Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

The three trembling Level 1 Experts hesitated, then slowly nodded, their breathing still uneven, but the words seemed to offer them a lifeline, something to cling to in their rising despair.

It made sense—at least, they forced themselves to believe it did. If they stayed together, surrounded him, and attacked as one, Max would be overwhelmed. He couldn’t teleport and strike down all of them at once. They just had to keep their nerves steady, move in coordination, and not allow fear to dictate their actions.

They readied their weapons, circling Max cautiously like a pack of wolves preparing to tear down a beast far larger than themselves.

But standing at the center of them, Max’s expression didn’t change. If anything, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

”Infernal Demon Transformation,” Max muttered softly, almost like a whisper carried away by the winds of battle—and then it happened.

A beam of blood-red light shot up from Max as the centre towards the heavens, tearing a jagged path through the thick clouds above and below slamming into the ground.

The battlefield seemed to still, as if even the storm of war itself paused to witness the monstrous change unfolding in the sky. Max’s body, suspended midair, began to undergo a ghastly, terrifying transformation.

The Infernal Demon Tattoo that lay dormant on his right hand suddenly blazed to life, its dark crimson patterns glowing with a sinister light. Like liquid fire, the tattoo began to spread, crawling up his wrist, winding around his elbow, coiling over his shoulder, and searing its way across his right torso and up his neck.

Within seconds, Max’s entire right side was engulfed in a pulsing, living pattern of dark red lines, as if the very blood in his veins had turned into molten lava. His right eye, usually a clear, vibrant pink, darkened rapidly into a deep, menacing bloody red, glowing with a faint but chilling light.

Even a portion of his hair on the right side of his head turned from white to a dark crimson, as if stained permanently by blood.

And then, to complete the hellish image, a massive wing burst from Max’s back—a monstrous fusion of bloody red and deep black, its leathery surface rippling with raw, corrupt energy. The wing stretched wide with a loud snap, casting a long, dreadful shadow over the broken battlefield below.

The transformation unleashed an aura so powerful, so unnatural, that it sent a deep shudder across the entire battlefield. Warriors below the Exper Rank who had been battling fiercely on the ground—whether elves, humans, or demons—staggered, many of them instinctively backing away, their faces pale and filled with fear.

Even those Expert Rank, hardened veterans who had fought through countless battles, felt a primal terror awaken inside them, warning them of the abomination that now hovered above.

But it wasn’t just the weak who felt it.

Even the peak Expert Rank leaders—King Magnar, Aurelia, Kate, and the mighty Three Commandments of the Monarch—paused mid-battle, their eyes darting toward Max with narrowed gazes, unease flickering across their otherwise unshakable faces. There was something deeply wrong, deeply unnatural about the power he was emitting now.

Especially among the human warriors, the reaction was even more disturbing. Those who bore the faintest traces of infernal energy within their bodies—the Infernal Demon Tattoo—felt their own markings react violently, burning and pulsing in resonance with Max’s transformation.

Some cried out in pain, clutching their arms, their faces twisted in confusion and terror.

Max hovered in the air like a crimson storm contained within a human form, his eyes burning with malevolent light as he stared down the four warriors who had dared to surround him.

The three Level 1 Expert Rank cultivators looked visibly shaken, their faces pale, sweat trickling down their brows, weapons trembling in their hands. But it was the Level 2 Expert Rank warrior—the one with dark blue hair—who still tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

Though his face remained taut and serious, his tightened jaw and twitching fingers betrayed the pressure he felt under the weight of Max’s demonic aura, which clawed at his spirit like a beast hungry for blood.

’Crimson Havoc Fist: Sevenfold Slaughter Technique—First Move!’

Max roared inwardly, his infernal energy swirling violently within him. His right arm tensed, glowing veins pulsing like rivers of molten wrath beneath his tattooed skin. In a flash, the space around him warped and cracked as he invoked the Concept of Space, vanishing once more from sight.

Whoosh!

He reappeared an instant later behind the Level 2 Expert Rank warrior, a blur of demonic energy and focused killing intent. His fist was already pulled back, blazing with red energy and prepared to deliver the first of seven devastating strikes.

But instead of panic, laughter erupted from the blue-haired warrior.

”I knew you’d do that!” he barked with confidence, spinning around midair, his fist surging with energy of its own. Deep red flames burst from his arm, quickly forming into the head of a massive lion—its mane ablaze, its mouth open in a silent roar.

The flaming lion construct roared to life around his fist, the pressure it exuded causing the surrounding air to ripple and snap like breaking glass. Heat exploded outward in a shockwave, the sheer force cracking the ground far below, and the skies shimmered with the oppressive energy of fire compressed into bestial form.

Max remained unnervingly calm, his expression untouched by the rising tension as the dark blue-haired warrior roared and prepared his strongest attack. His crimson eyes, filled with cold clarity, watched every movement, every tremor in the enemy’s aura—not out of caution, but calculation. Because Max, too, was preparing something. Something worse. Something far more violent.

Crimson Havoc Fist: Sevenfold Slaughter Technique—a terrifying art that demanded either the user’s mastery of the Concept of Slaughter or an aura soaked in death and carnage. Max didn’t possess the Concept of Slaughter... but he didn’t need it.

Instead, he infused the technique with something far more sinister—his infernal energy, the power granted by the cursed depths of the Infernal Demon Tattoo.

His right hand, already dark red from the demonic transformation, clenched with monstrous pressure, each muscle twisting like coiled steel. Slowly, from the tip of his knuckles, a shadow began to gather—thick, black, and cloudy like a storm summoned from the underworld.

It took shape like a phantom beast snarling from the abyss, and as it fully formed, a horrifying stench of blood suddenly burst from Max’s fist, thick and nauseating. It wasn’t just the scent of blood—it was the smell of slaughter, of corpses piled in silence, of something that should not exist.

The very air around him twisted and recoiled, warping unnaturally as if reality itself found his presence abhorrent.

Across from him, the dark blue-haired Level 2 Expert Rank warrior laughed with blazing confidence, utterly unaware of the storm he was provoking. ”Haha! You’re going down!” he roared, his flame-coated fist burning with wild, explosive force. ”You, who haven’t even comprehended a Concept, dare to stand against me? This is my strongest attack! Your sneak attacks won’t save you now!”

With a booming roar, he hurled his flaming lion fist forward, the massive burning construct roaring with violent majesty. The air around it ignited, a shockwave tearing through the sky as it flew toward Max like a meteor of pure flame.

”Concept of Flames—Fury of the Flaming Lion!”