Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

413: Twenty Days of Torment

413: Twenty Days of Torment

Max immediately crossed his legs again over the pond’s surface, his fingers pressing into his knees as he took a deep breath.

He focused, and with effort, began to pull back the infernal energy coursing through his veins.

The red light on his arm flickered, then slowly dimmed.

The tendrils of power withdrew, retracting into the tattoo as if being sealed again.

His eye and his hand returned to its normal color.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as the transformation unraveled completely, leaving only the faint, dormant glow of the tattoo behind.

Then—boom—he let it loose again.

In a flash, red energy surged through his body, his right eye flaring with demonic light as his arm ignited in crimson flames once more.

He gritted his teeth.

The memories.

The emotions.

They slammed into him instantly—his mother’s screams, his father’s fading voice, Alice’s terrified eyes.

But this time, he forced his breathing to stay steady.

He didn’t fight the images—they were his.

He accepted them.

And once again, he calmed the power.

He exhaled deeply, forcing the energy to withdraw.

The red faded.

The glow receded.

Then—again.

Unleash.

Rage.

Control.

Suppress.

Again.

And again.

A hundred times—maybe more—he cycled through the process.

His body trembled.

His breath came in ragged gasps.

At times, the power nearly overwhelmed him, and his hands would shake, his mind would blur, but he refused to give in.

And even if he did sometimes, the pond calmed him down.

Just like that he would open the gate, let the infernal power explode within him, feel every ounce of hatred, every shred of madness, and then suppress it again.

Calm it.

Center himself.

Then start again.

And again.

Hours passed.

Then a day.

Then another.

Time meant nothing.

The sky above shifted, stars rising and falling.

The pond remained quiet, reflecting his silent determination.

Each cycle grew easier.

The surges no longer drowned him.

The emotions didn’t vanish—but they no longer ruled him.

‘I’m getting closer… closer to not being affected by the transformation and the surge of infernal energy,’ Max thought with a faint smile, his eyes half-closed as another wave of red energy surged through his body.

For the thousandth time—maybe more—he cycled through the process again.

Transform.

Hold.

Calm.

Suppress.

Repeat.

He had been doing this endlessly, without pause, without sleep, without distraction.

The world outside the pond faded into silence as his entire existence narrowed into this single purpose—mastery.

Each time he triggered the infernal demon tattoo, the negativity came like clockwork.

The rage.

The pain.

The haunting memories.

They stabbed into his mind with claws of sorrow and anger.

But as the days passed, those claws dulled.

They no longer tore at his sanity.

He saw the images, heard the voices, felt the despair—but they passed through him like echoes in a canyon, no longer overwhelming, no longer able to shake his core.

The infernal energy began to feel less like an enemy and more like an extension of his will.

By the tenth, the transformation no longer startled his body.

By the sixth, his breath remained steady even at full release.

And finally, as the twentieth day broke—its golden light streaming through the gaps in the ancient canopy above—Max opened his eyes and stood.

The surface of the pond rippled beneath his feet as he stepped toward the shore, dripping water falling silently to the earth.

He reached solid ground and turned, his gaze steady.

Then, without hesitation, he summoned it—all of it.

Fwoooosh.

Crimson light erupted from his right side, enveloping his entire arm and eye in roaring infernal energy.

Red strings of power surged from the tattoo like tendrils of flame, crawling over his skin, over his right arm, wrapping around muscle and bone, his right eye igniting with blazing fury.

The transformation roared to life in its full form, wild and deadly.

The negativity surged in with it—dark thoughts, brutal memories, the pressure of everything that once haunted him.

But it didn’t move him.

Not even a flicker.

His heart stayed calm.

His breathing smooth.

His mind unshaken.

His body didn’t tremble—not even slightly.

Max stood tall, the red energy dancing along his right arm, and yet his presence radiated control, confidence, mastery.

He clenched his fist, watching the infernal energy flare and crackle with power.

But it no longer burned him.

It no longer tried to consume him.

It obeyed him now.

Seven days of relentless grinding.

Seven days of silence, pain, and discipline.

And now, the transformation that once nearly destroyed him…

was his weapon to command.

“I did it,” Max whispered, his voice barely above the wind.

“I finally did it.”

Even though his entire right arm was overflowing with infernal energy—crimson streams wrapping tightly around his muscles, crackling with chaotic force—and the right side of his face burned with the same hellish glow, completely covering his right eye, Max felt nothing but a surge of strength like he had never known before.

It wasn’t like mana.

It didn’t flow gently or harmoniously through his veins.

No, this was different.

It was raw, primal, unrefined—a roaring storm of pure infernal energy pulsing through his body like a second heartbeat.

And yet, despite its volatile nature, it didn’t harm him.

It belonged to him now.

Every nerve, every bone, every fiber of his body was resonating with this power, as if something ancient inside him had finally awakened.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on that energy, channeling it with precise focus.

In response, the red strings of infernal power behind his back began to writhe and twist, shaping themselves with uncanny precision.

They curled upward, pulsing brighter with each second, and then suddenly unfurled into the shape of a large, singular wing—his right wing, formed entirely of infernal energy.

It spread wide behind him, crackling softly, casting a deep crimson glow on the ground below.

Max’s eyes gleamed as he looked over his shoulder, feeling the balance, the perfect control.

His transformation, after days of relentless effort, was now whole.

‘Now… the transformation is finally complete,’ Max thought, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face as he stood amidst the forest clearing, bathed in morning light.

The power that once threatened to devour him now surged through him like an unstoppable tide—and he had learned to ride it.

‘I call this… Infernal Demon Transformation.’

CREATORS’ THOUGHTS

ShinGotLost

Your gift is the motivation for my creation.

Give me more motivation!