The shadow beneath Ronan’s feet erupted.

The skitter rose from the darkness like it was clawing its way out of a grave. Its pale, elongated body shimmered for a moment, translucent, before solidifying into something that made Ronan’s breath catch.

It was bigger than the original.

Not by much, maybe twenty percent, but enough to notice. Its claws were longer. Its limbs moved with a fluid grace that the living version hadn’t possessed. And its eyes, empty white slits before, now glowed faintly violet.

Two hundred percent strength.

The summon didn’t hesitate. It launched itself at the two skitters still tearing into his now dissipating bone-face, moving so fast Ronan almost missed it.

Its claws took the first skitter across the throat. Not a shallow cut, a near-decapitation. Black ink sprayed. The creature stumbled back, clutching at its neck, and the summon pressed its advantage.

[Soul Lost: Bone-Face Stalker (C-Rank)]

The remaining two skitters, plus the wounded one, now faced off against his new summon. They circled it, cautious, their too-many-jointed limbs clicking against the cracked pavement.

They now redirected their attention to his new summon.

The strange being drew everyone’s attention, even causing the skitter he had just badly damaged to completely ignore him and stare instead at its grotesquely defiled brother, now fighting for the opposing side.

Ronan didn’t waste the opening.

His hand shot to his inventory while the skitters were fixated on his summon. The chain whip was still coiled in his other hand, but he needed something with more punch. Something that didn’t require him to get close.

[A-Rank Hunter’s Voltaic Crossbow - 3 Bolts Remaining]

The weapon manifested in his grip, heavier than it looked. The metal limbs were etched with faded runes that sparked faintly when his fingers touched the trigger mechanism.

Three bolts. That was all the dead A-Rank had left before he’d been overwhelmed.

Ronan raised it, aimed at the wounded skitter, the one clutching its throat, the one already bleeding out but still standing.

He fired.

The bolt left the crossbow with a crack like lightning. Blue electricity arced along its trajectory, illuminating the street in a strobe flash.

It hit the wounded skitter square in the chest.

The creature convulsed. Its limbs locked up, joints spasming in wrong directions. The glow in its eyes flickered and died as it collapsed, twitching, onto the pavement.

[Soul Absorbed: 250 EXP]

Two left.

The skitters finally realized Ronan was the real threat. They broke away from his summon, one charging him directly while the other tried to flank.

Ronan didn’t have time to reload.

He dropped the crossbow, it vanished back into inventory, and brought the chain whip up just as the first skitter closed the distance.

Its claws raked toward his face.

He ducked.

The whip lashed out blindly, catching the creature around its too-thin waist. Ronan yanked hard, and the skitter’s momentum worked against it. It stumbled past him, off-balance, and crashed into a rusted vehicle with a screech of metal.

His summon was on it instantly.

The violet-eyed skitter drove its claws into the downed creature’s back again and again, each strike faster than the last. Black ink splattered across the cracked windshield.

The second skitter hesitated.

Just for a second.

But a second was all Ronan needed.

He turned, crossbow already manifesting back into his hands. The bolt was already loaded; he’d dismissed it with one left in the chamber.

He fired from the hip.

The bolt caught the last skitter in the side of its head. Electricity arced across its pale skull. Its eyes rolled back, and it dropped where it stood.

[Soul Absorbed: 250 EXP]

"Fuck..."

Ronan stood in the middle of the street, chest heaving, chain whip dragging against the pavement. His summon straightened up from the corpse it had been eviscerating, violet eyes sweeping the area for more threats.

[Soul Absorbed: 250 EXP]

Nothing moved.

"That was..." Ronan started, then stopped.

[Ronan Night]

[Class: God-Bound (???)]

[Level: 2 → 8]

[STR: 16 +20] → [STR: 22 +20]

[AGI: 14 +20] → [AGI: 20 +20]

[CON: 12 +20] → [CON: 18 +20]

[MAG: 6 +20] → [MAG: 12 +20]

[Skill Unlocked: Shadow Merge]

[Shadow Merge: While Night’s Caress is active, you may merge with your own shadow to teleport between connected shadows within a 50-meter radius. Consumes 100 MP per use. (Effect scales with affinity to the Goddess.)]

Ronan stared at the notification.

Teleportation.

He had teleportation now.

Extremely limited teleportation, but still teleportation.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

His summon turned to look at him, head cocked at an unnatural angle. The violet glow in its eyes seemed almost curious.

"You," Ronan said, pointing at it. "You’re staying."

The summon’s jaw unhinged slightly, that three-tongued tendril flicking out to taste the air. It almost looked like it was smiling.

Ronan decided not to think about that too hard.

He dismissed the chain whip, checked his inventory, and sank down in the middle of the road. Even with his newfound stats, the lingering shock of what had just happened left him frozen in place.

He had to rest before he could force himself to move again.

Even now, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking from the encounter.

His new summon stood motionless a few feet away, violet eyes scanning the dead city with an intelligence that made Ronan’s skin crawl.

The original skitters had been mindless hunters, driven by hunger and instinct. This thing was different. It watched, and it waited. Tilting its head at sounds Ronan couldn’t hear.

"You," Ronan said, forcing his voice steady. "Guard."

The summon’s jaw unhinged in that too-wide gesture, and then it melted into the shadows beneath a collapsed awning.

Prepared to ambush anything that came close.

Ronan let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

His hands were still shaking.

Not from fear, well, not entirely. The adrenaline was fading, leaving something colder in its wake. He’d just killed five B-Rank monsters.

Five.

His old party of fifteen would have been wiped out by half that number.

And he’d done it alone.

Well. Not entirely alone.

He looked down at his own shadow, distorted by the violet moonlight. It looked normal. Just a shadow. But he could feel something moving beneath it now, something that hadn’t been there before.

"Sarael," he whispered.

No answer.

Just the wind, carrying the distant screech of something far worse than skitters.

"Goddess... I fucking love you."

Ronan let out an unhinged laugh.