Chapter 27: Texas Town of Ghosts

He pushed the door open with a creak, and the stale air hit him like a wave of memories—suffering, despair, and something far worse. The scent of decay, not just of flesh, but of broken spirits. The pews were toppled, and a strange, circular symbol was carved into the floor at the center of the room.

Arc's instincts flared. Something ancient had passed through here. This was no ordinary ghost town—it had been the playground for dark experiments long before the abominations he fought were created.

He crouched near the symbol, tracing it with his finger, his mind running through every martial and combat system he'd ever studied. It wasn't just a mark; it was a seal—something had been locked away here. And whatever it was... it hadn't stayed buried.

Suddenly, a soft noise echoed from the shadows—a metallic clink, followed by footsteps. Arc's hand shot to his weapon as he stood up, his muscles coiled and ready. The air grew heavier, filled with something unseen but dangerous.

"Not many come this far," a voice rasped from the darkness.

A figure emerged—a gaunt, pale man wrapped in tattered clothes. His eyes were dull, lifeless, yet full of some sinister knowledge.

"You shouldn't be here," the stranger whispered, his grin revealing rotten teeth. "The town doesn't like strangers... and neither do they."

Before Arc could respond, the ground trembled. The air around him seemed to distort, like a ripple through time. The symbol on the floor glowed faintly, as if something beneath it was stirring—something that hadn't moved in centuries.

Unseen Terror

Arc felt the shift before he saw it. The walls of the church warped and twisted, and the temperature dropped as a monstrous howl echoed from the depths. Something was waking.

The gaunt man laughed softly, his voice filled with madness.

"You shouldn't have come here. Now it'll see you, too."

The floor beneath Arc cracked, and the seal shattered like glass. From the darkness below, a massive hand clawed its way upward—decayed, but pulsing with power. The ancient abomination, asleep for 300 years, was waking. Its body was twisted, covered in both human and animal features, as if it had been spliced together in the lab of a deranged god.

Arc took a step back, trying to scan it with his status system. His eyes widened as the numbers flashed across the screen—twice his strength, agility, and mana.

Strength: 294

Agility: 288

Mana: 800

"Shit," Arc muttered under his breath. This wasn't just a monster—it was a nightmare given form.

The creature roared, and the church shook with the force of its rage. Arc gritted his teeth, adrenaline kicking in. There was no time to think, only fight.

The First Round

The abomination lunged, moving far faster than its massive frame should have allowed. Arc barely dodged, rolling to the side as its claws ripped through the wooden floor like paper. He countered with a series of rapid strikes—each blow a culmination of countless martial arts techniques, refined over lifetimes. His fists, blades, and instincts worked in perfect harmony, adapting with every movement.

But the abomination fought like a beast—feral, unpredictable, and relentless. Every time Arc thought he had it figured out, it switched tactics, fighting with the cunning of an apex predator.

For thirty brutal minutes, the battle raged. Each hit Arc landed pushed his body to its limits, each wound he suffered forcing his evolution to adapt. He could feel himself getting stronger with every second, but the abomination wouldn't let up.

Just as Arc managed to drive his knife deep into the creature's heart, the monster collapsed—only to start moving again. Its wounds began closing, bones snapping back into place as it let out another deafening roar.

"Of course," Arc muttered, wiping the blood from his brow. "Nothing's ever simple."