Myuk lay on the cold, hard ground of the abyssal dungeon, his heart pounding in his chest as the weight of despair settled over him like a suffocating blanket. The laughter of Lady Seraphine echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of his perceived inadequacies. No matter where he went, it seemed he would always be deemed useless, a mere shadow of the hero Elandor needed. Tears stung his eyes, and he felt utterly defeated, a small figure lost in the vastness of his failures.


    But then, something inside him stirred—a flicker of defiance ignited by the rawness of his emotions. He refused to let this be the end. He had been given a chance, albeit a slim one, and he would not squander it. With a deep, shuddering breath, Myuk pushed himself off the ground, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. He had to live.


    Rising to his feet, Myuk took a moment to gather his thoughts. The dungeon was dimly lit, with flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. The air was damp and musty, filled with the scent of mold and decay. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The path ahead was dark and foreboding, but it was also filled with the promise of discovery. He had to explore and understand the depths of this place that had been his prison.


    With cautious determination, Myuk started walking, his footsteps echoing softly in the silence. Each step felt like a small victory, a claim over his fate. He focused on the rhythm of his breath, the steady beat of his heart, and the ground beneath his feet. The dungeon''s darkness was still oppressive, but he felt a flicker of hope that perhaps he could find anything that would help him on his journey.


    As he ventured deeper into the dungeon, the ground beneath him began to tremble. It was a subtle vibration at first but quickly escalated into a violent shaking that stunted Myuk. Panic gripped him as he struggled to maintain his balance, the walls around him shuddering ominously. He could feel the dust falling from the ceiling, and the air grew thick with tension.


    “What is happening?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rumbling.


    Suddenly, the source of the disturbance revealed itself. Emerging from the shadows ahead was a hulking, grotesque creature, its form twisted and monstrous. Myuk’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight. The beast was massive, with matted fur and glistening fangs that dripped with a viscous substance. Its eyes glowed with a vicious hunger, and Myuk could feel its gaze boring into him, assessing him as prey.


    Above the creature’s head, a name appeared in blood-red letters, striking terror into Myuk’s heart: Gorehound. The level next to its name was ominously marked as “???”—indicating that it was far beyond anything he could hope to confront. Fear surged through him, a primal instinct screaming at him to run.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The Gorehound let out a loud roar that reverberated through the dungeon-like thunder, shaking Myuk to his core. It struck the ground with its massive paws, sending shockwaves nearly knocking him off his feet. Myuk barely managed to dodge the blow, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he realized the danger he was in.


    “Run!” a voice in his mind urged him, and without thinking, he turned on his heel and sprinted down the corridor. Tears streamed down his face, a mixture of fear and despair blurring his vision. He was just a boy, a boy who had been deemed useless, and now he was faced with a monster that could easily end his life.


    As he ran, thoughts of his past flooded his mind—moments when he had been beaten down, told he was worthless, no matter how hard he tried. The Gorehound wasn’t just a monster; it was the embodiment of everything he had ever feared and failed to overcome. But in the face of this terror, something inside him snapped. A burning need to survive began to smolder within him to prove that he wasn’t as weak as they all believed.


    The pounding of the Gorehound’s footsteps behind him was a relentless reminder that it was closing the gap. Myuk could hear its snarls, the sound of claws scraping against stone as it gained on him. His legs burned, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he pushed on, driven by fear and newfound determination.


    Just as his lungs began to burn and his legs threatened to give out, a translucent window suddenly appeared before him as if conjured by some unseen force. Myuk skidded to a halt, his breath hitching in his throat as he read the words glowing softly before him.


    Copy Crushing Blow?


    For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating—a cruel trick of his exhausted mind. But as the words shimmered insistently, hope, fragile and tentative, flickered to life within him. This was an opportunity—perhaps the only opportunity he would get. He had nothing to lose; the Gorehound was closing in, and he needed a way to defend himself.


    The Gorehound’s growls grew louder, the creature now almost upon him. Myuk could feel the heat of its breath, the oppressive presence that threatened to swallow him whole. He had no time to think, no time to second-guess. This was it—his only chance.


    With his heart pounding, Myuk clenched his fists and screamed, “YES!” The word tore from his throat with a force he didn’t know he possessed, a primal cry of desperation and defiance.


    As the word left his lips, a surge of energy, unlike anything he had ever felt, shot through his body, electrifying every nerve. The window disappeared, and instinctively, Myuk’s hand clenched into a fist. The Gorehound was still a few feet away, its maw open wide, ready to tear him apart. With a surge of adrenaline, Myuk spun around, his fist glowing with a newfound power. He didn’t know if it would work or be enough, but he had no choice.


    He threw the punch with everything he had, aiming straight for the monster’s snarling face, and time seemed to slow as the fist collided with flesh…