Chapter 136: Death
Nolan stared at the swirling projection before him, hands tightening into fists as he felt his heart begin to pound faster. Even across this impossible distance — outside his villa in Silver Blade City — he could sense the deadly tension coiled inside that tower. Every muscle in his body was taut with a mixture of fear and worry. Calien, Erik, and their chief, Varros, were there, face to face with something that could crush them like insects.
They’re going to die, Nolan thought, pulse thudding in his ears. They’re strong, but whatever’s up there...
And then the image shifted as something emerged slowly from behind the beggar.
It was monstrous — easily twice the height of any human, its grotesque form blending a humanoid outline with something utterly alien. Its slick skin glistened dully in the torchlight, and a stench of saltwater and rot seemed to radiate even through the magical projection. The upper body was bulky and powerful, cords of muscle bulging under a hide so pale and clammy it looked almost translucent. Its shoulders sprouted two enormous tentacles, as long as full-grown trees, each one covered in jagged, serrated suckers that flexed and pulsed as they moved. Beneath them, more tentacles curled and shifted like a nest of writhing vipers, yet its broad chest and arms were eerily human in shape.
Its face was the most hideous part of all — a bloated, lumpy parody of a human face, with a gaping mouth set full of jagged, spiraling teeth that glistened with slime. A pair of eyes, yellow and lidless, stared blankly forward like those of a deep-sea predator. Where its ears should have been were gill slits that flared with each slow, rattling breath. The entire creature quivered with monstrous vitality as if held together by pure hatred, its every movement accompanied by a low, guttural growl that was almost too deep for human ears to fully perceive.
The beggar grinned up at his towering creation as if immensely proud. "Feast your eyes," he crowed, arms spreading in theatrical pride. "This is my greatest spawn — my perfect soldier, born of my will and my craft. Nothing you’ve ever fought could compare. My lovely monstrosity will crush you all without breaking a sweat."
He turned back toward Varros, Calien, and Erik, his voice slick with spiteful delight. "And when it’s finished with you," he added, almost gleeful, "not even your bones will remain."
Calien and Erik exchanged a tense glance; for the first time, genuine fear tinged their faces. Even Varros narrowed his gaze, hands tightening around his blade as his thoughts whirled. These two were talented, but they had never faced something like this before — this was a threat beyond their skill. If they rushed in without a plan, they would be torn apart before they even had a chance to strike.
"Stand back," Varros growled at last, stepping smoothly past them as his boots scraped against the cracked floor. "I’ll take care of this."
He felt their hesitation like a weight pressing on his back, sensed their fear as clearly as if they’d spoken aloud, but they obeyed him, retreating just enough to leave him space.
Varros drew a deep breath, forcing his heartbeat into an even rhythm. In his head, a thousand thoughts spun — each one measured and sharp. No matter what they thought of him, no matter how good they were with a blade, Calien and Erik had never stood alone against something like this. Let them live long enough to grow stronger.