Skill-Up: I Level from Everything!-Chapter 27: Ashes of Pride

1:00 PM.

The sky over Lincolnville was clear, not a cloud in sight. The sun hung high overhead, drenching the small town in a punishing blaze. Midday light bounced off the windows of every house, too bright, too sharp—illuminating everything with a painful clarity.

El slammed the gas pedal, and his black car roared away, leaving Denny's house in the rearview. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

Denny stood at the doorway, unmoving. His breathing was heavy. Blood still trickled down from the cut on his temple. His eyes seethed with a simmering rage—cold and sharp. After a moment, he exhaled sharply, shoved the door open, and stepped inside.

The house was large—far too large for an eighteen-year-old. He'd bought it for a hundred thousand dollars—a steal, thanks no doubt to Lucci. But the luxury stopped at the price tag. Inside... it was a mess. Dingy, stale, and reeking.

As the door shut behind him, a wave of stale air hit him. The stench of forgotten pizza slices mixed with alcohol and old cigarettes clung thick in the atmosphere. The living room was in chaos. The sofa was crooked. Empty bottles lay scattered. Cigarette butts littered the floor.

Still, Denny kept walking.

Until his eyes locked on a familiar figure—a man in his late twenties, wearing a ragged hoodie and torn jeans. He was sprawled under the coffee table, passed out like a corpse.

Denny's face tightened. His jaw clenched. Old anger surged like fire.

Without a word, he lashed out and kicked the man—hard.

THUD!

The man's body rolled, slamming into a chair and waking with a jolt of panic.

"Argh—fuck!" he shouted, eyes fluttering open to see who was standing over him. "Denny, what the hell?!" he snapped, rubbing his throbbing head.

"What are you doing here?" Denny's voice was flat, laced with venom.

The man groaned, trying to rise. "I passed out under the table. Sorry, bro. I meant to leave last night, but... you know how it is—I figured you wouldn't mind."

Big mistake.

Denny moved fast, grabbed his collar, and dragged him like a sack of trash to the front door.

"You think this is a hotel?!"

With one violent shove, the man flew out onto the front lawn.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Denny barked.

The guy stood, dusting off his knees, looking stunned. "Not cool, man... I thought we were—"

"Out."

Cold. Final.

The man raised his hands, defeated. "Okay, okay. I just need to grab my wallet—"

Denny blocked the doorway, eyes like a cornered animal. No room for negotiation.

The man opened his mouth again—but the look in Denny's eyes silenced him. Reluctantly, he backed away, turned, and walked briskly down the sidewalk, head lowered.

Denny watched until he disappeared around the corner.

Then he stepped back inside, scowling, and kicked a bottle on the floor. It flew and shattered against the wall.

Behind the table, he spotted the guy's wallet. Thin. Empty.

Just two crumpled bills—twenty dollars.

"Asshole," he muttered.

But that wasn't what really lit his blood on fire.

Ronan's face.

That icy glare, the brutal hit from earlier—it all burned in his mind like acid. His pride shattered in front of his friends.

In front of himself.

And that, to Denny, was an unforgivable sin. Never in his life had he been humiliated like that.

He hurled the wallet at the wall. The table was next. A savage kick cracked one of its legs clean off.

"FUCK!" he roared, chest heaving.

"Ronan... you're fucking dead!"

---

Evening crawled toward night, and the sky over Lincolnville turned a deep, molten orange. A hush fell over the neighborhood. Curtains drawn. Streets silent.

Inside the house, Denny lay sprawled on the sofa. Half a bottle of bourbon clutched in one hand. The TV flickered soundlessly. Flies still danced above leftover food on the table.

But not everything in the house was asleep.

A shadow moved.

There was no door creaking open. No shattering glass. Only silence, creeping in like a cold mist through a crack in the window. The figure slipped inside—silent, invisible.

Each step was calculated. Soft. Deadly.

It stopped at the living room. Its eyes fixed on Denny—face bruised, breath uneven, bottle still in hand. Oblivious.

The last light of dusk slanted through the window and revealed the face.

Ronan.

Dressed in all black. Crimson eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

He stood there, watching.

One second. Two.

Then he reached inside his jacket.

A dagger.

Sharp. Silent.

One step. Two.

Denny shifted in his sleep, legs twitching. Still unconscious.

One more step.

Ronan now stood directly in front of him.

He raised the blade, slow and steady, eyes locked on his target.

But—

Denny's eyes snapped open.

Survival instinct surged through him like a bolt. He leapt off the couch, muscles tense, senses blazing.

His breath came fast. His eyes found him instantly—the very person he'd been thinking about—Ronan. And the dagger in his hand.

"You?! Bastard, you want to kill me?!" he yelled, voice trembling with fury.

Ronan offered a thin smile, his gaze cold and unflinching. "I thought long and hard before coming here. And one thing I know for certain... someone like you, with a pride that stretches beyond the sky, never knows when to stop."

Denny said nothing. His chest heaved. Somewhere deep inside, he had planned to kill Ronan.

But now the tables had turned—violently turned.

The hunter had become the prey.

And he stood on the wrong side of the blade.

Panic clawed at his gut. He turned and bolted.

But—

FWOOSH!

A fireball slammed into his back.

"ARRGHHHH!"

Flames erupted wildly. Denny crashed to the floor, rolling and screaming. Fire devoured his shirt in seconds, blistering skin and filling the room with the stench of burning flesh.

He gasped, wide-eyed, staring up at Ronan from the floor.

"You... you have powers...?" he croaked, part fear, part disbelief.

Ronan sneered, eyes gleaming with contempt. "You think you're the only one who grew up in a broken world?"

No mercy.

Another fireball surged—smaller, more precise—striking Denny straight in the chest.

A dull boom echoed.

Denny staggered, then collapsed face-down.

Motionless.

Ronan approached, satisfied. His Starflame was stabilizing. His skills were growing fast. Victory was within reach.

But—

His instincts screamed.

Too late.

Denny lunged up with a roar, clawing straight at his face.

CRACK!

Nails tore across Ronan's left cheek. Five bloody gashes streaked beneath his eye. Blood gushed freely.

Ronan stumbled back, nearly falling.

Denny rose, his face twisted in hate—rage flaring alongside the pain from earlier.

"You think you can kill me that easy?!"

Ronan snarled, blood dripping down his face. "Fucker!"

Flames burst from his hands—Starflame encasing them both.

Without warning, he lunged forward, launching a brutal barrage.

WHOOM. WHOOM. WHOOM.

Each flaming strike hit Denny like a hammer. Denny blocked what he could, but the heat seared through him. His arms blackened, charred.

Still—he saw an opening.

With a bellow, he counterattacked.

But—

Ronan slipped past it effortlessly.

Hunter's Sense.

And—

BOOM!

A fire fist smashed into Denny's face. He flew backward, crashing through the furniture, splintering wood everywhere.

"FUCK! FUCK! IT HURTS!" Denny shrieked, writhing on the floor, trying to smother the fire on his face.

Ronan tightened his grip on the dagger.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and drove the blade straight into Denny's chest.

The steel sank deep. Denny's body jolted, his back arching as pain tore through him. He gasped, fists striking out weakly, trying to fight—but his strength was already slipping away.

His eyes locked onto Ronan's—filled with fury, hatred, and the promise of vengeance.

Then, slowly, that fire dimmed.

His gaze emptied. His limbs slackened.

And with one final, shuddering breath, Denny went still.

Ronan rose, breathing hard. There was nothing but silence. No movement. No sound. Just the low hum of a TV left on, the crackling of scorched furniture, and the faint buzz of flies that hadn't yet fled the carnage.

Then—

A soft chime echoed.

A translucent blue hologram blinked to life in the air above Denny's corpse.

[Successfully eliminated Human Realm Awakener – Level 3]

[Skill Points Gained: +11]

Ronan stared at it, dagger still in hand. The fight was over.

It was done.