A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway! #Chapter 335: End of the Tribulations - (2) - Read A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway! Chapter 335: End of the Tribulations - (2) Online - All Page

A Novel Concept - A death a day, MC will live anyway!

Chapter 335: End of the Tribulations - (2)

“Let's see if you can dodge Promesse long enough for your viruses to take me down,” Priam declared, stepping forward.

At the threat, Nemesis raised his hands in mock surrender. “I'm a crafter, not a fighter.”

Recognizing weakness, Priam lunged. Thanks to Micro, his body obeyed him like an orchestra follows its maestro. Guided by the crystallized experience embedded in his fighting skills, he landed smoothly two meters from his opponent. His right heel struck the ground first, and he recycled the inertia of his leap into a rotational movement of his torso. The kinetic energy coiled in his right shoulder, straining to the brink of dislocation before snapping forward like a released spring. With a low grunt, Priam drove his spear through his enemy’s gut.

Father and son locked eyes for a few seconds before the latter dropped his gaze to the blade protruding from his stomach.

“If you want to win, you'll have to aim for the heart.”

“I will.”

Coughing blood, Nemesis smirked. “My father taught me to trust actions over words. Let me show you my resolve.”

Sensing movement within his Domain, Priam’s eyes flicked downward to the crimson spittle his son had just spat. His foot used the blood to trace something on the ground. Priam’s eidetic memory identified the pattern, and he cursed—these were the same kind of runes the Necro Envoy had used.

Before he could react, a colossal surge of corrupted aether rushed into the ritual, triggering its activation. A sickly gray tsunami erupted, and as Jasmine’s fear spiked through their bond, Priam leaped back. He wasn’t fast enough to escape unscathed.

Lvl Up: [Necro Resistance] lvl 12

VIT +3

WILL +3

META(Endurance) +3

Landing thirty meters away, Priam grimaced as an overwhelming fatigue swept over him.

“Damn, this shit is to vitality what antimatter is to matter. You okay?”

“The blight penetrated your shadow but I’ll survive. We have a bigger problem.”

Priam nodded as the gray cloud condensed into a humanoid figure. His draconic instincts growled, warning him. Waiting for his enemy to fully materialize would be stupid and his right hand grasped at the air. Promesse flared into existence in a burst of fire. [Spear Throw], [Kinetic Sovereignty].

The spear broke the sound barrier faster than a railgun projectile, slamming into the newcomer with devastating force. The entire structure trembled at the impact as the shockwave tore through the gray mist, revealing the summoned.

A towering figure of muscle, bone, and scales, two meters fifty tall, sneered at everything with disdain. One of its four arms had been torn off by Promesse, yet the draconic elf’s posture radiated pure arrogance.

[Identification]

[Draashat’h, the drakes’ consort - Tier 0 - Corrupted (phase 4) - Duke] - An Elysium native, this high elf was exiled by her people for bearing the child of her drake. Abandoned by all, she survived a decade in the Wandering Islands, purifying her draconic bloodline by absorbing those of her unborn offspring. During the last Necro event, she had no choice but to trade life for undeath.

Though she belongs to the Necro Court, Draashat’h’s soul is far from immortal. She spends most of her time in stasis, awakened only when her Queen requires a champion. Devouring a soul as unique as yours might alter her fate…

Lvl Up: [Identification] lvl 17

MEM +1

“This Tribulation has really gone to shit thanks to the Necromoon,” Priam growled. The only silver lining was that the warning from [Threat Killer] had dropped in intensity. “How many undead did you have to sacrifice to summon this thing?”

“A third of the army.” His son shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The rest will be enough to finish the job.”

Priam hid a smile. Prometheus was driven by a singular goal: ensuring humanity’s survival. Underestimating such a fanatic was stupid.

“Ska’veth! Kwe vadis mea skel’thar?” Draashat’h interrupted, her guttural tongue as uninviting as German.

The nemesis frowned. “I don’t have a drake on hand.”

“In’vokh unara, vel eskirath un khir’khal runeth kor vis’tar enthrak.”

The Duke’s stance shifted slightly, and Priam recognized a predator coiling before a strike. He recalled Promesse, but the undead elf’s fury seemed aimed at his son. The latter sighed before tapping the runes again with his foot.

“Another third of my army, gone,” he muttered as the sigils flared to life.

Priam grimaced as an invisible hook latched onto his navel. An instant later, the summoning ritual activated, and a cascade of energy descended from the heavens.

Hoplite tradition dictated that one should allow their enemy to finish preparing. Priam had no intention of being polite. He inhaled deeply, drawing the ambient aether into his lungs, his draconic organ compressing it to a critical point.

As a second silhouette formed—far too massive for the bunker’s final level—Priam invoked Pyro and exhaled.

The wrath of a dragon fused with the pride of a phoenix in a single Breath, and all hell broke loose.

Arkana trembled. The metropolis of millions shuddered under a seismic wave akin to a major earthquake.

“What the hell is happening?!” Abernathy barked at her team.

A technician clattered at his keyboard before yelling, “It’s coming from the void zone! The Champion of Humanity is going berserk.”

“So the enemy is strong enough to force his hand… Any other intel?”

The technician hesitated before speaking. “The temperature in that sector has spiked. Should I deploy fire suppression drones?”

Abernathy considered the option, then shook his head. “No. Evacuate the district instead.” A pause. “And all adjacent ones.”

A slab of reinforced concrete lifted, revealing a young man beneath. He held two glowing metal bars in his bare hands, unfazed by the heat.

Brushing off the debris, Priam straightened, surveying the aftermath of his attack. His Breath had obliterated the upper levels of the laboratory, leaving only the bunker’s enchanted metal walls intact. The floor was covered with dust, slag, and charred remnants.

Scanning his surroundings, the Juggernaut inhaled—only to cough as he sucked in ash. A second fit of coughing made him turn. His son met his gaze before closing his eyes and pointing a finger at him.

A chill ran down Priam’s spine as the virus accelerated its warping of his genome and body. Already, his fingers and toes had shrunk, almost losing a phalange. A future as a limbless torso did not suit him. However, before he could retaliate, the rubble behind him shifted, rising into a mountain. Through the dust, he caught a glimpse of the white of bones.

A massive worm exoskeleton shook off debris. It looked rough, its tail partially sacrificed to survive the Breath. Wait… worms don’t have scales. And this bloodline pressure… A wyrm?

Six enormous reptilian eyes locked onto Priam’s. Despite [Ciphered Record], he felt a connection to the creature.

[Identification]

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[Drakinou - Tier 0 - Corrupted (phase 1) - Duke] - An artificial creation, a gift from Sphinx, Moonie, and Seth to Priam.

"Happy birthday!"

“The fuck?!”

A flicker of movement caught Priam’s attention. Despite having lost a leg, the elf had just climbed onto the wyrm’s back. She gripped one of the bony spines of its crest, and settled onto it in a grotesque parody of a sexual act. The ecstatic expression on her face filled Priam with disgust as flesh and bone melded together. Within moments, the two Dukes became one.

“Es’tar khal’veth morith,” she intoned just as the creature roared.

With impossible speed, the wyrm’s neck shot forward, jaws snapping at Priam. The Champion sidestepped, seized Promesse, and carved a deep furrow into the creature’s thick skull. Before he could follow up, a flash of movement within his Domain sent his instincts screaming. Acting on reflex, he accelerated his body kinetically, twisting as he thrust out his palm to deflect the rider’s blade from his chest.

Though he had avoided impalement, Priam grimaced as his skin sizzled, the sound eerily reminiscent of raw meat searing on a hot pan. He yanked his hand back, summoning an ice spear and slashing for the elf’s remaining leg. She didn’t try to dodge. Instead, she welcomed the injury as an opening for a counterattack, spewing black blood directly into his face.

The liquid ignored the influence of [Kinetic Sovereignty], burning straight through his defenses. Priam recoiled with a scream.

Lvl Up: [Acid Resistance] lvl 12

CONST +1

Her attack was more than just acid—a curse and a blight had been woven into it. Two Concepts Priam had no resistance against. Agony flayed his mind raw, stripping away reason. With a guttural cry, he clawed at his own face like a madman, desperate to rid himself of the searing pain.

Lvl Up: [Acid Resistance] lvl 13

CONST +1

A brutal impact wrenched him from his torment for a fleeting second—the wyrm’s tail had slammed into him, dislocating his shoulder as it sent him flying. The bunker’s reinforced wall cut his flight short before gravity dragged him back to the floor. He barely registered the crash as the torture searing his flesh overshadowed everything else.

Lvl Up: [Acid Resistance] lvl 14

CONST +1

[Traces of Necro Concept and Curse Concept detected. Regeneration impossible.

Tissue excision recommended.]

As his add-on was fused to his soul, Priam understood its warning instinctively. Driven half-mad by pain, Priam acted on pure instinct and kinetically ripped the skin from his own face.

The wet, sickening slap of flesh hitting the ground would have been unbearable if not for the ecstatic high of supernatural agony leaving him.

“My god…”

Ignoring his son’s horrified whisper, Priam focused on regeneration while using a parallel thought to summon Pyro. Spears of fire materialized around him and hurtled toward the presumed location of the undead rider and her mount. The bunker shook under the barrage of explosions, and for ten long seconds, the battlefield was nothing but fire and ruin.

By the time his flesh was no longer a vision of horror, Priam opened his eyes. Maybe it was thanks to Hecate’s New Moon, but miraculously, his sight had been spared from the necrotic blood’s corruption.

“I’m gonna grind your bones into dust and use them as fertilizer for Log-a-rhythm,” he growled at the elf, the promise of vengeance burning in his voice.

“Et kwe vadis eskirath? Nekh’tar manus es’veth kor.”

“She’s asking how you plan to do that without hands.”

Priam lowered his gaze and frowned. Where his hands had been, only stumps remained. Accelerating his regeneration by burning through his lifespan was one of his trump cards—but creating new cells would only feed the virus faster.

Lvl Up: [Virus Resistance] lvl 11

VIT +1

That thing is literally killing me, and I only get one level?

For the first time, Priam couldn’t rely on sheer adaptability to claw his way out. That should have terrified him. Instead, a grin split his face, wide and reckless.

This was what a Tribulation should be. Unpredictable. Ruthless. A merciless crucible that exposed his weaknesses and pushed him to the brink.

“I’ll use my mind,” Priam answered, tapping into his draconic vivacity. A fraction of his attention linked with his add-on, waging war against the virus ravaging his body. He refused to let this thing kill him without a fight.

At the same time, a parallel thought seized control of his body, lifting him into the air—he had no feet to stand on, after all—and focused on his enemies.

Promesse manifested at his right. A spear of fire burned bright at his left. A veil of mist coiled around his legs.

The elf narrowed her eyes before raising her arms, conjuring a swirling, gray-green fog of her own. The two clouds collided in the heart of the bunker, warring for dominance.

Priam fired his flaming projectile toward his son’s presumed location, then drifted sideways just in time to dodge a gray orb that reduced a concrete slab to dust.

With the battlefield split in two by mist and corruption, it felt like a deadly game of tennis. The thought made him smile. He had always been good at that sport.