Chapter Forty-Three: The Monstrous Aberration

He stood in the center of the cafeteria, surrounded by a powerful, corrosive darkness, facing off against the monsters. Shielded by the abandoned building’s outer walls, he could unleash his dark powers without worrying about harming the surrounding forest.

“Let’s finish this quickly…” He had no desire to linger here.

Suddenly, one of the monsters leaped at him, landing with such force that it shattered a table beneath its feet. Its massive body blocked half the moonlight in the room, its head pressed against the ceiling.

“Darklight Slash!”

A swift, merciless arc of black energy flew from Blackfeather’s staff toward the monster. Though enormous, the creature was slow to react and couldn’t evade; the blow struck its chest head-on.

It howled in agony, thrashing wildly as it crashed into tables and chairs, then darted along the wall, its claws raking deep, savage grooves as it rounded the corner, hurtling toward Blackfeather’s back.

He thought to himself, “Such size, these well-developed muscles, that dark, leathery skin… They resemble those who were injected with the ogre serum. But both their strength and intelligence fall far short.”

Having sparred earlier with White Scorpion’s group, he now felt even more confident.

The monster leaped from the wall again, lunging at Blackfeather. Though its strike was fast, the first seal’s enhancement had sharpened his senses; to him, the creature’s movements seemed slowed to a crawl, its attacks and trajectory laid bare.

He didn’t move from his spot, merely ducked his head to evade the beast’s raking claws, then pressed his staff to its chest. With a flash of “Darklight Impact,” the monster screamed, a gaping hole bursting open in its chest, foul blood spraying like a fountain across the wall and ceiling.

Blackfeather flicked his staff; the massive corpse flew sideways out the window, thudding heavily onto the lawn outside. His movements were crisp and efficient—no blood tainted his pitch-black mage’s robe.

He turned back to the remaining monsters in the corners. Several began to rise, displaying their own hulking forms—dull, emotionless eyes, foul drool dribbling from twitching lips.

What unsettled Blackfeather even more was their grotesquely twisted bodies: swollen, tumor-like muscles bulged everywhere; some had one arm longer than the other, others sported a single bulging eye, limbs warped and misshapen.

Seeing their companion hurled out the window, a few low-tier beasts crawling on the floor howled in anguish, while the stronger ones behind them erupted in fury.

With a touch of pity, Blackfeather thought, “It’s hard to imagine these monsters were once human… Let me put an end to your suffering.”

As the monsters charged in a pack, he raised his staff like a sword and plunged into their midst, swinging left and right.

“The first cut—”

He slashed down diagonally, a clean flash splitting a beast with an enormous eyeball in two, the upper and lower halves parting as blood sprayed from the wound. The creature’s eye rolled wildly, unable to keep pace with Blackfeather’s attack.

“The second cut—”

Spinning, he sliced at the surrounding abominations lunging at him. Moonlight caught the side of his face, now flecked with blood, his lips curled in a cold, mocking smile, his eyes glinting with merciless bloodlust.

The strike swept across, blood splattering the walls and ceiling as a row of monsters crumpled. Then came the third cut—possible only under the first seal’s power—a triple-slash culminating in a whirling circular strike, leaving no blind spots.

“For the rest of you, let me end your pain!”

He dashed toward the heart of the cluster, staff tracing a harsh arc.

“Darklight—Whirling Slash!”

Spinning in place, he unleashed a beautiful black arc, slicing through the monsters all around him. Their bodies exploded into fragments, blood raining down, dismembered limbs scattered across the floor.

If only he could wield a blade instead of a staff—his hunts would be even deadlier.

Blackfeather halted, blood’s stench thickening the already foul air, stifling to breathe.

“These monsters are still far weaker than White Scorpion. Perhaps they’re failed experiments. The serum White Scorpion used made him almost impervious to blades and bullets—my attacks couldn’t even scratch him then.”

Summing up quickly, he stepped out, continuing deeper into the research facility. To conserve his strength, he temporarily deactivated the first seal, letting the seething darkness around him cool.

At the corridor’s end, where the cafeteria lay, he retraced his steps. Halfway down the long hall, he spotted a rusted iron door. With a swift kick, he sent it crashing down and stepped inside.

Silence soon returned, broken only by the echo of his footsteps, his breathing, and the pounding of his heart. The darkness was oppressive; by faint moonlight, the narrow corridor and peeling walls stirred a dreadful sense of familiarity—old fears, buried deep, began to surface.

His heart raced. This shadowy passageway felt like an abyss. The monsters’ threat was nothing compared to the terror of memory aligning with reality. His breath quickened.

He pressed on, opening one iron door after another, scenes from his past playing in his mind…

The hushed whispers of masked researchers, the glare of surgical lamps, his small body strapped helplessly to a table, struggling to breathe, staring at his own toes—then, with a mechanical whine, someone raised a chainsaw toward him…

Blackfeather squeezed his eyes shut, panting. He crouched down, desperate to escape the suffocating memories—like a drowning man fighting to reach the surface.

Propping himself up against the dust-caked wall, he slowly stood and forced himself onward. As memory and reality blurred, he seemed to see, at the end of the corridor, a young boy identical to himself climbing the basement stairs.

Heavy shackles bound the boy’s wrists and ankles, clanking with every step, chafing his skin raw. Malnourished, his body was frail, eyes sunken deep in their sockets.