SSS-Rank Skill Copy: I Can Steal Every Class

Chapter 107: The Hunted

Three weeks.

That was how long it had been since Glen dropped the Purification Core onto the Ferryman’s console. Three weeks of relentless, suffocating violence in the darkest corners of the Eastern Spire.

He hadn’t seen the sun since he arrived. He lived entirely in the subterranean fractures of the Outer Rings, moving from one unmapped dungeon to the next. He slept in abandoned subway cars, ate whatever high-calorie nutrient paste he could scavenge from dead scavengers, and fought until his muscles screamed and his core burned.

He was no longer just a rumor in the slums. The Wraith was an urban legend.

The Astra Guild had placed a staggering fifty-million-credit bounty on his head. They didn’t know his real name, and they didn’t know what he had stolen from the Celestial Tower, but they knew he had burned their black-site to the ground. Every corporate assassin, rogue Hunter, and desperate syndicate enforcer in Neo-Kyoto was looking for the boy with the black sword.

None of them had survived the encounter.

Glen stood in the center of a massive, cavernous cavern in Sector 99-Sub, a B-Rank fracture that had been sealed off by the Association years ago due to its extreme fatality rate. The air here was thick with a toxic, purple miasma that burned the lungs and corroded standard armor.

Glen didn’t wear armor anymore. It just slowed him down. He wore a heavy, reinforced trench coat he had stripped off a dead bounty hunter, the dark leather stained permanently black with monster blood.

He wiped a streak of purple ichor from his cheek with the back of his left hand. His right arm was fully healed, the charred flesh replaced by thick, dense scar tissue that pulsed with faint, dark veins.

Surrounding him were the corpses of a dozen high-tier Yokai variants. They were massive, hulking brutes with four arms and skin like hardened obsidian. They were supposed to be apex predators, the kind of monsters that required a coordinated, five-man A-Rank team to bring down.

Glen had slaughtered them all in under three minutes.

He didn’t even feel tired. The void fragment in his chest had grown so dense, so saturated with the artificial mana of the Eastern Spire, that it felt like a second heart beating in his ribcage. His Predator Domain was no longer an active skill he had to consciously trigger; it was a permanent, passive aura that leaked from him constantly, suffocating the ambient mana in a twenty-meter radius.

He walked over to the largest of the Yokai corpses. He didn’t use Void Touch to rot the flesh. He just drove his bare hand into the creature’s chest, his fingers shattering the obsidian-like bone, and ripped the corrupted core free.

He crushed it in his palm, absorbing the raw energy.

[Target Eliminated.] [Skill Predator Activated.] [Extracting...] [Skill Acquired: Obsidian Skin (B-Rank)] [Description: Hardens the user’s epidermis to the density of volcanic glass, significantly reducing kinetic and magical damage. Warning: Prolonged use severely restricts mobility.]

Glen dismissed the prompt. He already had a C-Rank version of Obsidian Skin from his time in Johannesburg. The system automatically merged the two, upgrading the foundational skill and smoothing out the mobility restrictions.

He flexed his right hand. The skin momentarily turned a deep, glossy black, hard as diamond, before fading back to its normal, scarred appearance.

It wasn’t enough.

He was stronger, faster, and more lethal than he had ever been. He was comfortably sitting at the absolute pinnacle of A-Rank. But he could feel the ceiling. The invisible, impenetrable barrier that separated the elite Hunters from the true monsters of the world.

He wasn’t S-Rank. Not yet.

And until he was, he couldn’t open the Void Gate. He couldn’t find Caleb.

A sudden, sharp spike in the ambient mana made Glen freeze.

It wasn’t the chaotic, erratic signature of a monster spawning. It was structured. Refined. And it was incredibly dense.

Glen turned slowly, his dark eyes piercing the thick purple miasma of the cavern.

Standing at the entrance of the cavern, blocking the only exit back to the surface, were three figures. They didn’t wear the sleek cyan armor of the Astra Guild, nor the heavy, ornate samurai gear of the Imperial Vanguard.

They wore form-fitting, matte-gray stealth suits that absorbed the dim light of the dungeon. Their faces were hidden behind smooth, featureless visors that glowed with a faint, predatory red light.

They were Trackers. The elite, off-the-books assassination squad employed directly by the upper echelons of the Association. They didn’t hunt monsters. They hunted rogue Hunters.

"Target confirmed," the lead Tracker said, his voice a synthesized, metallic drone that echoed across the cavern. "Designation: Wraith. Bounty: Fifty million credits, dead or alive."

"I prefer dead," the Tracker on the left said, drawing a pair of sleek, mono-molecular short swords that hummed with high-frequency vibrations. "Less paperwork."

Glen didn’t speak. He didn’t try to negotiate or intimidate them. He just lowered his center of gravity, his right hand resting casually on the hilt of the Abyssal blade.

"You’ve been a busy boy, Wraith," the lead Tracker continued, stepping forward. "Three weeks, and you’ve racked up a body count that would make a warlord blush. Astra wants your head on a pike. The Empress wants to know how you bypassed her vault security. But the Association? We just want to know what you are."

"I’m the thing you shouldn’t have followed into the dark," Glen whispered.

The Trackers didn’t laugh. They were professionals. They fanned out, moving with a synchronized, terrifying fluidity that spoke of years of coordinated combat.

The Tracker on the right raised a heavy, customized sniper rifle, the barrel glowing with condensed thermal energy. He didn’t aim for Glen’s chest. He aimed for the ground at Glen’s feet.

He pulled the trigger.

The thermal slug didn’t just explode; it detonated the toxic purple miasma in the air, creating a massive, localized thermobaric shockwave.

Glen didn’t try to dodge. He triggered his newly upgraded Obsidian Skin. His flesh turned glossy black just as the shockwave hit him. The sheer kinetic force threw him backward, his boots skidding across the cavern floor, but the heat washed over him harmlessly.

Before the flames even cleared, the Tracker with the short swords was on him.

The assassin moved faster than Lightning Movement. It was a high-tier spatial blink, a B-Rank skill that allowed him to fold the distance between them instantly. The humming blades crossed in a deadly scissor-strike aimed at Glen’s neck.

Glen brought the Abyssal blade up, catching the strike on the heavy black iron. The impact sent a jarring shock up his arm, the high-frequency vibrations of the short swords trying to shatter his weapon.

"You’re slow," the assassin hissed, pressing the advantage.

Glen didn’t argue. He dropped his Obsidian Skin, trading durability for speed, and triggered Shadow Cloak.

He vanished from the assassin’s vision, melting into the dark smoke of the explosion.

"He’s cloaked!" the assassin yelled, spinning around. "Thermal sweep!"

The lead Tracker tapped his visor, the red light flaring. "I have him. He’s above you!"

Glen dropped from the ceiling, the Abyssal blade held in a reverse grip. He didn’t aim for the assassin’s heavily armored torso. He aimed for the gap between the shoulder and the neck.

The assassin tried to blink away, but Glen was already there. He triggered Shadow Thread with his left hand, shooting a single, thick line of black mana that wrapped around the assassin’s ankle, anchoring him to the floor.

The Abyssal blade sank deep into the assassin’s collarbone.

The man screamed, dropping his swords. Glen didn’t hesitate. He channeled Void Touch through the blade. The necrotic energy surged into the assassin’s body, rotting the high-tech stealth suit and turning the flesh beneath it to gray ash.

The assassin collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

[Target Eliminated.] [Skill Predator Activated.] [Extracting...] [Skill Acquired: Spatial Fold (B-Rank)] [Description: Allows the user to fold the space between two points, effectively teleporting short distances. Range and frequency depend on core density.]

Glen didn’t even read the prompt. He felt the new skill integrate into his core, the spatial mechanics clicking into place in his mind.

A high-caliber thermal slug slammed into his left shoulder.

The impact spun him around, the kinetic force shattering his collarbone and tearing a massive chunk of flesh from his arm. Glen grunted, dropping to one knee as the pain flared white-hot in his vision.

"Target is hit!" the sniper yelled from across the cavern. "Core density is fluctuating!"

The lead Tracker drew a massive, two-handed broadsword that crackled with golden, holy mana. It was the exact antithesis of the void fragment in Glen’s chest.

"End it," the leader commanded, charging forward.

Glen looked at his ruined left shoulder. The Enhanced Regeneration was already trying to knit the bone back together, but it was too slow. He was bleeding heavily, and the holy mana radiating from the leader’s sword was suppressing his Predator Domain.

He was outmatched. They were elite A-Ranks, and they had the tactical advantage.

If he fought them conventionally, he would die here in the dark.

Glen closed his eyes. He didn’t reach for his mana. He reached for the rot.

He let the void fragment completely off its leash. He stopped trying to control the dark energy and let it flood his entire system. The black veins on his neck didn’t just pulse; they expanded, crawling up his jawline and across his cheeks like a spiderweb of corruption. His dark brown eyes bled into a solid, terrifying pitch-black.

He didn’t just want to kill them. He wanted to unmake them.

Glen opened his eyes.

He triggered his newly stolen Spatial Fold.

He didn’t blur across the cavern. He simply ceased to exist in one location and appeared in another. He materialized directly in front of the charging leader, the sudden displacement of air creating a sharp sonic crack.

The leader’s eyes widened behind his visor. He swung the golden broadsword in a desperate, horizontal arc.

Glen didn’t block it. He raised his bare right hand and caught the blade.

The holy mana seared his palm, burning the flesh to the bone, but Glen didn’t even flinch. He gripped the sharp edge of the sword, his blood sizzling against the golden light.

"What are you?" the leader gasped, trying to pull the sword free.

"I’m the toll," Glen whispered, his voice echoing with a terrifying, dual-layered resonance that sounded like two voices speaking in unison.

He triggered Corrupted Synthesis.

He didn’t merge two movement skills this time. He merged Void Touch with his Predator Domain.

The result was catastrophic.

The invisible, oppressive aura of his domain didn’t just suppress the ambient mana; it became a localized sphere of absolute, entropic decay. The air inside the twenty-meter radius instantly turned freezing cold, the moisture freezing into black snowflakes.

The golden mana on the leader’s sword flickered and died, the metal instantly rusting and crumbling into dust in Glen’s hand.

The leader screamed as the domain washed over him. His high-tech stealth suit rotted away, and his flesh began to turn gray and brittle. He fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his throat as his lungs filled with ash.

Across the cavern, the sniper dropped his rifle and turned to run, terrified by the sudden, apocalyptic shift in the environment.

He didn’t make it three steps. The edge of the corrupted domain caught him, and he collapsed, his body disintegrating into the toxic purple miasma.

Glen stood in the center of the cavern, surrounded by the ash of the elite Trackers.

The Corrupted Synthesis broke, the domain collapsing back into his core. The backlash hit him instantly. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing up a massive amount of black blood. His mana channels were screaming, pushed to the absolute breaking point by the sheer density of the void energy he had unleashed.

He was dying. The fragment was finally eating him alive.

But as he knelt there in the dark, gasping for air, he felt something shift deep within his chest.

It wasn’t a rupture. It was an expansion.

The void fragment, having gorged itself on the massive release of energy, finally reached critical mass. It didn’t break his core; it fused with it completely. The jagged, chaotic edges of the fragment smoothed out, integrating perfectly with the geometric facets of his human soul.

A blinding, terrifyingly cold light erupted from his chest, illuminating the dark cavern.

The pain vanished, replaced by a sense of absolute, limitless clarity. He could feel the ambient mana of the entire dungeon, every current, every fluctuation, every microscopic particle of energy. He didn’t just perceive the world; he felt like he could rewrite it.

A glowing, golden prompt appeared in his vision, shattering the darkness.

[CRITICAL THRESHOLD REACHED.] [CORE DENSITY: MAXIMUM.] [CLASS EVOLUTION REQUIREMENTS MET.] [RANK UPGRADE: S-RANK.] [UNIQUE CLASS: SKILL PREDATOR -> APEX SOVEREIGN.]

Glen slowly stood up. The black veins on his face faded, retreating back beneath his skin. His eyes returned to their normal, dark brown color, but they held a new, terrifying depth.

He looked at his hands. He didn’t feel like a boy from the slums anymore. He didn’t feel like a rogue Hunter.

He felt like a god.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Abyssal Prism. The ancient artifact, which had always felt freezing cold to the touch, now felt warm and familiar in his hands. It recognized him. It recognized its master.

"I’m ready," Glen whispered to the empty cavern.

He had reached S-Rank. He had paid the toll.

It was time to open the door.