The Slayer’s boots sank into the viscous mud, which reeked of a cloying, rotting sweetness.

  Abyss Layer 3 — "Corpse Swamp."

  This was no ordinary marshland. The "soil" here was a slurry of flesh and blood, fermented over eons from the demons, beasts, and lost deities that had perished in this land. Green phosphorescent fire floated in the air, reducing visibility to near zero.

  Rising from this semi-liquid landscape were massive white skeletal frames, standing like dead trees. Some of them even pulsed slowly, as if trying to piece themselves back together.

  The Slayer was in the middle of a high-intensity "logging operation."

  His target was a pack of "Zombie Behemoths" inhabiting the area. While these massive monstrosities were slow, they possessed a disgusting trait—"Skeletal Calcification."

  Soaked in the abyssal energies for tens of thousands of years, their bone density surpassed most known natural metals. They were as hard as diamond and possessed terrifying resilience.

  *ZZZZZT—KLUNK!*

  A jarring sound of mechanical failure broke the rhythm of combat.

  The Slayer's chainsaw—the old partner that had accompanied him from the Mars base all the way through Hell, and had received only simple reinforcements from Singularity—was now deadlocked deep inside a Zombie Behemoth's thick cervical vertebrae.

  The teeth spun wildly, throwing off blinding sparks and thick black smoke, but they refused to cut deeper. It felt like trying to slice through a steak frozen for a decade with a rusty butter knife.

  The Slayer applied more torque to the handle.

  The Praetor Suit's servos whined, trying to force the blade through with brute strength.

  *SNAP!*

  A crisp, metallic crack.

  Two teeth, unable to withstand the extreme torque, sheared off and embedded themselves deep into the mud nearby.

  The chainsaw was jammed solid.

  The half-decapitated Zombie Behemoth roared in fury, swinging a massive bone club toward the Slayer.

  The Slayer frowned (beneath his helmet).

  He didn't waste time wrestling with the tool. He delivered a thunderous kick to the beast's chest. Using the massive recoil, he ripped the jammed chainsaw free.

  In one fluid motion, he hooked the striking weapon back onto his belt and drew the Crucible from his back.

  *HUMMMM—!*

  The red energy blade carved a perfect arc through the air.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  The intense heat of the lightsaber instantly melted through the beast's neck. The silky-smooth cut stood in stark contrast to the gritty resistance of the chainsaw moments before.

  After the fight, the Slayer didn't immediately hunt for the next target.

  He found a relatively dry giant skull to sit on and placed the smoking chainsaw across his knees.

  He began to dismantle it.

  The Slayer was no stranger to machinery. As a soldier who had survived alone on Mars, maintaining equipment was a basic survival skill.

  He expertly removed the casing, checked the drive shaft, and inspected the chain.

  The situation was worse than he imagined.

  The chain was worn down to nothing; the once-sharp teeth were now rounded nubs of iron.

  The motor core, due to the recent overload, had a large blackened patch on the coils, emitting the acrid smell of burnt insulating varnish.

  Even the pull-cord used to start the engine showed severe fraying from the Slayer's countless, violent pulls.

  It was a machine made of mortal steel.

  It had no magic, no divine power. It was an industrial product.

  Although Singularity had filled it with high-energy fuel and the Slayer had reinforced its casing with Argent energy, it had finally reached its limit.

  Against the increasingly absurd hardness of the Abyss's monsters, and under the Slayer's tireless pace of slaughter, it could no longer keep up.

  It was dull.

  The Slayer’s fingers gently traced the row of broken teeth. The rough texture against his fingertips brought a momentary silence.

  He wasn't angry. He felt no urge to throw this "trash" away and get a new one.

  In his logic, weapons weren't consumables. They were comrades.

  This saw had helped him take countless demon heads. It had cut open countless supply pinatas. When he was out of ammo and hope, this saw had given him his last lifeline.

  But now, it was old.

  The Slayer tried to reassemble it. He wanted to try one more time—maybe with some lubricant, it would still run.

  *Click.*

  But just as he snapped the casing back on, the sound of loose parts rattling came from inside.

  The drive shaft had snapped.

  It was broken. Thoroughly.

  The Slayer’s hand froze in mid-air, holding the casing in place.

  Just then, a faint static buzz sounded. Singularity's holographic projection (via the trailing engineering drone) appeared silently in the clearing.

  Singularity looked at the pile of junk that used to be a chainsaw, then at the silent Slayer.

  "Slayer..." Singularity's voice carried the heavy tone of a technician delivering bad news. "Mechanical things have a physical lifespan."

  "Its material fatigue has breached the critical point. Even if I swap in Demon Steel teeth, the engine can't drive them anymore. I've done all I can with physical repairs. No matter how good the steel, dead matter will eventually wear down."

  The Slayer looked up at Singularity.

  He didn't speak. He simply pointed at the scattered parts on the ground again.

  The message was resolute: *Fix it. It must be fixed. This saw doesn't get left behind.*

  Singularity sighed and swiped a few times on his data pad.

  "Slayer, standard repairs won't work. With your current combat intensity, ordinary mechanical structures can't hold up."

  "In a place like the Abyss, if you want a weapon that stays forever sharp, never breaks, and can even keep up with your growth... there is only one way."

  Singularity pointed toward the depths of the Corpse Swamp, where strange psionic waves rippled, capable of reanimating dead matter.

  "That is to make it... alive."

  [Physical Wear vs. Spiritual Awakening]

  "In the Eastern art of weapon crafting, top-tier God Weapons all possess a 'Machine Spirit' (Qi Ling). With a spirit, it's no longer a pile of cold parts, but a living entity. It will self-repair, evolve, and even seek out enemy weaknesses on its own."

  "We need to find it a 'Soul.' A fierce, bloodthirsty soul capable of piloting this weapon of mass destruction."

  The Slayer understood.

  He picked up the parts from the ground one by one, not leaving even a single screw behind, and carefully stowed them in his dimensional pocket.

  Then, he stood up.

  He looked toward the depths of the swamp.

  There, beneath layers of fog, came the heart-stopping roar of a beast, filled with the aura of war and slaughter. The ferocity in that sound was purer than any demon he had faced.

  *A Soul?*

  The Slayer’s hand clenched into a fist.

  *I'll go catch one.*

  *Next Chapter: Capturing the Tiger Soul. Singularity locates the soul of a ferocious Demon Tiger in the Abyss and forcibly seals it into the chainsaw.*