Chapter 51
To Remember Part 2
The red liquid kept falling to the floor with that heavy, dense, almost sticky sound.
It wasn't just blood: it was too much. A continuous flow that hit the wood with a wet splsh each time a fat drop broke free.
The third boy—the one with the ankle stone—felt something warm splatter his cheek and neck.
Instinctively, he wiped his fingers across his skin.
When he looked at his hand… it was stained. Red to the base of his nails.
"Huh…?" was all he managed.
But he had no time for more.
Because in front of him, less than half a meter away, something moved with an organic crunch.
A shadow fell over the young man with the stone on his chest.
His breath hitched. He turned his face upward, just slightly, trying to understand what was happening.
And then the sound came.
A wet, deep splrch, like flesh being torn open from the inside.
A hand pierced through his abdomen from behind.
A hand…
no.
A thing shaped like a hand.
Scaly.
Elongated.
Each finger ending in a kind of curved, black, translucent claw.
It entered the young man's back as if his flesh were warm butter.
The boy's body arched.
His jaw trembled from the shock of the impact.
His eyes, which a second ago had been observing the stones, now sought the third boy in front of him…
but no longer with the confidence of minutes before.
Now they were filled with a broken disbelief.
A question he would never get to ask:
"What…?"
Blood poured down his chest in a thick stream, sliding between the gray band and the black stone hanging there.
The third boy stumbled back a step, his legs hitting a bench.
His breath left him.
His knees shook.
The sound kept hitting the floor.
Splsh… splsh… splsh…
But it was no longer blood falling from some random height.
It was the blood of the impaled boy, overflowing around the scaly limb protruding from his abdomen.
And behind the skewered boy…
something breathed.
A golden light suddenly burst from the impaled young man's chest. The stone glowed with a luminous vibration that seemed to be trying to repel something…
In that instant, the second sound was heard:
TAP.
Smaller.
Closer.
More abrupt.
And before anyone could even form the question, 'what is happening?', came the third:
"TAK."
That one didn't sound like an object hitting the floor.
It vibrated. As if it had been felt more than heard.
Like a late warning.
And then it happened.
A sound erupted with grotesque violence:
a wet crunch, a suffocating splorch-crack, as if flesh and bone were being crushed at once.
The pressure inside the impaled young man's body gave way all at once.
Internal pieces—whatever they were—burst forward, drenching the third boy standing before him.
A warm, thick rain spattered his face.
It covered his cheek, his chin, seeped under his jaw…
and a fat drop went straight into his left eye.
The third boy blinked once.
Just once.
And the burning began.
A mild burn at first… like when soap gets in.
Nothing serious.
But within half a second, the burn changed.
It was as if the drop had become a live coal.
In one more second, the searing pain expanded.
From the eye to the cheekbone.
From the cheekbone to the temple.
For the third boy, the world narrowed to a single, straight line where only one thing existed:
Pain.
The burning grew.
No. It unleashed itself.
Fast.
Too fast.
Too fast!
As if something in that blood wasn't just burning…
but trying to force its way in.
His mouth opened without him being able to stop it.
First in a mute, trembling grimace.
His fingers clenched.
His knees buckled slightly.
And then…
The explosion of pain forced its way up his throat, stealing any attempt at restraint.
The scream came out twisted.
Torn.
Full of a suffering none there had ever heard before.
—"AAAAAAGHGGHAA!!!"—
A mix between a human shriek and something that was already starting to sound… different.
Too high-pitched.
Too broken.
Too similar to the sounds the survivors had heard when the others… changed.
THUMP. THUMP.
The reaction was unanimous.
The boots of almost everyone present slammed into the floor at the same time, by pure instinct. The impact reverberated through the wood: a dry roar that made even the tables vibrate!
Chairs toppled backward like knocked-over game pieces:
some crashed into each other; others rolled; one even hit the wall before falling on its side!
Half jumped back.
The other half—those who were closer, those who reacted better to fear— lunged forward, straight at the monster.
Transforming too quickly, more like resuming than beginning.
The red bandana fell to the floor to one side, spinning on itself, as if it had been ripped abruptly from the body that wore it.
The fish-monster appeared.
A shadow between the two youths.
A scaly blur emerged, with those long claws still dripping blood from the impaled boy.
The monster opened its jaws—too wide, too long— as its four limbs braced against the floor,
bending at a human… but not human angle.
And amid the shock, someone screamed with a torn throat:
—"IT HAS FOUR LIMBS!!"
—"IT'S… A BEAST!!"
That shout made the group's initial shock stop being chaotic and turn into tactical panic.
The closest ones raised their arms, clenched their fists, others jumped toward the weapons— to the left of the entire room, to the monster's left— but no one had time to think:
the monster moved.
One step.
One lunge.
And the floor shook.
---
"Four limbs." That's what everyone thought.
Until they saw it clearly.
Until the creature opened its mouth.
The jaw separated more than a human mouth could open.
The inside wasn't a tongue…
it was another limb.
An arm-tongue-claw, thick, wet, almost fleshy and segmented.
With three "fingers" at the end, joined by tense membranes.
Like an inverted claw living inside its throat.
That fifth member shot out suddenly, pushing the jaws apart to make way.
The limb fired straight at the young man who would reach it first.
The sound was dry:
SNAP
The fingers of the tongue-harpoon closed around his neck, lifting him half a hand's breadth off the floor with such brutal force his feet kicked in the air.
The second to arrive advanced without slowing.
He grabbed the arm-tongue with both hands and squeezed.
A yellow flash ran through his veins and, in a blink, flames erupted from his palms.
The scaly flesh sizzled.
The monster growled, a harsh, wet noise.
The tongue snapped open, recoiling, releasing the first soldier.
The first soldier fell to his knees, hands on his throat, coughing as if his air and throat were being torn out at once.
The black claw twisted and in a struggle, freed itself from the second soldier's grip.
The second soldier stretched and grabbed the tongue-claw again, this time with his other hand.
He planted his right foot firmly behind him, seeking leverage.
He pivoted his hips, threw all his weight backward, and tightened his grip with the clear intent to rip the damn limb out.
The movement was halfway through when something hit him from behind.
A dull thud.
A heavy blow.
His body arched forward, lost its balance, and fell face-first to the floor.
What had hit him wasn't an object.
It was a body.
The body of the young man with the stone on his chest.
His torso had a clean, round hole, piercing him through from side to side.
His arms hung limp.
His eyes were still open, but empty inside.
He had been thrown by the monster like a sack of meat.
The second soldier was trapped underneath him, the dead boy's blood soaking his back and hands, pinning him for a second he didn't have.
The monster advanced.
Its five limbs braced against the floor simultaneously.
The monster took one more step and everyone felt it: that step was just the prelude to something worse.
That split second of void was all Eilor had to act.
And he did.
He didn't think.
He didn't evaluate.
He just lunged.
An orange discharge shot down his spine, bursting from his skin like wet sparks.
His right foot struck the floor.
The sound was sharp.
The world tilted backward.
Eilor, with orange discharges flaring around his body, shot toward the left side of the room—the area where the weapons were— leaving the rest of the group behind as if they were stuck to the floor.
He kicked a chair out of the way mid-stride; the chair spun into the wall.
His left shoulder slammed into a low table: the impact deflected him slightly, no more than a hand's breadth, but enough to break his straight line.
Eilor corrected.
He twisted his hips.
His right foot dug into the wood and propelled him again.
The tables with the weapons were three meters away.
The monster, four.
He could hear it behind him, the wet noise of its limbs striking wood.
Eilor accelerated.
He jumped.
He mounted the nearest table using only the ball of his foot; the table sagged under his weight but didn't break.
In mid-air, Eilor tried to push off toward the stacked crates to gain height.
He failed.
His foot hit the edge of a poorly placed crate.
The crate slid forward.
He fell backward.
Eilor twisted his torso in mid-descent, trying to straighten his body which was about to land on its back. His right shoulder hit a table leg.
The leg splintered.
The whole table tilted with a groan of stressed wood.
One of the crates on the table lost its balance.
Fell to the floor.
Spilling its contents.
Eilor hit the floor with one knee, cushioning the impact with both hands.
He pushed himself up immediately.
No time to feel pain.
With a short hop, he passed under the tilted table.
His back scraped against the planks, leaving an orange line that flickered and died.
He emerged on the other side.
The weapons were there.
Scattered.
The others coming behind—four of them—arrived just at that moment.
Eilor stood up and his gaze swept the floor in a quick scan.
His hands were still trembling from the exertion.
His eyes emitting small sparks.
Something caught his attention.
A long weapon, more tool than sword.
Wide blade.
Heavy.
Notched.
Clearly made with non-human materials, neither metal nor stone.
Large enough to cut something big, even if by brute force.
Eilor crouched.
Grabbed it.
And the weapon immediately pulled him downward, as if trying to sink his shoulder into the floor.
It weighed more than any weapon he had ever touched.
He had no time to adapt to the weight.
No time to measure anything.
Teeth clenched, he lifted the weapon in one hard motion.
The blade scraped the wood and threw up splinters.
The other four nearby threw themselves sideways to avoid Eilor.
Eilor turned.
Hips first.
Then shoulder.
His arm completed the twist.
And threw…
The blade shot horizontally through the air, spinning like a toothed wheel crossing the room.
WHFF—WHFF—WHFF—
The air parted around the edge.
It passed between two soldiers, who ducked by pure reflex.
The monster was four meters away.
The blade would arrive in less than a second.
And everything else—the chaos, the falling weapons, the spattered blood, the third boy's scream, the monster's roar— was swallowed by one thing:
That throw.
Until something moved above.
No one saw it coming.
There was a dry noise in the ceiling.
A creak of wood that didn't fit with anything happening on the floor.
Eilor looked up by reflex.
And saw it.
A compact silhouette, defying all logic of gravity, crouched on a beam… but upside down.
Feet planted against the planks as if they were suction cups.
Hands braced as if the ceiling were the floor.
Muscles tensed at an impossible angle.
It was Teo.
The blade was coming straight toward him.
Not toward his head, not toward his torso.
It passed just under his right arm, but so close that anyone would have used that margin to let it pass…
Teo didn't.
His arm came down.
His hand opened.
His fingers closed.
CLAP.
He caught the blade at the exact point where its rotation was most violent.
The sword, carrying enough force to break a poorly positioned arm, stopped dead.
It only vibrated.
Teo absorbed the entire impact in the muscles of his forearm and shoulder.
The whole limb shook like a metal cord.
The beam where his feet were planted creaked with a dry crack.
But he didn't fall.
His torso, compressed by the posture, was bent at a ridiculous angle: back arched upward, neck tense, hips twisted to maintain balance.
It was an absurd posture.
And yet… it worked.
To the others, it was an impossible move.
To him, it was an attempt to imitate something.
Because while he held the blade, squeezing it so hard his knuckles turned white, his mind wasn't on the monster.
It was on another person.
On Officer Bairon.
On the way Bairon drew his sword.
That clean, sharp, perfect movement.
The trajectory where arm and blade were a single line.
Teo tried to remember the shoulder position.
The elbow angle.
The minimal twist of the wrist.
He tried to copy it there, hanging, holding a blade he shouldn't be able to hold.
He adjusted the sword as best he could.
His elbow rose too high.
His wrist ended up twisted.
His arm was rigid where it should be loose.
Eilor saw it and thought, surprised:
«Roaring Star…»
Teo breathed softly.
The blade stopped vibrating.
His legs adjusted their grip on the beam.
His whole body adopted a posture that was half clumsiness, half determination.
And, while the monster below kept roaring,
Teo murmured, barely audible:
—"…like this… I think…"
He prepared the cut.
---
The monster, below, had turned its head slightly when the sword passed through the air and was caught by Teo.
That slight turn was enough for everyone to understand one thing:
It had chosen a target.
Its legs—if they could still be called legs—tensed.
The extra joints compressed like springs.
Its entire spine curved forward, assuming a posture no human would recognize as preparatory, but the soldiers felt it:
The pressure on the floor changed under their boots.
A short, minimal vibration ran up through the wood.
That was a warning.
An extremely small one.
One only someone who had seen too many soldiers die too quickly would recognize.
Eilor noticed it half a second before the rest:
—"It's moving!"— he let out a dry shout, with no time for more.
But the monster was already upon them.
It didn't run.
It didn't jump.
It didn't advance.
It exploded.
FWAP.
Its body vanished from the spot.
Only emptiness remained.
The displacement was so fast it tore splinters from the floor.
The planks vibrated, shadows distorted, several crates flew backward as if a violent wind had blown through them.
The soldiers saw it.
Not clearly: they saw it half-formed.
A blur, a wake, a pressure wave.
But enough to understand that this monster wasn't a 'Beast.'
No.
This was something closer to a Demon or…
Perhaps a Scourge.
—"Shit, it's too fast!!"— one shouted, his voice cracking from pure reflex.
Even so, those in front raised their arms.
The three closest—all 2nd grade medium—reinforced their forearms with red aura.
They couldn't activate it at one hundred percent.
The hunger of so many hours had eaten part of their natural endurance; the aura had compensated for that part of the drain, but such extra consumption didn't allow for a full defense.
Sixty-five percent.
That was the real limit in that instant.
Even so, they did it.
Elbows up.
Forearms crossed.
Knees bent.
Lower back tense.
Muscles prepared to absorb the impact rather than break.
But the monster didn't attack with a single blow.
It attacked with three.
Simultaneous.
Coordinated.
Mortal.
---
FIRST BLOW
The upper right limb—the longest, the one that looked like a deformed arm with bony plates—shot out toward the first soldier of the trio.
The trajectory wasn't straight.
It was an arc.
An arc seeking the exact gap in the guard.
The soldier reacted well: he lowered his shoulder slightly, shifted his forearm position to cover the vulnerable side.
But the monster's angle was too acute.
CRACK.
The impact bent his defense as if it were a leather shield.
The red aura compressed inward, cushioning enough to make it non-lethal, but not enough to stop it.
The blow threw him backward.
His boots slipped and skidded on the wood.
His body hit a table that overturned, dragging him to the floor.
---
SECOND BLOW
The left limb spun like a propeller.
This one didn't have brute force.
It had speed.
It hit the second soldier square in his guard.
The soldier tried to absorb the impact by lowering his center of gravity.
He failed.
He was shoved sideways, folding as if a door had been slammed on him.
He fell to his knees.
Then onto his back.
The blow dragged him against a stack of crates that collapsed with a dry crash.
---
THIRD BLOW
The jaws opened.
From inside emerged the fifth limb:
the tongue-claw, wet, glistening, split into three bony fingers at the end.
It shot out like a harpoon.
The third soldier managed to react.
He pivoted his hips.
Struck the limb with the back of his forearm, misaligning its trajectory.
The tongue grazed his shoulder.
But the monster's other two limbs were already coming for him.
The soldier jumped, barely evading them. The attack sheared off the tips of his boots.
The deformed fish dug both legs into the floor to stop abruptly.
The stop was so violent the floorboards split in two straight lines under its feet.
Then, the monster curved backward, assuming a completely unnatural posture:
Spine arched in a "U."
Head retracted.
Arms crossed over its chest.
The third soldier was suspended in mid-air before it, in a defensive leap with no real support.
And then…
The arms opened.
A double blow.
Direct.
Perfectly synchronized.
BANG!!
It struck him in the torso before he could reinforce his aura further.
His body shot out like a bullet.
He tore through the air in front of the rear guard.
He seemed to disappear over their heads.
Until the final sound came:
THUMP!
He had smashed through an entire wall and fallen among the debris.
---
The monster landed.
The creature returned to the floor with an effortless motion.
Its five limbs vibrated.
Its shadow in the room was too large.
Too monstrous.
More than a dozen people swallowed at once.
The monster finished straightening up.
Its spine cracked as it regained its upright posture; its five limbs vibrated like taut cords, ready to attack again.
A second before, the noise in the room was chaos: shouts, overturned chairs, wood breaking…
But then, from nowhere, came a different sound.
A roar.
Not from the monster.
Not human.
A sharp roar.
As if the air had been torn.
A short, screeching, malformed vibration…
as if the technique had been almost correct, but still "out of tune."
It was the precursor sound.
What happened next was so fast several only saw the result:
SPLASH!!
A cut.
A double cut.
A cut that sounded wet, heavy, blunt.
Dark blood gushed in a jet from the creature's right side.
The limb it used as its main arm—the long, scaly one that had struck the first soldier— was severed cleanly from the base, separated by the edge.
The piece fell to the floor like a wet log.
SPLASH.
It bounced once and spilled blackish-red blood that mixed with the human blood on the floor.
The monster reacted late.
It turned its head slightly, slow, as if its body was still trying to process the pain.
And then the second impact was heard:
THRUM—!
A dry roar from behind, to the monster's left side.
Teo had landed.
He didn't land gracefully.
He landed crouched, knees practically touching his chest, as if he'd only thought about not dying from the fall and not about looking good.
But still, he landed firmly.
His left boot scraped the wood before settling.
The right one planted with a crunch.
The arm holding the sword trembled for a second, as if it had absorbed more vibration than it could handle.
The sword was low, at his right side.
The edge still dripped dark blood, sliding toward the hilt.
The final position was strange:
• one foot forward
• the other back
• torso too hunched
• sword low, almost dragging
• his breathing irregular, as if he'd imitated a movement without fully understanding it
But it had worked.
The cut had been real.
The monster took an involuntary step back, its shadow trembling on the floor, blood splattering from the open wound on its flank.
And Teo, his chest moving rapidly from the effort, tried to straighten up…
but barely managed to lift his gaze.
It was the first time everyone had seen something like this:
That cut—
that speed—
that absurd posture executed from the ceiling—
It wasn't a polished technique.
It was something far more dangerous:
someone trying to copy a Champion's technique
and still managing to wound a Demon.
The room froze for an instant.
The monster tensed its four remaining limbs.
Teo gritted his teeth, swallowed, and lifted the still-bloodied sword a little.
KR-THUM!
The monster reacted to the cut with a brutal spasm.
It spun on itself with animal violence.
A complete, fast, uncontrolled rotation that sank the floorboards even deeper.
The planks split in concentric circles as the four remaining limbs braced like stakes.
The turn threw up splinters.
The air vibrated…
and the blood still gushing from the amputated side spattered in an irregular fan around it.
Teo also turned.
SKRR—
His boot scraped the floor.
He leaned forward.
The sword settled by inertia at a strange angle, pointing obliquely at the floor.
And there he tried it:
The sword "drew" again.
But this time he didn't imitate Bairon's style.
This time… he used his own 'Main' style.
The Academy's Signature Style, the most commonly used:
'Fallen North.'
An extreme, savage, and uncomfortable style.
Teo mastered that.
His body knew it naturally.
His wrist trembled under pressure wrapped in aura.
His shoulder tensed like a spring.
His body moved into a curved posture:
Right leg forward, sideways, back pulling backward, both arms encircling his torso to the extreme, the back of the blade touching his spine.
Naturally uncomfortable… but with a suffocating pressure.
And that was enough to trigger the monster's reaction.
Because as Teo tensed at greater speed, the monster's fifth limb fired.
The tongue-claw shot out like a viscous harpoon straight at him.
CLAK—SSHRK!!
The monster's mouth opened to an impossible angle, over 160 degrees, the corners stretching almost to its deformed ears.
The tongue came out like a segmented, wet whip, flexing in a zigzag as it sought Teo's neck.
Teo didn't react despite seeing it. "I'll cut it," he thought before it reached him.
If that tongue reached him in that instant, it would pierce him through.
But then…
a third party entered.
A movement that didn't come from the front.
It came from the side.
The third boy—one who until now had only tried to regain his balance after dodging the spinning blade earlier— burst from the demon's rear. From the amputated side.
He took a short hop, barely half a meter high.
A partial twist of the torso.
His right foot rising in an arc.
WHAM!
The kick impacted the tongue-claw from the side, deflecting it just as it left the monster's throat.
The limb arched like a twisted whip.
The blow changed its trajectory a fraction of a second…
but enough for it to graze Teo's collarbone instead of embedding itself in his neck.
Teo felt the air cut centimeters from his skin.
The tongue pierced the floor behind him with a dry thud.
The third boy landed on one knee, breath ragged,
his foot still vibrating from having kicked something that wasn't flesh…
but a tense, hard mass.
Teo, with the greatsword still moving, turned his head slightly.
He saw him.
The third boy rising.
Eyes ignited by red aura.
The tongue-claw, still stuck in the floor, twisted to free itself.
The moment it pulled free, another soldier—the one in the blue coat— appeared from the left, with a firm stride and a sharp twist of his torso…
then clamped his left armpit over the monstrous tongue, trapping it with a living anchor of muscle and aura.
The monster pulled.
The soldier pulled back.
A sharp tug that made both their teeth grind.
The tongue vibrated like a taut cable, trying to retract into the monster's throat.
The one in the blue coat shuddered for an instant from the brute force shaking his shoulder…
but he didn't let go.
—"Ghh—! Stay still!"— he spat through his teeth.
He held the posture, squeezing the tongue between his armpit, torso, and left leg.
Then, with his right hand, he pulled out a short tube of reinforced glass, the size of a thick marker.
He smashed it directly against the tongue.
CRK—TSSSHHH!
The glass exploded into a dense white mist, as the thick liquid inside mixed with the monster flesh's viscosity.
The tongue shuddered.
The monster let out a hoarse growl.
And then… the purple petrification began.
A dull violet started spreading from the point of impact, climbing the segmented texture.
The scaly edges immobilized first.
Then the joints.
The internal tremor of the tendons died.
In less than a second, the tongue-claw lost its strength.
The soldier in the blue coat felt the tension vanish abruptly, as if it had been cut.
The moment the entire limb fell to the floor like an elongated block of stone and sank into the floor, bending the planks.
The young man looked up.
And saw Teo, who acted.
SHRANK!
The edge sliced through the tongue before it fully petrified in a savage cut.
Before it could fall completely, the limb petrified entirely in mid-air.
As the monster arched backward with a wet, harsh roar, opening its maw as if pain were burning it from within. Simultaneously, it evaded the rest of Teo's attack.
The sword fell to the floor after the cut, embedding itself behind Teo.
He quickly rose with effort and with a spin positioned himself behind the greatsword, leaning on the blade, breathing deeply while his aura crackled around him.
The creature waited no longer.
The loss of its fifth limb enraged it.
It turned. Very fast.
Too fast.
Its three remaining limbs tore at the floor as its body spun like a blue-black whirlwind.
The air whistled.
Splinters flew.
The first in its path was the young man who had delivered the kick.
He had no time to fully retreat with one knee still on the ground.
Barely recovering from the landing and the numbness in his leg.
The monster's claw descended in a lateral blow, like a flexible maul.
THUD!
A full, heavy impact, direct to the head. Though he managed to cover himself with both hands, almost using an elbow, but changing his mind at the last moment.
The young man was thrown sideways, his body bending just enough to avoid his head hitting the floor as he was thrown several meters.
He rolled once.
Again.
Slammed into a wall, which dented a few centimeters from the impact on his back.
---
The monster was still spinning from the loss of its fifth limb, the wood still vibrating from the previous impact, when Teo grabbed the hilt with aura-coated fingers and lifted the sword upward with impossible strength, given his build.
He propelled himself forward, flexing his knees in a short, aggressive leap, shoving the sword with a left-sided tackle, almost more an explosion of movement than a real technique.
The greatsword dragged the air with a harsh roar.
But that wasn't the most dangerous part.
The most dangerous part was his fingers.
While tackling the sword, Teo extended his free hand, opening his palm with his fingers straight, aligned like an arrow.
A red aura burst from his wrist, climbing like fire up his tendons, enveloping each finger in a dense, vibrant glow.
The aura stretched.
Thinned.
Became almost a transparent spear, extending his reach beyond the human.
And then the impossible happened:
The tip of the aura crystallized.
A pink crystal, with reddish veins, appeared at the aura's tip.
It hadn't been there a second before.
It wasn't a spell.
It wasn't magic.
It was the aura solidifying, hardened by a precision that shouldn't exist in such an improvised move.
The air cracked with a fine sound.
CRNK!
Teo's reach increased by almost a meter.
Though it didn't seem like it, it was a planned attack:
– the greatsword as a curtain,
– and the finger-spear aiming straight at the monster.
The monster saw it.
Felt it.
And yet… it reacted first.
Its vision, still agitated by the loss of its petrified tongue, located something more vulnerable, closer…
one of the three initial soldiers, the one left lying on his back after the first triple attack.
He was still recovering his breath.
His forearms were still trembling from the received impact.
He couldn't move.
The creature extended one of its arms—the longest it had left, the one with black scales and bluish lines— and grabbed him by the ankle.
The soldier managed to turn his head.
—"No—!"
Too late.
The monster lifted him like a ragdoll.
His body slapped against the air with a hollow sound.
The soldier's limbs shook without coordination, like loose wires.
And then the creature shook him.
Twice.
THNK! — THNK!
The soldier's bones sounded like thin branches snapping under a wheel.
The air filled with a whip-crack of blood.
Drops flew in an arc, staining the floor, the wall, the side of the broken table…
And on the third movement, the monster threw him toward its own back, as if placing him there, like a shield or a message.
The body hung, inert, propped against the monster's deformed spine, head hanging down, arms swinging.
A choked murmur escaped from someone in the group:
—"N-no… it can't be…"
That instant—that microsecond of horror— was enough for the monster to twist its neck toward Teo, with the empty, wet expression of a beast that didn't understand fear… but understood opportunity.
Teo's eyebrow twitched.