— Valisera’s POV —
But... the laboratory was enormous.
The first waves had been annihilated, but dozens more were still pouring in from the back corridors and containnt rooms.
One of the chiras, possessing giant insect-like scythe arms, leapt from the ceiling of the lab, targeting my neck from behind.
I didn’t turn. I didn’t bother to look at it.
I raised my index finger.
Spatial fracture.
Shzzzzzzzzzt!
A thin black line, as fine as a strand of hair, devoid of any substance, appeared in the air directly behind .
The chira that was descending toward at insane speed... passed through that black line.
Slaaaaaaaaaaash!
It didn’t fall on top of .
The right half of its body fell to my right, and the left half to my left!
The cut was perfect—so clean that the blood didn’t flow until a full second after the two halves touched the ground, when the precisely severed arteries burst.
Spatial fracture does not cut flesh; it erases the space between atoms!
I moved.
I didn’t wait for them to reach .
I beca the storm that uprooted this laboratory.
I walked with confident, elegant steps, my white coat fluttering behind .
Every monster that approached from my right, I would raise my hand and fold space around its neck.
With a horrifying "crack," necks twisted at a 360-degree angle, heads torn free, spinning in the air before falling.
Every group that clustered in front of , I would send a "gravity projectile" at them.
An invisible sphere of absolute pressure pierced their chests, creating perfect circular holes, pulling out their internal organs—hearts, lungs, intestines—and compressing them into small fleshy balls the size of tennis balls, which fell behind them as their hollow bodies collapsed.
Blood covered the walls, the operating tables, and the ceiling.
The stench of death was so thick it beca visible like a red fog.
But I was smiling.
Euphoria flooded .
Absolute power, free from the pain of the entity’s rebellion, was intoxicating like the finest aged wine.
I danced the dance of death—touching no corpse, receiving no scratch.
An invisible gravity shield clinging to my skin repelled any sprays of acid or bone fragnts they tried to throw at .
Aiden ran behind , firing from his automatic pistols at the crawling or dying chiras I left in my wake.
He scread hysterically with every shot, tears washing his face, his entire body trembling.
"Die! Die, you freaks!" Aiden shouted as he emptied an entire magazine into the skull of a child fused with a monster, turning the child’s head into a bloody pulp.
Aiden fell to his knees and began to sob bitterly.
"My God... I killed a child... I killed a child..."
"It wasn’t a child," I said coldly as I crushed another chira under my foot.
"It was rely organic matter programd to kill you. If you continue with this pathetic moral weakness, I’ll leave you here to cry while they eat what remains of your face."
After ten minutes of relentless slaughter... silence fell.
The floor of the laboratory—equivalent in size to two stadiums—was completely covered in a sea of sticky blood, minced flesh, severed limbs, and shattered equipnt.
Nothing was breathing except and Aiden.
I stood in the middle of this massacre.
My white coat remained pristine, thanks to the gravity shield that repelled every drop of blood.
I breathed calmly, savoring the scent of copper and death.
"We... we killed them all..." Aiden whispered, rising with extre difficulty, slipping in the pools of blood.
"Valisera... you... you’re a monster... I an... you’re transcendent! You wiped out an entire army by yourself!"
I turned to him slowly.
"Armies are for the weak, Aiden. Absolute power does not need numbers."
Aiden smiled—a broken, relieved smile—as if he had finally found the lifeline that would pull him out of this hell. He stepped toward , wiping blood from his glasses.
"We can get out... with this level of power, you can split the hospital in half! Let’s find the next elevator and go down... we’ll wipe them all out!"
But... in that bare mont—
Amid the sea of blood, and the silence that had settled over the ruined laboratory—
My senses picked up sothing.
Sothing that made the gravity shield surrounding my skin... tremble.
It wasn’t a loud sound.
It was chanical—very quiet, precise, rhythmic.
Tick... whirr... click...
Tick... whirr... click...
The sound was coming from the ceiling.
From within the thick shadows covering the overhead pipes and ventilation shafts.
My crimson eyes narrowed.
This was not an ordinary chira.
The ether beginning to seep from the ceiling was not animalistic or chaotic like the others.
It was concentrated, precise, and cold—like the blade of an absolute S-rank surgeon.
"Aiden. Step back slowly," I whispered, my voice carrying real warning for the first ti.
"W-what?" Aiden froze, his smile vanishing, replaced by primal fear.
Suddenly, the red lights in our section of the lab went out.
A massive circular surgical lamp hanging from the ceiling ignited.
A bright, focused white light—used in the most complex surgeries—cast its beam directly onto us.
And from the absolute darkness above that surgical lamp... it descended.
It didn’t fall like the other monsters. It descended slowly, suspended by steel-silk threads erging from its abdon.
"The Surgeon."
That’s what the classified Kyrion files call this nightmare.
Its size rivaled that of an armored truck.
The lower half of its body was a sleek black chanical spider fra, with eight pointed steel legs ending in claws capable of piercing titanium like butter.
But the upper half... was human.
Or rather, a human corpse stretched over a chanical fra.
The chest was bare, pale as death, containing an exposed chanical heart pulsing with glowing blue fluid.
The head belonged to a man in his fifties, bald, wearing real surgical dical glasses—but behind them, his eyes were rely laser lenses scanning the area with microscopic precision.
As for its arms... it didn’t have just two.
From its shoulders and back extended six multi-jointed chanical arms.
Each arm did not end in a hand, but in a nightmare surgical tool the size of a human:
One arm held a laser scalpel cutting at 5000 degrees Celsius.
Another carried a rotating bone saw dripping pus.
Another held a massive hydraulic syringe filled with green sulfuric acid.
And others carried enormous clamps capable of tearing apart cars.
The Surgeon landed silently on the blood-soaked floor of the lab.
Its eight spider legs touched the tiles with an elegant tallic "click."
It stood directly before us, only ten ters away.
The laser lenses in its eyes focused on .
From its dead human mouth ca an artificial, electronically synthesized voice, yet carrying the tone of a polite, professional—and psychotic—doctor:
"My apologies for the delay. I was occupied dissecting... a complex specin. I see you have made quite a ss in my sterile room."
The Surgeon adjusted its dical glasses with one of its precise chanical arms, then aid its laser scalpels at .
"Patient number one... possesses distorted ether pathways, and a spatial anomaly within her cellular structure. Very interesting."
Then it spoke the sentence that froze the blood in Aiden’s veins completely:
"Diagnosis: severe genetic abnormality.
Treatnt: complete removal of all living organs. Without anesthesia.
Let us begin... the surgery."
The hydraulic engines in its eight limbs scread with a high-frequency whine, and the laser scalpels lit the laboratory with a searing white glow, as the S-rank nightmare prepared to slice us into precise anatomical pieces.
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