A man clad from head to toe in black rang a small whistle.
Almost instantly, a squadron of assassins, dressed identically, slithered toward a heavily guarded building like a legion of shadows.
One of them silently pulled out a savage core. His body twisted grotesquely, morphing into something resembling a green koala — a savage beast. With a low, guttural growl, the entire squadron vanished into thin air, concealed by a wave of distortion.
Two guards patrolled the outer gate, unaware of the creeping death.
"Ehhh, it's so dark today. Even with all the lights, I can barely see anything," one of them grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"Shut up," his partner snapped, stifling a yawn. "I'm tired enough without your whining."
A dart whizzed silently through the air, embedding itself in the neck of the talkative guard. His body went limp almost instantly, the potent poison taking effect.
Before the second could react, a rough hand muffled his scream, and a dagger slid cleanly across his throat.
"Clear the perimeter," the leader hissed. "The EMP will only last another fifteen minutes."
Without hesitation, they sliced a neat hole in the wall and slipped inside. The inner guards, though better trained, were still mortal.
Silent kills rained through the hallways.
One man, driven by desperation, managed to slam his hand against the alarm button.
Nothing happened.
His eyes widened in horror — right before a blade parted his head from his shoulders.
The assassins moved like a well-oiled machine, storming the building's upper floors.
Finally, they reached a large, opulent room.
An old man in a faded blue robe sat there, sipping tea calmly as if he'd been waiting for them.
"Oh? Assassins?" His voice cracked with age, but the amusement in it was clear. "Sent after a dying relic?"
The leader stepped forward, dagger gleaming. "Mr. Faulkner. We are not here to kill you. Hand over Warmonger's location and access code. Cooperate, and you walk away alive."
Faulkner laughed — a dry, bitter sound.
"You killed all those guards... yet talk about mercy?"
He pulled out a savage core from his robes. Without a second thought, he crushed it in his palm.
A wave of energy exploded outward. His skin ignited in golden flames, fur sprouting from his flesh, growing taller and taller. In moments, he transformed into a towering beast — ten feet tall, ape-faced, yellow-flamed, with golden eyes that shone with madness.
The assassins hesitated. Fear seeped into their bones.
"Attack together!" the leader barked, transforming into a savage himself — a purple porcupine-like beast — while the others unleashed their cores, turning into minor savages.
"Parlor tricks," Faulkner growled, voice like rumbling thunder.
He moved before they could even react.
The nearest assassin — a lizard-like savage — barely raised his claws before Faulkner slammed a burning fist into his chest. The man's body crumpled, bones snapping like twigs, and he was sent flying into the far wall with a wet crack.
"Kill him!" the leader screamed.
Three assassins lunged at once. One from the front, and two from the sides.
Faulkner grinned savagely.
With a roar, he twisted his body. His massive arm swung in a wide arc, catching two of them in mid-air.
Their bones shattered audibly. They dropped to the ground like broken dolls.
The third assassin, a bat-winged savage, tried to take flight.
Faulkner casually reached up, grabbed his ankle, and slammed him into the marble floor.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
By the fourth slam, the assassin's spine snapped, his body twitching unnaturally.
"You worms think you can challenge me?" Faulkner thundered.
The air grew heavy with heat as the yellow flames around him burned brighter.
Another group of assassins activated their cores, mutating into various beasts — a jackal, a boar, a horned rabbit. They tried to swarm him from all sides.
One assassin used a core skill, spewing freezing mist from his mouth, attempting to slow Faulkner's movements.
It worked — for half a second.
The mist clung to Faulkner's fur... and then his flames flared explosively, turning the mist into steam.
He charged through the boiling fog like a demon, grabbing the freezing assassin by the throat and ripping his head clean off.
The boar savage slammed into Faulkner from the side, knocking him a step back.
It was the best hit they landed.
Faulkner snarled, grabbed the boar's tusk, and twisted — snapping the creature's neck effortlessly.
The horned rabbit tried to jab at his thigh with razor-sharp horns.
Faulkner raised a knee, caught the rabbit mid-dash, and stomped down mercilessly.
"Useless insects," he muttered.
From the side, an assassin fired a barrage of poison needles.
Faulkner roared and exhaled a blast of golden fire.
The poison needles evaporated mid-air, and the shooter screamed as he was engulfed in flames.
The leader of the assassins gritted his teeth.
'We can't win like this. He's a monster!'
"Use the formation!" he shouted.
Three surviving assassins gathered around him. They pressed their palms together and roared in unison.
A blood-red sigil formed beneath their feet, pulsing with dark energy.
Faulkner's golden eyes narrowed.
"You dare use that dirty technique here?"
The assassins combined their energies, and their bodies merged grotesquely into a single enormous chimera — a creature with six arms, two heads, and claws like scythes.
It roared, causing the entire building to shake.
Faulkner smirked, seemingly unfazed.
The chimera charged, faster and stronger than before. One claw slashed across Faulkner's side, drawing blood for the first time.
But instead of flinching, Faulkner grinned wider.
"Good," he rumbled. "At least you're not boring."
Golden fire erupted from his body like a nova.
He met the chimera head-on.
Fist clashed against claw.
The ground cracked beneath their feet.
The chimera tried to rip him apart with its six arms, but Faulkner weaved between them, his movements shockingly agile for his size.
With a roar, he grabbed two of the chimera's arms and yanked — dislocating them with a sickening pop.
The beast howled in agony.
"Is that all your formation can offer?" Faulkner sneered.
He ducked under a frenzied swipe and slammed his fist deep into the chimera's abdomen.
The merged creature staggered, its body convulsing.
Faulkner followed up with a brutal uppercut, launching the chimera into the ceiling. Cracks spiderwebbed across the marble.
Before it could fall, Faulkner leaped up, grabbed its neck, and twisted savagely.
Crack!
The chimera split apart, the fused assassins reverting to their human forms, all of them coughing blood.
Only the leader remained conscious.
Barely.
"You wanted Warmonger?" Faulkner's voice dripped with contempt. "She's no longer bound to the Faulkner name."
The leader's heart pounded wildly.
'Warmonger...gone?'
He needed to escape. He had to inform the chairman.
Without a second thought, he unleashed his last card — a blinding smog of poison.
Faulkner clapped his hands once, dispersing the fog like a minor nuisance.
But the leader had already slipped away.
The old man stood amidst the corpses, golden flames crackling around him.
He laughed, a sound that echoed through the burning halls.
"Things are finally getting interesting again."
Meanwhile, Edoran and Harold finished loading the anteater's corpse onto their ORV.
"Let's go to the market," Harold said, stretching. "I'll come along too."
Edoran nodded. They rumbled toward a lavish district — much wealthier than any place Edoran had ever seen.
Harold parked in front of a grand building with bold letters: THE MARKET.
"Bring the anteater. I'll handle the paperwork."
As they stepped inside, Edoran's jaw nearly hit the floor.
It was like stepping into another world.
Though it looked like a building from the outside, inside stretched a whole city — shining corridors, glass towers, endless stalls bustling with people.
A middle-aged man in a grey suit bowed to them, his posture perfect.
A black tattoo curled around his neck — a tattoo disturbingly similar to the one Edoran wore.
"Welcome, sirs. How may we serve you today?"
"I'd like to sell a lesser savage at Gilmond Barter House," Harold said casually.
They went through the usual motions — bargaining, dissecting, selling the anteater.
Edoran watched the workers, the blood, the detached expressions.
It unsettled him.
But then the collar around his neck tightened, almost comfortingly.
[This is normal,] it whispered. [The strong survive. The weak are used.]
He bit his lip and said nothing.
Later, on the street, Edoran spotted a figure staggering toward them.
A man, dressed in torn black, one arm missing, madness in his eyes.
The man lunged at Harold.
Acting on instinct, Edoran transformed, knocking him unconscious.
But then, horrifyingly, the man's body began to bloat.
"RUN!" Harold shouted.
They dashed away — just as the man exploded in a violent shockwave.
Edoran shielded Harold with his own body, taking a few cuts but surviving mostly intact.
They turned, breathing heavily, staring at the smoking crater left behind.
"Bloody hell," Harold muttered.
Edoran said nothing.
But deep inside, a new, darker voice whispered to him.
[Weakness invites death. Strength is all that matters.]
And for the first time, Edoran listened.