The room still smelled like hot iron and trauma, but at least the screaming had stopped. Mostly because everyone who was going to scream had either passed out or lost the capacity to vocalize. Ren sat on the edge of a cracked bench that used to be someone's spine, hands limp at his sides, his head tilted just enough to keep the ceiling in view.

  It pulsed like a dying lung.

  His stomach grumbled. Then twisted.

  He leaned slightly to the left and retched into a dented steel bin he'd quietly dragged around during the last few hours. His fourth time today. Maybe fifth. The line was getting blurry.

  The sound echoed wetly, but no one reacted. Most of them were unconscious, and Ren had gotten good at vomiting between procedures. Professional multitasking.

  A system chime echoed in his skull, soft and smug.

  [Fear Points Gained: +200,000]

  [Payment Collected: $5,000,000]

  [Host may now initiate level-up procedure.]

  Ren wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, the fabric stiff with dried blood.

  "Five million dollars," he muttered. His voice was hoarse. "Earned entirely from making people scream during invasive trauma therapy. Really living the dream here."

  He stared at the notification for a long moment. Five million. From fear. From pain.

  "And here I thought medical school was unethical. Turns out I just needed to add tentacles and cosmic horror to my resume."

  He opened the interface and hovered over the confirmation window. The text glowed faintly in his vision, waiting.

  He hit confirm.

  The system responded instantly.

  Heat pulsed through his chest and spine, sterilizing, like liquid antiseptic poured directly into his nerves. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it made his skin buzz and his jaw clench involuntarily. His fingers curled against the bench, nails scraping against bone.

  [Level-Up Confirmed.]

  [Current Rank: C]

  [Stats Updated:]

  Strength: 50

  Defense: 250

  Dexterity: 300

  Mana: 250

  Stamina: 50

  Luck: 20

  Potential: ???

  [New Skills Acquired:]

  Poison Resistance (S-Rank)

  Disease Resistance (S-Rank)

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Mental Resistance (EX-Rank)

  You are now immune to all common and advanced poisons.

  You are now immune to magical, viral, parasitic, and arcane-based disease.

  You are now immune to fear, psychic, charm, and madness-type mental interference.

  Reason: You are the horror itself.

  Ren stared at the last line.

  Then stared harder.

  "You are the horror itself," he repeated slowly. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder. I didn't file a request to become Slender Man's emotionally damaged cousin, but sure, let's just lean into it."

  He leaned back and gagged quietly again. Nothing left to throw up this time. His stomach just hadn't gotten the memo.

  "Great. I'm immune to poison and disease now. But I still can't handle my own surgical scenes without dry heaving. Really nailed the power fantasy there, System."

  The System helpfully pinged.

  [That is a you problem, Host.]

  Ren glared at the window. "Oh, don't start. You're the reason I keep a barf bucket in every room like some kind of demented janitor."

  Still, the resistance upgrades were nothing to scoff at. S-rank immunity to nearly everything biological and EX-rank mental resistance? That was significant.

  "So I can't go crazy now," he muttered. "Because I'm already the nightmare. How comforting. Really takes the pressure off."

  Then the numbers sank in.

  "Wait. Why the hell did only Dexterity, Mana, and Defense jump like a lottery ticket? Strength and Stamina barely moved. What am I, a glass cannon with good hand-eye coordination?"

  [Host is of the Doctor of the Ruin Gospel class. Optimization favors Dexterity, Mana, and Defense.]

  Ren looked at his arms. They were still lean, still covered in blood and grime. No bulging muscles. No superhuman bulk.

  "So I'm basically a stitched-up horror with surgeon hands and a decent health bar. Cool. Very intimidating."

  [Also accurate.]

  He shook his head. "Can't even argue with that."

  Still no sign of magic skills in his profile. Just Fear Generation and his usual butcher toolkit.

  "Why don't I have spells or support magic? I'm supposed to be a divine healer. Where's my holy light? My miracle cure? My 'power of friendship' beam?"

  [Magic can be purchased using Fear Points. Please open the Store.]

  Ren narrowed his eyes. "You've been holding out on me this whole time?"

  [Incorrect. Host simply never asked.]

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I was too busy performing eldritch surgery on a hundred screaming patients to browse the shop menu. My bad."

  He resisted the urge to vomit again, more from rage than nausea, and opened the store window.

  It booted up like a cursed marketplace built by an AI that studied medieval medicine, cosmic horror, and MLM schemes.

  Glowing red panels spun into place. Rows of skills, traits, and abilities arranged like a macabre catalog.

  He scrolled.

  Surgical Telekinesis (A-Rank): Hands-free organ manipulation.

  Blood Puppet Protocol (S-Rank): Control muscle tissue via exposed nerve endings.

  Anesthetic Cloud (B-Rank): Emit fear-inducing numbing mist. Patients may faint before you touch them.

  Crimson Vein Suture (A-Rank): Heal torn vessels with pure mana. Faster than thread. More disturbing.

  Autopsy Memory (S-Rank): Absorb a corpse's last memories by analyzing trauma.

  He blinked. "Horrifying. Also kinda useful. I hate that I'm considering these."

  Further down:

  Soul Scalpel (EX-Rank): Sever spiritual connections. Remove curses. Cut ghosts.

  Choral Trauma Echo (S-Rank): Project a patient's pain into others nearby. Great for group therapy.

  Suture of Apostasy (A-Rank): Stitch wounds in reality. For when the world starts leaking.

  Ren stared at the screen.

  "This isn't a skill tree. This is a crime scene waiting to happen. Who designed this? Lovecraft's evil cousin?"

  But the potential? Unmatched.

  He could finally grow stronger without waiting for people to show up half-dying. And if he could start performing cursed organ transplants or interdimensional tumor removals? Even better.

  "Well," he muttered, "at least I'm diversifying my skillset. Mom would be so proud."

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. They were still bloodshot, still burning from exhaustion.

  He paused.

  Then leaned over and vomited again, just for good measure.

  "Still got it," he whispered to the bin.