Chapter 54: New Hunt
It felt good. Even sealed inside the dungeon, for once, the path ahead looked clear. Pain and Panic were restless with it too...every step humd with foul delight.
Pretty things never lasted, and the broodlings made sure of it. A glowing vine, a shining flower, anything delicate—they tore it up. Ripped, chewed, spat out. Once they tried eating a sparkling blossom; it burned their tongues raw. Didn’t matter. Beauty in reach ant ruin.
Their stats had grown again. VIT and INT climbed with their level. He used their AP to push STR higher. Both of them. As he swiped away the system panel, a thought ca unbidden...what a swarm of these creatures would look like if bred into thousands.
"Brutal...it’s hard to wait."
"Wait for what, Boss?"
Panic’s head lolled sideways, twitched.
"Wait to kill sothing."
Panic barked laughter, bouncing on his heels.
" too! too!"
[Nice cover.]
’Is this all you do now—show up to run your mouth?’
[User seems stable. Do you require assistance?]
’You’re a cunt.’
[Noted.]
His sneer curled into a grin as he flexed his hand. Before the humans arrived, the system whispered of using his FLH stat—molding his body through focus. He’d been practicing since. The hand obeyed now, pale skin darkening, fingers lengthening, nails tapering into points. Progress was jerky, but the stutter eased each ti.
A thought struck. He glanced at Panic, then tapped his shoulder. When the imp looked, he nearly shrieked.
Seo-jin’s mouth had shifted. Jaws stretched wide, teeth crowded, grotesque.
"How do I look?"
"Boss looks wicked! Do your horns next!"
"Good idea."
The maw slid back to normal. His brow furrowed. Flesh stirred again, slow as tar, until two sharp horns jutted from his skull. Pain froze, lips parted. His chest quivered with sothing close to awe.
"Father looks—sorry, Boss looks better like this."
Even Panic stilled, eyes wide, like he was staring at art.
"Beautiful..."
The weight of it clung too long. Feeling awkward, he let go, horns collapsing back under skin.
"Get back to the hunt...and it’s lesson ti. Tell —what do you two think of humans? Pain, you start."
They moved together, Pain’s answering imdiately.
"Weak. Tasty. Easy to kill."
Expected...
"Panic?"
"Fun! They scream real good. Skin tears soft, insides sll better outside. Ooh—eyes! The pop when you bite em—Oh! They also—"
"Enough."
He exhaled slow. This was going to take work.
"Pain—your answer fits, but it’s still wrong."
The broodling froze. His claws flexed, grinding dirt, sha bleeding through his face. Panic cackled and pointed until the glare turned on him.
"Yours was no better."
The laugh died in his throat. Shoulders sagged. He kicked a pebble into the dark.
"Humans are weak, yes. They’re at, yes. But they’re also dangerous. Take Panic. What you see is what you get—no mask, no hidden teeth. Sa with you. But humans? So hide strength under smiles. So can wipe out an army of you with one hand."
Panic seed to drift for a mont, repeating the words, "an army with one hand" a few tis.
Then, the broodlings glanced at each other, grins splitting wider, teeth flashing. Excitent, not fear.
[User’s teaching thod appears ineffective. Instinct remains dominant. Direct control recomnded. Education may co later.]
’That’s... actually useful. Still...fuck you.’
[Insult anticipated. Suggest intelligence stat receive attention.]
His jaw clenched. Bloodlust itched at the back of his skull, but he forced it down and ignored the voice...for now. Besides, soul sense was telling him It was ti to focus on other things.
"Humans ahead."
His voice ca out darker, and both broodlings sharpened, eyes locked on him.
"From here, everything dies. I can’t fight alongside them without revealing too much, and I won’t wait and hope so group will clear this. Only way out is to grind levels high enough to solo."
His mind cut to Minor Shifting’s second slot. Flesh stuttered, warped. His body shrank leaner, skin dark as charred stone with veins split red. Horns jutted like coal spikes, his tail stretched and whipped.
Azakh-Tur flexed, savoring the fit of his own skin.
"Stay hidden."
Claws sank into the wall. As easy as walking on pavent, he pulled himself up, body flowing up and across the ceiling, speed unbroken. In shadow he vanished—only skills could track him.
Pain and Panic scuttled after him, smaller, near invisible, their movent fluid now that they weren’t stopping to butcher every stalk and root. Together they slipped deeper, closer to the itch gnawing at his chest.
The thought of three demons streaking along stone like vermin made Azakh-Tur’s mouth twitch. Imagining a human’s face the instant they saw it—claws and teeth crawling overhead, nightmare given flesh.
Suddenly, before the itch burned out, blue light bled through his ribs.
"Wha—Grimm? That’s where you’ve been."
The specter’s head drifted free, intestines dangling after, eyes heavy-lidded and dozing. The sudden image of the ghost swimming lazy in his guts tightened his stomach, half horror, half comforting.
"Good nap?"
The broodlings froze at the sight. Boss talking to himself again. They were learning to look away, but unease lingered.
Pain leaned close, whispering.
"Boss is... mysterious. Don’t you think?"
Panic squinted, then burst into laughter.
"Nope! He’s Boss. That makes it make sense."
Pain frowned, but the words settled in him strange, like truth. His chest swelled as he looked up at his master, pride gnawing at the edges of fear.
Grimm drifted free of Azakh-Tur’s chest, shuddering like he’d just torn loose from a nightmare. His round head turned, eyes narrowing as they caught the shape of his master’s true form. A grin split his face, and he slid up, curling into the air between the demon’s horns.
Cold seeped into Azakh-Tur’s skull where Grimm settled, the chill pressing against his heat. It felt right...like a mark claiming him.
His claws flexed. Breath scraped in his throat. The crawl was done with waiting. It was ti to kill. Ti to level.
Ti to eat.
----
Dungeons were fact. No one in the Freelands escaped them—whether buried in their shadow, bled out in their paths, or chained to the fortune they spat out.
Deep in a D-rank crawl, four humans stood over a heap of slaughtered rabbits, their weapons and boots dripping. Kits, barely grown, yet their numbers had dragged the fight long enough.
Not strays like Dirk’s crew, caught off guard. This pack ca to hunt. C-rank shard users, four strong, picking through corpses for scraps of system glow.
"How many?"
The bull of the group swung his hamr onto his shoulder. Black hair shorn close, body plated in tortoise shell armor.
An old woman in a plain black dress, skin wrinkled until her eyes near vanished, finished scrolling her panel. Her voice rasped.
"Seventeen. Do you need a rest? Wouldn’t want your arms giving out over sothing so... personal."
She folded her hands behind her back.
The hamr-man snorted.
"Shut it, hag. Your business is your own, but do not stall mine."
His aura flared—green, heavy, choking the air.
The old woman’s lips twitched. Orange seeped out around her like rot gas, slow and thick.
"Boring!"
The word cracked like a whip. Both turned to a boy lounging on a cloud of flas. Barely grown, hair red and wild, chest wrapped in light armor more fashion than steel. Fire rolled across his palms, constant, restless.
"I’m gettin so ass tonight. If I miss it ’cause I’m stuck listening to you fossils flirt, I’ll burn you both. Now move your asses."
Neither elder spoke. Sa rank or not, the boy’s backing made him untouchable.
The last of them drifted into sight like smoke. Thin, rag-wrapped, eyes half-shut under heavy lids. His face was too pretty for the rest of him. His voice dragged like chains.
"Five pots already... keeping you all standing. Shouldn’t have to work this hard."
Hunters. Known to each other, but strangers, pulled together by the cube’s drop and bound by dungeon law: share your purpose, fight as one. Lie, and you risk exile. Betray, and you don’t leave alive.
The bravado was habit. Necessary. Because once you’re back outside, there are no rules. Not in the Freelands. Strength determined everything.
"Which way?"
The hamr-man raised his weapon, eyes on the fork ahead.
"My map shows a cave to the right. More tunnels to the left."
The redhead didn’t wait. Fire lashed wide as he bolted.
"Right! Bet it’s a clutch. Maybe a chest with a guardian. Fuck yeah."
"Or a trap..."
The ragged man muttered, dragging after him, sleeve saring his nose.
The bull’s gaze lingered on the old woman as she tucked her map away. No one carried maps to random dungeons. Either it was her shard, or a treasure. Either way, worth killing her for.
He hung back, already planning the mont he’d pry it from her hands once they cleared.
They left rabbit corpses cooling on the stone. Blood seeped slow, the stink of charred at and copper thick. Silence spread... until a claw scraped the wall.
Bone snapped. Flesh tore.
And in the dark, a demon laughed.
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