Chapter 28: Player Blood God has slain the World Boss
Damon grinned as he slashed at one of the vines he couldn't quite dodge in time. The blade of Reaper's Folly met the corrupted tendril, and instead of bouncing off like every other weapon had, it cut clean through it with a hiss, like a hot knife through rotting flesh.
A wave of fetid mist erupted from the severed vine, but Damon didn't flinch. His lungs were burning, his muscles humming, and his instincts sharper than ever. All his stats were currently at 1000%, and he was riding the high like there was no tomorrow.
Power felt good.
No—scratch that. It felt divine.
He was faster than the players, stronger than the priests, and more dangerous than the monster before him.
Damon ducked beneath a sweeping claw of bramble and bone, twisted low, and leapt upward. The dagger in his hand pulsed like it was alive, hungry. He lunged, slashing across the grotesque creature's chest, or at least the place he assumed a chest should be.
Black blood splattered in steaming arcs, and the boss howled—a sound like a thousand crows screaming all at once. Because while the dagger empowered Damon with a 1000% stat boost, it also afflicted the monster with a 1000% debuff.
The dagger was something the old man had unearthed from his cursed paddy field and hidden away, hoping to sell it for coin. What he didn't know was that the blade was the very reason his daughter had gone missing.
Reaper's Folly had been enchanted by a cultist sect—remnants of a forbidden ritual that bound despair to the soil. It had been buried like a seed, meant to blossom into a harvest of souls. But it was dug up too early... by a poor farmer just trying to survive.