Combat Power 19,870: The Barbarian Orkan

Combat power 19,870. Barbarian Orkan. The first being to no-clip into the Backrooms. An ancient mage. He spent eons studying dimensions. After becoming mighty on his own, he created the Gallery to save others like himself. The Gallery he made couldn't fully block the Backrooms' distortions, but it dramatically boosted the survival chances of intelligent no-clippers.

But not all sinkers benefited from the Gallery. Some rejected it out of belief. Others couldn't use it because they were illiterate. Sometimes they were both illiterate and stubbornly faithful. The poster children for that were the barbarians.

"Odin! I offer you another sacrifice!"

Barbarian Orkan ripped a goblin's head from its body and bellowed.

"Why do you still test me! Am I still not enough? Lord of Valhalla!"

He plucked out the goblin's eyeball.

"Is this blood not enough!"

"This flesh, these screams—not enough for you!"

He shoved the eyeball into his mouth and chewed noisily as he roared.

"Is my devotion still lacking? Answer me! Lord of Valhalla!"

He climbed atop the mountain of corpses piled like an altar and spread his arms wide. His blood-soaked axe pointed at the ceiling.

"I am your warrior! Thirsting for blood, rejecting immortality, warrior of annihilation!"

"Let me live like a warrior and die like one! Odin!"

"This soul, this rage, this thirst—dedicate them to your battlefield!"

He howled and roared from the peak of the corpse mountain in his sanctuary. Every day he craved death. Every day he yearned for the path to Valhalla. But the path never opened. Not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow. So he killed another. Devoured another. Offered another to the gods. He fought on, dreaming of the gods' battlefield, Valhalla.

A light flickered and died beyond his closed eyelids. The fishy stench of rusted iron blood. As consciousness returned, unbearable hunger hit. His stomach clung to his spine in sharp agony. His body felt mummified, withered away.

"......"

He reached out thoughtlessly. Squishy things nearby. He was starving. With feeble hands, he tore at whatever was around. Desperately ripping, it finally gave. Crunch. He shoved it in his mouth. Chewed mechanically. When hunger's this bad, even bad food tastes good. It was delicious. Chewy like fruit heavy with sticky juice. He swallowed. Gulp. Again. Gulp. Vitality slowly returned.

A question arose. ...How'd I swallow with my head cut off?

He opened his eyes. The fog of his eyelids cleared, outlines sharpened. Vision restored gradually. He was buried in a mountain of corpses.

What...

Shimmering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lines of light kept flashing before him. Whisper requests.

Tons of whisper requests from gallery users. Seeing [Block Whispers] at the bottom made him think of Geomseong, and he chuckled.

That's why Geomseong blocks whispers...

The laugh sharpened his mind further. He checked his status. His body was sticky all over, but the subspace pouch was intact. But his weapon, the rapier... was gone.

How long was I out?

The tangled corpses formed a space. More precisely, one massive corpse created a tent-like cavity. It gave him room to move relatively freely. He looked around. Green meat chunks piled around a crocodile-headed giant corpse.

...Goblins, right?

Seeing the goblin corpses, he noticed nail marks from tearing them. Did I just eat a goblin?Urk. He dry-heaved, then realized something crucial late.

...How am I even alive?

He'd definitely died. Before blacking out, he'd seen his headless body kneel. Blood sprayed like paint from the stump. Urgent, long, messy. His blood painted the air red before soaking the floor. His headless body slammed down, ending it. Perfect death. Yet here he was, alive. With ravenous hunger.

...No clue. Eat first.

Still starving like mad. He pulled bread from his subspace pouch and wolfed it down. Healthy-tasting bread, but saliva made it delicious. After ten pieces, he could breathe easier. He chugged water from a bottle, then caught his breath.

Feeling human again.

With hunger fading, his mind cleared. He checked his status window.

As expected. A new ability under Digestion Ability.

Fragment of Immortality.

After ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠killing the rag golem, when it exploded, he'd swallowed its fluids and fragments. He puked the liquid but couldn't the solids. In other words, core fragments, body chunks—he'd ingested them raw.

That pain between my chest and side... this?

Digestion Ability had fully absorbed and integrated the golem's power. That explained the agony on 101st floor leading to sleep. So now he was half-golem. Regenerates unless the core's destroyed. The mystery lump by his heart from mana breathing training—that was the core.

...I'm a monster now.

So this ability uses bio-energy for self-repair? Probably. The insane hunger confirmed it.

Sigh...

Anyway, he survived. Focusing his senses, he carefully extricated from the corpse pile. No sign of his attacker. Gallery was full of users checking on him. Eulogies here and there, confirmations of his death.

He replied instantly.

Not the time. Gotta escape...

Right then.

"This time a vicious evil spirit."

A heavy voice from the entrance behind him. He reacted fast.

"Wai—"

But the massive battle axe flew faster. Slash. His head came off again.

"Odin. Your great warrior Orkan fought for your honor today."

This time he was buried deeper.

"Shed blood, carved flesh, endured pain."

Blood dripped from above—must've stacked a fresh monster kill on him.

"Make this blood not in vain. Offer it on the path to Valhalla."

Good, head and body nearby this time. Less hunger, mind cleared faster.

"My heart still beats. My soul unbroken."

He wriggled carefully, undetected. Inch by inch, he reached an inner void under a giant monster corpse.

From beneath the corpse pile, he heard the voice.

"I can still fight. Odin."

Real psycho.

He cautiously opened the gallery window. Light won't leak, right? Would anyone even see?

Instant reply.

"If this blood's not enough, I'll offer my flesh too."

While gallerying, the barbarian muttered nonstop. Unnoticed so far.

He desperately gathered intel on the barbarian. Gallery posts, user threads, sightings, floaters—everything. Results: His killer's identity. 100th floor gatekeeper, savage, axe psycho, Valhalla addict, barbarian. Doesn't know/use Gallery. Believes he's tested by gods. Conversation minimal—axe first. Common thread in floods of lines, mockery, sightings: Psycho. And the psycho was insanely strong.

His current combat power: 923. Opponent... 15k? 20k? Pure numbers: 15-20x stronger. He clamped his mouth shut. No winning this.

Wait 30 days for layer regen, sneak boss kill, escape? Can I even sneak the boss? Die again?

...

Second death already. This time he might burn the body instead of dumping. Does flesh regen if burned? No certainty.

"...A bug blocking my prayer?"

Momentary flinch? Thud. Spear thrust through corpse pile, grazed his nose.

"Damn bug bastards."

Almost died again.

...

He held his breath, waiting for it to leave. Long time passed, footsteps faded. No presence. He waited more, then slipped out carefully.

Whew.

Status check: Subspace fine. Rapier gone. Buried? Stolen?

Brutal.

Sighed, scanned corpses just in case. No orbs. Doesn't use Gallery but picks orbs clean. Thinks they're elixirs or something? Looked around. 100th floor boss room. Massive iron door behind corpse pile confirmed it.

That door's probably ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the no-clip exit to 99th.

Barbarian turned boss room into sanctuary. Monster corpses blocked exit completely. Clear undetected? Impossible. Ignore and open door? No.

Trapped after all.

Scouted for weapon. Corner had weapon pile. No rapier. Reached for battle axe at feet. Grabbed, arm dropped. Way heavier than expected. Swinging this is feat enough.

Threw this that fast...

No chance. Real monster. How to survive? Beg gallery? Borrow from SongOfTheJoints? Gap too fundamental. No calculator needed—gold can't bridge it.

...Egg vs rock.

Sudden thought: He's human too. Gave confidence. Plus new info.

Chance... this work?

Objectively near-zero. Even optimistic, slim. Odds bottom, conditions worst, variables galore. But no choices. Only gamble left. Stakes: his life. Barbarian a massive wall.

...

Terror licked his nape. He steadied breath. Good luck, smash wall. Or climb it.

At least leave a knife mark.

Always thinking positive—his strength.

"...Gamble, huh."

He waited in the sanctuary for the barbarian. Sitting in the bloodstained chair.