Up above, shouts erupted as guards rushed into the room, spears and swords drawn, staring baffled at the broken window and empty bed. "The filthy demi-rat's gone! Sound the alarm! Filthy vermin!"
Seeing only high walls surrounding the garden—towering barriers topped with barbed iron, trapping him like a rat in a cage—he coiled his legs and leaped a full story upward, landing with a heavy thud on the slate rooftop above.
Six guards were waiting, their faces twisted in disgust. "Filthy demi-rat scum!" one spat, spit flying from his lips. "We'll skin you alive, you vermin!" another yelled, charging with a sword, his eyes gleaming with sadistic hunger.
The guard swung, his blade cutting through the air in a vicious arc aimed straight for Noel.
Noel parried the blade effortlessly with his bare hand, then punched the guard's chest plate so hard it dented inward with a metallic crunch. The man gasped, ribs cracking under the force like dry twigs, staggering back as air wheezed from his lungs, blood bubbling at his mouth. "You... animal filth..." he croaked, collapsing.
Another guard thrust a spear at his face, snarling, "Die, you subhuman pig!" Noel tilted his head just enough to dodge, then snapped the shaft cleanly between his elbow and knee with a sharp crack. He grabbed the nearest guard by the face, his fingers digging in as he squeezed, caving the man's face inward with a sickening grip—bone splintering like rotten wood, eyes popping under the pressure, a gurgle of blood and screams cut short. The body slumped, twitching, as Noel tossed it aside like garbage.
The remaining guards recoiled in terror, weapons shaking. "What the fuck is this monster?" one whimpered, backing away, his earlier bravado shattered. "He's not human—kill it quick!"
Noel didn't wait for them to regroup. His body blurred forward in a surge of speed, cloak snapping like a whip. He slammed through their feeble line, a fist clipping another's jaw with a crunch that sent teeth flying, before vaulting to the next roof.
Shouts erupted behind him. "STOP HIM—!" "FUCK, HE'S FAST—!"
Noel didn't glance back. His breaths came steady, boar ears flattening against his head as he vaulted from rooftop to rooftop, shadows swallowing his form. The mansion sprawled beneath him, its vast courtyards and endless wings stretching out like a stone labyrinth, silent and suffocating.
Another guard appeared ahead, blocking his path on the next roof, spear leveled. "You're not getting away, beast—I'll gut you like the pig you are!"
Noel speed-blitzed him, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed the man's face mid-thrust, fingers digging in with brutal force, and slammed him downward—straight through the weakened tiles. The roof gave way with a splintering crash, wood and stone buckling under the combined weight.
They plummeted together into the darkness below, the guard's body cushioning the fall as they hit the floor hard. The man went limp, unconscious or worse, a groan escaping his crushed form. Noel rolled off him, springing to his feet in the dim room, dust and debris settling around him.
Then—his boot landed wrong. Wet. Slick.
He skidded to a halt, not by choice—his instincts screamed at him first. His nose twitched, assaulted by the smell. Not fresh blood. Not the copper tang of a battlefield. This was rot. Old, wet, sweet-sick decay that clawed its way down his throat.
His stomach lurched. He looked down. The floor was black, soaked through, layered with stains so deep the original wood was lost. His breathing turned shallow, ragged. The odor hit harder, forcing bile up his throat. He swallowed it back, gagging, hand flying to his mouth as his guts twisted violently.
Slowly, his gaze lifted. Chains dangled from wooden beams overhead, hooks rust-stained and dripping with congealed gore. Below them—bodies. Hundreds. Stacked like discarded lumber, demi-humans in various states of unspeakable horror. Beastkin with limbs sawn off jaggedly, elves with skin flayed in deliberate patterns to expose quivering muscle, torsos gutted like fish, rib cages pried open to reveal hearts long stopped. Some were mummified horrors, leathery hides stretched taut over bone, desiccated by time and malice. Others grotesquely fresh, eyes milky and bulging, mouths stuffed with rags to muffle final pleas, limbs contorted in futile struggles against bonds. Flies swarmed in black clouds through empty sockets, maggots boiling in exposed flesh like living pus, the air thick with their relentless buzz and the wet plop of dripping fluids.
Noel's hand trembled as he stepped closer, drawn despite the revulsion churning in his core like acid. A table sat amid the carnage—metal, strapped with rusted restraints bolted deep, dark stains etched into the surface like a map of suffering. Tools lay scattered: knives encrusted with layers of dried blood and hair, hooks twisted from prying bones apart, saws notched and dulled by countless cuts through screaming victims, pliers flecked with teeth fragments.
Noel stopped breathing. The world blurred at the edges, his boar ears ringing with a distant hum. Something cold slithered down his spine, settling heavy in his gut. Not just nausea now—something deeper, darker, stirring awake with a venomous hunger.
Behind him, boots landed softly on the broken roof above. One set, then more—guards closing in, their racist snarls echoing down: "We'll gut that demi-pig slow!" But Noel didn't turn. He just stood there, fists clenching at his sides, the darkness inside uncoiling like a serpent ready to strike.
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Down below, in the mansion's opulent halls, the quiet shattered as a guard burst in, breathless. "My lady!" he panted. "The demi-rat—he's escaped! Smashed the window and ran!"
Sophia's eyes widened, innocent blue turning sharp as daggers in an instant. Her gentle smile twisted into a snarl, cheeks flushing not with warmth but rage. "What?!" she hissed, her voice cracking and shrieking, a ragged, uneven roar that made the air feel sharp—venom dripping from every syllable. The facade cracked like thin ice—her posture shifting from open and earnest to predatory, nails digging into her palms until blood welled.
A nearby maid flinched at the outburst, dropping a silver tray with a clatter. Sophia whirled on her, snatching a decorative whip from the wall—a cruel relic disguised as art—and lashed out without a second thought. The leather cracked against the maid's back, drawing a sharp cry and a line of red through her uniform. "Useless wretch! Get out of my sight!" Sophia snarled, striking again for good measure, the maid crumpling to the floor in sobs before scrambling away.
"That filthy mutt was my new toy!" Sophia continued, turning back to the guard, her breath heaving. "Find him—bring him back alive so I can break him myself! Peel his skin inch by inch, make him beg like the animal he is!"
The guard nodded hastily and fled, but Sophia whirled, slamming her fist into a nearby mirror. Glass shattered, shards embedding in her knuckles, but she didn't flinch—only laughed, a high, brittle sound that echoed through the halls, laced with cruel delight. The sweet girl was gone; in her place, something vicious and depraved uncoiled, eyes gleaming with sadistic promise.
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Noel's fists trembled slightly. His stomach churned again, but this time, not from the smell. From something deeper. Something that had just begun to wake up.
Noel's fists trembled, knuckles white as bone. His vision tunneled, the horrors around him blurring into a red haze. I won't let you get away with this, he thought, the words searing through his mind like fire. Shaking in pure rage and disgust, his body vibrated with barely contained fury. How could anyone do this? To people with souls, the ability to think—to torture them like some animal?
The air around him spiked, thickening with an unnatural pressure that pressed down on the room like an invisible storm. The guards above froze mid-step on the broken roof, their racist jeers dying in their throats. "What the—?" one stammered, spear trembling in his grip. The sheer aura radiating off Noel stunned them—it was nothing like they'd seen before, a primal force that made their knees buckle and skin crawl. One, wide-eyed and pale, fumbled for a horn at his belt. "B-Backup! Call for backup—the beast's gone mad!"
Noel stood there, trying to rein it in, thoughts a whirlwind of restraint. Don't let the rage bubble out... hold it back... But he couldn't. It built like a dam cracking under floodwaters—shaking, vibrating, his fists coiled so tight his nails bit into his palms, drawing blood. I WON'T LET YOU—
His eyes began to go white, irises vanishing into voids of pure, unbridled wrath. Muscles burst outward, ripping seams in his shirt as veins bulged like ropes under his skin. His hair stood on end, crackling with static energy, and his chest heaved upward as he grew—stretching taller by nearly 10 centimeters, frame expanding with raw, beastified power. The transformation hit its peak with a final, guttural scream that tore from his throat.
The guards recoiled, one dropping his weapon in terror. "Holy gods—what is that thing?!"
Noel whirled, his voice a thunderous growl that shook the chains overhead. "You animals—you ALL DESERVE DEATH! EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE OF YOU!"
Noel's vision narrowed to a crimson tunnel, rage boiling over like molten iron in his veins. He leaped upward in a blur, faster than any of the guards could perceive—gone in an eyeblink, leaving only a rush of displaced air in his wake.
"Where'd he go?" one stammered, spear trembling as he spun in confusion. "Where the fuck did he go?!"
The others scrambled, snatching up dropped swords and shields, hearts pounding with a mix of fear and fury. But before they could even form a line, Noel was already among them. He materialized like a shadow given fangs, seizing the nearest guard by the head. His fingers clamped down with inhuman force, squeezing until the skull burst like an overripe pineapple—bone fragments and brain matter splattering in a gruesome arc across the debris-strewn floor.
Without pausing, Noel hefted the limp, twitching corpse and hurled it at another guard with terrifying velocity. The body slammed into the man like a battering ram, caving in both torsos with a wet, crunching impact that flattened them against the wall like bloody pancakes, armor buckling and viscera oozing from the wreckage.
The surviving guards recoiled in horror, their faces paling beneath helmets. "Filthy demi-beast scum!" one snarled through gritted teeth, but his voice cracked with terror. "Run—we need the captain! Signal for the captain!"
They turned to flee, slurs spilling from their lips like desperate wards against the monster in their midst, but Noel's growl echoed through the rooftop—a promise of unrelenting carnage.
One guard, desperation fueling his swing, lunged forward with a wild slash aimed at Noel's exposed side. The blade whistled through the air, gleaming with false promise—but it met Noel's tough skin and shattered on contact, fragments of steel scattering like brittle glass across the blood-smeared floor.
Noel's endurance was no accident; as a Level 2 fighter built primarily for resilience, he possessed the developmental skill Strong Defense, which turned his body into an unbreakable fortress, and the talent Steady Footing, ensuring he never lost his balance even in the chaos of battle. Safe to say, unless you were a high-Level 2 or a full Level 3, there was no way to damage him—his very flesh repelled harm like a living shield.
The remaining guards bolted for the rooftop's edge, their boots scraping against slate tiles in frantic retreat. "Captain! WE NEED YOU! Sound the horn—bring the elites!" one bellowed, fumbling for the curled brass instrument at his belt. But Noel's growl deepened into a roar that vibrated through the air like thunder, freezing them in place for a split second too long.
He exploded forward, his enhanced frame propelling him across the gap in a single bound. The first fleeing guard didn't even have time to turn; Noel's fist hammered into his back with the force of a siege engine, spine snapping like kindling as the man was launched off the roof. He plummeted silently into the courtyard below, body crumpling against cobblestones with a distant, wet thud.
Another guard whirled, jabbing desperately with his spear. "You freak—stay back!" The tip glanced off Noel's shoulder, bending uselessly against his impenetrable skin before the shaft splintered in Noel's retaliatory grip. He yanked the guard close, knee driving upward into the man's gut. Armor caved inward, organs rupturing in a gush of blood that sprayed from the guard's mouth as he doubled over, gasping. Noel finished him with a downward elbow strike, helmet crumpling like tin under the blow, the guard's head splitting open in a spray of crimson and gray.
The last two guards reached the edge, one blasting a frantic note on his horn—a piercing wail that echoed across the mansion grounds, summoning reinforcements. "He's a demon! A gods-damned monster!" the other screamed, slurs turning to pleas as they leaped to the adjacent rooftop.
Noel didn't pursue immediately. His chest heaved, the rage still simmering, but a flicker of control returned—enough to scan the shadows below. Torches flared to life in the courtyards, armored figures converging like ants to a disturbance. The captain would be among them, no doubt—a higher level threat, perhaps one who could actually scratch him.
But Noel wasn't done. Not by a long shot. He vaulted after the fleeing pair, landing with a roof-shaking impact that sent tiles cascading like rain. The hunt was on, and the night air thrummed with the promise of more blood.
Noel drew his sword in a fluid arc, the blade humming through the air like a whisper of doom. He severed the fleeing guard's arm at the shoulder with a single, precise cut—flesh parting cleanly, bone crunching under the edge as the limb tumbled to the rooftop in a spray of arterial blood. The man screamed, staggering back, clutching the gushing stump.
Without breaking stride, Noel pivoted and drove his boot into the chest of the other guard, the kick landing with bone-shattering force. The man hurtled backward, crashing through a low parapet and vanishing over the edge with a fading yell, his body slamming into the ground far below.
The armless guard, pale and shaking, fumbled a glowing potion from his belt with his remaining hand, uncorking it desperately and pouring the shimmering liquid over the wound. But nothing happened—the blood continued to pour, the flesh refusing to knit, the pain only intensifying as if mocked by the failed potion.
Noel's divine blessing of the Death God was absolute: no wound inflicted in his vicinity could be healed, period. Potions, spells, salves—none would take hold, as if death itself had claimed the injury from the start.
Noel glanced back only once, his eyes cold as he rushed forward toward the gathering shadows ahead, leaving the knight to his fate. The man tried everything—pressing a heated dagger to the stump in a frantic attempt to cauterize it, the sizzle of flesh filling the air with acrid smoke. But the wound rebelled, refusing to seal, blood flowing unabated like a river of inevitability. He collapsed to his knees, vision blurring, strength ebbing with each weakening pulse, until he slumped face-first onto the tiles, life draining away in a widening pool.
Noel leaped ahead, soaring across rooftops to where a phalanx of twenty elite knights materialized from the gloom—armor gleaming under torchlight, weapons drawn in disciplined formation. They looked formidable, with ornate helms and reinforced plate, but to Noel's heightened senses, none posed a true threat. Their levels hovered too low, their auras too faint against his raging power.
He began his rampage, a whirlwind of controlled fury now that a sliver of restraint had returned. Pulling his shield from his back, he waded into their ranks. Swords slammed against its surface, spears skidding off like rain on stone as he absorbed the flurry without yielding an inch. Noel countered with brutal efficiency, his blade carving through gaps in armor, crushing guards with shield bashes, and breaking their formation as order collapsed into chaos and screams.
Amid the chaos of clashing steel and guttural cries, one of the elite guards—bloodied and battered, his armor dented from a glancing blow—stumbled back toward the rear of the formation. His eyes, wide with terror, locked onto the towering figure of their captain, a grizzled veteran clad in ornate plate etched with glowing runes. "Captain!" he screamed, voice cracking over the din of battle. "We can't do anything against him! You need to use it—only you can wield it and have a chance against this monster!"
The captain, a broad-shouldered man with a scar-riddled face and eyes hardened by years of prejudice-fueled campaigns, nodded grimly. He stood apart from the fray, observing Noel's relentless assault with a mix of disdain and reluctant respect. The demi-human was a force of nature, shield deflecting strikes that would fell lesser foes, sword reaping lives like a scythe through wheat. Bodies littered the rooftop, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, blood pooling in slick rivulets that dripped over the edges.
With a heavy sigh, the captain reached into a concealed pouch at his belt, withdrawing a slender syringe filled with a swirling blue liquid—ethereal and luminous, like captured starlight laced with arcane mist. It pulsed faintly in his grip, promising power at a perilous cost. "I guess I must," he muttered, his voice a low rumble laced with bitter resolve. "For my honor... I can't let demi-human scum defeat us." He jabbed the needle into his neck without hesitation, depressing the plunger. The liquid surged into his veins, and his body convulsed as azure veins lit up beneath his skin, eyes glowing with an otherworldly fire.
Noel, mid-swing as he bashed another elite aside with his shield, sensed the shift immediately—a spike in aura that cut through the rage haze. The air grew heavy, charged with mana, as the captain's form began to warp and expand, muscles bulging grotesquely, runes on his armor flaring to life. The remaining guards rallied with renewed desperation, forming a protective circle around their leader as the transformation took hold. "Now you'll pay, beast!" one snarled, but their voices held a tremor of uncertainty.
Noel tightened his grip on his sword, Steady Footing anchoring him firmly as the rooftop trembled under the captain's evolving power.
The syringe fell from his fingers, clattering against the stone with a hollow echo that cut through the stunned silence. The captain froze, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then his fingers twitched—once, twice. A sharp crack split the air, and he screamed, not in rage but in pain. His back arched violently as something beneath his armor shifted, bones grinding against each other with a wet, splintering crunch.
The plates of his chestpiece began to bulge outward, metal groaning as his ribs expanded unnaturally beneath it. Noel's ears flattened instantly—what the hell… The captain's breathing became erratic, wet, gurgling. His gauntlet fell away as his fingers fused together, skin darkening, thickening, hardening into something chitinous. His nails blackened, then split open, hooks pushing through. His jaw unhinged with a sickening pop, and he tried to scream again, but his mouth kept opening wider, too wide. His lower jaw split down the center, bone separating, flesh tearing. From within, something moved—legs, thin, jointed, forcing their way out. Noel's stomach turned.
The captain collapsed onto all fours, armor snapping apart under his expanding frame. His spine ruptured through his back, reshaping, rising into a grotesque, hunched mass as coarse, dark growth spread across him like a parasite claiming its host. His face—what remained of it—was no longer human. Multiple pale, lidless eyes forced their way open across the split remains of his skull. But before that gaze could fully settle on Noel, the thing—that abomination which had once been the captain—lunged not at its enemy, but at its own.
The remaining elite guards, already battered and wide-eyed with horror, began to scatter slowly, their disciplined ranks fracturing into panicked flight. "Captain—gods, what have you done?!" one cried, backing away as realization dawned. "It's not him anymore—run!" But it was too late. The creature's elongated arms whipped forward in a blur, claws raking through the air like scythes. It killed them all instantly, a single, devastating swoop that turned retreat into slaughter. Bodies were impaled, torn asunder, and dragged toward the yawning cavity in its torso. The mandibles snapped open wide, engulfing limbs and torsos whole in a frenzy of wet crunches and muffled screams. Flesh vanished into the maw, bones splintering as blue vapor billowed out, carrying the metallic tang of blood and something fouler—decay, perhaps, or the essence of whatever eldritch serum had birthed this horror.
The guards didn't even have time to draw breath for a final curse; one moment they were fleeing, the next they were devoured, armor and all, leaving only smears of gore and scattered weapons on the rooftop.
The screaming stopped. What stood before Noel was no longer human. It was massive, its body swollen into a grotesque, hunched bulk nearly three times the captain's original size, its spine arched high like a deformity that had outgrown its own skeleton. Thick, dark hair covered its form in uneven patches, matted and slick with fluid, clinging to flesh that no longer resembled skin but something tougher—stretched, leathery, and wrong.
Its torso was the worst part, split open vertically—not wounded, but opened like a second mouth carved into its chest. From within that cavity, pale, bony mandibles protruded outward in layers, overlapping and twitching, slick with saliva. They flexed and scraped against each other with a dry, clicking sound, as if tasting the air. Faint blue vapor leaked from deep inside its body, spilling out between the teeth in slow, ghostly breaths—now laced with the fresh reek of its comrades' blood. Its original head still existed—but it hung above the opened torso, smaller now, sunken, half-consumed by the mass beneath it.
Its jaw was dislocated, hanging uselessly, eyes wide and empty, as if the man inside was still trapped, still aware. Its arms had elongated grotesquely, joints reversed, ending in thick, clawed limbs that dug into the stone roof for support, claws dripping with viscera. It didn't stand upright; it crouched, like something born to crawl, like something that had never been human to begin with. And all of it—all of it—was staring at Noel now, multiple eyes gleaming with a hunger that transcended mere flesh. The rooftop trembled under its weight, tiles cracking as it shifted, mandibles clacking in anticipation.
Noel raised his shield, sword gleaming in the dim light, his own rage mirroring the abomination's primal fury. The real battle had begun.