The creature stood unmoved, unharmed.

  Not even a scratch marred its porcelain surface. The crystal growths pulsed brighter now, as if they'd absorbed the energy from the attacks. The only evidence of our assault was a slight shimmer in the air around it, like the heat distortion above summer asphalt.

  It extended its arms in a gesture almost like a benediction, and a pulse of silver energy erupted from its body in all directions—a perfect sphere of destruction expanding outward at impossible speed. The shockwave caught all five attackers, lifting them off their feet and sending them flying across the room like rag dolls. I heard bones break, the wet snap of fracturing limbs. Screams cut short as bodies hit walls with wet, heavy thuds. Blood spattered across surfaces in abstract patterns, a macabre gallery of death painted in seconds.

  The Engineer slammed into a desk with such force her spine severed, her lower body instantly paralyzed. The Storm Channeler's skull shattered against a concrete pillar, gray matter and bone fragments spraying outward like a biological grenade. The others landed in broken heaps, their bodies contorted into impossible shapes, blood pooling beneath them.

  Aurora had managed to retrieve her sword—the blade reformed, but dimmer now, its light flickering like a dying bulb. She now circled the creature cautiously, her movements hampered by what looked like a dislocated shoulder. "We need to retreat!" she shouted, blood spraying from her lips with each word. "Everyone, fall back to the stairwell!"

  But the creature had positioned itself between us and the exit. It seemed to understand strategy, cutting off our escape route with deliberate planning. And it was done playing.

  It moved again, this time with purpose, targeting the survivors methodically. It grabbed the Engineer by her injured arm, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She screamed once—a high, thin sound of pure terror—before it drove a crystalline spike extending from its wrist through her chest. The crystal emerged from her back, slick with blood and fragments of heart tissue. Her body went limp instantly, eyes fixed in eternal surprise.

  The Scout tried to run, scrambling across debris-strewn floor on hands and knees, leaving bloody handprints in his wake. The creature was on him in a flash, grabbing his head between massive hands and simply... squeezing.

  The sound would haunt my nightmares forever—the wet crunch of a skull compressing, the high-pitched whine of bone under stress before it gave way. Brain matter and splintered skull fragments oozed between the creature's fingers like obscene clay, dripping to the floor with soft, wet patters. It discarded the ruined head carelessly, already moving to its next target.

  I activated my second skill, Density Manipulation, desperation driving me past the splitting headache and nose bleed. I focused on the air surrounding the creature, increasing its density to that of water, then syrup, then concrete. The very air seemed to congeal around the monster, becoming visible as a gelatin-like substance that restricted its movement. The creature's limbs slowed, pushing through the thickened atmosphere with visible effort, each motion creating swirls and eddies in the hyper-dense air.

  Aurora seized the opportunity, darting in with blinding speed despite her injuries, her blade aimed at the creature's knee joint—a tactical strike intended to immobilize. This time, her strike found purchase, the silver edge biting into the joint with a spray of silver blood that hissed and smoked where it hit the floor. The creature's leg buckled slightly, its balance compromised.

  For one heartbeat, hope flared again.

  The creature reacted with frightening intelligence. Instead of lashing out blindly, it analyzed the threat with those insectoid eyes. Its next movement targeted not Aurora's body, but her sword—one hand shooting out to grab the blade directly. The crystal growths on its palm flared as it held the weapon immobile, then began to glow brighter, pulsing with energy that traveled up the blade like electricity through a conductor.

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  Aurora tried to pull free, muscles straining, tendons standing out on her neck, but the creature's grip was absolute. The glow intensified until her sword vibrated, humming at a frequency that set my teeth on edge and made my vision blur. Cracks appeared in the silver surface, spreading like a spiderweb, leaking moonslight through the fractures. Then, with a sound like a crystal goblet shattering, the blade exploded into fragments, dissolving into nothing but motes of silver light that drifted away like dying fireflies.

  Her main weapon, gone in an instant.

  Aurora stumbled back, shock written across her face, staring at her empty hand as if she couldn't comprehend what had happened. Before she could recover, the creature lashed out, its elongated arm catching her across the chest with the force of a speeding truck. The impact lifted her off her feet, sending her flying across the room in a spray of blood. She hit a desk, splintering it beneath her weight, and lay still, one arm bent at an impossible angle, blood trickling from her mouth.

  "Aurora!" I screamed, panic overwhelming rational thought. My heart seized in my chest, a cold void opening in my stomach.

  The party interface showed her health bar severely diminished but not empty—a thin sliver of red where robust green had been moments before. Still alive, but badly injured. Another hit would kill her.

  Mill's voice cut through my panic, her military training evident in her ability to remain calm amidst the slaughter. "Nate! We can't beat this thing! We need another solution!"

  She was right. This wasn't a fight we could win through direct confrontation. The creature was systematically eliminating us, starting with those it perceived as the greatest threats. Already half the survivors lay dead or severely wounded, their bodies cooling on the blood-soaked floor. And we'd barely scratched it.

  I doubled down on my Density Manipulation, mentally pushing my limits until blood vessels burst in my eyes, flooding my vision with crimson. I tried to create a wall of hyper-dense air between the creature and the remaining survivors—a last-ditch barrier between us and certain death. The air visibly thickened, gaining the consistency and appearance of heavy liquid, shimmering with refracted light.

  It slowed the creature's advance, but the monster continued pushing forward, step by inexorable step. Each movement was a testament to its impossible strength—like watching someone wade through solid stone. The barrier that should have been impenetrable was merely an inconvenience to this thing.

  Aurora managed to drag herself to her feet, movements jerky with pain. Blood trickled from a cut on her temple in a steady stream, half her face painted crimson. One arm hung useless at her side, clearly broken. She tried to re-summon her sword, but only flickering sparks of silver light materialized in her grip, guttering out like candles in a windstorm. The weapon's energy had been disrupted somehow, its connection to her severed.

  "We need more power," she gasped, her voice strained with pain, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth suggesting internal injuries. "Our current level isn't enough."

  Another survivor—the girl with the red daggers, one of the last still standing—screamed as the creature caught her with a backhanded swipe. It lifted her into the air by her throat, its elongated fingers wrapping completely around her neck. She thrashed in its grip, daggers slashing wildly but finding no purchase against its armored hide. With a sickening twist of its wrist, it snapped her neck with an audible crack, instantly silencing her screams. Then it tossed her body aside like discarded trash, her limp form sliding across the blood-slick floor to crumple against the wall.

  The Archivist, still alive and huddled in the corner, his glasses cracked and spattered with someone else's blood, suddenly spoke up. "Level 10," he said, his voice shaking but determined. A trickle of urine stained his pants, the sharp ammonia scent mixing with the iron tang of spilled blood, but his mind remained clear despite his terror.

  "What?" I called back, struggling to maintain the density field, my entire body trembling with the effort, blood now flowing freely from both nostrils and the corners of my eyes.

  "The System," he continued, adjusting his glasses with shaking fingers, a scholar to the last. "Most games have power spikes at level thresholds. Level 10 usually unlocks special abilities, as it did at Level 5. It's a standard design in most RPGs—exponential power increases at certain breakpoints."

  Aurora glanced at her status window, the blue glow reflecting in her blood-streaked face. "I'm level 8. Nate's level 7."

  "Not enough time to grind regular zombies," Mills said, her tactical mind working despite the horror surrounding us. Her face hardened with grim resolve, the expression of someone making calculations with human lives. "But there's another way."

  I realized what she was suggesting a moment before she said it.