Chapter 31: Threadbare
Chapter 31: Threadbare
Deep inside the black fortress, a broad hall lay in ruin. Shattered tables and broken bodies of imps were strewn across the floor, leftovers from the Warlord's frequent rages. Stains of old blood streaked the cracked stone, the smell of rot thick in the air.
At its center, the immense demon rested in his cauldron, the human mass beneath it shifting and groaning with every lurch. Their scorched arms strained, shoving the heavy vessel forward in slow, uneven jerks.
A line of undead imps filed in, hauling strips of raw flesh. They handed them to other undead clinging to the demon's body like oversized insects. These crawlers bit through their own legs, tearing sinew and tendon, sewing the fresh patches into the demon's rotting hide.
The skull-faced giant sat unmoved as they worked. Old, spoiled flesh was peeled away. New skin was stitched in, wet and raw.
When a crawler stripped itself bare of raw material, it slumped and fell into the cauldron's black fluid. The surface hissed as it dissolved, clearing space for another to climb up and take its place.
"Gentle! Be precise!"
Schplat!
The demon slammed a massive palm down on an imp that had stitched too deep. When it lifted its hand, only gore remained. Other undead quickly descended on the mess, picking it clean before a new worker crawled in to take its place.
Settling back into its viscous bathwater, the demon's skeletal face twisted. Rows of socketed teeth writhed and clicked, producing a wet, scraping chatter that even made the undead flinch.
"They will regret. They will beg! Grovel at my feet to return. Traitors! Ingrates!"
One of the imps limped past, dropping off fresh skin. The demon snatched up the mindless thing and hurled it into the wall, its body bursting on impact.
"They robbed me!"
He grabbed another, leaving only the head exposed and hoisted it high, forcing it to meet his bulging, lidless eyes.
"Stole my beauty! Left me to wear poxling scraps!"
Crunch!
He bit its skull clean off and tossed the remains, sending them splattering.
"I am Skaal'ar! Lord of Legions, the Skinsmith! Once I cross over, I will reap enough souls to ascend as a true Demon Lord. No more will I rot in exile!"
"Again...? Will you shut your festering mouth? How many times will you rant about this? Your pathetic obsession is what doomed us in the first place."
"Lies!"
Skaal'ar's teeth rattled in their sockets as he roared.
"It was envy! They couldn't stand my work. That's why they stripped me of my glorious skin, my exquisite, perfect skin!"
Suddenly, from within the bloated mass of his gut, the outline of a face pressed outward beneath the stretched patchwork.
"You defied the Lord's orders, father."
Its voice was wet and raspy.
"You shouldn't have skinned that emissary while he was still visiting. Couldn't even wait until he left. Idiot. Fool."
Skaal'ar's lidless eyes rolled back, mouth rattling at the memory.
"Skin like polished obsidian. Smooth as glass. So perfect."
"See?!"
The buried face bulged further, jaw twisting beneath the flesh.
"It's your fault we lost the legion—"
"Silence!"
The hall dimmed, shadows pooling like liquid. Green fire erupted from Skaal'ar's eyes, next leaking from the seams of his stitches. A long, guttural scream bled from his swollen belly.
"Oh, my sweet, bastard child."
Skaal'ar crooned, voice dropping to a dreadful hush.
"You really should know better. Now your birth will have to wait even longer. But that's fine. It will give me more time to prepare your birthright."
The screaming within his gut died away, fading to muffled sobs and groans.
"I'll harvest only the purest souls. Skin unmarked. Untouched. Human infants would be ideal… or one of those shard-bound slaves."
He scooped a handful of the black cauldron water and slurped it down, thick rivulets running from his chin. He lifted the last of it, letting it drip onto the hovering crown above his horned head.
The black fluid began to spill again in steady threads, coursing over his stitched bulk. Imps clinging to him shrieked and burned where it touched, their screams fueling his laughter as he lounged back in his dark soup.
----
It was late. Almost time. Ellie checked the clock in her UI, feeling the blood drain from her face. The hour had finally come.
She'd been sitting in this dingy café all evening. Her back ached. Her stomach growled. But none of it mattered. Not compared to the pressure pressing in from across the table.
The Woon sisters.
They were polite enough. The entire evening they'd kept the conversation smooth, practiced. Watching them laugh and smile, like tonight was just another casual plan, only reminded her of her own place. Her own shortcomings.
She watched them with all nine fingers laced tight under the table, knuckles pale with strain. Sweat gathered on her palms.
'Papa...didn't get your courage, did I?'
Thinking about him never helped. It only made it worse. Being the daughter of a known Mule wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. Far from it.
But it was also the only reason she was here now. This chance, this insane opportunity, existed because of what he was. A well-known B-ranked user, respectable enough to hold a corporate post.
He had a love for folklore, obsessed with the old stories of his homeland. She'd spent so many nights listening to him spin those tales. It wasn't surprising when he awakened a druidic system that specialized in healing.
She eyed the Woon sisters again. Confident. At ease in their power. They reminded her of him in that way.
But it made her wonder if they had a dark side, too.
Gambling.
She hated even thinking the word. Hated what it meant.
Her father was addicted. But for a long time, he'd always managed to stay afloat. He had enough power, enough rank to bail himself out, to cover the debts, to keep the family fed.
Until he didn't.
He'd eventually made too many bets with the wrong people. In the end, the debt was impossible to pay, and with no options left, he'd been forced into work as a Mule.
Mules were an ugly truth of the world. In the Freelands, where the protections of the Five Kings didnt reach, the financial systems of the past meant nothing. Experience points were the new currency.
Mules were used, usually against their will, to gather experience. High-level users were especially valuable because they could carry more. They were kept just below their next level, never allowed to advance. When they got close, the experience was stripped away, stored, converted. Experience potions had been modernized into a form of vapor, stored in small cartidges, but people still called them Pots.
You worked as a Mule until you cleared your debt or died. One of the worst lives a person could live in this age of systems. But Ellie thought it was worse being a Mule's kid. Especially one whose parent hadn't made it.
But the Woon sisters knew her father. They were daughters of an old colleague and friend. She'd known them off and on growing up. Then, years of nothing until a few months back they'd suddenly reached out.
Ellie looked up from her sweating hands, forcing a small, shaky smile.
"Shouldn't we be leaving?"
Hye-jin lifted a brow, then let a soft smile spread.
"No need to rush. But it'll help all our nerves to get moving. And our butts. Let's head out."
They all nodded, sliding from the booth.
Ellie followed, heart hammering faster than their quiet steps. For a second, she almost wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
'Unmute.'
[System //—]
'Noona? I'm so sorry. But I really need you to tell me it's gonna be okay. Please.'
The smell of the bar, the chatter of other patrons...it all faded. She sat there lost in the grinding wait for her system's response. Even stepping out into the night air didn't help. Her heartbeat stayed too loud, too fast. Only when Noona finally spoke did she feel the tension loosen.
[Everything will be okay, Ellie. I see now how committed you are. I apologize for resisting. From here on, I will focus completely on helping you achieve the result you want from this agreement.]
Ellie exhaled shakily. For the first time in hours, she felt like she could actually breathe.
'I can act like it, but I'm not strong enough to do this alone. Just being around them feels like I'm debuffed.'
[That's fine. Just focus on what's ahead. Leave the worrying to me.]
She managed a tiny smile. That helped. She kept her gaze ahead as they walked, scanning the sky out of habit. Everyone did that these days. But the Dark Lord had promised, no dungeons would drop tonight.
Still, her hand twitched. Phantom pain. The finger was gone forever, though the wound had long healed. That memory wouldn't leave. The way it felt when she'd thrust it into the burning green pentagram. The voice that had spoken through the flame. The promise it had branded into her soul.
Power. Dark and twisted. But power.
When that green fire lit the sisters' hidden room, she'd seen her chance at last. A way out of the rotted life she'd been handed. Now, as they paused before the rusted gates of an old graveyard, she felt it again. The promise. S+ Rank. A shard that would lift her above all this. Her chest filled with it, forcing the fear and doubt back down.
She flicked her eyes to her UI.
'Eleven fifteen. Forty-five minutes left.'
Hands clenched, arms taut, she forced a slow breath.
'Let's do this, Noona.'
[I have your back.]
And she stepped forward, following the Woon sisters inside.