Chapter 82

“Kieeeek-!”

Hundreds of ‘Gargoyles of Pain’ covered the night sky and surged into the blood-stinking alleys. They were like a plague of locusts from hell. Kairos’ Shadow Blades and Valerian’s Night Reapers, who had been tearing at each other’s flesh, paused and looked up at the new disaster pouring down from the sky.

“Wh… what on earth are those!?”

‘Viper’ Calico cried in horror. His keen senses were warning him: these monsters were on a whole different level from the corpse-soldiers they’d faced, beings forged of pure malice and pain.

But the gargoyles gave them no time to think. Like famished bats they dove, snatching up the nearest Shadow Blade.

“Kraaak!”

The knight screamed as he was dragged into the air. Dozens of gargoyles latched onto him and began tearing his flesh while he still lived. With armor ripped and bones crushed, terrible sounds rang out as red blood and entrails poured down like rain.

“Damn it! They’re attacking from the air! Form a tight defensive line! Those with bows, shoot those winged demons down!”

Calico barked the orders, but it was already too late. The narrow, convoluted alleys were the worst terrain for aerial assaults. The Night Reapers were no different; even though they felt no pain, they were helpless against the surprise strikes from above. When a corpse-soldier was grabbed by a gargoyle and slammed into a wall, his body burst like rotten fruit.

The Leech Nest had become the perfect stage for pandemonium, with three forces entangled and killing one another.

Kairos’ Shadow Blades had to fend off the corpse-soldiers’ assaults while watching the sky; Valerian’s corpse-soldiers had to dodge the Shadow Blades’ blades while trying to ward off the gargoyles’ talons. And the gargoyles attacked both sides indiscriminately.

The infernal feast was now rushing toward its bloodiest main course.

The commander of the Shadow Blade, who had been watching all the chaos from the highest spire, finally motioned.

“The time has come. Begin the hunt.”

At his command, the shadows simultaneously drew hooked wires from their waists.

Shh-sshk!

Dozens of wires sliced silently through the night and hooked precisely into the roofs and spires across the way. Riding the web that crossed the chaotic alleys, they began to slide down toward the abandoned underground monastery like a Ghost. Their movements made no sound and left no trace. The symphony of hell unfolding below provided the perfect soundtrack for their infiltration.

The monastery’s entrance was empty. The Apostle of the Plague, Silas, was sure his creations would deal with any intruders, so he had concentrated all guards around the altar.

The Shadow Blade operatives slipped into the monastery like snakes. Their footsteps were quieter than a cat’s, their breathing calmer than the dead. The Abyssal Shell absorbed every trace of their presence perfectly.

At last they reached the entrance to the central hall with its massive altar. Through the door slit they saw Silas standing with arms outstretched toward the huge fleshy cocoon behind the altar. With a rapt expression, he was pouring the negative energy emanating from the slaughter below into the cocoon.

“More! More pain! More despair! The time for my great lord’s first offspring to awaken is near!”

The commander motioned silently. The operatives dispersed soundlessly, perfectly sealing every entrance and passage around the hall. The snake on the altar was now a rat in a trap.

The commander opened a long black case strapped to his back. Inside was an upgraded Aura Rifle tuned for sniping, the Abyssal Fang. He assembled the gun and loaded special mana rounds crafted by Meister Gideon, rounds designed to pierce magical barriers.

He lay prone at the highest window and took Silas’ brow through the scope. The scope, linked to his helm systems, calculated distance, wind, and even the flow of Magic around Silas to predict a perfect trajectory.

“Checkmate, heretic.”

The commander murmured and placed his finger on the trigger.

At that moment, Silas on the altar suddenly turned. His insectile face wore a sinister smile as he looked straight toward the window where the commander hid.

“Hide-and-seek is over, you rats.”

His voice became sound waves that assaulted the mind and echoed through the hall. At the same time, the massive fleshy cocoon behind the altar screamed and began to thrash violently.

Crrrack!

Web-like cracks began to spider across the cocoon’s surface, and from the fissures a blood-red sticky fluid oozed as a huge hand, nothing like a human hand, burst out.

The hunters realized they had greatly underestimated the prey’s final convulsion.