Flesh Golem Onslaught
The ghouls' dazed gazes all turned toward me and Rosalyn at once. Those eyeballs—or the faint purple haze lingering where they once were. Probably Godwin's magic. The violet traces flickered slowly before vanishing, soon replaced by a savage red glow.
"Squeak! What's going on squeak?!"
"Hoo... that damn squeaking..."
"No choice squeak!"
"Listen well, Rosalyn. Time is short."
The ghouls didn't approach. It was like a lie that just a minute ago they'd charged like starving beasts. Instead, they began clumping together among themselves.
"The wave's objective is complete. But things got a bit tangled."
"My fault...? Sorry squeak... really..."
Flesh mashed against flesh, bones crunching. The crushed bits fused together with rotten blood as glue. A gruesome, utterly unreal sight. The tower of corpses gradually took shape.
"It's not your fault, Rosalyn."
Like a strawberry atop a cake. Like a star atop a tree. Even Godwin's severed head, which I'd sliced off, was sucked in and settled at the pinnacle of the corpse tower.
"When a wave fills to capacity with monsters, its form changes. And ghouls almost always..."
My words were cut off by an alert window. Commander Rosalyn must be seeing the same thing.
Wave Saturation Penalty Activated.
Boss - Remnant of Astellan's Undead
Remnant of Astellan's undead? A repulsive name. The grotesque ragtag mass of flesh didn't stop transforming. Arms seemed to sprout—then legs followed.
"Squeak! That's...!"
"Flesh golem."
No sooner had the words left my mouth than the giant's fist hurtled toward us. That massive fist—no, better called a clump of corpses—was utterly unbound by physics as it barreled straight ahead.
Boom!
The spot where I'd stood two seconds ago. I'd grabbed bat-form Rosalyn and leaped back. A shockwave rippled from where the fist embedded.
"No need to dodge that far squeak!"
Rosalyn squeaked from my crumpled grip. No time to reply. Rotten blood and flesh sprayed like waves from the shattered fist, and everything coated in it melted in an instant.
"See? The flesh golem's rotten blood is deadly poison. Touch it, and you'd lose an arm or leg. Fly as far away as you can."
"Berga squeak! What about you squeak?!"
A ridiculous question—no, not even funny.
"Obviously, I kill it."
I gripped my dagger tight. Even in bat form, Rosalyn's expression as she flitted around me was easy to read.
"Haha... should never have summoned you."
"Really... really sorry squeak..."
"Not blaming you."
I was blaming this godforsaken wave. Maybe the Administration too. A faint, malicious intent seeped through. Not certain yet. But...
As a gamer, something too familiar and intuitive to notice before. Cron. Cron wasn't just wave-clear rewards. Far from mere contract pay. The structure this bizarre currency created was steeped in pure malice.
I had to know. Survive to uncover it, win to escape. Escape? No. If my hunch was right, escape wouldn't cut it. I had to smash it. These bastard fuckers.
The thought flashed in an instant, but that brief hesitation let another fist fly. Fortunately, the flesh golem—dragging its sagging bulk—wasn't fast beyond its punches. I dodged the swings and sprays of blood like a bat.
A drop of blood splattered my loose sleeve, melting the spot. Rosalyn's house loomed in the distance behind the golem. As expected, the mansion had nothing to do with it from the start. A defensive line at Esherburn Mansion? Even that was a deception.
Lucky, in a way. If we'd faced this inside, both the mansion and I would've suffered badly.
I dodged another sweeping punch from afar. Frustrating. How many big ones had I killed? Half the size of Garkan. Chopping you up is child's play.
Of course, I'd wasted my first-kiss addict, and this wasn't an elite mob.
"Hoo..."
But that wasn't the only issue. I hesitated to strike. Rash slashes might melt my dusk dagger. Losing my last weapon? No thanks. Couldn't fistfight a giant acid balloon.
Should've grabbed a few blades from the mansion. If only I could handle that fucking blood...
The wind from a rough swipe below tousled my hair.
"What do we do squeak! You okay squeak?!"
Like hell I am... if only your dad were here...
Suddenly, a spark ignited in my brain. A bolt of insight. The fleeting idea raced through my nerves, rummaging my memories, piecing them together for a breakthrough.
If only I could handle that fucking blood.
Lord of Noble Blood. Aldric Esherburn.
"Can you vamp that blood?" "Theoretically possible... No! No way squeak! Absolutely not squeak!"
One minute left, two problems unsolved. Like that old college entrance exam. Adrenaline whipped my intelligence, burning energy.
Found it.
"Rosalyn!!!"
"What squeak?!"
"Got an idea! Need you!"
"Me...? Anything squeak! Whatever you say!"
The flesh golem's flailing cut me off. A chunk flew, grazing my forehead with a thud. I wiped the bright red blood trickling to my left eye. Mine, thankfully.
"Turn human! Charge the biggest Blood Cannon you can!"
"Wh-what...? I'll... die... Got it... if you say so...!"
"You idiot! You're Aldric's daughter!"
"Yeah... so?"
Lord of Noble Blood. Aldric Esherburn. Fitting his moniker, vampires inherently command vital blood. But flowing blood—all of it—is gripped by its own heart's reins, resisting through ceaseless beats. Like life defying death.
Ghouls are undead, though. Pitiful revenants risen from death. They resist not with heartbeats, but forbidden sorcery. Hence the rotten blood, hence ownerless.
Reverse that.
"Not your blood! Use that giant lump's as medium!"
"That... works?"
"Believe it! It does! Focus!"
And it did. Blood Cannon with undead blood? Tried it in-game. Won't fire it, though.
Red energy gathered at closed-eyed Rosalyn's fingertips. Earthy murk swirled around the vital core. Ownerless blood submitted to noble blood as if natural.
"Don't let it touch you."
No reply. Better that way. One job left.
"Now that's defense."
I blocked Rosalyn's front. Sure, I'm strong only on first hits, against elites, throat strikes from stealth. A glass cannon plastered with conditions. Plus, I'm the wall, soldier, and weapon solo.
Still not bad. Defense games? Protect to win.
No more dodging. Block everything. Not a drop of blood to Rosalyn.
The flesh golem, pausing to register, moved again. Noting I evaded its fists easily, it raised both high. Smashing down? No brain for thought...
Splat!
Expecting a ground slam, its hands crossed toward each other instead. Simple clap. But the mass crushed them. Flesh and blood exploded like fireworks.
"Fuck!"
Instinctive. When its hands passed my shoulders, trajectory not downward—I knew. Body moved first.
"Grahhh!"
Back to the golem, shielding Rosalyn—I took the rotten rain. Flesh burned. 2,750-Cron armor fulfilled its purpose, melting. Shirt shredded to rags. Tore it off; poison soaked in was searing me.
Torso spotted black rot. Left bicep melted to humerus. Right spared, good. Brain pumped endless endorphins for mortal wounds.
But intuitively: Not yet. Can block once more. Avenger hadn't burst.
Pituitary narcotics erased pain, tugged my lips up.
"Hahaha!"
Dagger intact. Right-handed.
"You fucking bastard! Haha! Hold on, I'll take your head."
Agony faded. Blocked the poison spray with blood and flesh—no, life.
Something trickled down my cheek. Not blood this time—poison. Cheek burned. Cheekbone protruding.
Rosalyn wept, eyes shut. Knows the mess? Lips bitten bloody. Hero blood? Dutiful amid chaos.
But felt it. Golem finished regenerating arms post-clap. Knows I can't dodge guarding her. Arm swing incoming.
Faint wind behind.
"XXX... X XX...."
Rosalyn whimpered something. Right ear melted; left faint. Vision blurred too. Her face clear before, now unknown.
Suddenly, choices flashed in my mind.
- Delay death, apply 500% damage to target.
- Strike fatally at target too.
Avenger triggered. Then, close by my left ear, a moist breath and voice:
"Blood Cannon... ready...."
Now.