Such A Rush

'I am not scared.' He thought, ducking under a claw attack and kicking the monster in the chest. 'I feel like I can do anything.' He grabbed the monster's head and started punching it over and over again until the monster finally bled.

A dark red blood. 

Just when he thought things were going his way, the monster's mouth charged up a beam that shock him to the bone. He jumped back but the beam still connected, smashing him into the wall. 

Pain exploded through his body, bones cracking, muscles screaming. But something inside him refused to break.

"Is that all you've got?" He growled, pushing himself up.

Blood dripped from his mouth. His ribs felt like shattered glass. Each breath was agony. But his eyes burned with something wild—something that wasn't going to die today.

The monster charged again. Its claws ripped through the air, aiming to tear him apart.

He didn't dodge. He didn't run.

He lunged forward.

A mad idea, born of desperation, flashed through his mind. Time seemed to stretch, the monster's movements becoming momentarily clearer. 

Its mouth opened wide—that nightmare of teeth, dripping with dark, foul-smelling liquid. It was coming right for him, intending to swallow him whole or bite him in half.

Instead of fear, a strange, cold calm settled over him. He saw his chance. 

It was insane, suicidal even, but it was all he had left. With a roar that was more animal than human, he shoved his entire right arm deep into the monster's gaping maw, aiming past the teeth, toward its throat.

Agony. Pure, unadulterated agony slammed into him with the force of a physical blow.

The monster's jaw snapped shut instantly. 

Reflex. 

Teeth like jagged shards of obsidian bit down hard, on his arm. He screamed, a raw, choked sound that was swallowed by the cavern. He felt bone grinding against bone, heard the sickening wet tear of muscle and tendon parting.

It felt like his arm was being chewed off, ripped clean from his shoulder socket. The pain was blinding, white-hot, a supernova exploding behind his eyes, threatening to drag him into unconsciousness.

But he held on.

Through the agony, he focused. His Absorption power, surged through his trapped, mangled arm. It sputtered at first, drowned out by the pain, but he forced it, commanded it.

He pulled.

Not just with his dwindling physical strength, but with the raw, desperate hunger of his ability. He latched onto the monster's essence, its power, and started draining it directly, sucking it into himself through the bloody, violated connection.

The monster shrieked, a high-pitched sound utterly unlike its previous roars. It was a sound of pure panic, of pain, of violation. It thrashed wildly, its massive body convulsing, trying to shake him off like a parasite. 

It punched him viciously with its free claws, sharp talons tearing fresh, deep gashes across his already ruined chest and face. He felt a claw rake across his eye, and his vision blurred further.

It slammed its own body against the cavern walls, again and again, hoping to crush him, to dislodge the source of its torment. Fin felt more bones break with each brutal impact. His body was a wreck, barely holding together. Blood poured from countless wounds, slicking the stone beneath him.

But he didn't let go.

He gritted his teeth, biting his tongue until he tasted more blood, fighting against the waves of blackness threatening to pull him under. His knuckles were white where his hand maintained its death grip deep inside the monster's throat. He just kept pulling, absorbing, draining. 

It was all he could do.

Slowly, agonizingly, he felt the monster weakening. Its frantic punches became sluggish, less coordinated. Its claws still swiped, but with less force, less accuracy. 

The thrashing slowed, becoming less violent, more like desperate spasms. It staggered, stumbled, its oily black body seeming to deflate slightly, losing its sheen as its power flowed relentlessly into Fin.

Finally, with a shuddering, wet groan that sounded like air escaping punctured lungs, it collapsed. It hit the stone floor with a heavy, final thud, twitching weakly, its limbs spasming.

But Fin wasn't done. 

He couldn't stop. 

He knelt there beside the dying beast, his mauled arm still wedged deep in its maw, his eyes glazed over with a disturbing mixture of excruciating pain and the intoxicating, terrifying rush of stolen power. He kept pulling, kept absorbing, instinct taking over.

He felt the monster's life force dwindle, fading like a guttering candle flame in a storm. He drained it until there was absolutely nothing left, until even the faint, intrinsic glow of its core, buried deep within its chest, sputtered, flickered, and died out completely, leaving behind only an empty, cooling husk. 

The connection severed abruptly, leaving a hollow silence in its wake.

The sudden cessation of the energy flow was almost as jarring as the pain. The power he'd ripped from the monster—raw, potent, far exceeding anything he'd taken before—slammed into him fully.

It wasn't a trickle or a stream; it was a tidal wave, a tsunami of raw essence crashing against the shores of his consciousness.

His body vibrated, humming like an overloaded generator. Heat flared beneath his skin, intense and uncomfortable. His head spun violently, the dark cavern tilting and swirling around him like a drunken nightmare. 

Black spots exploded behind his eyes, swallowing his vision before receding, leaving blurry, distorted shapes.

"Too much…" he gasped, the words thick and slurred. The sheer volume of power was overwhelming, far more than his F-rank body was ever meant to handle. It felt like trying to contain an explosion in a paper bag.

With a grunt of effort mixed with a whimper of pain, he finally ripped his mangled arm free from the monster's maw. 

He didn't dare look at it. 

He could feel it hanging limp and useless at his side, a dead weight dripping blood.

He swayed on his knees, nausea churning in his gut. Bile rose in his throat, hot and acidic, and he retched violently, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood onto the stone floor. 

The overload and the agony were pushing him to his limits.

He needed to get out. 

Now.

Before he passed out here and became food for whatever else lurked in the dungeon.

His blurry gaze scanned the darkness, finally locking onto the faint, shimmering blue light of the dungeon exit portal nearby. It seemed impossibly far away.

Using the cold, slick body of the dead monster for support, he pushed himself slowly, agonizingly, to his feet. His legs trembled violently, threatening to buckle. Every muscle screamed in protest. 

"Move," he commanded himself, his voice a ragged whisper. "Just... move."

He took a step, leaning heavily against the wall. Pain shot up his legs, radiating from his shattered ribs, his broken clavicle, his ruined arm.

It was a slow, torturous shuffle. He slid one foot forward, then dragged the other, leaving a smear of blood on the stone with every movement.

His breath came in shallow, hitching gasps. Consciousness felt like a slippery fish he was struggling to hold onto. Thoughts became fragmented. 

'Meg... got to get out... slums... steak... Mara's gonna kill me...'

The portal flickered, beckoning him. It was closer now, but still felt miles away. He pushed off the wall, stumbling forward a few steps before crashing back against the stone, gasping.

The impact sent fresh jolts of pain through him.

'Almost there,' some part of his brain insisted. 'Don't stop.'

He forced himself onward, driven by a primal instinct to survive. He crawled the last few feet, dragging his useless right arm, his body screaming, his mind fading.

Finally, his hand brushed the cool, static energy of the portal. With the last dregs of his strength, he pulled himself through.

The world twisted, dissolved, then reformed in a brief, nauseating lurch.

Then—sunlight. Bright, warm, blinding sunlight stabbed at his eyes. The familiar, slightly dusty air of the outside world filled his struggling lungs. 

He was out. 

He made it.