In the hollowed trunk, a bright red heart throbbed steadily, each beat sending blood trickling down toward the pool of blood accumulated at the base of the tree. The thick vines tightened around the screaming researchers all the more.
"Just kill me, please, I am begging you!"
They repeated the same words like an accursed mantra repetitively, screaming louder and louder in their madness.
But no matter how he tried to approach them, they couldn't be reasoned with. Endlessly begging for death… that he couldn't give them.
He tried, snapping the neck of a researcher who was bound by the wines, but that didn't give him release.
It only made the despair more apparent on the researcher's face, who Altair couldn't even see the face off because of the thick vines encasing her face.
No matter what I do, she can't seem to die… but his mind wandered as he looked at the open trunk of the three with the beating heart inside it… are these people even real in the first place?
There are many different Entities born from the fog, each with its unique hunting methods and patterns.
There are those who imitate life, using it as bait for others.
And who would be the best bait in the Lawless Abyss if not the best prey — Humans.
It's not the case with them.
No, this was something different; the methods of Entities that use bait such as this work in different ways; they are simply imitating humans; they are mostly primitive.
But there was nothing primitive about this 'warehouse.'
The technology, the documents…
Covens?
As he looked around, he thought back on the documents; the people of this institute were working on a project they titled Fallen Leaves.
Altair, who felt absentminded and listless ever since leaving the hall of the Hollow King, felt a strange chill run down his spine.
He knew about this project.
The name Fallen Leaves itself didn't tell him much, but the process did.
Artificial Aberrants.
There were two ways to become an Aberrant.
Be born as one or fuse with a droplet.
Those born as Aberrants were different from those who chose to become one through the process of bonding with a droplet; they were born as people with certain powers, but those fusing with a droplet?
Most of the time, it didn't end well.
The wills resting inside the droplets were fickle, and in the case of the Aberrant not being worthy, they become monsters worse than the ones they made a deal with.
But this project was the gateway that led to another type of aberrant being born, Artificial aberrants.
The powers they could gain could be controlled and selected, not like those that born into it or made a deal for it.
But there was one flaw of the Artificial Aberrants.
A will could be born inside the artificially created droplet.
Those born this way never made a deal; they were merciless and primitive, tearing apart their hosts from the inside.
So the Fallen Leaves project made them.
But he still had many more questions; however, this wasn't the time to search for them.
He looked forward, right at the beating heart in the middle of the tree trunk, the pool of blood gradually growing in size while the screams around him grew even more desperate.
Grasping the droplet of Deon, Altair took a deep breath. If anything were to strike him, it could be burned.
At least three uses still in this…
What made him hesitate was Deon himself; he was silent now. His droplet still held part of his will, but with the stone fading, he lacked the strength to call out.
Meanwhile, the pool of blood stopped growing in size, but the blood was still gushing from the heart.
Instantly, the screams stopped.
Altair looked at them; their silence didn't signal their death; they were still kept alive.
And from the pool of blood, the one chaining them to life climbed out.
It was a pale arm first, sooting out of the thick pool of dark red blood that almost appeared black.
The arm was thin, unnaturally so.
Another one shot out of the pool of blood, its black droplets flung everywhere.
In the meantime, Altair readied himself in case he needed to call upon Deon's flames.
His brows were furrowed as he stared at the scene. Around him, the researchers whimpered in terror as their eyes were locked at the beating heart slowly hidden behind the figure climbing out of the blood.
I should have expected it.
It was a child.
But not exactly a human one.
His skin was sickly pale in some parts, while not even made of flesh in others.
As if parts of his body were grafted from wood.
His hair was long, reaching his shoulders, but Altair could never guess its true color — it was stained entirely red by the pool of blood. Where his eyes should have been, being only empty sockets, fixed on Altair, staring without eyes.
Altair should have been on the guard around him, summoning flames at a moment's notice, but instead, he crouched down in front of the 'young boy'.
Calling the creature young can be deceptive; this was a Fog Entity, so its age was questionable, but that wasn't one of Altair's concerns.
Instead, he slowly took off the hazmat suit.
Gazing at the child, who remained silent, Altair grew increasingly certain the longer he stared — the boy wasn't unwilling to speak; he simply couldn't.
Altair crouched down in front of him, the two of them at eye level. "Did they make you this way?"
The child nodded.
Around him, the vines moved, tightening their grip around the researchers.
Altair didn't take long to recognize the 'young boy'.
Fallen Leaves.
The crippled shepherd from the Lawless Abyss.
But how did the first of the Artificial Aberrants become a Fog Entity, a Shepherd at that?
The vines tightened around the researcher closest to Altair, the ivy stabbing deep into his flesh, but instead of a high-pitched scream, the researcher spoke in a low voice, but that wasn't his own voice.
"It… tore… me… apart." The voice of the researcher came out almost guttural, as if every word he spoke caused him pain.
"The Wolf?"
The boy nodded; the beating heart behind him continued to pump blood steadily, gushing out from the splintered tree trunk down to the ground.
Altair knew right then, the Shepherd was dying, being an Artificial Aberrant, becoming a Fog Entity already weakened the 'boy' in the first place, but his fight against the wolf put the nail in his long overdue coffin.
"They… did… this… to… me!
The group of researchers simultaneously broke into guttural screaming before abruptly falling silent, the Shepherd lifelessly staring at Altair.
"You… also… burnt… me!"
The vine-covered room around him stirred as the Shepherd conveyed his voice through the researchers, menacingly creeping up around Altair, who stood motionlessly, looking back at the young Shepherd.
"I did, and for that I apologise."
But the vines that filled the room slowly crawled up around Altair, coiling on his limbs and reaching for his head, yet he did nothing.
"You are dying, killing me won't stop that."
The young shepherd raised his right hand, and the vines obeyed, coiling tighter around Altair. Thorns pierced through his suit, tearing the fabric and raking across his skin as they crept steadily toward his neck.
Pain washed over his mind, but Altair didn't make an erratic reaction; the vines kept his hands down, but he still grasped the Droplet of Deon, the temperature around him steadily increasing.
"I can burn you again… but this time, your heart is also here, so call back your vines."
The vines stopped moving, but they didn't let go completely; only one of the researchers parted their bloody lips to speak out.
"What… do… you… want… monster… ?"
Monster? Not too far-fetched.
"I just want to propose a deal."