Becoming a Monster N Chapter 331: Mark Is Growing

Chapter 331: Chapter 331: Mark Is Growing

Before the worriso cry, Paul had his hamr in hand, ready to attack the mont he fended off the creature’s charge. But it wasn’t going to be him who stopped the creature’s charge. With his class, ’stonebound sentinel,’ three identical golems were created in front of him, each one holding shields as big as their bodies.

Normally Paul could have his golems initiate a provoking skill of their own. It could possibly confuse the beast, yet it would prove to be inconsequential to his plans. He needed the beast to focus him alone. That way his golems can block with their combined strength without the possibility of anything going wrong.

The burly werewolf charged like a freight train, howling with a fervent savagery. Its clawed feet gouged the floor as it lunged towards Paul. Its speed was fast for its size, but it was still manageable, even for soone like Paul.

He braced himself; eyes locked on the incoming beast. He was ready to swing, the tip of his hamr condensing with an overgrowth of earth that began to make the hamr’s hold release an earthy sheen.

The three stone warriors stood in formation, almost overlapping one another to ensure that all three of them shared the burden of impact. Their shields planted firmly into the ground, forming an unbreakable wall.

The werewolf didn’t pick up speed, but suspiciously the ground began to tremble even more violently with each step. Its muscles visibly pulsing with each step that sent cracks further through the ground.

Paul didn’t realize the change in the creature’s body until it was too late. The burly werewolf turned into a herculean beast. The mont the werewolf slamd into the golems, a concussive boom spread out resembling a wrecking ball demolishing a building.

Paul had withstood many attacks since he received his skill, fought against creatures with untold strength and had continued to live to tell the tale. He fought against titan zombies, nearly twice the size of the creature in front of him. His faith in himself, in his skill was not ungrounded.

But as he witnessed his earth golem’s body shattering, their shields, along with their upper bodies being instantly ripped from the bodies just from the impact alone. For a second, he second guessed himself.

For a split second his normal resolve faltered. However, despite the destruction of his golems, the collision managed to stun the creature. Even if only for a second, Paul understood that he still has a chance to win.

Now!

He inwardly roared, his hamr sweeping in an arc aid for the beast side. A strike that, even without magic, could shatter boulders. Paul never once believed his strike would finish the creature off, but breaking a few bones could be the difference between life and death for him and his friends.

As it neared impact, his eyes caught sothing wrong, far too late.

The creature’s eyes were following everything.

Paul’s hamr still connected, driving into the beast’s flank. But at the sa ti, the werewolf advanced forward. Its body should’ve been blasted into the air by the amount of force Paul used in that attack. He saw the way the beast’s body was sharply thrown to the side, but sohow it suddenly stopped mid motion.

Paul’s focus was entirely on the creature; his surprise was answered by a series of web-like cracks that suddenly appeared within a wide radius around them. The werewolf simply prevented its body from being launched away by using pure strength. Its foot was grounded into the earth, unmoving.

Before Paul could accept such an absurdity, the beast lunged forward, showing how its side had caved in from the earlier blow and yet it moved as if it was a small injury.

Paul raised his hamr to defend himself, but it was too late.

The werewolf didn’t behave like an opponent fighting an equal, it didn’t fight like a creature with the body of a demigod. It fought with the pure intention to feed on a prey whose aura was much more enticing than the others. No fists were swung, no claws struck to gore out the opponent’s intestines. It simply latched its claws on whatever it could touch.

There was no hesitation. No battle tactic.

Paul struggled with all his might to push the beast away, but it was futile. It made Paul realize that he had put too much faith in his defense. Because in the face of absolute defense, when it t its polar opposite, his strength was no longer a strength, he was now only as strong as his weakest link.

If he was faster, he could have avoided the creature altogether, if he was stronger, he could push the beast away. In fact, his earlier attack might have been effective. And if his magic or spirit was stronger, then his golems would have held.

All these thoughts were useless now as he saw a looming shadow block his vision, before he felt an unbearable pain.

The pain was binding. A violent, nauseating pressure crushed into his left side as the werewolf’s claws dug deeper, his hardened shell cracking under the pressure. And then, the werewolf’s fangs sunk into his shoulders.

The sound was unimaginably loud, the beast’s jaws unleashed a loud crunch, the sound of jaws chewing and breaking down stone. It was this sound that gave rise to Isabelle’s cries. Never once had she seen an enemy draw blood from Paul while he was still under the effects of his skill.

Paul’s vision dimd at the edges; the force of the creature’s bite was just that powerful. But his mind was clear. Too clear. That was the worst part, he could feel every second of it. Every crunch, every tear.

The weight of the beast bore him down, a mountain of muscle that breathed with an erratic, sick pleasure.

And yet...

Paul’s legs twitched. His fist clenched. Not out of rage, nor despair.

But because he refused to let this be the end. If he died, it would be his friends who were next. Blood ran freely down his chest, but Paul’s eyes locked with the beast’s.

There was no fear left in him now.

His selflessness seed to bring about a miracle. A golden aura flared over him. For a mont the sudden envelopnt of the aura made him feel confused, but then he pushed forward. That invigorating feeling was unmistakable.

It wasn’t just Paul, Isabelle, Alicia and Ishii were also encased in that aura.

Mark was here.

With Mark’s presence alone, the minimal healing of Isabelle’s purify ability amplified, finally allowing her ability to finally fight off the decay of Ishii’s hands. Alicia also felt her mana regeneration increased faster than never before. Her earlier worriso expression changed to one of vigilance now that she could make a difference in the fight.

"Ishii, help Paul." Mark didn’t shout; he was sowhat calm despite the danger his friends were in. He couldn’t get over the spectacle he just witnessed before coming here. Noah was strong...too strong. He realized it long ago. But it wasn’t Noah’s strength that gave rise to Mark’s self-reflective ntality. It was after seeing the people who were supposed to be Noah’s parents that made Mark feel that the world he believed he knew was different to what it really was.

Why was Noah so heartless? How could he always stand by, uncaring towards the humans who died in front of his eyes? How could he continuously face powerful creatures all in the pursuit of strength?

Again, Mark’s view of the world was changing...he was changing. He was beginning to understand. Right and wrong...it was all dependent on who had the power to establish it. So, what was justice? Was his justice wrong all this ti?

As he questioned himself, his thoughts rekindled themselves into a resolve that would make him a hero for everyone and not just those who conford to his own ideals. He would beco the light for everyone that deserves it. And to do that he must also be willing to take on their darkness. For a leader is soone who shares the burden of their people. But a hero is soone who takes on their burdens alone, for he is supposed to be the hope for a better tomorrow.

His thoughts triggered an explosion of power without having to consciously try. His sword, bathed in his radiant aura, extended twice its length, lighting up the entire space around him.

The werewolf, bathed in necrotic flas, was made to co to its senses. The fervent eyes that reeked of bloodlust, turned ek when facing Mark’s sword.

The beast’s instincts scread not to allow the sword to touch it. It attempted to dodge, to run, showing that the abominations weren’t just mindless beasts as they all believed.

But the creature failed miserably. No matter where it moved, the sword seed to follow, drawing closer with every move.

And when the blade finally reached it, the werewolf managed to blink, unable to tell if the attack had succeeded.

It watched as Mark gave it a look of pity before he turned away to help the others. The mont he turned away, the creature’s body finally reacted to what had happened. Its body erupted in flas, blue flas. Not the sa corrupted flas as before, but the sa flas that covered Mark’s sword before its entire body split in half, only for the flas to consu the rest of it.