Chapter 50: Devoured Flesh
Azakh-Tur blinked at the world like it was new, and it was...at least through the human's eyes.
"Everything's so… clear."
Before, the world had been sharp, but he now realized it had also lacked. Every line was focused, every shadow marked, but all of it now seemed like it had been muted under a dirty film. Now, through Seo-jin's sight, the colors hit raw and clean, like he'd been staring through rot and it had finally been scraped away.
Then, he looked at his broodlings—
"What the—?!"
Pain snorted.
Panic cocked his head, teeth bared.
They hadn't changed, but now their decay jumped out at him. Hide redder than clotted blood. Eyes sunk too deep. They looked wrong next to the rest of the world.
"This'll take getting used to… Wait—is that my voice? Fuck, I sound horrible."
Too smooth. No gravel. How was he supposed to put fear in anyone with that? His hand went to his throat, then higher, eyes going wide when his fingers brushed over where his horns should be.
"...This sucks."
He spotted a still patch of water that wasn't thick with blood and started toward it, then stopped, brow tightening. He looked down.
"I have a dick… Why's it so awkward?"
He walked a few steps, twisted his hips, watched it flop, then winced as he clipped a nut.
"Shit! Who the fuck puts something like this outside your body?"
He was still adjusting when a flash from Seo-jin's memories burned in. Two naked bodies, skin slick, mouths open. Heat climbed his face.
"Oh… so that's why. Hm. I'll have to look into that. Can't walk around with this swinging free, though."
He made his way to the cleaner pool and leaned over it. The reflection staring back was young, sharp-featured. His expression fluctuated as he studied his body, weighing it like a new blade.
Broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscle packed tight where it counted. No wasted bulk, nothing soft. Long black hair hung over his face and down his neck. It would need tying back in a fight.
The eyes were his favorite part, steady, red, impossible to miss. The kind of stare that made people drop theirs without realizing. The rest of the face… square jaw, high cheekbones, a mouth that didn't look right unless it was sneering. Intimidation would take work without the gravel in his voice, but the look was solid.
Naked, his body showed clean lines of muscle, built for speed and impact. Veins ran along the forearms and thighs, ready to feed motion. Even standing still, it looked like it could break into a sprint or rip something apart.
It would pass among humans, but still carry enough edge to keep them cautious. A good disguise. So long as he remembered it was just another tool.
"Not bad. Seo-jin was a solid choice. Shame it didn't come with clothes."
The thought pulled another...his achievement reward.
"Maybe…"
He pictured the worst. A helm, maybe gloves, and the kind of looks he'd get meeting someone like that. Either a lunatic or a pervert.
The reward panel flickered, and he hit accept.
[System // Notification]
[Achievement Reward // Armor ×1]
[Distributing Reward...]
Another panel opened.
[Choose Armor Type]
[Helm]
[Chest]
[Hands]
[Waist]
[Legs]
[Feet]
"Nice."
He didn't hesitate and chose legs. If it was convenient, he wasn't going to argue.
The panel faded. System-light spun in front of him, shaping and reshaping into various types of armor or clothing. When a pair of briefs flashed, his stomach sank. Then another pair. Then another. His jaw tightened as the cycle slowed...finally settling on something pant-shaped.
Pain, Panic, and Grimm watched their boss's face go from hopeful, to furious, to relieved in the span of seconds.
[Congratulations]
[Worn Trousers // Received]
The light burst, leaving a black pair of torn, frayed trousers floating in front of him.
"At least they're black…"
He took them, mood lifting for a heartbeat when he got an idea.
"Inspect."
His eyes lit. The result killed the moment. No hidden stats. No armor profile. Just one pathetic line.
[Tattered Trousers]
[A simple pair of trousers, discarded after being worn past any sensible use.]
"Really?! This isn't even armor! Should've known it was too convenient."
[Beggars should not be choosers.]
"Beggars shouldn't be—yeah, yeah. Fuck off."
He pulled the trousers on. Pain and Panic traded a look; Grimm's glow matched it. Even they knew talking to yourself wasn't good.
The feel of cloth was alien. Rough at first, then oddly steadying. Having his junk covered brought a strange, quiet calm. One problem down. One left.
His broodlings.
"Can't walk around with you two at my heels. If they think I'm working with demons, I'm screwed."
Of all five realms that bled into Earth during the Convergence, none brought more death or misery than Hell. Demons were hated outright. Hunted. Even shard users whose systems so much as brushed against demonic power were exiled, or killed. The world kept few rules now, but one stood above all: never trust a demon.
Reaching back to make sure, he immediately felt them. Luckily, the Twinback Growths weren't affected by his transformation.
'How do I use the these things?'
[Unknown. Trial and error recommended.]
He exhaled once.
"Fine. We'll try it live. You two—front and center. Come on, closer."
They stepped up, shoulder to shoulder.
"Whatever happens, don't fight it...and don't move."
"Yes, Boss."
"Sure, Boss!"
He turned his back, crouched until the growths were eye-level with them. His will bled down into the flesh, stirring them awake. The growths yawned open, wide and wet.
Panic hissed, teeth flashing. Pain flexed, muscles knotting. They watched the jaws stretch wider, like a predator coming out of hibernation.
Azakh-Tur felt them, deep in the nerves, in the marrow...jaws parting, hunger rousing. A shared mind clicked into place. Raw instinct. Rabid. He let himself sink into it, let their focus bleed into his. One word surfaced...unshakable...and demanding.
"Devour."
The twin maws split wide. Wet, stringy flesh peeling back to show rows of teeth. No system prompt. No notice.
And without warning, Pain and Panic hit his back.
The mouths somehow dragged them in with a pull too strong to fight. They didn't fit. Pain's arm jammed at the bicep, Panic wedged at the chest, but the maws didn't stop.
Rage and confusion twisted their faces as the chewing began. Wet, tearing bites worked into the two, shredding what the teeth could reach. The sound filled the space, meat ripping from the bone, tendons snapping like bowstrings.
Azakh-Tur heard it. He felt it. Their rage spilling through the Link, the frantic thrashing, the horrendous screams. What caught him off guard the most was the one thing missing. They weren't in pain. No damage.
Then the screaming stopped...and giggling replace it.
It slipped out of Panic first, sharp and too high, cutting through the noise of chewing. Surprisingly, Pain's first laugh joined in, low and rough. Both of them grinned impossibly wide as the Twinbacks worked them apart.
They didn't stop laughing. Even as their faces were crunched and swallowed, even as the rest of them was slurped and dragged in, the sound of their enjoyment stayed with him...until it didn't.
...Silence.
A slow, wet hiss seeped from the twin maws before they shut.
[System // Notification]
[Broodlings Stored // Pain / Panic]
"That was intense."
He blinked a few times, rolled his shoulders, half expecting to feel heavy from the consumed pair...but nothing. Just normal. The maws on his back were shut, still, satisfied. He almost expected a burp.
Closing his eyes, he reached for the Brood Link and felt them instantly.
'Again! Again!'
'One more time, Boss?'
Even Pain wanted another round. His spawn were more twisted than he'd given them credit for.
'Later. Just be ready when I call.'
'Yes, Boss.'
'But—'
He broke the link.
Opening his eyes, the stillness sank in. No movement, no threat...just quiet.
Fae moss pulsed faint green along the walls. Red-veined leaves clung slick to the stone. Amber sap hung from pale fungi, heavy before it dropped. Various colors all still too vivid for his imp mind. Surrounded by sound, water falling in slow drips, carrying the copper sting of Elderwarren blood and the sweet rot of cooling meat.
His body felt primed. Everything needing spending spent. Grimm floated ahead, glow bright with expectation as Azakh-Tur started toward the entrance.
"Let's get out of—"
He'd only taken a few steps before the itch hit. Fast and deep. His Soul Sense.
Grimm's glow dimmed in an instant, head tilting toward the same direction his master was already turning.
Problem was, the itch from Soul Sense was fading almost as fast.
"A group…!"
Heart pounding, he turned left, then right, searching. The itch thinned further, faster.
Closer.
"Dammit!"
He leapt for a ledge, Grimm darting after him, but his grip slid. No claws. He braced as he dropped hard.
'I need my claws!'
Grimm spun in midair, glow flickering toward the tunnel. Voices. Metal on dirt and stone. Boots closing in and too many.
[User still has claws. Concentration and Flesh stat now determine human form transformation limits.]
'How the fuck does that help?!'
He tried the wall again. Fingernails scratched, useless.
[Focus on fingers. Imagine them—]
Too late.
"In here!"
The shout froze him for half a breath. Grimm zipped to his side, hovering high as Azakh-Tur turned...ready to kill...until confusion took over.
"Hey, someone's alre—no… holy shit! Boss?! When did—how long—holy fucking shit, you're alive! Guys! Look! It's Boss Wohan!"
Humans poured into the chamber, bloodied, armored, weapons drawn. Some limped, some dragged their companions with them. But more than half he knew.
Faces from a life he'd stolen.
The Dead Hands.