Unholy Player

Once he felt ready, and his calm, calculated demeanor had returned, Adyr crouched beside the corpse and began a closer examination.

The skin had an unnatural shade of gray. Not pale or diseased, but dull and metallic, with a rubbery texture that resisted even slight pressure. The mouth was wider than it should have been, pulled unnaturally at the corners. The teeth were sharp, uneven, and animal-like—built for tearing flesh, not chewing. These were one of the standard features in first-generation mutants.

But something else pressed at him. A tension rose beneath his thoughts, quiet and persistent. It wasn’t emotion. It was instinct. His [Sense] stat pushed at him, like a whisper behind the eyes.

He drew a throwing knife from his thigh holster. It was one of the blades Henry had sent—razor-sharp and well-balanced. Still, when he tried to cut the skin, it resisted. The edge grated against the surface before finally breaking through. Even with a high-grade blade, it took force.

He worked with care, slicing through the gray hide. Beneath the skin, the muscle was normal. Human. No signs of further mutation.

He moved to the skull and struck once with the blade. The bone cracked easily. Unlike the skin, it hadn’t been reinforced. The mutation was superficial.

Adyr narrowed his eyes. With careful hands, he opened the skull. The movement was clean and efficient. Inside, nestled deep in the brain tissue, was what he expected.

He removed it and held it in his palm.

A faint purple crystal, as small as a hazelnut, pulsed with dim energy.

What does this mean now? He thought, staring at it.

It was an energy crystal, exactly like the ones he had seen in the other world. But it shouldn’t exist here.