Chapter 138: Grotesque
If I kept killing him, kept forcing that cursed pendant to drag him back, sooner or later it would run out of whatever fuel it was devouring.
There would be nothing left for it to take, nothing left of him to stitch together.
I narrowed my gaze, my grip on Gravefang tightening.
The thing standing in front of me wasn’t Amon anymore.
There was no trace of the shaman I had once fought, no hint of reason or restraint.
His eyes burned with animal madness, his movements jerky and unnatural, his aura screaming of corruption.
Whatever he had been, whatever thoughts had guided him, they were gone.
What stood before me was just a feral beast wearing Amon’s skin.
Blood surged around him, twisting and lengthening, until it coiled into whips sharpened into blades.
With a snap, they lashed out, slicing toward me with a speed that blurred the air itself.
I leapt back instinctively, boots gouging furrows into the dirt as I put distance between us.
The strikes hissed past where I had been a breath ago, cutting deep lines into the ground.
I wasn’t confident I could dodge those again.
They were too fast, too erratic, and each one carried enough force to split stone.
But I had [Fractured Existence].
The skill could distort space itself, absorb blows that should have torn me apart.
Still, I wasn’t arrogant enough to test it blindly.
Purposefully putting myself in harm’s way when I had no measure of how much distortion the skill could handle would be reckless.
Dying from overconfidence—that was the kind of mistake I could never afford, not here, not when so many lives were tied to mine.
I reminded myself of that constantly.
And yet, even as I thought it, I knew the truth: I could have taken that hit.
[Fractured Existence] would have swallowed it whole.
I had felt no real danger as the whip cut through the air toward me.
Amon extended the whips further, the blood weapon snapping down with lethal intent.
I warped instead, slipping through space in an instant, reappearing right in front of him. My blade angled low, Gravefang thrust upward in a vicious stab meant to tear straight through his jaw and rip apart the skull above it.
The strike should have ended him.
But—
CLANG!
The sound rang out sharp and unnatural, steel meeting something harder than flesh. My eyes narrowed.
Amon had armored himself.
The blood flowing across his body had condensed into a hardened layer, forming a jagged mask of crimson plating that covered his jaw and throat.
My blade was buried partway, the steel biting deep but not breaking through.
The armor pulsed faintly with the same glow as his pendant, thick veins of red mist crawling across it like veins beneath translucent skin.
Ohh... it was getting creative now.
Amon’s whip lashed out again, but I was faster.
Gravefang carved through the air in a brutal arc, severing both his arms clean at the shoulders. For a moment, crimson mist sprayed wildly, the whips collapsing into formless strands.
But it didn’t matter.
The stumps writhed, and in the same breath, his limbs reformed, blood knitting bone and sinew together at a speed that was obscene.
His body barely slowed as he surged forward, whips already slicing through the air once more, fast enough that even my eyes struggled to keep track.
I summoned [Mana Shield].
The translucent barrier flared into existence just as the blood blades slammed into it.
I could have simply let [Fractured Existence] swallow the attack without lifting a finger, but curiosity gnawed at me. I wanted to see what my mana alone could endure against his corrupted strength.
The answer came quickly.
CRACK!
The shield shuddered violently, splinters of light fracturing across its surface.
The next impact tore straight through, the barrier bursting apart in shards of fading mana.
The pace and raw force of it were terrifying, shredding my defense as though it were paper.
Yeah. Not much.
Definitely a good call to get my goblins clear of this mess.
If any of them had tried to hold against this barrage, they would have been butchered in seconds.
Before the shield fully collapsed, I thrust my hand forward, mana surging hot through my veins, fire condensing into a spear that roared to life.
"Inferno Lance."
The spell launched, tearing through the remains of the shield and slamming directly into Amon’s torso.
WHOOM!
The impact detonated, flames ripping through his chest and blowing a jagged hole straight through his body.
The shockwave blasted chunks of charred flesh and blood-mist outward in a storm of cinders.
But...
The gaping wound in his chest sealed itself in seconds, flesh and sinew knitting with obscene speed.
I didn’t wait. I raised my hand and cast again. Another [Inferno Lance] roared forth, striking him square in the head.
WHOOM!
His skull detonated like an overripe melon, fragments of bone and gore scattering across the dirt in a burning spray.
For the briefest instant, his body staggered, headless, swaying like a felled tree.
And then, impossibly, it came back.
The stump writhed, blood tendrils stretching upward, coiling together until the shape of a skull reformed. Muscle followed, nerves lacing across the frame, tissue knitting with a wet squelch until the head was whole again.
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head.
His healing wasn’t slowing—it was accelerating.
The pendant was dragging him back faster each time, as if desperate to keep him alive no matter the cost.
But the consequences of that speed were becoming harder to ignore.
What was standing in front of me wasn’t a goblin anymore. Not even close.
It had become something else entirely—a blood-flesh abomination.
His skin clung too tightly to his skeleton, stretched thin until bone pressed against the surface. The layers of muscle beneath looked raw, sinewy, like cords pulled taut, fibers twisting and snapping with every movement.
It was as though someone had peeled back the outer layers of flesh and left only the anatomy beneath, exposed and glistening.
And his face...
That was the worst of it.
The features I once recognized were gone.
There were no lips, no eyelids, no...