Chapter 49: Finishing Up

The words made Glen halt his assault, swiftly putting distance between himself and the colossal worm.

His mind raced for a countermeasure, but it was no easy task. This clearly involved magical knowledge far beyond his expertise as an outsider, leaving him almost powerless.

"How pathetic," the worm's multiple eyes swiveled in unison towards Glen, its voice dripping with insidious persuasion. "Beings like you are shackled by too many concerns, indecisive. Such weakness only leads to failure... Why not shed these useless human frailties? Join me. What I offer is a future beyond your wildest imaginings..."

A sudden fog seemed to descend over Glen's thoughts. A powerful craving surged within him, urging him to agree, promising bliss and effortless fulfillment if only he yielded.

But the feeling had barely surfaced when he violently shook his head, shattering the invasive influence. The sensation felt profoundly alien, deeply repulsive to a soul tempered by countless hardships.

"How?!" The worm's tone registered genuine shock. "Your mental resistance is this formidable?!"

Glen merely rubbed his temples. "You magic types really are troublesome. Looks like I need to get serious."

"Serious?" The worm scoffed, radiating condescending patience. "You should be contemplating your manner of demise."

Slowly, however, all its countless eyes began to tremble.

Glen's form exploded outward as his clothes tore away. He became a two-meter-tall werewolf. That, it seemed, should have been the end of the transformation.

But then, the ambient elements grew agitated. The werewolf Glen's body swelled again, gaining another two meters in height. His fur now emitted a palpable, bone-chilling aura of dark vapor. Though still dwarfed by the colossal worm's sheer bulk, the oppressive force radiating from him now matched its monstrous presence.

"Fourth tier? Fifth tier werewolf?!" The worm's voice trembled for the first time. "You... what are you?!" Having lived nearly a millennium, it had witnessed powerful werewolves, but never one with such an eerie aura, nor one whose transformation occurred in distinct stages.

"The one who ends you!"

The demonic growl that emerged only deepened the worm's shock.

But the worm wasn't paralyzed. Combat instincts took over. It spewed forth a cascading torrent of silken threads, white as a waterfall. In an instant, the entire area was thickly webbed, tangling Glen's advance.

Fortunately, his immense strength prevailed. A few powerful sweeps of his massive claws shredded the dense silk, leaving the environment in tatters.

Around the worm's body, multiple intricate magic circles flared to life simultaneously. Some shimmered with protective energy, others pulsed with offensive intent. The chaotic battlefield became a maelstrom of flying silk strands, swirling dust, and dazzling, lethal magic. Firestorms, torrents of corrosive acid, blasts of soul-numbing frost, and voids of pure annihilation rained down upon Glen with reckless abandon.

Dodging such saturation was impossible. Glen chose to weather the weaker blasts. His only weapons were his adamantine claws and teeth. Yet, every time his strikes landed on the worm's hide, they were thwarted by layers of defensive spells or magically reinforced skin. Whenever Glen retreated, the worm swiftly regenerated the damaged flesh with unnerving proficiency. Its immense mana reserves, a racial gift, seemed truly inexhaustible.

A war of attrition favored the worm. Glen's heightened state consumed energy voraciously; prolonged stalemate meant defeat. Despite this, he remained unnervingly calm. Everything was proceeding as planned. The seemingly devastating magical assaults inflicted surprisingly little damage. Werewolves were inherently magical creatures, possessing natural resistance. Glen's enhanced hide offered several times the magic resistance of an ordinary werewolf. He was probing, testing, searching for the single decisive opening.

If it didn't work, he could always unleash the next stage of transformation and crush it outright. But the subsequent weakness would be crippling, a price too steep to pay lightly.

As the titanic struggle raged, the children trapped within the translucent sacs writhed visibly. The filaments attached to their skin pulsed with an eerie fluorescent light, clearly draining the "life essence" the worm had boasted of. Glen caught the change. Speed is critical now. The risky plan he'd hesitated over was the only option.

He executed a series of blindingly fast evasions, forcing the worm's attacks to scatter wildly. In doing so, he deliberately left himself wide open, exposing his position directly before the worm's colossal head.

The reaction was predictable. The worm snapped its multi-layered maw wide open, a terrifying surge of energy building deep within its throat – the unmistakable prelude to a devastating breath weapon.

Now! In that split second, Glen used his powerful tail to whip the ground, propelling himself like a missile straight into the gaping chasm of the worm's mouth.

The worm, mid-charge, felt something massive and thick slam deep into its gullet. The force disrupted the spell and triggered an overwhelming wave of nausea. Looking down with its cluster of eyes, it realized Glen had thrust his entire arm down its throat.

Fury and terror warred within the worm. It summoned all its strength, massive jaw muscles bulging grotesquely, determined to sever the invading limb.

CLANG! Its jaws met unyielding resistance. It realized with dawning horror: the physical resilience of a fifth-tier werewolf was beyond its magically inclined biology to damage. A more chilling realization followed: there were no defensive wards lining its inner mouth!

RIIIIP!

Too late. Glen flexed the immense power in his arm and shoulder. With a sickening, wet tear, the entire front section of the worm's mouth and throat was ripped apart like rotten cloth!

The worm convulsed, instinctively trying to heal, but before it could focus, an agony beyond comprehension erupted from the ruin of its maw, searing through its entire nervous system.

Glen had injected a massive, concentrated dose of controllable lycanthropic venom deep into the wound. It surged through the worm's system, a biological wildfire designed to ravage its tissues while simultaneously attempting to sever the parasitic connection to the children without harming them.

"St...op..." The gargantuan body thrashed violently, desperately trying to dislodge the werewolf clamped onto its head. It tried to muster magic, to shield or counterattack, but the sheer, overwhelming agony shattered its concentration. The venom acted like hyper-accelerated, predatory cancer, consuming cells and replicating with terrifying speed, spreading relentlessly deep into the worm's body – deliberately avoiding the abdominal region housing the sacs.

Finally, with a ground-shaking thud that sent fresh plumes of dust skyward, the colossal worm collapsed. Only involuntary muscular twitches remained, the last spasms of a dying nervous system.

Assured the threat was neutralized, Glen focused his formidable will. He needed to exert precise control over the vast quantity of venom now coursing through the worm's carcass. He had to identify and understand the specific tissues and mechanisms governing the abdominal sacs – a daunting task even for his decent high-school level biology knowledge, magnified by the sheer alien nature of the creature.

Focus on the sacs. Only the sacs. If he had to understand the whole worm, it would be impossible. The external concealment wards had undoubtedly faded with the worm's death. Discovery was imminent. That would bring complications he didn't need.

Gradually, through intense concentration and the venom acting as a gruesome probe, he deciphered the solution. Thankfully, the worm's abdominal structure, at least concerning the sacs, proved relatively simplistic. Following his newfound understanding, he willed the venom to act on the first sac.

One of the semi-translucent orbs detached cleanly from the pulsating flesh and fell to the rubble-strewn ground. It split open upon impact.

Glen looked. The child inside lay prone on the cold stone, breathing shallowly but steadily. Weak, half-lidded eyes blinked open, focusing dazedly on the massive, furred figure looming over the fallen monstrosity.

Glen grinned, a flash of white teeth in the gloom.

He repeated the process. One by one, the sacs detached and ruptured. Soon, dozens of children lay scattered amidst the ruins of the tavern and the colossal corpse, all breathing, all weak, but all unmistakably alive.

Almost simultaneously...

Shouts erupted from outside – confused, then urgent. Glen recognized Constable Dougley's voice among them. They must have been circling outside, blocked by the wards until now. He felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. Good. They can handle the mess. A strange nostalgia washed over him briefly. Feels familiar... leaving the cleanup to others. With a complex mix of emotions, Glen snatched a relatively intact cloak from a nearby corpse, wrapping it around his transformed frame. Without a backward glance, he melted into the deeper shadows of the ruined district, leaving only the bewildered, rescued children staring at the spot where the terrifying, savior beast had vanished.