Carving Out the Rotten Flesh - 1
Screams echoed through the room. The agonized voices of women filled the air, soaked in torment. Bound with ropes and restraints, the women were crammed into the empty spaces like furniture. A grossly obese man, three times the size of an ordinary person, was seething with rage.
"Hey, you... you think I'm a joke?"
Unfortunately, the woman tied up before him no longer had the sanity left to answer. "Aaaaaaaaah!!!"
The master could inflict merciless pain on his slaves. Pain beyond what any human could endure—terrifying, gruesome, repulsive agony.
"Do I look funny to you?"
"Ughhhh! Hnngh, haa, aaaaaah!"
No conversation was possible. The man sighed in disappointment. The pain triggered by his 'command' was efficient and intense, but it lacked flavor. Aside from the woman's shrieks and contorted face, he couldn't truly feel how the torment was being wrought. It was fine for a quick, convenient scream—enjoying women's suffering without the stench of blood or turning them into useless meat chunks. But right now, he craved more. Watching her suffer was good, but he wanted to feel her pain himself.
The man stopped his ability. Only then did the woman's eyes focus on him.
"Thank you! Th-thank you so much!"
The woman currently under his torture couldn't grasp the context. She could only express gratitude. For the brief respite from the merciless pain inflicted on a slave, she had no choice but to be thankful.
"What the hell are you thanking me for? Save it!"
The woman writhed on the floor. He placed his foot on her hand.
"Ah... Huh? Aaaaaah!"
Then he shifted his full weight onto it. Her fingers weren't fragile, but they weren't sturdy enough to withstand his bulk. In an instant, they shattered. Flesh crushed under the excessive pressure, muscles tore, and splintered bones pierced her from within like thorns. It was unbearable agony, excruciating pain beyond endurance.
Yet amid her fading sanity, the woman thought, At least this is better. Compared to the torment she'd just endured—the pain from the status window—a broken finger was relatively tolerable.
The room was warm. Not from good heating, but from the heat generated by the man's favorite torture tools during use and maintenance. He beckoned to a woman nearby who was still intact. She promptly pulled a red-hot branding iron from the fire and offered it to him. When presenting an item to a superior, the handle naturally faced him in a show of respect—even if it meant gripping the scorching tip.
'...Ughhhh.'
The woman who'd desperately endured the pain immediately felt the burn in her hand. The heat had seared deep into her flesh, hot enough to melt every protein in her fingers.
The man took the iron and pressed it into the tortured woman's breast.
"Ahaaaaaah! Ungh, uwaaaaaah!"
Pure, horrific agony filled the room. Only then did the man feel his mood lighten slightly.
"If it hurts so much... you should've won against those Katus bastards."
He'd always been violent, deriving pleasure from breaking the women he desired. Even so, this was exceptional for him. Torturing a strong woman—one crucial enough to be frontline combat material—like this in earnest was rare. He simply hadn't needed to before. He could have most of what he wanted. There was no reason for excessive sadism. He might add a bit of torture to satisfy his lust or dominance, but by this era's standards, it wasn't particularly deviant. He rarely used status window torture, and flaying skin or burning flesh was kept to levels that elicited screams without permanent scars. Just enough to sate his conquest over their emotions, then he'd release them with some mercy.
Normally, that's what he would have done. Not now.
"Answer me!!!"
"Aaaaaaaaah!!!"
The man kept venting his fury.
"Katus was conquering! They threw countless lives into it!"
Conquering unclaimed land required immense effort. Few leaders knew this yet, but it didn't matter. Weak, foolish groups never even attempted it, and those who knew avoided it precisely because they understood. But Katus was irrationally strong. They equipped every combatant with proper assault rifles—not crude blacksmith knockoffs, but real ones from supply points. Guns comparable to pre-apocalypse models. And ammo in vast quantities. Rumors said they issued them even to trainees and contractors. While other survivors hoarded two magazines at most, Katus could afford multiple shots per regular zombie.
They'd begun conquering.
"That was our last chance!"
Katus was already a giant. If they secured districts and supply points, absorbing clones and wanderers to swell their numbers, other groups would be swept away. This was his final opportunity—while Katus was pouring in rookies so recklessly rumors of "cannon fodder mercenaries" spread.
"We had more numbers! Higher levels too! But... you run? You couldn't win, so you coward out?!"
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
Unable to contain his rage, the fat man began stomping the fallen woman's body viciously. Defeat in a winnable fight. Retreat from a sure victory. He couldn't accept it, so he took out his anger on survivors. Organizational rot, poor info control, sloppy tactics, pointless rules and oppression, low morale—reasons for their loss abounded, but he refused to admit them easily.
Then came a knock at the door.
"Master, urgent news just came in. Shall I tell you?"
"...Come in."
The fat man, who'd been beating the fallen woman, glared at the newcomer. He'd just started tiring anyway.
'Hah...'
Torture was usually enjoyable for him—a chance to feel his superiority, lives in his grasp. Not now. The more he hurt her, the more keenly he felt his—and his group's—failure. Control lay with Katus, not him.
"Speak."
"R-rumors say Seven Seed was conquered by another group—"
"Rumors?"
"A-another organization raided the Seven Seed base! The responsibility council admitted defeat, and some were ousted!"
"How many dead?"
"Th-that hasn't been confirmed..."
He couldn't comprehend.
"How's that conquest?"
To him, war and conquest meant at least thirty percent casualties, survivors surrendering in humiliation. Victor's forcing naked losers at gunpoint through streets, tossed to zombie hordes for amusement while they watched and laughed. That was war.
"Who?"
"N-no info. Except a group based in Anseongu led by a man—nothing else!"
"Are you idiots, or did Seven Seed really get taken? And I've never heard of them?"
"W-we didn't know either!"
"Useless..."
They actually had most available intel, but he couldn't know that.
"Fuck it, whatever. Point is, Seven Seed's shaken, right?"
"Yes!"
"Saw a few good 'furniture' candidates among the bitches there... Fine."
The man grinned greedily, baring his teeth.
"Maybe I'll pay them a visit."
"I'll ready the other hunters right away!"
"No, I'll talk myself. But first..."
The fat man stomped the fallen woman's skull, crushing it. Blood and brains splattered the floor.
"Have the kids clean this up."
A person died before her eyes. One with enough experience to lead a Katus assault.
"Understood."
But the woman who'd entered said nothing. She knew defying his mood now would turn her into that corpse too.