning under the weight of my endurance.

“Sit,” I ordered, voice like iron.

The gator’s limbs buckled. It resisted for half a heartbeat, muscles straining, but the counters didn’t lie. Ten threads, woven deep. Its will broke like rotted twine.

It slumped into the mud, chest heaving, jaws snapping uselessly at the empty air.

I stood over it, heart still pounding, breath ragged. Fangpiercer hovered above its exposed throat, steady despite the tremor in my muscles.

This wasn’t just survival anymore.

This was domination.

The gator shivered under the weight of my will, head dipping lower as the last remnants of resistance faded. The fight was over. One quick thrust, one clean kill.

I slumped against a nearby tree, adrenaline fading into exhaustion. My arm throbbed, the wounds still closing, but the pain didn’t matter. The fight hadn’t been about damage. It had been about control.

And I’d won. Not just by strength, but by will.

Painbound Dominion. Tested. Proven.

I grinned, wiping blood from my face. That felt fantastic. Exactly what I was hoping for.

My vision blurred, edges darkening. I stumbled, the adrenaline crash hitting harder than expected. Then everything went black.

I woke to the sharp bite of pain behind my eyes. A splitting headache hammered against my skull, every pulse in time with my heartbeat. Groaning, I sat up, the damp earth cold against my back. My stomach twisted, nausea rolling through me like a tide.

“Reprieve,” I muttered, trying to activate my healing skill. Nothing happened. The familiar spark of demonic energy didn’t rise, didn’t even flicker.

Panic scratched at the edge of my thoughts. I pulled up my status screen, heart sinking the moment I saw it.

Intelligence: 15 – The stat blinked red, pulsing like a warning light.

Confused, I focused on it, and a new bar appeared at the bottom of the screen. A thin, empty blue line.

Mana: 0/150

Ah. So that’s what happened.

I’d burned through every drop of mana using Painbound Dominion. No reserves, no buffer. When the spell ended, it didn’t just drain me—it knocked me unconscious, like my body had slammed the emergency brakes. And the headache? That was the price of running dry.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. This was more than just exhaustion. It was system-enforced backlash for overextending.

I could recover naturally, but at this rate, it’d take hours, maybe longer. And without Reprieve or Vigor to speed things along, I was vulnerable. Staggering to my feet, I leaned against a tree, trying to steady my spinning head.

Lesson learned. Painbound Dominion wasn’t just a weapon. It was a drain. A powerful one, sure, but one that could cripple me if I didn’t manage my mana properly.

I sighed, forcing myself to breathe through the nausea. I’d wanted a skill to build my life around. Well, I’d gotten it.

Now I just had to survive long enough to master it.