120. Countdown

In a world with any manners or morals left, they wouldn't have hurled insults at a stranger about how we looked alike. Even so, I might've let that slide with my vast serpent heart. But firing a crossbow without hesitation? That's too much. If I weren't a peak swordsman capable of tool-assisted one-hit kills, my head would've been pierced right here. That old guy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was definitely a psychopath. So, swinging a single dagger in retribution was only natural. And merely slicing off the fingers gripping the crossbow? That was mercy even Buddha would clasp hands in praise for. But could those knothole eyes even recognize such grand compassion?

"Arrrgh, you snake bastard, arrgh!"

The old man clutched his hand, spewing curses like a fountain. He'd blabbered something about Chugota earlier—comparing me to that wyvern was an insult to me too, honestly. I was set on taking two more fingers when...

"Stand back, Doctor!"

A burly man beside him kicked at me. Even with my reflexes to snap arrows mid-air by twisting my head, only my head and neck move that fast. His kick was quick too—hard to dodge. If I had to take a hit, I'd make it count. The instant his foot touched me, I bit his shin.

Crunch!

My teeth didn't sink in easily. This bastard's wearing greaves. I bounced off, reoriented in mid-air, and landed steadily.

"What the...!"

I couldn't inject poison through the greaves, but I shattered them. As he shook his leg, splintered wood chunks rained from his pant hem.

"You peanut-sized runt!"

Hey, I got insulted and attacked first—I'm the aggrieved one here. As he pulled his hand from his coat, five blades sans hilts were wedged between his fingers. A leaf-shaped throwing knife setup.

Whirr!

He swung at the air, launching five darts. Retreating here would be amateur hour. Dodging calmly makes you first-rate. As the pinnacle, I charged forward.

Clang! Ack!

Almost got hit. Weirdly, the darts curved in odd arcs through the air. A blade grazed my scales. If they weren't tough, I'd be cut. But I'd already evaded two.

I accelerated sharply, dodging the remaining three in one go. Aiming for the heart, I lunged at his chest.

Crunch—

But the teeth sensation was off again. He was definitely wearing thin chainmail under his clothes. And not ordinary steel. It held firm despite catching on my fangs.

'Alright, now climb to the nape and...'

That's what I planned. His exposed neck was begging for a king bite. But reflexively, I gagged.

"Saauk!"

I meant to roar, but it came out as a retch. That fishy stench? It was coming from him...

"Ah, right!"

The man grinned delightedly. "How's the ampoule taste, you little shit?!"

"Saauk!"

"Damn it, cowering from a tiny snake like this. Take my punch!"

Crazy bastard. He swung a fist at me. I spun a full loop in the air and bounced away. The smell was dizzyingly vile. I took the hit but flew far—my stomach actually felt refreshed. In the end, I puked up my guts.

Whew, better now.

"What a pain."

The guy who'd been raging for my punch moments ago suddenly acted all serious again. Then he yanked his cloak forward. What the hell? Unfurling it revealed a net-like shape.

"Seems this little thing has special abilities... I'll capture you."

Sneaky types like him were common among the humans I'd met. To poachers, I must look like a rare, precious monster. Like a red Garados standing out from the pack.

But I had no intention of getting netted. Tired of hearing "tiny this" and "small that" too.

"Hup!"

He threw the net. I drew Sunset and slashed lightly at the incoming mesh.

Riiip!

The bisected net rolled limply across the floor. Sunset flew straight into the shoulder of the gaping man.

"Kuh!"

Indeed, his chainmail wasn't ordinary. Dwarf master-forged Sunset only sank an inch. He gritted his teeth.

"This lowly wretch dares humiliate me...!"

Then smoke erupted from his body with a bang. Like a ninja with a smoke bomb. When it cleared, only Sunset lay there. The bastard bolted without a shred of shame.

"Saaak!"

I yelled "Come back!" and gave chase. If Pellelian hadn't screamed, that is.

Since I'd met him, this was the first time Pellelian shrieked so undignifiedly. Even when a beast ate his ring-possessed body before, he hadn't done this. Was there something scarier than being eternally buried as shit? His face said yes.

'What's wrong?'

'Calm down first.' He looked ready to bawl, so I soothed him quick.

'Deep breaths.'

"There" meant the opposite direction from where the humans fled. Normally he'd bark, "Rip those intruding rats apart, snake!" Why now? No clue, but I headed his way.

I'd glimpsed them entering the room: bizarre tanks lined the walls. Inside floated grotesque creatures—alive or dead, impossible to tell.

Pellelian's mumbling voice lacked strength. Back at the circular corridor entrance.

First tank: a lump of flesh too pitiful to behold. Limbs sprouted randomly from the round meatball.

'A chimera, right?'

'Compared to the ones you made before, these are pathetic.'

Chimera Pafnacia—the first of Pellelian's I beat. Back then it seemed terrifying, but now? Pretty weak. And it at least looked functional. Not handsome, but operational.

These? Far from normal.

'No tech back then?'

'...Then why?'

Next tank. Metal plate read:

Second chimera, nicknamed One-Leg. One leg, makes sense. First was Meatball, for reference. Pellelian's naming sense was clearly lacking.

Why "Test Flesh," though?

I went to the next.

Three legs, three eyes embedded.

Scales sprouting unevenly on flesh—creepy chimera. Tech had advanced past Pafnacia. I sensed what that meant. These converged on traits as experiments progressed. Even a layman like me could see.

First: smooth skin. From furry, lumpy hides to sleek as numbers rose.

Second: proper limbs. Four limbs—arms and legs. Tough, apparently. Some had two-three legs, tentacles instead of arms. Proper limbs appeared at No.08.

The nickname clicked immediately. Beautiful, sleek legs extended—plaster-white, but sculpturally flawless. Toes might be crude in reality, but fitting for basement-bound Pellelian. Arms ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠draped elegantly like a ballerina's. But the unnaturalness hit quick.

'Hands...'

Arms too long—feet where hands should be. Four legs, no arms. Face grotesque too: no eyes or nose, just mouth.

No.09 tank: vaguely humanoid.

'This...'

Yes. Elf-like, precisely. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Long, slender limbs. Especially the long ears. Final tank: elf-trait chimera.

Unnamed. No "elf" label for a reason.

Limbs and long ears don't make an elf. No way. Even without close inspection, nothing mistakable for one. Skin damp and pale like cave frog; dull eyes bulged sideways like fish. Elf-mimic chimera. What purpose? Scribble beside plate hinted:

"Too hideous and flawed to transfer into."

Pellelian ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shuddered. His true body. Reverse Heaven Mage planned soul-transfer pre-death. Into an elf-like chimera he'd crafted himself.

He whimpered like a wounded beast. Strip his pride and ego—what's left? Just a wretched husk. He'd believed his mind sublime, at least. I felt guilt, like peeking at a stolen diary. Or overhearing forbidden confession.

Reverse Heaven Mage, too scared of death to die as elf. Tried transferring into his own hideous doll.

......

I witnessed Pellelian's dignity crumble. The horrific silence shattered by alarm.

Beeeep—

Siren like DEFCON activated. Red lights flashed everywhere. Then the magitech spirit voice from Pellelian's old dungeon echoed.

What?!

30 seconds? My fire resistance is high, but survive incineration? Doubtful. Uh, uhh... No escape in 30, no hiding spot.

Any plan? His words:

'N-no!'

Countdown already rolling.