Gluttonous Splitter (2)
The Gluttonous Splitter was a writhing mass of pulsating flesh, an aggregate born from endless proliferation of gigantic meat chunks and cell nuclei clumping together. Red-glowing nuclei squirmed across its surface, splitting and reattaching in a ceaseless cycle. Shredded flesh and tentacle-like tissues snatched nearby lifeforms, ripping them apart to swell its body without end. And in this ruined world, "nearby lifeforms" meant just one thing.
It was devouring mutants.
This bastard was a Tier 3 mutant, bulking up by eating and fissioning off others of its kind.
"They say even dogs don't touch a man while he's eating."
I rest my finger on the trigger.
"Guess we're worth less than dogs, then."
Bang!
Aim, fire. The 12.7mm barrel spits a 13.8mm round at 850 m/s. Shame it's just standard ammo—not the fancy Mk211 Raufoss with its armor-piercing, explosive, and incendiary mix—but even basic rounds punch through light armor like it's paper.
Kaboom!
The largest of its three heads explodes in a spray of gore. The anti-materiel rifle's kick jerks the sight wildly, but I muscle it down and line up the left head. Aim, fire.
Kabooooom!
Another skull bursts. Same drill for the third—pin the recoil and blast it away. But,
"What the fuck. How'd it regenerate already?"
Poof—the first head's back, good as new. Worse, true to its nasty name, it fissions the exploded chunks and bloats itself even bigger in regeneration.
"Yeah, fuck, that's what you do."
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.
No hard feelings—I empty the mag. Two rounds per head in rotation, last one a center-mass gift. Touched by my generosity, the Gluttonous Splitter starts fissioning wildly.
"No need for that kinda reaction."
Bubble bubble—the spot it boiled into its lair was some rural mart parking lot, carpeted in creep-like flesh. Now it all boils up, spawning small mutants like popping boils everywhere.
I glare wide-eyed.
"You cheating fuck. Wasn't this supposed to be one-on-one like men?"
Dozens of minions spawn in seconds. Small, but each one's unmistakably a Tier 1.5 mutant—grotesque as hell. And the bad news doesn't stop.
—Kieeeaaah!!
Its gaze locks on us. It's pinpointed the sniper. Like zerglings spotting a viking, the swarm braces to leap.
I sling the M82 aside and swap in the M32.
"What're you staring at, punks?"
Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.
The six-round drum empties in a flash. Standard HE grenades arc down onto the freshly hatched Tier 1.5s.
Kaboom boom boom boom boom boom!!
Blossoming fireballs. For the finale, I point Al's magic wand at its torso.
"Allahu Akbar!"
Kabooooom!
The blast echoes like a starting pistol. I grab Hope and charge.
Thud!
Two hundred meters away—short for the Barrett, perfect for M32 or RPG-7. I cross it in a blink, reaching the dazed beast. But—
Halt!
A spike of crisis sense hits. Amid the settling fireball haze, a razor edge whistles in.
Shreeeeek!
Instinct swings Hope, batting away its tentacle strike. My wrist numbs from the force, but that's nothing now.
This fucker?
Through the smoke, its hideous mug leers—barely an acquaintance, but smirking clear as day. Heads smashed, body grenaded, yet no panic. It's suffered, sure, but looks triumphant, like it waited for this.
Meaning, You knew?
It anticipated my rush. My neck hairs stand—I've been hunting it, but it's been laying a trap too.
Alarms blare in my head, but,
"Even better."
Yeah, now we're talking prey. Yesterday's ant-Jung Kkeokma sipped dew; today's whale devours krill swarms whole. I pour inner energy into Hope and slam it groundward.
Crunch crunch crunch crunch!!!
Thorns over three meters long—dozens of them—erupt, skewering the charging Tier 1.5s.
Hope lunges. Wriggle—wanna eat?
"Gobble 'em up."
Red eyes sprout on Hope's blade, glaring bloody murder. The impaled mutants convulse.
Next instant, their fluids slurp away.
Shluuuuuurp!
Attaboy. Eating like a champ. Like a parent watching their kid chow down, stomach full by proxy. (The Gluttonous Splitter, suffering the opposite, loses its shit.)
—Kerrrraaaack!!
Its Cerberus heads roar in unison. A tinnitus ring pierces my ears—sonic attack? No quake, but balance wobbles.
This thing pulls every trick. Impressed, I yank Hope back and swing at the right head.
Kabooooom!
Right skull detonates again. Gore sprays, but no complacency—I backstep fast. Sssshh—touching flesh smokes like acid.
Not done. Crack! Left head condenses flesh into a fist and launches.
Clanggg!
"Guh?"
Hope blocks blade-first, but the sheer physics shoves me back like a runaway truck. I tumble, spring up.
Pfsh pfsh pfsh!
Thorns sprout right where I was—impressive timing.
How many patterns does this fuck have?
I rise swinging, slicing stealth tentacles from behind while it distracts upfront. Five patterns already. Like some dev's OP bullshit boss for views.
But, It's... manageable?
Patterns are varied, tricky. But shallow. Threatening, sure, but no one-shots. Proof: Heaven's Mechanism Calculation hasn't triggered.
Meaning,
"You're just a noob-slayer, huh."
Classic bully—torments newbies with fancy moves. Fatal flaw: high-rollers eat it alive. Newb-traps become sandbags.
"Filthy noob-slayer!! Die!!"
I dodge rising tentacles, close in. It thrusts head-fists to block—one-two punch combo. I parry all; fists burst, raining red gore from above.
Then Hope sings.
Ah.
A queer elation flashes. Enlightenment strikes like lightning. Like the moon on water. Elusive grasp melting like foam—now crystal clear. I see its path.
That's it.
In the flesh-rain, I swing. Hope's blade stretches dozens-fold; bloodied branches dance fierce.
[Myriad blood-sword qi rends the crimson deluge, shredding the beast's form beyond.]
Kaboom boom boom boom boom boom crack!! Sword qi shreds every red drop. Branches pierce deeper, lacerating the Gluttonous Splitter.
—Kerrrraaaack!!!
"What, didn't see that coming?"
Panic ripples through it. Unlike past beatings—where it split and countered—these wounds gape, unregenerating.
Makes sense.
"I didn't see it coming either!"
Hope, you badass!! Hiding this function?!
Grrrrowl—!
It bellows beastly, demanding more. Not enough.
—Kerrrraaaack!!
Not outdone, the Splitter roars back. Faces scream; flesh bloats and hurls missiles.
But kaboom crackle slash! Like Iron Dome, Hope's blades intercept all.
Not done. It keens, urging me. I pour in more qi.
"Do whatever you want, Hope!!"
[Blood qi rends once more, vivisecting the foe.]