Black veins crawled on Silas's thigh. Rhea's synthetic nerve poison worked without a sound. The thick fluid crept up, piercing the syndicate leader's pale blood vessels, burning cell tissues, and targeting the heart.
Luka pressed his boot soles to the limestone floor. Filthy water puddles splashed. He waited, waiting for the poison to collapse the defective giant before him.
Yet, Silas did not fall.
The crow monster looked down, staring at his own leg. His cracked bone beak trembled. Not from pain. The man laughed. The deafening sound of scrap metal scraping.
"Rat poison," Silas hissed.
Soul Energy exploded from Silas's pores. The blue phosphor glow on the cave walls dimmed instantly, swallowed by the black fog billowing from the leader's body. Silas focused that dense energy to his groin. The pale muscles around the blackened veins twitched wildly, then contracted by force.
Luka narrowed his eyes. His brain processed the tactical horror before him.
Silas severed his own blood flow. The defective man used Soul Energy to isolate the poisoned tissues, letting the flesh on his thigh die and rot instantly so the poison failed to reach vital organs. A physical sacrifice to maintain dominance.
"Human flesh is merely a borrowed vessel." Silas raised his beak. "You think a cheap dagger scratch can stop an Echo Ruler?"
The veins in Silas's throat expanded again. The man vomited something.
Not a light weapon. A giant iron mace smeared in gut and black bile slid falling into his left claw. The metal smelled of carcass.
Silas shot forward.
His crow leg kicked the floor. A five-meter distance was cut in the blink of an eye. The iron mace swung from above, cutting through the wind with a hum of death.
Luka lacked time to duck. He crossed his snatched sword upward.
Clang!
Iron clashed. Sparks spurted into Luka's face.
The mace's weight was illogical. Luka's left arm curved. His shoulder blade screamed enduring a destructive force equal to a war carriage crash. Luka's knee joints bent by force. His boots scratched the limestone floor, pushed backward dozens of centimeters.
Silas twisted his right claw holding the chain whip.
The serrated whip lashed from the side. Aiming for Luka's exposed ribs.
Luka released the parry. Letting the mace slide down striking the floor. He threw his body to the right. Rolling on the filthy water puddle. The chain whip tip swept the air, a paper-thin distance from his neck.
He rose. His thick-scaled dark red right arm billowed hot steam. His monster flesh throbbed demanding blood.
Luka charged.
He swung the sword in his left hand, baiting a parry. Silas raised the mace. In that exact second, Luka's mutated right hand punched straight toward the syndicate leader's pale chest. A bone-breaking punch.
Silas tilted his gaunt body. Luka's punch missed, merely grazing the torn leather coat.
Silas's beak struck from the front. Embedding into Luka's left shoulder.
Pointed teeth tore the skin. Luka's shoulder flesh ripped open. Fresh blood spurted soaking Silas's face. Luka growled rough. He crushed the beak with his mutated hand, trying to snap the bird's skull.
Silas kicked Luka's solar plexus.
The inverted bird knee struck the stomach. Luka's internal organs felt churned. Acidic fluid rose to his esophagus. His grip released. His body launched backward. Striking a stalagmite pillar.
Crash.
Limestone cracked. Luka coughed. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth.
Silas walked casual. His foot claws dragged the chain whip on the floor. The sound of scraping metal slit the silence.
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"Where is your grandeur, Prince?" Silas tilted his eyeless head. "Where is the gods' protection flowing in Reinhardt blood? You bleed like a slaughtered pig."
A rusted nail embedded in Luka's head. His ears hummed.
"You nobles." Silas pointed with the blood-smeared mace tip. "You wrap weakness in silk. During that coup night, Ulric slaughtered the palace guards. You know what your father's prideful soldiers did? They ran. They discarded their shields to save their own necks. Devoid of honor. Only despair."
Lies. That was a tyrant's lie.
Luka's ego rebelled. His memories of his grand father, of his bleeding hand stopping an assassin's dagger, rejected the insult. He was a protector. His Sin of Wrath burned the remnants of logic.
"I will tear your beak." Luka stood. His left shoulder bled heavy. His mutated hand clenched until its scales crunched.
"The bark of a dying animal."
Silas's throat expanded triple its size. Black slime dripped heavy.
The monster opened its beak wide. Silas did not vomit a single weapon. He vomited a storm.
A dozen rusted knives, broken spearheads, and bent daggers shot out from his throat. Fired in barrage with Soul Energy pressure. A rain of scrap iron charged Luka.
Luka crossed his mutated right arm in front of his face and chest. A living shield.
Clang. Crack. Crunch.
The rusted irons struck his red scales. Sparks ignited in succession. The density of a stage two mutation withstood most of the projectiles. Yet, several daggers slipped in. Scratching his thigh. Tearing his calf. Embedding into his left shoulder.
Luka retreated three paces. His defense wavered.
Silas granted no breathing room. The syndicate leader charged cleaving his own weapon rain. Mace raised high.
Luka lowered his mutated arm. His eyes caught the mace's trajectory. He twisted the sword in his left hand, parrying from an angled corner to deflect the blow.
But Silas feinted.
The mace dropped. Silas's empty left claw shot piercing Luka's defense. Black nails embedded into Luka's gut. Tearing the abdominal muscles.
Luka's breath cut by force. Blood flowed heavy from his stomach.
Silas twisted the claw, worsening the torn wound. The defective man kicked Luka's chest.
Luka launched far. Rolling on the stone floor. Stopping five paces from Brog's corpse whose blood puddle began freezing.
The snatched sword slipped from his hand. His left arm paralyzed instantly. Its nerves ruined by dagger thrusts and beak tears.
He tried to rise. His body rejected it. The stab wound in his gut drained blood too fast. His vision faded. The edges of his eyes darkened.
Silas walked closer. His right claw dragged a longsword. A new weapon he vomited. Its blade radiated a dull white glow. A holy sword of past knights, now stained with rust and bile.
"Game over." Silas's voice sounded mechanical. His beak smeared with Luka's blood. "Time to die for the second time, Boy."
Luka lay on his side. His breath creaked.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Rhea. The maid was still pressed against the wall by Vance. The woman stared at him straight. Her pale face radiated no panic. Devoid of begging screams. Rhea merely stayed silent. The corners of her thin lips seemingly holding back a smile. Awaiting a transformation.
Luka shifted his pupils. Staring at Brog's corpse nearby. The headless stocky man. The corpse's chest was still warm.
One hand was not enough.
Wild thoughts possessed Luka's brain. Elegant sword techniques had perished. Noble honor could not save him from a Stage Three monster's slash. He fought with one mutated hand and one paralyzed human hand. A defective balance.
If he wanted to kill a monster, he could not stand as a human. He had to discard his remaining humanity. He had to open that hell's faucet completely.
Silas's spectral sword swung down. Aiming for the neck.
Luka did not parry. He kicked the floor with the remaining strength in his right leg. Throwing his body to the side, rolling evading the lethal slash. The glowing blade struck the floor, cleaving the limestone until it cracked long.
Luka did not stop rolling. He charged straight toward Brog's corpse.
His body crashed into the headless corpse. Luka sat straddling the corpse's chest. His butcher instinct took over totally. His thick red mutated right hand raised high. His scaled fingers pressed together.
He plunged his monster hand straight into the center of Brog's chest.
Crack.
Ribs shattered. Flesh tore. Luka's mutated arm pierced the corpse's chest cavity up to the elbow. His fingers groped the warm blood puddle inside, gripping the dense muscle lump that had just stopped beating.
Brog's heart.
Luka wrenched the organ out. Blood spurted, soaking his gauzed face. He did not bring the organ to his mouth. He crushed the heart with his mutated hand, destroying it inside his red-scaled fist.
The Soul Energy remaining in that heart exploded.
Dense black smoke spewed from between his fingers, crawling up and piercing the pores of his right arm, infiltrating his bloodstream with lethal speed.
Inside his head, the Slaughterhouse gate was forced wide open. A flood of blood and screams breached his inner defense.
Luka looked up at the cave ceiling. His jaw opened wide. A soundless scream tore from his throat. His paralyzed left arm began twitching ferally. The blood vessels there swelled black, preparing to tear his human skin from the inside.
His remaining sanity evaporated.