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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Morgue Feast
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It's an era where life holds little value.
No one bats an eye anymore at buying human lives with money.
The funny thing is, even in this dystopian society, the custom of honoring the dead persists.
Corpses that could simply be tossed into the void of space are kept with such reverence.
The morgue held two bodies I'd created.
If not for the guards, I'd have gone down and devoured them on the spot.
'Three outside, one inside.'
The guards outside were heavily armed, likely because two people had died. All three wore powered armor.
'One on one, maybe. But three is too many.'
A prolonged fight would draw reinforcements, so avoiding combat with them was the smart play.
'The one inside is a civilian.'
The scent of disinfectant and formaldehyde wafted from him—he was a doctor. Earbuds in, he was lost in music.
'No way but a surprise attack.'
Problem was, he faced right toward the vent.
Even with his ears plugged, dropping down now would get me spotted instantly.
'Need to divert his attention.'
Disrupting prey is Hunting 101. Perfect chance to test my new trait, too.
I shifted position first. Out of his sightline, I lightly scratched my forearm with a claw. Black blood, thick like tar, oozed from the shallow cut.
Droplets trickled down my arm, splattering onto the alloy panel. It hissed with acrid smoke, melting away.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Acidic Blood trait.
One of the traits I'd automatically gained upon evolving to juvenile stage. It acidifies my blood to damage close-range foes.
Like the reinforced exoskeleton, it seems defensive at first glance, but its true value lies elsewhere.
'Perfect for infiltration or destroying armor.'
Its acidity rivals chemical weapons—enough to melt alloy structures effortlessly. Great for corroding enemy gear early on or sneaking into bases and ships.
"Hm? Sniff sniff... what's that smell?"
The doctor reacted to the toxic fumes from the melting ceiling. He pinched his nose, head swiveling.
"Why is that...?"
His gaze hit the hole in the ceiling. The acid was now eating through a stainless steel cart.
The doctor stood and approached the dissolving cart.
Fruit ripe for the picking. Better harvest before it rots.
I pried open the vent and dropped down.
His earbuds and the stench masked my landing. I touched down lightly and rose slowly, movements sleek.
"Acidic solution? Where'd it leak from?"
Realizing it was poison gas, he clapped a hand over his mouth with his collar.
As he stared up at the ruined ceiling, I closed in.
"Guards... guk!"
I was right in front of him when he turned. He swallowed hard, face draining of color.
I stood just over a meter tall. He was bigger, but the size gap meant nothing.
I overwhelmed him.
Chitinous shell gleaming black as the cosmic abyss.
Four massive arms long enough to drag the ground when extended, paired with thick, sturdy legs.
A tail that could pierce alloy.
Jaws that could pulverize human bone like candy.
A nightmare incarnate from the depths loomed before him.
His mouth gaped against his will. Lungs filled with air, vibrating his vocal cords, scream building...
But it never came.
My meter-long tail jammed into his mouth. The sharp stinger pierced his throat from inside, bursting out the back of his skull.
"Gurgle..."
His body shuddered like grass in the wind. Foam bubbled from his mouth like a frightened beast. His white coat stained red as life ebbed away.
His pupils stilled. Terror-filled eyes lost their spark.
Prey down.
I withdrew my tail and gently laid the doctor's corpse aside.
Thankfully, the door guards noticed nothing. Their movements stayed routine.
'An unexpected hunt, but a success.'
Not a bad outcome. Bumped my meal count to three.
I left the doctor and sought Kisaragi.
Most cryopods for bodies stood empty.
Makes sense—not a warship, just a research vessel. Deaths are rare. Made finding her easy.
There she lay on a cold cart: Kisaragi Eugene's corpse. Severed head and neck untouched, unjoined.
I could guess why.
'Noble Capital perks. They won't let anyone touch their dead.'
Chemical processing risks damage, so the doctors left her be.
I reached out, lifting her severed neck. Her closed eyes made her look peacefully asleep.
A strange feeling stirred.
Even as a space survival pro, my mind's still that of an average college kid prepping for graduation.
Yet here I was, killing people. And not just that—no guilt eating corpses.
'Everyone harbors evil within.'
Did becoming Aemorph warp me to fit this brutal world? Or was this merciless killer my true self?
'No point dwelling.'
Apologizing after three kills is laughable. And they'd never let me off anyway.
To survive, I must keep killing.
That's the Aemorph way. The way I must adapt to.
'Eat first.'
Post-evolution hunger gnawed at me. Pointless to hesitate over the dead.
I unhinged my elastic jaws wide. Like an anaconda, my maw engulfed her head whole.
Sharp teeth shredded scalp; bone-crushing force splintered her skull. Brains pulped, spilling out.
'...Delicious.'
Prime flavor, as expected.
Made my earlier moral qualms feel foolish.
Crack the thick skull like boiled crawfish, and soft brains slide down. Eyes pop like cherries on cake. Hair was chewy, but hey, personality.
Overall, human heads were intriguingly tasty. Expectedly good, but compared to cat...
'A whole other dimension.'
That's the phrase.
Cats are like franchise fast food: proven, punchy flavors that hit instant dopamine.
Humans? Complex, like a master chef's aged dish.
Life's essence infuses the flesh—can't be simple.
'Smack.'
I licked my lips after devouring her head. Racial hunger urged me on, like a brand.
Finish the rest.
I tore into her remains, true to instinct.
'Body's a different vibe.'
Ripping into a leg, muscle-to-fat ratio was perfection. Cats were 1:9 lean; Kisaragi's was ideal.
Genetically engineered for taste, maybe.
Skin and muscle taut, chewy delight. Bones firm for crunch. Organs soft like stewed tomatoes.
'Hm?'
Mid-feast, something crunched. Spat it onto a small hand: button-sized device.
'From the heart?'
Heart rate monitor? Didn't peg her for heart issues.
I crushed it carelessly.
No more artificial bits emerged. Drained her dry, like the cat.
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙ Predation Effect triggered! Successfully acquired genetic essence of 'Psionic Gland'. Stolen 'Psionic Gland' biological trait from 'Human'. Apply 'Psionic Gland'?
'As expected.'
Psionic Gland. Kisaragi Eugene had psychic powers, right on cue.
Most races need one to wield psy powers, barring Cults and a few others.
'Of all things, a Psionic Gland?'
Aemorphs handle psy traits without it—one reason super sense worked, or I'd be dead.
So this gift from her was basically junk.
'...Tch. Don't be negative.'
No one fills up on the first sip.
Things went smoother than expected so far; failures are the norm.
Need traits to fill type slots anyway—silver lining.
Accepted it. Signal buzzed at my skull base. Flesh tore with a rip; tentacles sprouted from within.
Big arm to nape: bundle of small tentacles. Aemorph version, unlike humans'.
'So that's what it looks like. Neat.'
Never got one in game—didn't collect useless traits.
'You never know.'
World's unpredictable. Might fuse usefully with luck.
'Predator Sense precedent.'
Fiddled with them briefly, then back to the feast.
Next pod: guard who'd died protecting Kisaragi.
Dragged him out, chomped a big bite.
'Hmm.'
Subtle flavor. Not bad, just averagely tasty.
No juicy cat burst or Kisaragi elegance—just solid chow.
Didn't know the difference, but prioritized energy. Muscly chew evoked offal, not bad.
'?'
Mid-guard munch, noise outside. Blood-smeared auxiliary organ twitched, sensing.
'Guard shift.'
Few powered armors aboard; handing off to newbies. Valuable intel, but problem.
'Doctor's shift too?'
Forty minutes since Kisaragi. Anyone entering would notice him gone.
Soldiers outside, man vanished inside? Suspicious as hell.
Space age: aliens outnumber stars. They'd think...
'Monster in our midst.'
Undesirable suspicion. Heightens vigilance if they feel targeted.
Not strong enough for open war yet. Until then, divert to other crew.
Eying doctor corpse, spotted melted cart. Acid-warped, smoking.
'Smoke.'
Perfect spot: morgue, stocked with preservatives, chemicals, flammables.
A fun idea hit.
One to escape my pinch and torment the crew.