Chapter 43: 43. Monster
A gust of white dust spiraled across the worn stone courtyard of the Church of Hazaya. Beneath the daylight, two men—once brothers by fate, now adversaries by purpose—faced each other in an invisible ring of tension. The air trembled not with heat, but with weight—an unseen pressure that made even the steeple above creak faintly as if it remembered.
Father Vain Ford, silvery looks and hands at his side, took a subtle breath. The holy sigils woven beneath his robe shimmered faintly, reacting to the spiritual radiation growing from the man in front of him.
Martin Lawden, the Fiend, licked his cracked lips, arms hanging loosely as though mocking the posture of peace.
Then—
The clash began.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, Vain activated his Thaumic Field. It was silent, unseen, but the effect rippled across the zone instantly. Martin's balance shifted, his left foot stumbled an inch. His gun holster bent awkwardly. A bird above tripped mid-flight and hit the spire.
"Your luck," Vain said calmly, eyes glowing faintly silver, "is now mine to shape."
Martin smiled. A grim, aching smile.
"Then you still haven't learned."
He slammed his palms together, blood erupting from a small rune burned into his collarbone. The ritual activated—green glyphs spinning around his arms, humming like insects.
The Thaumic Field twisted.
Suddenly—Vain staggered. His ankle rolled. The ground beneath him cracked unexpectedly. A loose stone caught his foot. He hit the ground with a grunt as Martin's inverted ritual bent the Field itself and reflected it back.
"Did you think I'd come here unprepared?" Martin said, stepping closer.
Vain deactivated the Field instantly. He rose without a word, eyes narrowing.
Silence reigned.
Then, like pulling threads from thought, Vain reached into his " Inventory "—not for tools, but for concepts.
Faint sparks danced at his fingertips. He pointed two fingers toward Martin's brow. "Let's unravel you, piece by piece."
Martin froze.
A dull hum echoed. Vain's words embedded into Martin's mind, not as commands, but as memories—false and real tangled together.
"You left them to die. Your tribe. You could've saved them."
"You were the chosen one, and you broke everything you touched."
"Didn't that boy—the one who called you brother—scream your name before collapsing in the rain?"
"You failed the only ones who never wanted anything from you."
Martin trembled. His body tensed. Veins throbbed beneath the green-tainted skin.
"No," he muttered.
But the images twisted.
A forest of dead children.
A woman calling him 'Monster'.
His own hands—digging a grave he couldn't finish.
"I SAID NO!" Martin shouted, and his power surged outward, dispelling the mental barrage with a sudden explosive backlash.
Martin breathed heavily. His eyes still haunted.
"You always try to destroy from the inside," he whispered. "Still the same priest."
Then, with voice low and twisted in pain, Martin confessed, "The Fiend Route… it's a curse in disguise. Whatever I hope for, I receive the opposite. I prayed for peace—my tribe burned. I begged for my child to live—he never even drew breath. I seek control… and all I do is destroy."
His words didn't seek pity.
They were a declaration.
The wind howled faintly across the courtyard as both men stood again, bruised but far from broken.
"You think I don't regret? I am fairer to the world than it was ever to me." Martin asked.
"I know you do," Vain replied. "That's why you keep fighting. You want pain to justify your survival."
"Better pain than your kind of peace," Martin growled.
The atmosphere stiffened—not with rage, but with the heavy burden of unresolved history.
Both men stood still, breath slow, eyes hollow yet sharp.
No longer just a battle of might—this was psychological war.
A war of identities, guilt, faith, and consequence.
And it had only just begun.
....
The creature roared—a grotesque sound like bones grinding against wet stone. Its swollen, distorted arms trembled as it raised them high and brought them crashing into the earth.
Boom!
The impact sent a violent shockwave rippling across the battlefield, shattering stones and snapping lamp-posts like twigs. Cracks darted through the soil, reaching out like skeletal fingers. Roze spun sideways mid-air, light sparks dancing around her as she steadied herself with a sharp pulse from her saber. Her boots skidded back, heels digging into earth, feathers from her hat fluttering above.
Across from her—Henry froze. The impact had thrown him slightly off-balance. The creature turned, one bulbous eye catching his movement.
It charged.
"Henry!" Roze yelled.
The monster raised a massive arm, shadows pooling beneath its armpit. Henry reached for his revolver—but he was too slow.
Then—
A faint click.
The world warped for a split second, air sucked inward. Henry's figure dissolved into vapor.
A straw-filled dummy burst into place, taking the full brunt of the strike.
The monster's fist exploded the dummy into splinters and ash.
From the shadows nearby, Allen stepped into view, hands glowing faintly with shimmering runes etched onto his cuffs. His golden eyes stared coldly at the creature.
"I told you," Allen said under his breath, barely loud enough to carry. "
"Don't touch what's mine." Said Roze.
Roze's lips curled into a small grin. Reinforcements had arrived.
The battle roared on, echoing through the half-ruined town like thunder across a dead valley.
Henry and Allen had already pulled a group of frightened civilians into cover—an abandoned bakery with walls still intact. Henry calmed the trembling old man while Allen silently reinforced the door with a temporary rune, his face void of expression but eyes sharp as blades.
Outside, the fight was chaos incarnate.
Roze stood alone in the street, her saber pulsing with radiant light. The monster—bloated and hideous, its skin dripping with green toxin—charged forward like a juggernaut of rot. Each step cracked stone, bent iron. A howl tore from its throat like a dying god.
Roze didn't move.
She closed her eyes, lifted her left hand slightly—and then opened her right palm toward the ground beside her.
Light particles danced upward, forming geometric rings circling her wrist and shoulder. Her veins pulsed silver. The wind stopped.
A spark flickered.
The air around her compressed, sound vanished for a moment, as if the world held its breath.
Then—
Boom!
" The Megaton Punch " trait of The Lucky charmer Path, Route –4 The Guardian. A punch exorcises evil spirit away.
She threw a punch—without touching the creature.
From her outstretched fist, a sonic-laced shockwave erupted, invisible but unstoppable. The air buckled in a violent spiral, all the built-up pressure igniting like a collapsing star. The world shivered.
The wave hit the monster.
It didn't blast the creature—it imploded into it. The ground beneath cracked into an intricate spiderweb, a black ripple spread out. For an instant, the very fabric of space behind Roze shimmered, a hairline fracture showing something unseen—and then it sealed itself as if reality exhaled.
The monster froze mid-charge. Its grotesque limbs drooped. It shuddered, legs shaking like stilts under collapsing scaffolding.
It fell.
A booming thud.
Poison pooled beneath it like curdled ink, but the beast was unmoving. Fainting—not dead, but broken, cause it was not evil but brainless.
Roze exhaled slowly, looking forward at the half destroyed monster giant zombie.
Henry peeked from the building.
"She really is terrifying…" he whispered.
Allen blinked once, deadpan. "She still missed a bit."
Roze turned to them, sweat glistening on her brow. "What was that?"
Henry grinned.
"Nothing. Just... don't ever punch me like that."
The monster twitched. A gurgle—wet and visceral—echoed from deep within its bloated, fainted mass.
Then its body began to pulse. Sickly veins of green light surged through its skin like molten glass under tension.
Henry's pupils narrowed. "Oh no…"
He barely got the words out when Roze's eyes widened in horror. She wasn't looking at the monster—she was looking beyond it.
Behind them, the town. Civilians. Children. Buildings.
The grotesque mass began to convulse violently, and from the deepest cavities of its stomach, a venomous radiance formed—black mixed with acid green, growing hotter, ready to combust. A venomous explosion large enough to coat half the street in death.
There was no time to calculate. No time to speak.
Roze's hand instinctively reached to her side.
"Inventory—"
A ripple of golden hexagons flashed, and in a split second, she vanished—her figure stretching like light.
Boom.
She was gone.
Henry blinked, already running forward. "Roze! Stop—!"
But it was too late.
She had already reached the monster, glowing trails behind her like a comet's tail. The creature's body spasmed—then erupted.
Roze didn't dodge.
Instead, she moved around the explosion in light-speed, cloning herself by momentum, dozens of her figures encircling the blast like flickering afterimages—a barrier made of her own motion.
The force inside burst outward with a hellish roar—flames of acid and spiritual venom lashing the dome she had formed. It looked like the inside of a star trying to be contained.
Inside it… she bore everything.
Poison cracked her clothes. Acid sliced her back. Her hat was incinerated instantly. She didn't care.
All she thought about was the townspeople. The children. The people she failed to protect once before.
"Not again."
Henry stood frozen. The firelight reflected in his eyes.
"No…" Allen muttered, "Roze… don't go that far…"
But it was done.
The dome of her own creation shattered like fragile glass under pressure. The explosion caved inward, vanishing like a breath drawn too deep.
And then—silence.
Her charred body flew back, crashing through the second floor of a stone building with a sickening snap.
"ROZE!"
Henry didn't wait.
He and Allen both darted forward. Allen grabbed the street corner, forming a temporary protection field around the remaining civilians while Henry tore into the collapsed rubble.
She was unconscious. Blood down her lips. Her skin was burned in patches, her coat shredded. One arm dislocated. Her heartbeat was faint—but it was there.
Henry collapsed beside her. Knees on dust. Shaking. His eyes searched her face, still… still Roze. His jaw clenched.
Allen stood beside him, silent.
"She could've run," Henry whispered.
Allen didn't reply.
"She didn't care what happened to her…" Henry lowered his head. "Is this what it means to be a Vanguard? To destroy yourself for everyone else?"
Allen finally spoke. "No. That's what it means to be her."
Somewhere inside her fading mind, Roze wandered.
A young girl in torn rags. Rain pouring. Her child lifeless in her arms. People walked past.
Another flash: a dirty alley, a whip in someone's hand, her cheek bleeding.
Another: a hand pulling her out of the dark—Father.
And now—fire. Acid. Her own voice screaming through the smoke.
"You deserve peace too…" a gentle voice echoed in her mind.
But she didn't believe it.
"If I stop now… who will save them?"
Henry carried her in arms, slowly stepping back toward the temporary field Allen created.
Jeff arrived running, followed by Mary. Silence struck them as they saw Roze's state.
"Get bandages!" Henry shouted. "Get anything!"
Allen stood facing the monster's corpse. The green glow still pulsed faintly—but it was gone. For now.
The cost? Her again.
As Henry held her, eyes fierce and full of mourning, the chapter closed—not with victory, but with pain.
Yet from the pain, in the deepest places of the soul, something else awakened.
Not rage.
Understanding.
....
The carriage rumbled through the silent streets of Prada, wheels cracking over the frost-bitten cobbles. Snow fell gently now, hushing the world, as if unwilling to witness what was unfolding.
Inside, the lantern swung overhead, casting a warm orange glow on Roze's unconscious body. Her chest rose and fell unevenly beneath the charred remnants of her cloak. Jeff sat across from her, jaw tight, hands pressed to the fabric draped over her. Beneath the thick bandages, he could feel the heat radiating—not from a fever, but something else. Something ancient, simmering like magma under skin.
He didn't speak. There was nothing to say.
She had shielded everyone from the explosion—alone. The stench of poison still lingered in her hair. Her once-bright eyes now shimmered dully behind closed lids, twitching with every jolt of the wheels.
Jeff looked down. The bandages on her arms were turning damp—not with blood, but with a translucent green fluid, slow and pulsing like sap from a tree. Veins across her neck were glowing. Light, dim and violet-blue, slid just under the skin like something trying to crawl out.
" Not yet," Jeff whispered. "You don't get to fall now."
He gripped her fingers. They were ice cold.
The carriage jerked to a stop. Jeff leapt down, waved off the stunned guards at the Medical Lab gates, and barged inside. The crystal-lit hall flickered. He laid her carefully on the enchanted cot—activated the Thaumic Healing Core manually. The runes on the walls bloomed to life in soft gold.
Suddenly—
Her body arched.
A pulse blasted through the room.
Jeff was thrown back against the wall as alarms screeched. The lights shattered. All runes glitched with static black flickers. The floor beneath her cracked. Her eyes opened for a blink—a soft glow of violet and red swirling like storm clouds.
Then—
From her back, a root-like tendril of light pierced through the cot and into the stone below.
Jeff's breath caught.
He took a step back, staring.
Her body was... growing something. Or becoming something.
He ran for the emergency call bell—
And just as his fingers reached it—
The entire lab went dark.
Silence.