After a while of sitting in the saloon and debating about who D is exactly. He noticed that D had a defensive and warily posture after he found out Rob had one eighth of Med?iotojai in his blood, but he also became relaxed after finding out Rob didn’t have enough to become one.

  “D is definitely preternatural, he knows something that defies logic and common sense. Wait a minute, how the fuck did he know my name?” Rohbadmer shouted as the word appeared in his mind and repeated - ‘I go by many names, Rohbadmer, but I call myself D.’ He contemplates on how D even knew his name, as he never told D. “Is he my stalker? Am I unsafe?”

  Rob shakes his head trying to dispel the thoughts and somewhat succeeds, although it doesn’t help much at the growing worries now plaguing him. Rob closes his eyes and starts to dream randomly in his mind to calm his mind and wash away his thoughts.

  “Uncle! I brought home a dead deer, did I do well?” Rob shouts, he looks the same in present day, but all that came from his uncle’s eyes were exhaustion and seriousness.

  His uncle gets up and walks over to him with a gentle smile before socking his nephew in the face with a hard punch. Rob gets sent flying back to a nightstand as his uncle looks down at him with his gentle smile, he reaches for his belt and begins whipping him with it. Rob doesn’t understand what is happening to him, as his body can’t properly register pain and a sense of morality.

  “Why do you keep giving us dead deers, you little shit? We never asked for them and you need to stop this idiotic behavior! You don’t make sense, how are you so dense and compulsive you little fuck?” Frederick shouted, as he keeps whipping Rohbadmer across the head with his belt, the buckle cutting across his cheek.

  Rohbadmer cries and smiles as he is getting beaten by his uncle, he is happy at the pain and suffering caused by his uncle. He pleads for more pain and more agony, with a heartbreaking smile on his face and happy tears in his eyes. He doesn’t protect his face or beg for mercy, he has his arms out to the sides of his body and that prompts more whips to him. Frederick tires himself out and lays on his chair with a sad and exhausted expression.

  “Why are you so weird and absurd? How do you even survive in this world, this fucked-up world we live in?” Frederick said tiredly and looks at Rohbadmer. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this because I hate you. It’s because I don’t want to see us ostracized because of your absurd behavior, I care about you, Rohbadmer, I do. It’s just that I don’t express it in healthy ways, so don’t think I despise you.”

  Rohbadmer stares at him with a shocked and quizzical look on his face. “You don’t? But what about those words when you started whipping me?”

  Frederick sighs and gestures to a uniform hanging up in a frame. It’s a Prussian uniform, bearing the rank of a major. He is explaining his unorthodox discipline to their own relative, as he developed this when Prussian foot soldiers were being too unruly. Basically, whipping the shit out of them until they were bleeding from their heads and seeing a psychedelic-like vision.

  “Oh, I see. You don’t lack the capability to express love in a healthy way since you were a child soldier in the Prussian military and then rose to major. The only way is showing love as abusive discipline.”

  “Correct Rob, it shows that officers are so embedded in military discipline and culture that attempting to break it, is nigh impossible for someone like me. I don’t hate, I just… I can’t express healthy love to you. It pains me that I can’t, but what can I even do? But just know that I always love.”

  Rob opens his eyes as he looks around the saloon, rubbing his temples. “I love you too, uncle Frederick.”

  He said with a warm tone as he looks at his hands, trembling slightly from nostalgia, then he sighs in his hand as he rest his chin upon it. Rob looks at the destruction he caused outside, even though he doesn’t care about those gang members, he is sad that he had to end their lives.

  “Caught up in a bad crowd with no hope for salvation, they fell into a pit of despair and became monsters for the sake of lashing out at the cruelty of a cruel, cruel world. All they sought was salvation and warmth, but all they got was ridicule.” Frederick would use to say when he would kill bandits and robbers during his time as major.

  Uncle Frederick was known as a Beast of K?niggr?tz during the Austro-Prussian War due to his extreme actions and also being known for executing about everyone in a town for a merest whiff of rebellion. Always complaining about the smell of gunpowder and sulfur permeating throughout the air with a little tinge of post-death hatred for the Prussian government. Obviously, for sending them to die when they couldn’t dream of being rebels.

  Losing their lives was one of those times of unethical wars and battles, everyone was paranoid and that paranoia intensified by seeing their comrades and loved ones die in horrific ways. Frederick was never the same when he saw his sister get tortured to death, all in front of him. Frederick adopted a cold and heartless expression and killed so many Austrian people just to get revenge against them, but it was never enough, it never was, and so his methods got more extreme and brutal. Including a torture and execution device where it twists the legs, arms, body, and neck in a 360 degrees angle.

  Frederick really shown no remorse on his face, but it didn’t mean he was suffering on the inside, as all of those dead people haunted his life for being worse than the devil himself. Frederick just killed, killed, mutilated, and tortured people all the while, lying to himself saying it was alright. Lying to himself to make himself feel better although it never was.

  Rohbadmer shakes his head to dispel those thoughts; he never found solace and peace in Frederick’s backstory. “He was a paranoid man, but he wasn’t evil, as evil gains power in people assigning it to other people. That’s humanity; we give power to concepts and abstract forces by defining a person as. He was a complicated man, a person who kept losing hope and was embittered at life itself.”

  By use of Ontological Property Perceptive Alternation of Humanity, humans can affect things beyond comprehension by the use of the fact that perception is power to reality. And there’s a good enough chance where ALL of humanity can make a mortal temporarily omnipotent, and not the fake kind. Actual omnipotence is the stuff in mythologies, and nobody can particularly grasp its concept. As reality is perception and perspective on an absolute level, believing in all stories and theories about one thing causes it to retroactively fit those in.

  In the saloon that’s in this town, Rohbadmer is residing in, it’s called Vodlun. Founded after its founder, Stephen Vodlun, an obsessed follower who was fixated on Davy Crockett to an unhealthy degree. From the ceiling to the mud and sawdust-covered floor, the saloon is filled with relics and memorabilia paying tribute to Vodlun's idol.

  “It’s 1899, fuck, Stephen, you definitely went all out with this shit.” Rohbadmer muttered to himself, glancing around at the musty artifacts that are definitely collecting dust from lack of maintenance. One thing about Vodlun is its mysterious and ominously dark origins, which consist of a Faustian Bargain, an attack on American Indians by white supremacists, an execution and mass burial ground, a pogrom, and a place where the Indians committed heretical sacrifices and acts that were too similar to the Aztecs and Mayans' blood sacrifices.

  The only one who actually knew was Stephen himself, but he died from humanoid beasts, and he was in the Tiburarg Lands to exterminate its inhabitants. But no one lives there except the úlfhednar, who are said to be creatures of unknown origin, monsters of extreme power and brutality where they are territorial and instinctively terrifying in all fucking categories. Stephen had a journal and a revolver that had dried blood on the barrel somewhere in the Tiburarg Lands; he had one page ripped out of the journal talking about the úlfhednar in cryptic and flowery descriptions of everything.

  Even if people wanted to know about the úlfhednar, they can’t; they don’t want to on a mental, emotional, physiological, and genetic level since what the úlfhednar did to the human race and anything that can be considered living is affected by it, even the fiction if they’re brought into reality. Not much is known of what they did, but it is considered by historians and scientists who dabble in genetic analysis that there’s a fundamental DNA segment that can’t be removed; it is permanently attached to all of the human race, and so much as trying to modify it will send the person into a catatonic state or even send them into a state where they become physically violent and destructive. So, whatever úlfhednar did to the ancestors of mankind, they definitively left a mark on them and for all future generations of man.

  Rob had gotten up from his seat and began to prowl around, searching for his friends in any way he could, moving from block to block as he called their names out. No responses in the dead of night, and he doesn’t even know where to start; his legs pick up speed as he runs down the streets and alleyways. His gun is there in its holster, and he sighs in relief as he feels the heavy metal frame of it, given to him by his uncle, and he will never, ever sell it. It’s for his descendants to wield; it is rightfully theirs in the first place, as he pledges that vow, it creates a pact between his bloodline and the gun, causing any wielder who is not a direct descendant to have their life force drained away and their souls to be conceptually dissolved into metaphysical ectoplasm. A biometric encoding in the gun’s Totalistic Framework is extremely important in the family of the ?i?me?ija, causing it to skyrocket in immense value; some in the future say it is worth more than gold and even platinum.

  As he runs and calls their names out, he hears a scream and sprints his legs over to the place where the scream sounded the loudest and ends up in a place surrounded in a pentagonal shape caused by the surrounding buildings; he skids on the floor and sees something in the distance. A monster, an actual, living creature, is cutting up the remaining members of Jarrem’s gang in self-defense, but it seems like it’s doing the most danger there is. He watches as it cuts through them like wet paper and with one cut, a second cut, and all cuts, it is a hellish landscape of blades, bodies, and blood.

  The creature looks at him and smiles sadistically as it charges at him. Sending a punch through his stomach, making Rob cry out in pain. It feels like utter pain, more than guns or a goddamn locomotive.

  “What the hell was that?” Rob chokes out as he jumps back from another punch, then another, and another, and the endless barrages trying to reach him. “It feels like time itself is slowing down during every swing.”

  “The painful energy of a supernova, the mass of a star, or more importantly, the mass of the universe!” The creature said as it charged forward, sending an even more vicious and powerful punch across the distance. The punch disorganized everything and rearranges it; he doesn’t know where his damn brain is. That’s not the worst part; his entire atomic structure is melting, actually melting into nuclear protoplasm that makes up universes and beyond. “Here is another one, Rohbadmer!”

  Another one comes, and it hits the wall next to him, which prompts Rob to jump to the side and stumble while running away from that wall as it kicks in. The entire wall, building, and portion of the town explode and burst from the high force demonstrated; it causes the stars in its path to go supernova, then the galaxies, then a quadrant of the infinite universe. Rob looked at the damage and couldn’t believe his eyes. Just like that, the creature looks at him with a smile that definitely displays the qualities of a stroked ego, an arrogant and narcissist-like look. Rob has to come to terms with the fact that the fact he endured one of these attacks was nothing short of a miracle or flat-out a joke. He wholeheartedly believes that any pantheon of gods that has true omnipotence wouldn’t be able to survive that attack; it was too powerful, and he definitely knew his position was in danger and, in fact, he was right; he can’t believe it.

  He keeps muttering why over and overthinking again, like if trying to understand the actions of the supernatural is like understanding Cthulhu or Nyarlathotep.

  Rob moves faster from each punch and each barrage; it’s like a scent of something that tries to lure him into dropping his guard. Potent, even intoxicating, it messes with the senses and the human’s will of self-preservation; it is sweet and perilously alluring; then he notices what is happening to him. That sweet smell is like a flower of an unknown family, but it doesn’t belong to any type of family. No, it is merely not complicated to understand what it is.

  “It’s death!” The creature shouted as it threw another punch, another universal quadrant busting attack. Only to be slowed down by an old, tattered coat that is helplessly torn more from the punch. The shockwave makes Rob’s head bleed from the force and speed of it, making him collapse on his knees from it; he coughs and looks to his side, seeing someone he doesn’t know standing there.

  The figure looks at Rob and they chuckle softly at his appearance. “You look like utter shit, but I guess that makes you feel powerful, right?”

  Rob can accurately hear the feminine voice and comes to the conclusion that the figure is a girl. She brings out a revolver and looks at the creature, stating it is a Fetter and it is extremely powerful despite it being one of the weakest there is. Rob looks at the girl in confusion and disbelief, disbelieving himself that he doesn’t know what a Fetter is.

  The Fetter looks at the two before walking away, naming itself Gray D to be remembered by them. And with that, Rob looks up at the girl who looks down at him, Rob has instantly fallen in love with her like Romeo and Juliet. By his words, she is nothing but a beautiful, curvaceous, and voluptuous woman, someone he will desperately take as his wife.

  The girl chuckles at the look in his eyes and flicks his forehead. “Geez, you're already in love and that quick too? I guess I might be the hottest piece of meat you have ever seen right?”

  Rohbadmer nods his head, agreeing with her instantly, earning a snicker from her. She helps him up and looks at him up and down, noticing he is attractive and handsome too. “Name’s Alyss Treaton, and I’m approximately 17 winters old. What about you, you little cutie?”

  His face flushes and becomes red. “Rohbadmer ?i?me?ija, I was born on August 14, 1885, so I’m thirteen by the time of this. And yes… I did fall in love with you, you did just save my ass from that — what’s it called — a Fetter. So thanks for that, I would rather keep my head on my shoulders and be a breathing and living thing.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Makes sense, this is the dawn of a new year. So, a thirteen winters old fell in love with me, huh? Yeah, keep talking and the feeling will be mutual, Rohbadmer, y’know, it will just be a blast when the day finally comes and I admit that I’m now in love with you. After my confession, we’re gonna consummate it.” She said and the second last word strikes a chord within him and he nods very eagerly and vigorously.

  The majestic word of consummation comes with one thing that the people who are single don’t understand. And that is sex, Rob understands it perfectly because people don’t live for long in the 1800s. Alyss smiles at his enthusiastic smile and claps her hands, her eyes fluttering shut as she tilts her head at him.

  “It’s a promise then! As we need to pop out kids before we die. A lot of deaths in this century, eh?” Alyss said with a long chuckle. It is true, immensely true, that they need to make children to avoid their bloodlines being ended which is one of the most dangerous and disappointing sins ever to ancestors. Bloodlines ending, just because there has been some of the evilest people in those specific ones, it doesn’t mean people just have to let it die.

  There was something Frederick always told to Rob during his random acts of wisdom and it comes along the lines of this. “It is one of the most pathetic and disappointing acts to do. It’s disgusting to let bloodlines die. You can let your children or grandchildren be the change and break away from the fucking image that has been casted down upon by the public because of their ancestor, they can prove that they are different from their vile ancestor. Anyone who would rather have their bloodlines die should be imprisoned and publicly degraded for their short-sightedness.”

  Rob has continuously believed in that so much that it integrated into his genetic code, which he passed down to his descendants. “That’s true, Alyss, we can’t die just yet. Or else, we will have to come face to face with our respective ancestors.”

  She lets out a warmhearted laugh, holding her stomach as she walks over to Rob. “I have to leave or I might fuck you right here. So, Rohbadmer, will you do me a favor and patiently wait as I contemplate about my feelings and future with you?”

  He nods. “Of course, I’ll wait for you, Alyss. I’ll wait for the inevitable day and its outcome.”

  She smiles and walks up further before kissing Rob’s lips before pulling away, she grins as she walks away. “Man, I wished she touched my hand so I have an excuse to use it later. But, eh, I might get lucky and busy.”

  As he talks to himself, he doesn’t know two people hanging out on the roof, watching him as he stands there in the middle. “That’s the guy? I must say, he looks almost exactly like you, but he has gray hair and you have pure white hair.”

  “Yup, that’s him, Roman. That’s Rohbadmer ?i?me?ija, the great grandfather and founder of the future ?i?me?ija Family.” The other figure said as he leaned against the side of the Victorian chimney, his body just a silhouette. “Weird to see him in the flesh. He did die in 1968 at the age of eighty three, so it’s kinda nostalgic in this surreal but fucked up way.”

  “I bet,” Roman said as he sat on the edge of the shingle mansard style roof. “It’s crazy that he has the Orsakasilfur in his blood, that puts him at greater risk and danger for the supernatural races to gang up on him. You do know that, right, it’s practically the law of the Inhumane? For some to join together and try to gang up on a being that could theoretically be powerful at them, they even tried to do it on babies. What’s stopping you from seeing him? We aren’t exactly bound by the normal system and laws of causality.”

  “I know, I know. Understand my situation here, Roman Matchotch, he is the founder of one of The Great Seven Families and that doesn’t help to quell my nerves if I tried to meet him. I’m thinking of a big, stupendous and extravagant introduction to tell him who I am, I even prepared the DNA test to prove that I am the descendant of his best friend. This is more difficult than the time I realized my identical twin brother was genderbent into a female from a gender bending superweapon.”

  “Makes sense, it is one of the most difficult things to do. Meeting an ancestor of… your grandfather, of course, but couldn’t we just meet a Rob in an alternate universe or Timeframe?” Roman said.

  The figure shakes his head. “No. We might have a multiverse in the form of the Assiah, but we quite literally can’t do that. They won’t be the same as evidence of everyone experiencing Quantum Collapse, a new iteration and variant with another alternate universe that is connected to Terra. Have a friend dead and someone who is literally your friend comes to the universe? They’re not the person who was your friend and the real one is still dead, you can’t retcon that no matter how much you want to.”

  Roman nods and concedes. “Make sense, a Timeframe won’t work either, as that is just a universal time continuum, deciding how time should work for reality. The foundation of the operation of time. Damn, so it’s just this one, the Prime Rohbadmer ?i?me?ija, the one we time traveled in the past for.”

  The silhouetted figure chuckles lowly. “Yup. Doesn’t matter to my existence because everyone is acausal, I won’t get erased in the future if Rob finds out about my identity. I wonder what he would feel if he met his own descendant. And everyone transcends the fourth dimension, so we aren’t exactly bound by normal time and space.”

  “Yeah, the fourth dimension coveted by the Brane Cosmology and Bulk Theory is nothing but a mere suggestion to existence as a whole. So you can’t accurately measure nor apply to anyone.” Roman said. This is true as it isn’t a universal law nor fact, so people who get into conversations like a dick measuring contest and bring up Brane Cosmology as a credible source will be laughed at for suggesting it.

  The silhouetted figure remembers something and chuckles. “Oh, man, this period is a lot better than ours. They don’t have a Ronaldo Czetzija as a world leader.”

  Roman laughs. “Yeah, who decided to elect Ronaldo as a leader of a country? The dude executes every single criminal in public light and on public display, murderers, vandals, the people who rob stores to feed their families, criminals who abuse children; line them up and shoot them in the back as the whole world watches in horror.”

  Rob continues to search for his friends, finding them in various places that by their own choices and standards picked. And once Rob has founded them, he has rejoiced in happiness and peace for his friends are okay and alive unscathed. And then which they had been patiently waiting for the rest of the group to arrive, Dana the ever scandalous one had admitted that Bale and her did the deed, and as such won’t be attending the expedition for her legs are now like jello on a hot summer day.

  Rob looks utterly confused as he just survived a fight and now this stuff. By the time, his embarrassment faded away, it was dawn and the sun was rising, he looked down at his lap as they walked to an inn for beer. He said he will follow them there later and just wants some peace.

  “All my life, I have known the utter pain and suffering of my failures. Having people die on my watch, watching them die in the most horrific and devastatingly agonizing ways possible; I honestly don’t know where I will end up, either in Hell or Heaven, but I just need the guidance, purpose, and the will to keep on going. For my bloodline, my life, my family — but what can I do when everything I touch or meet dies or turns to shit? Am I strong, is there such a definition of being strong, I don’t even believe that such a thing exists. There are too many variables in everything, how can something be so immutable, unchanging, incapable of changing, it’s all just like my life. A never ending series of having to mentally relive the moment of me watching that poor, old gunsmith dying in front of me, I am just a weak bastard, I’m not strong nor am I weak, I just need to keep living, to not forget the people that died and will die.”

  Rob said in a soliloquy-like manner. Just talking alone to nobody but himself, he knows that everything has a plan, a design and he needs to accept that, but it doesn’t mean he can’t influence it in his own way, his own image. He will give the worst of the worst — not the child abusers though — a second chance, he doesn’t care of their past deeds, as long as they want to change and redeem themselves to not suffer in the fiery pits of Hell; he will do it without a second thought nor glance. As Jesus and the Bible have stated, everyone is equal to forgiveness in the eyes of the Lord and can save themselves from eternal damnation.

  Rob stands up and dusts himself off to chase after his friends, smiling gratefully at his life and the Lord Himself. For once, in his entire life, he might actually get the best possible answer to his own purpose, which is something he always desperately searched for. He entered the inn and found his friends being hassled by an old guy that has a receding hairline and some of his companions look at it with different but similarly subtle expressions on their faces.

  “You dumbasses! When we ask you if you know Kenneth Franz, we ask you in a comprehensible language, not speak in a complete gibberish dialect! Do any of your ears work or are you just mentally challenged? I swear I must be losing my mind trying to get you guys to talk.” The old man says as he gives them a comedic annoyed and squinted look before he loses it.

  Rob’s friends tilt their heads in sync, acting like they don’t understand what he’s talking about.

  The old man grunts in complete frustration and annoyance before putting a revolver to Boreaux’s forehead. Her eyes widen at the cold feel of it stinging her skin from the barrel, she has a look of fear and disbelief, hoping he won’t cock the hammer back. But he does and she feels regret for being a moron as the gun is primed to kill her.

  Rob steps in to mediate this situation with the best that he can do, although it’s not much. He is really struggling with his oration skills, he can’t control the crowd with words like Dana, fear them with threats and insults like Bale, twist the truthful words into inanities like Sarah, gain an easy advantage over the hardheaded opposition like Markus, nor charm and seduce them into having sex like Boreaux. Although, Boreaux always fails at the sex part, there’s just something in her presence and existence that warrants something like that.

  By that definition he wasn’t good at talking himself out of situations, but then he was good at talking himself into them. So Rob has something going on in his life, as though there was much to it in the first place, most of Rob’s future descendants can vouch for that. Walking up to them, he tries to give a smile but it’s noticeably forced and even Rob himself knows that, he just doesn’t want his companions to die.

  “Whoa, let’s calm down, ok? So, let’s help you find this Kenneth Franz, you do want him to be found right? What are you looking at me for, I want to help him so he doesn’t kill you all!” Rob said as he noticed the looks of deadpan stares and snickering.

  After a while, it takes the combined efforts of them to convince the guy with the gun to lower it and tell them his request. For it is the longest conversation between them in any other possible way, and Rob is trying to be methodical with it. Only after a long time, the guy with the gun begins to talk about Kenneth Franz.

  “Kenneth Franz, he’s a… certain individual, he’s a good friend even though he’s a wretched looking creature. Some rich, smart looking miscreant was calling him a Homunculus, which I call utter nonsense and bullshit, sure he does look like if a horse kicked him in the body with the power of a locomotive. It’s just been hard with me and my family, they deeply respect and appreciate Kenneth, he has been a constant source of warmth and heat, almost like a bonfire we can huddle around by. My daughter, Justine, has been crying throughout her entire days where she should be sleeping for which I worry for her health and body, she’s a picky eater, so she can’t eat much without the encouragement of Kenneth there. I just need him home, my family needs him home, my children will go crazy, my younger siblings are bickering and fighting against one another; it’s a complete cluster show of depression and anger! For which due to my inexperience, I need the advice and assistance of Kenneth, he’s older than me but he’s very wise, and I fear that I might doom my family if he doesn’t help me with the situation.”

  Rob listens as he shuts them up from making snide remarks and unwanted jabs about Kenneth being Frankenstein, but it never ceases.

  “So he’s Frankenstein?” Mark said and Rob smacks him up against the back of his head and it shoots down to the table. For how long in his life, he has gotten fed up with these jokes that his companions make, sometimes they all fall flat or aren’t even funny.

  A joke is a joke, it’s meant to be humorous and witty, but it’s not. When one hears the same joke, they want to empty their brains with a shotgun, it will get old and become unneeded time and time again. People want something new, not the same joke about a traumatic event.

  And they understand that, it’s just they don’t care for originality anymore.

  “I understand, this is a very delicate issue here. So you want us to find him?” Dana asks to which the man nods.

  Of course, it was noticeable from the beginning of the conversation. But it comes at a greater shock that Rob nods his head, agreeing to it. “Where did you see him last time? Or where was his last previously known location?”

  The man pulls out a map of the surrounding area, showing where they are and the landmarks of the Stihly region; he points at the crossroads known as the Fief because it borders the Celrokoaei and Rocakake Lakes. Which are known and rumored to house a bunch of individuals that are terrifying, sadistic, and downright nightmare fuel. And they’re all human, no supernatural stuff in cahoots with them. The Rocakake’s denizens are known as the Night Invaders, since they invade anything and anyone in the dead of night, putting a knife to the peoples’ throats and proceed to do whatever they do. They don’t have reasons or motives to kill, they do it because it’s their way of expressing freedom and sadistic but genuine affection to their victims.

  “Creepy motherfuckers, the whites, blacks, indigenous, and the bastards down below the south. I wouldn’t be caught in the same region as them, if anything for that matter. They’re are quite the living iteration of the boogeymen, and I am fucking terrified to be around them.” The old man said, which is very understandable and reasonable. As they are a high class group of the worst of the absolute worst, murderers, torturers, and the likes.

  “We will do it.” Rob said without hesitation, earning shocked looks and opened mouths. “We’re doing this, you poorly packaged sacks of impudent horseshit. Let’s face it, you guys are the worst at doing anything right for your lives, if we need the money for the provisions and ammunition then I don’t see the point why not.”

  They look at each other and say silent, stunned by Rob’s seemingly rising confidence. He’s not like most, hell, he even said it was a terrible idea to visit the Tiburarg Region, so why now does he want to visit the Fief? Who knows for sure, but it might have to do with his fight against the Fetter known as Gray D, maybe that knocked some sense into his cranium.

  Rob stands up and shakes the old man’s hand before leaving the tavern, walking to his carriage and loads the weapons in there.

  He stops what he is doing and picks up a rifle, checking the ammo it has before twisting his body behind him and fires a bullet in a guy’s face. He whistles at the damage before hopping down the carriage, he walks over and the guy morphs and rips apart in a vicious show, the bones cracking and the organs twisting as they explode out of the body.

  The bone mutates as it pierces out of the shoulders, becoming massive spirals of gnarled and warped bones, leaking bone marrow all over the bones’ cracked openings and pores. A piece of them pierce the head, popping out an eye and his brains, before a high level of mutating biomass bursts out of the empty eye socket and throat to attach itself to the cranium and his twisted arm. The biomass mutates constantly and continuously into a cocoon-like spiny ridges resembling vertebral cells of blades. The skin around it calcified and violently rotated together into a segmented singular cell of immense horrifying proportions, before the center mass of it opened itself up to reveal an eye of an orange pupil with a dark reddish sclera. A massive protrusion of protein, amino acids, and RNA molecules spawned at the top of the shoulder, bulging it into a massive mass of flesh and biomass, which sharpened bones shoot out of before curving around into a spiky exoskeleton. The empty eye socket becomes a large amorphous blob of biomass that twists open into a massive jaw of monomolecular sharpened teeth.

  A mutated ball of flesh spurts out of the gash located directly on his spine before it sprouts claws that tear its way up to his spine, attaching itself back to his spine and become a giant set of spiky twin dorsal spines that tear itself open to his arms and right upper side of his back. The muscles become emaciated before bulge into a monstrously muscular shape, the process cracking the ribs and rearranging his exploded organs. The pituitary gland goes into maximum overdrive and stretches the already stretched and bulky stuff to levels of nightmare fuel, where the mutated biomass reaches a layer that is eldritch, looking like a massive blob of flesh and mass that was genetically modified and made into a Volksseele.

  Rob looks at the human if it can be called that in utter fear as he hears the vicious and brutal sounds of fleshing tearing, bones breaking, while they bulge into a scenic sight of the human body pushed to its extent. People faint from the discomfort, puke from the appearance, and some even have heart attacks and seizures. The man stands there, in his fully transformed self and looks at Rob with a smug, sadistic grin all the while not caring what just happened to the people around them.

  “Shouldn’t have done that. Now, you get to see the natural state of human beings. This is our true form!” The man shouts exuberantly as he charges forward at Rob.