Chapter Five: Cut Him Down!

A faint, putrid stench lingered in the shallow tunnel, reminiscent of decaying rats. You judged this to be the trace left behind by an “Aberration,” and it had only just departed. Seeing this prompt, half the weight on Colin’s heart was at last lifted. Though he suspected there were quite a few of these Aberrations, until he found concrete evidence, he worried about the possibility of not encountering one on this venture. If that happened, and the lamp oil ran dry, he would lose the ability to make a second exploration and would be left to await a pointless death—a fate far too unjust to accept.

But now, at least, that concern could be set aside. “Keep up. These are the traces left behind when the Aberration moved through,” Colin announced. His words quickly rallied the flagging spirits of his two servants, who harbored not a shred of doubt in his judgment—indeed, they felt fortunate to have such a discerning master. In less than a few seconds, he had pieced together clues from the tunnel’s subtle signs and deduced their origin. How keen was such a mind! As beings created by the System, the servants knew little of the lords’ true capabilities, but they could sense which things did not belong to the System. To them, Colin’s insight was proof of his formidable reasoning ability, and their reverence for him rose even higher.

Unaware of the thoughts swirling in his servants’ minds or of his own status being further elevated in their eyes, Colin, having made his decision, strode quickly toward the shallow trail. Thirteen minutes had already passed since the lantern was lit—thirteen minutes utterly wasted and yielding nothing. He had perhaps twenty-five minutes of activity left; if he failed to deal with the Aberration in that time, he would have to turn back or risk becoming hopelessly lost in the gray mist.

Despite hurrying his pace, Colin did not abandon caution. He observed the traces left behind—what kind of creature had made them? Drawing closer, he saw that in addition to the shallow furrow in the earth, there was a residue of viscous, malodorous slime, handprints, and the marks of something sharp scraping the ground. Considering all the evidence and the recurring prompts, a vivid image formed in Colin’s mind: someone crawling forward on their hands, fingers digging into the soil, dragging themselves inch by inch. His guess was not without basis; the intermittent halts in the track suggested this was, indeed, its mode of movement.

Moreover, the sharp objects scoring the earth implied the thing was barbed. Minutes later, Colin spotted a vague, prone figure ahead and halted abruptly. In less than a second’s hesitation, his eyes sharpened. He bent low and shouted, “Down!” Without thinking, both servants dropped flat to the ground. At that very moment, a black shape accompanied by a sharp whooshing sound swept toward them from ahead, a massive, spinning object grazing their scalps as it hurtled past. The forceful blast stunned Colin, leaving his mind blank for an instant; had that thing struck him, he would almost certainly have been killed or gravely wounded.

A heavy thud sounded behind them as something crashed to the ground. The noise jolted Colin from his daze. The terror of that instant filled him with a wild surge of relief at having escaped death. Had he not sensed, at the last moment, a gaze filled with malice and received a mental warning, things might have ended very differently. The warning had said: The “Afflicted Soul” has spotted you! It’s charging up to attack. If you’re hit, you’ll likely die on the spot. In his desperation, Colin had simply dropped to the ground, a decision that saved him from severe injury or death.

But there was no time to revel in relief. Since the warning mentioned a charged attack, the next strike would not come immediately. Now was the time to seize the opening and press the attack while their foe was vulnerable. “Follow me! Charge!” Colin sprang from the ground, lantern in one hand, axe in the other, and dashed forward less than five meters before coming upon the “Afflicted Soul.” In that instant, a single word sprang to mind—monster.

Indeed, a monster. It appeared to possess only an upper body, skinless, the flesh of its face melting and congealing atop its skull like wax, leaving only five ghastly, hollow openings where features once were. At first glance, it looked like a person who had been skinned alive and discarded. Crimson muscle was exposed to the air, as if inflicting ceaseless agony, eliciting a low, despairing groan from its throat at every moment.

Unlike ordinary people, this Aberration’s back bristled with thorny tendrils that wrapped around its form like vines. These were the source of the sharp scraping sounds. Its lower body was not so much missing as withered, twisted into a repulsive, indescribable mass of flesh.

Just as Colin had guessed, this monster moved by dragging itself along with its hands. Because it had just unleashed an attack, it seemed to pose little threat for the moment. Nevertheless, its bloody appearance and overwhelming stench struck Colin with a wave of revulsion; he faltered two meters from the monster.

Though Colin now gripped a sharp axe, he had never fought another person before, let alone faced a grotesque, inhuman creature such as this. He had no idea what effect his blow would have—what if the axe barely scratched it, and the monster suddenly lashed out? What if its apparent weakness was a ruse? What if this was a trap? Was he being reckless, charging in like this?

One life—only one. Such thoughts swelled rapidly, fear blossoming within as Colin’s mind filled with doubts, a seductive voice whispering in his ear… It seemed to speak some “truth”: he was weak, no match for this foe; if he faced it, he would die. Flee—there was no shame in that…

In that moment of mental chaos, Colin bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. The sharp pain suppressed all errant thoughts, if only briefly. “If running means death, and fighting means death, then I’d rather stake my life here and now!” He forced himself to focus, beating back the whirlwind of doubts. He realized this influence came from the monster—but it did not matter.

The monster was right before him, the axe was in his hand, and there was no way back. What other choice did he have? Strike! Strike, damn it!