Chapter 182
Chapter 182
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 182
Chapter Title: Chapter 11. The Mage of Mages (2)
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When does a man truly feel like he's utterly fucked?
If it were me, it'd be when I'm isolated in the heart of enemy territory, grinding my teeth in rage?
Or when I wake up to a doctor in a white coat telling me, "Sir, your condition isn't looking good at all"?
Nah.
The real answer is: "When something's gone wrong with me, and the guys around me can't even crack a joke about it."
Think about it. These are the same assholes who, every time shit hits the fan, come running with "Lmao what a retard ㅋㅋㅋ," but now they're showing up dead serious, saying crap like, "It's okay. Everything'll be fine. Hang in there." Even I, the king of nonstop "It's fine, I'm not dying" memes, start thinking, "Wait... am I actually gonna croak?"
They say it'll take some time before my current state gets adjusted enough for me to play the game again. And all the people who've come and gone from this bizarre waiting room in the meantime? They've all been like that.
First up: the Administration researcher who's been stuck to my side every day, managing my body.
"It's an honor to attend to you like this, Professor! I'm Cheisha, selected as your dedicated physician!"
"Oh, uh, sure, whatever."
"First, I'll explain the status of your external body, which is probably your biggest concern... Are you mentally prepared for this?"
Mentally... prepared?
"Uh... do I really need to prepare myself that much?"
"...Pretty much?"
Don't say that with such a cheerful fucking face, lady.
The screen the so-called physician pulled up was enough to make anyone's mind shatter.
In my memory, my body was just your average guy's—freakish arm attached, grumbling because the login pod lid wouldn't close properly thanks to my left hand. But this...?
"Does the data whatever department handle mutant corpses too?"
"That's you."
.
.
.
.
.
"Huh?"
"That's your body, Professor."
...Fuck. Should've listened to the doctor.
"...Couldn't you have prepared a calming pill or something?"
"This is the login pod's player waiting room, remember? That's why I told you—mental preparation is key."
My hands are shaking from the shock.
"Is that thing even alive?"
"It's not a 'thing'—it's your body. See? Right there inside. Your heart's beating strong and steady."
"That's only obvious because it's visible to the naked eye without any special equipment..."
There wasn't a single trace of my original form left anywhere on what she called my body.
Black arms and legs covered in all sorts of mechanical gear.
Its abdomen laid wide open, ribcage ends melted like it'd been exposed to intense heat, with what little organs still holding shape tangled up in a mess inside.
"Surprisingly, 99.9% of the genetic traits are still identical to a human's. Internal organs, cell tissue—all of it. Since the changes happened while you were still alive, they seem to have centered on non-vital parts like skin, bones, and nails. Then the 'Box' stopped functioning, halting the transformation at a certain point."
"So... the outside's all changed, but the insides are still human, right?"
"Yep~ That's right!"
"But there's a bone shell over the guts?"
"The ribs grew about ten more and covered it up. Humans have rare conditions like that too."
"Bet there's an extra heart in there too, huh?"
"You'll be a beast on the soccer field once you wake up."
Crunch!
...Calm down. She's a doctor, after all. She doesn't look all there mentally at first glance, but if I deck her here, she might just slice off a couple of my fingers and go, "What? It was always like that. You know mutants better than me? How many degrees you got?"
What finally calmed me down was the mutant virus progression graph she showed alongside the body footage.
"This is pretty revolutionary—the virus levels are dropping. It's a tiny amount, but we've confirmed physically significant reductions. The tissues are steadily regenerating bit by bit too. And the black parts? Regenerating twice as fast."
"So it could revert from that form back to normal?"
"Hmm... Yes! The virus is steadily decreasing, and recovery's underway..."
"Oooh!"
"...At this rate? About 43 years and 8 months from now?"
You little—
"Truth is, Professor, your condition was already a one-of-a-kind rarity even before it got like this, so we can't guarantee anything. Even the mutant virus seems confused by this 'living human + mutant' state that's completely different from its ingrained genetic patterns. Maybe it's thinking 'not here' and bailing for another host. Single-celled organisms like that—they activate if it's a YES by their standards, move on if NO... and you're stuck right between YES and NO, aren't you?"
She rattled off a bunch more incomprehensible stuff after that... but anyway, any urge I had to get the hell out vanished.
Heading out right now? Nah, something about that's just... off. The appearance aside, being bolted to some iron frame and plopped in the middle of this huge room like a display piece. Doesn't feel like resurrection—more like piloting an Eva. If they melted down Professor Park's soul into goo and injected it in there, the monster would snap its eyes open—KRAK!—roar like a beast, and get launched out of the city...
'Looks combat-optimized with killer specs too. If the Dome's in crisis, Director Young might roll up with some tinted shades and yell, "Get in your body, Professor!"'
Either way, right now, I had zero desire to accept that as my body.
My head was a mess with those thoughts when the next visitor arrived: Director Young.
"You're no gentleman either, huh."
"Gentleman? Ah... you mean like a proper gent? Sorry if I've disturbed your rest. No other time worked."
"That's not what I—... Anyway, good timing. With everyone trickling in to visit, it really feels like I'm hospitalized."
The news Director Young brought was about the outside situation.
"The Dome and the Raptors threw down again? Weren't they all dead? I thought that mass slaughter weapon those lunatics activated was targeted at the Raptors from the start."
"'Zone 38 Dome.' They're completely split from that side. Actually, your report from two months ago operating in Zone 38 revealed some level of collaboration between the Raptors and their Surveillance Division. But you know what the Raptors are like. They're not the type for fair quid pro quo. Give 'em 1, and they'll just scheme to steal the rest. Teaming up with scum like that? There's a limit to stupidity."
The Raptors' moves were downright radical.
The mechanized soldiers dispatched to the 30s zones got word from the local Surveillance Division: "The Dome's empty—help us take command like promised!" That went straight to the Raptors' HQ, the Nest. Sensing their golden opportunity, they pulled out of Zone 43 entirely, and the whole Nest charged straight for Zone 38 Dome.
"The Raptors' chronic weakness has always been lacking advanced shields and such, making environmental adaptation tough. That's why they obsessed over seizing and looting Zone 52 Dome back then—to patch that hole."
Zone 52 apparently self-destructed its central power plant right before falling, blowing up the whole city.
Having chickened out after that delay once before... the Raptors dropped everything for this once-in-a-lifetime chance and barreled toward Zone 38 at full speed.
"You just let that happen? If an enemy you're facing pulls out, you hit their flank..."
"We anticipated that and laid traps with plenty of men. But by the time we got intel and mobilized, their delay force had already locked down the passes with a killzone like carpet bombing. We're always defending vast areas with skeleton crews, so reacting sharply to sudden moves is tough. Plus, the Nest moved faster than expected."
According to the Director, "They've gotten nimbler now that the last battle trimmed their numbers."
Even Zone 38 ignored all our comms from Zone 47—no jamming, but they ghosted us completely, so no way to warn them...
The Raptors' Nest, that massive horde of war machines forming their main force, torched every mutant in their path and hit Zone 38 fast. The second that deranged Admin Director started his speech, they stormed the city.
"Whether insane luck or spies embedded deep in their Admin... we don't know how they pulled off the perfect survival play. But in the end, when the radio tower's first wave rang out—wiping nearby scavengers and wanderers—they'd all slipped inside Zone 38 Dome's city shield to dodge it. By the third wave, they'd seized the city, smashed and looted everything inside."
They stripped the city's heart—the central generator's core, stuff impossible to rebuild now—pretty much disassembling the whole damn place. Residents included.
"The silver lining: we hit 'em from behind while they gorged and slowed down. Our top priority was obviously the 'Box.' After tasting its power, we figured if even that fell to the Raptors, it was game over."
The Director said once the exosuit team confirmed securing the Box—after brutal fighting, shoving aside their supply lines—they immediately withdrew.
The result? The Box half-smashed in my hand, overloaded near explosion from tanking the radio tower's high-output energy, then smashed again in the Raptor raid—reduced to scraps.
Zone 38 Dome: ruins.
And the new Raptor Nest: a true mobile fortress, hauling off the city-grade shield and its generator, now unstoppable even in the harshest terrain.
City-grade shields come with stealth fields standard. Won't be as potent as when rooted in a building as a full city setup, but the Nest isn't Dome-sized. They've got their own techs. Can't improve or research, but operation and maintenance? Sure.
A silent, invisible murder-tank city. What, a 200-pop Arbitrator tank?
"...What a clusterfuck party."
"Exceedingly apt phrasing."
The Director sighed, looking way older than last time. Makes sense—he's the one dealing with it. Must be more frustrated than me.
"After grabbing their prize, the Raptors swallowed up nearby refugees and vanished into the inner 30s zones. Now we're stuck on 24/7 high alert against something not even radar picks up."
That was the Director's "second" biggest issue.
"Second? What's first?"
"The absurd mutant surge, obviously."
"Absurd how bad...?"
"...Remember right after the war ended? Dead soldiers rising as mutants, shambling in lines? It's like that. We'd just pushed 'em back, expanding human zones... then one lunatic's stunt resets us to hunted prey hiding out."
"Woof."
Official survivor counts were lowballing it—tons more hidden out there. Now they're all Type 2 mutants, swarming for live meat in equal numbers.
"Of course, thanks to your... sacrifice, we're even thinking this. Records say the completed Box affected inside shields too—this one's not that bad. Not mass-producing Type 3s and 2.5s like before."
So people halted production, hunkered in shelters scarfing rations, or risked breakthroughs to migrate near big groups like Domes.
"As thanks for your efforts, my advice: stay put for now—it's easier on everyone. Take a vacation inside."
After that, I demanded absurd compensation for my work, injury processing, contractor fees—no hesitation, all approved. He left looking relieved, like paying off eased his guilt.
Next: Azel. Showed up in uniform, bandages wrapping his face...
"Uwaaaaaah! Hngaaaaah!!! Fuck, you didn't die, right? This ain't some virtual PTSD therapy program, is it? Bro? Professor bro! Uheheheee hngaaaaah!!!"
Right out the gate, clinging disgustingly and bawling.
Smack!
"Ow, you psycho! Get a grip! Bro? What fucking bro? I never had a little shit like you for a brother!"
"Sniff! B-but bro, you definitely told me to call you bro back then..."
"When did I—!"
"...Oh."
Wah!
Instantly, Azel face-planted, pounding the floor in hysterics. All my fault, I'm incompetent slow-ass retard, big bro's like this 'cause of me—headbutting concrete like a construction site. No clue, but stopped him first. Easy. Just yelled, "Cut it out, you maniac!" and the kid shot up, knelt seiza-style in front of me. Obeying that well was scarier. What the hell happened two months ago?!
"...What happened to your face?"
"Ugh... sniff! This? Nothin'. That bitch scorched it."
What the fuck happened... for my quirky prankster buddy's face to melt like that.
Bandages loosened from floor-pounding revealed severe burns, hideously twisted.
"It's really no biggie. Admin's got good meds—steady treatment'll fix it."
"Dude, how's that no biggie?! Skin melted off that bad..."
"Wanna compare to your state right now?"
"Oh."
Right. I almost bit it hard. From his view, it's minor—no arguing. The guy in front of him's practically a corpse.
Anyway, after sweet-talking Azel down, he said he'd left the Dome to officially join BDSM.
"Who said? Hell no."
"Aw, why!"
"Dome's got you on call as exosuit +1 whenever needed. You joining my team's rice-guzzler squad? Fuck off! Go cling to the Director's pant leg!"
"Kuh... so heartless and biting... definitely bro! Missed you tons!"
"What the fu—..."
Turns out two months back, he went through shit that changed his thinking big time.
"My view on justice shifted. Right? Sure, someday we'll get there. Day a kid asks bomb shelter tips and goes, "What's that?" Day you ask a lone kid where parents are and innocently expect "both alive." Live by old-school justice then? Cool."
"..."
"But not now, yeah? Kids learn Mozambique drills before times tables, get knives not toys. We adults who made this era? Gotta shoulder some cold, wet justice."
"You... Sigh. Yeah, I get the gist."
Shift in beliefs. Dome's crisis. Refugees flooding in hundreds daily. Survival turns folks selfish and vicious. Internal Dome splits, Surveillance restricted—he left the group to chase his own justice...
"Huh? Refugees what? Nah. Director Young's there—any subversives go straight to underdome human generator. Me and Ian tanked the Surveillance barracks and got booted. 'Pick: Dome or BDSM to oppose?' Couldn't answer. Boom, decided."
Fuck, should've never asked.
Rest of the time (Azel said fixed visit slots per person), casual chit-chat, then as I boot his clingy ass out—last question hits, grab him.
"Hey. Why no Bex?"
"Hic!"
Azel jolts like burned.
'...No way?'
"Uh, um, Bex... Bex, yeah... Ahahaha, w-well..."
'No way. No friggin' way... right?'
"Bex dead?"
"N-noooo! Alive! Came back swinging guns and blades, full of vim!"
"Then why not here? Thought he'd be first with his personality."
"He's... super busy! Yeah! Eyebrows-flying busy! Oi, time's up! See ya next time! Bye!"
Ding-!
[Player 'Soy Sauce Gaybar' has logged out.]
Clingy when attaching, bolts like hell now—Azel.
Why? Saw that evening when Bex visited.
"S-sor...ry... Ha, happened. Sudden, blo, blood dirty, keeps annoy cling..."
Back to that first awkward speech pattern.
Like my visitors couldn't joke, now I couldn't either.
Bex... looked seriously bad.
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