Chapter 20: Flesh Shaper

  Zeraphine crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings suddenly severed, her body folding in on itself with a terrible, unnatural grace. Her porcelain features, so untouched by suffering before, twisted in a fleeting expression of shock, her wide, luminous eyes reflecting the sting of betrayal and the searing pain of the strike. A sharp gasp slipped from her lips, soft, delicate, and barely audible, yet filled with the rawness of disbelief.

  Elaine felt as if time itself had slowed, trapping her in the horrifying moment as she watched Zeraphine drop to her knees. Her body wavered, her pale-white lashes fluttering as her eyes rolled back, surrendering to the inevitable. Then, like a wilting flower, she collapsed forward, her slender frame meeting the unyielding earth with a muted, heartbreaking finality.

  The pristine white of her wings, once so carefully kept from even the faintest touch of dust, now lay splayed out, their celestial radiance marred by the coarse, unforgiving dirt. The sight of them, once symbols of grace, now sullied and limp, felt like a violation, an affront to something sacred. It was as if the heavens themselves had turned their back on her, allowing an ethereal being to be reduced to something so fragile, so heartbreakingly human.

  That was when Elaine saw it, him. The figure standing behind Zeraphine’s crumpled form sent a bolt of ice down her spine. Her breath caught in her throat, panic clawing at her chest as she instinctively scrambled backward, her hands and feet skidding against the dirt in a desperate bid to put space between them.

  The man before her was no ordinary soldier. He was a specter of war, a walking testament to violence and survival. His face was a canvas of scars, some old and faded, others fresh, crusted with dried blood that clung to his skin like an unholy relic. His dark brown eyes were void-like, hollowed by the weight of countless battles, lifeless yet terrifying in their quiet certainty. There was no cruelty in his gaze, no smugness or pleasure, just the detached emptiness of someone merely doing their job.

  His hair, a deep chestnut, was matted with filth and gore, clinging to his forehead beneath a makeshift bandage that covered most of his brow. The stained fabric did little to hide the raw brutality he had endured, or perhaps inflicted. He looked as though he had walked through the fires of hell itself, baptized in blood and anguish, only to emerge on the other side stripped of everything human. A hollow shell. A soulless thing.

  And now, he stood before her.

  Elaine’s pulse thundered in her ears, her mind screaming at her to run, but her limbs felt useless, paralyzed by the sheer presence of the man who had brought an angel to her knees.

  “All clear, MT Officer.”

  The man’s voice was a bark of authority, gruff and unwavering, as he righted his rifle with practiced ease. The barrel snapped up, aimed directly at Elaine and Xin-ta. His expression remained void of emotion, his hollow eyes a silent warning—one wrong move, and he would not hesitate to pull the trigger.

  Elaine barely breathed, frozen under the weight of that empty gaze, but Xin-ta, unknowing of the deadly weapon pointed at them, reacted differently. With a swift motion, she reached for the knife at her hip, the pristine blade slipping free of its sheath with a whisper of death.

  Elaine saw nothing of what happened next—only the flicker in the soldier’s eyes, the nearly imperceptible shift of his focus. Then came the deafening bang.

  The air around Elaine split with force, the magi-tec round tearing past her so close that she felt the heat and pressure whip her hair into a wild torrent. A sickening gasp echoed behind her. Elaine’s heart lurched as she twisted her head, her eyes locking onto Xin-ta.

  The alien woman's wide eyes shimmered with disbelief, staring down at the gaping wound in her abdomen. The round had torn through her effortlessly, leaving a cavernous, burning hole in her stomach. For a moment, she didn’t seem to understand what had happened—her grip slackened, and the blade she held so expertly began slipping from her fingers.

  Then pain struck.

  A snarl twisted Xin-ta’s once-calm features, her pupils dilating with sheer willpower. As her body wavered, she gritted her teeth, refusing to let go entirely. With a final flick of her wrist, she sent the blade flying, a last act of defiance. It cut through the air, slicing past Elaine in a flash of bone and obsidian, aimed straight for the soldier.

  He had seen the weapon the moment she drew it—recognized its primitive design and dismissed it as nothing more than a useless relic. But as the blade sailed toward him, his instincts flared, and he shifted, angling his armored pauldron to absorb the impact.

  The knife struck.

  A sharp clang echoed, but then—impossibly—it bit deeper. The blade, impossibly refined, honed to a lethal edge no mortal forge could replicate, sank into the reinforced metal as if it were nothing more than soft clay. His armor, forged by the master smiths of Kul’Mecka—the very heart of weaponcraft for the Eradication Corps—was meant to withstand the unthinkable. Yet, the serrated edge drove through both metal and flesh, sinking hilt-deep into his shoulder, carving past bone with unnatural ease.

  Xin-ta, her body failing her, slumped onto her side, her fingers weakly pressing against the gaping wound in her midriff. Her breathing was ragged, her vision dimming, yet a glint of satisfaction lingered in her gaze.

  The soldier let out a ragged cry of pain, his body jerking involuntarily as the blade shifted within him, grinding against bone. Even lodged deep within armor, flesh, and marrow, the knife still seemed to cut, as if refusing to lose its edge. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his teeth bared in a grimace as his fingers found the handle—carved from bone, alien and unyielding. With a wrenching motion, he tore it free, a sickening squelch accompanying the gush of blood that spilled from the gaping wound.

  But he wasted no time.

  With practiced efficiency, he retrieved a vial from his belt—a med-jelly pack. Cracking it open, he poured the thick, bioluminescent gel over the wound, watching as it instantly bubbled and sealed the gash, halting the bleeding in mere seconds. The pain remained, but his face betrayed no more than a flicker of discomfort.

  Yet through it all, his eyes never wavered.

  They remained locked on the other human.

  Elaine had turned, her trembling hands already reaching for Xin-ta, her breath hitching in horror as she pulled the alien’s hand away from the gaping wound in her abdomen. Hot tears streamed down her face, her mind refusing to process what she was seeing—what that devastating magi-tec round had done.

  Xin-ta was still breathing.

  Barely.

  Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven heaves. Elaine could hear the wet, gurgling rasp in each inhale, a reminder of the words her friend had boasted before—we’re tougher than we look. But even those words felt fragile now, as Elaine desperately clawed at the supply box beside her, her fingers shaking as she rummaged through its contents.

  Her heart sank.

  The medical bandages were gone. Used just moments before.

  Her mind reeled, grasping for any other solution, but all she found were unfamiliar salves and tinctures. Panic clawed at her insides—if I use the wrong thing, I could make it worse. She hesitated, her hands trembling over the vials, unsure, powerless.

  Her breath hitched as her tear-filled gaze snapped back toward the soldier.

  Hate.

  Fear.

  A raging storm brewed in her eyes as she turned on him, her voice raw with grief and fury.

  “WHY?!” she screamed, her voice shaking. “Why did you shoot?! Why did you hurt Zee?!”

  The soldier didn’t flinch.

  Slowly, methodically, he raised his rifle, leveling it at her, the magi-tec core humming with lethal energy, glowing ominously in the dim light.

  Elaine froze.

  The fear struck deep, cold and primal, seeping into her bones. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her pulse hammering in her ears as her gaze flickered down—to the spear lying just inches away from her fingers.

  She could reach it.

  She could fight.

  As if reading her thoughts, the soldier spoke, his voice even and void of emotion.

  “Don’t do it, lady.”

  The hum of the rifle intensified, a warning—a promise of destruction, should she make the wrong move.

  “Human… don’t do it.”

  The voice slithered into Elaine’s mind like a cold breath of wrathful fire, a whisper that held the weight of an unearthly storm. Seraphion.

  Her presence billowed inside Elaine’s soul-space, pressing against the fragile walls of her mind, threatening to spill over and consume everything. It wasn’t just anger—it was a primordial fury, raw and divine, so potent that it sent a tremor through Elaine’s entire being.

  Elaine’s breath caught in her throat.

  She remembered this feeling—how Seraphion’s wrath had once nearly shattered her very will, reducing her to nothing beneath its suffocating intensity. Even now, it clawed at her, curling around her bones like shackles made of searing fire, demanding release.

  Her fingers twitched toward the spear.

  Her hand trembled.

  But then—Xin-ta.

  Elaine’s gaze snapped back to her friend, her pulse thundering in her ears. Wrath threatened to devour her, but grief was the heavier weight pressing against her chest. She could feel Xin-ta’s blood seeping through her fingers, warm and slick, no matter how hard she pressed against the wound.

  This wouldn’t hold.

  She knew it.

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  Xin-ta was dying.

  Elaine shuddered as she fought to suppress the fury building inside her, to silence Seraphion’s cold whispers of vengeance. She couldn’t afford to give in. Not now. Not when her friend was slipping away beneath her hands.

  A voice cut through the tense air.

  “Stand down, grunt.”

  Another man’s voice—firm, authoritative.

  Behind Elaine, the sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Something dragged against the ground, scraping in slow, methodical movements.

  But she didn’t turn.

  She couldn’t.

  Her hands remained pressed against Xin-ta’s abdomen, her mind racing, searching for something, anything to keep her friend alive.

  But she was running out of time.

  Seraphion’s voice came again, softer now—a whisper threading through Elaine’s mind like a dying ember, its heat no longer searing, but smoldering. The violent tempest of wrath had begun to ebb, retreating as the archangel forced herself into a calm state. She saw how it affected her human, how the weight of divine fury threatened to shatter Elaine’s fragile resolve.

  She would not let that happen. Not again.

  "Human… she is just another animal. Could you not do what you have done to yourself to her?"

  Her voice held an uncharacteristic gentleness, an attempt at comfort, at offering something in this bleak moment. Seraphion had witnessed the resilience of humans, the impossible feats they willed into existence—miracles carved into flesh, forced evolution that defied the laws of nature.

  And yet, for all her knowledge, neither she, Zeraphine, nor Elaine truly understood the depths of Elaine's Divine Gift.

  I... I don’t know what to do, Sera! I don’t know what to do!

  Elaine's screams echoed through the depths of her mind, frantic and desperate, a plea that shattered under the weight of helplessness. She repeated the words over and over, her thoughts spiraling into hysteria, clawing for a solution that didn’t exist.

  Tears streamed down her face in unrelenting torrents, hot against her chilled skin, falling like raindrops into the widening pool of blood that seeped around Xin-ta’s body.

  Her friend—her friend—was growing colder beneath her trembling hands.

  The reality of it crushed her.

  Elaine sobbed, her body wracked with the sheer force of grief as her fingers pressed against the open wound, slick with blood that refused to stop flowing. The warmth was fading, replaced by an eerie stillness, a quiet suffocating her soul.

  Sera, help me! Please! I don't know what to do!

  But no miracle came. No divine hand reached down to undo what had been done.

  Xin-ta was slipping away.

  And Elaine was powerless to stop it.

  Elaine barely registered the words that Sera had spoken, her own mind fighting the reality of what was happening, her hands still pressed desperately against Xin-ta’s wound, her breath hitching with every fading rise and fall of her friend’s chest. Her mind spun in helpless circles, clawing for a solution, anything to stop this from happening.

  Then—

  A whisper.

  So faint it could have been nothing.

  But it was something.

  A buried memory, long hidden beneath layers of consciousness, stirred in the depths of her mind. A whisper from before. From a time she had forgotten—or perhaps, a time she had forced herself to forget.

  And now, it wiggled itself free, slithering forward like a long-dormant truth, waiting to be remembered.

  ~The planet your on is full of life and unknown species allowed to grow rampant and in ways that will amaze you. Use your knowledge and the Divine Gift that the God of our galaxy placed within you. Based on your background My Lord had deemed it fit that you will have the ability to change things around and inside of yourself. Dig deep within your very Soul and find which has been given.~

  With that revelation, Elaine’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as clarity cut through the chaos of her grief. The storm within her mind settled, her thoughts cooling as her face remained flushed from the intensity of her emotional outburst. She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to focus.

  She lifted her hands from Xin-ta’s wound, the slick warmth of blood clinging to her fingers as she studied her friend with renewed purpose. Her mind whirred, tearing through the depths of her knowledge, sifting through the lessons she had once absorbed in university back on Earth. There had to be something—anything—that could help.

  Behind her, Joseph approached, his footsteps measured but urgent. He carried Harrow, the tracker, setting him down carefully. The man was a ghost of himself, missing both a lower arm and a portion of his leg—remnants of the brutal Devourer Plague. And yet, even in his near-broken state, he had led them here, his training holding strong despite the agony that stole the breath from his lungs.

  Joseph’s gaze flickered toward the angelic figure crumpled on the ground—the target of their mission. The gods of the universe made angels for their own purposes—to enact judgment, to shape fate. And yet, this one…

  She was different.

  Her form, near-perfect, resembled that of a Kul’human, the superior race crafted by Kul’tecka’s divine hand. But she bore none of the brutal identifier markings, the brands that all Kul’angel subjects were seared with upon their creation. A demand from their god—a permanent claim of ownership.

  Joseph frowned. This was no ordinary being.

  But then his gaze shifted, drawn not to the angel, but to the other Kul’human—the woman.

  At first, he merely observed, curious about what she was doing. But as he circled the area, instinctively giving the angel a wide berth, he stopped cold.

  His breath caught. His jaw slackened.

  He could see it.

  The very fabric of reality around her was moving.

  From all directions, the ambient mana of the world bent toward her, swirling in delicate streams, pouring into her body like rivers drawn to the ocean. But it wasn’t just mana. No—this was something more.

  Something no mortal should ever be able to touch.

  Flickering in the air around her, like dying embers against the void, were motes of cosmic energy.

  Torn fragments of space itself, slipping through unseen fractures in reality, twisting and reforming before being absorbed—drawn into the dark-haired woman’s body.

  And then, impossibly, that energy poured from her into the beastial creature lying on the ground.

  Joseph’s fingers twitched at his side, his mind screaming at him that this was wrong, that what he was witnessing should not—could not—belong to any mortal.

  This was power reserved for the gods.

  And yet…

  Here she was.

  Stealing it.

  Joseph’s fingers instinctively curled around the heft of his rifle, his muscles tensing as years of training took hold. The weight of the weapon was familiar, steady—his anchor in the midst of the impossible. Slowly, he started to lift it from his shoulder, his every motion deliberate, his mind screaming at him to act.

  The target had been in front of them the whole time, and he had been mistaken.

  Not the fallen non-Kul angel.

  No… the true abomination stood before him now.

  The dark-haired woman, her presence warping the very fabric of reality around her, was the anomaly—the thing they had been hunting. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breaths coming faster as he leveled the rifle, the crosshairs aligning with her skull. He could see it happening in real-time—the air around her twisting, bending, feeding her with an energy no mortal should ever wield.

  His finger hovered over the trigger.

  Then, something stopped him.

  A soft sigh.

  The sound was so small, so gentle, that it nearly went unheard amidst the chaos. But it reached him—cut through the rush of his own heartbeat, through the screaming orders in his head.

  His gaze snapped downward.

  The beastial creature—the one who had been dying mere seconds ago—breathed.

  A deep, shuddering inhale.

  Joseph’s breath hitched as he watched the impossible unfold before his very eyes.

  The dark-haired woman had done something only the gods were supposed to do.

  Not even the most advanced medical technology in the entire Kul empire could have pulled someone back from the brink like this. Even the legendary healers, wielders of divine energy blessed by the gods themselves, could only delay death.

  But she… she had reversed it.

  He had just witnessed a miracle.

  His rifle lowered, his grip slackening as disbelief took hold. The weight of realization crushed his mind, unraveling everything he thought he understood about the universe. If healing—true, absolute healing—was a gift wielded only by the gods… then what the hell was this woman?

  His knees hit the ground before he even realized he had fallen, his hands trembling at his sides. His mind cracked under the weight of the revelation, questions he had never dared to ask now clawing at the very foundation of his beliefs.

  Everything he had been taught.

  Everything he had fought for.

  It was all… wrong.

  And yet, Elaine was oblivious to his breaking.

  She wasn’t looking at him.

  Her focus was entirely on the creature before her, her mind racing through everything she knew of biology, of physiology, of the very nature of life itself.

  Because she wasn’t finished yet.

  Elaine’s hands hovered over Xin-ta’s abdomen, her mind no longer clouded by panic but sharpened with relentless focus. The divine energy within her pulsed, not as an overwhelming force, but as an extension of her knowledge—an instrument of science and instinct merging into one.

  She had studied biology, anatomy, and zoology. She knew how life adapted, how creatures evolved over millions of years to survive impossible conditions. If she were to reshape Xin-ta’s flesh, she would do it not with blind magic but with precise biological intent.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached inward, allowing the energy to flow—not as chaotic magic, but as controlled cellular manipulation.

  First, the wound itself. Inspired by the axolotl, she guided the regrowth of damaged tissue, instructing the cells to replicate without scarring. Every severed nerve fiber realigned perfectly, the connective tissues weaving back together as if they had never been torn apart. The damaged blood vessels sealed themselves, rerouting pathways to ensure optimal oxygen flow.

  But she didn’t stop at mere healing.

  The principles of the immortal jellyfish, Turritopsis dohrnii, whispered in her mind. If she could reverse cellular degradation, Xin-ta’s abdomen wouldn’t just heal—it would rejuvenate. The skin and muscles would regenerate not as they had been but as stronger, more resilient cellular age resetting to its peak efficiency. Never again to succumb to the ravages of time, the cells would retain their memory perfectly.

  Elaine’s thoughts moved deeper, beyond mere restoration. Survival demanded adaptation.

  Drawing inspiration from pangolins, she coaxed a secondary dermal layer beneath Xin-ta’s skin—microscale structures forming a flexible yet durable underlayer. Not rigid armor, but a defensive mesh interwoven with collagen fibers to disperse impact force.

  From snakes, she borrowed something subtler—enhanced muscular elasticity. Xin-ta’s abdominal muscles became denser, their fibers capable of greater contraction and expansion. This wasn’t just about strength but precision—a body that moved with impossible fluidity, core muscles that could withstand stress and strain beyond their natural limits.

  Elaine’s mind raced through the digestive system. Efficiency is key.

  From cephalopods, she introduced a restructuring of digestive enzymes, increasing absorption rates without altering essential gut flora. This would ensure that every nutrient extracted from food was used to its fullest potential.

  Inspired by crocodilians, she optimized the stomach’s acidity, allowing it to break down tougher proteins and sustain energy longer, a necessary adaptation for a being constantly on the move.

  The thought came naturally—why stop at function? Form follows function.

  Cuttlefish and chameleons provided the answer. By embedding chromatophores within the skin, Xin-ta’s abdomen would gain the ability to shift pigmentation, allowing for camouflage or aesthetic changes at will. A shimmer of living biology, capable of blending into the environment or even glowing softly in darkness through symbiotic bioluminescent bacteria.

  And elasticity—feline agility. Elaine restructured the dermal layers, ensuring skin remained smooth and supple regardless of stress or stretching, never sagging or losing resilience.

  And from the electric eel, she took one final gift. Deep within the muscular structure, she wove nerve clusters designed to store and release electrical energy—a defense mechanism like no other. If Xin-ta willed it, anyone who touched her would receive a sudden, shocking counterattack.

  Finally, protection against the unknown. She thought as her claw-tipped fingers drew small faint lines feeding the forces of the cosmic energies into Xin-ta.

  From the horseshoe crab, Elaine imbued Xin-ta’s immune system with an extraordinary advantage—an immediate response to toxins, neutralizing poisons before they could take effect. No illness, no venom, no infection would take her friend down again.

  And from woodpeckers, she borrowed a trick of force absorption. The abdominal structure would disperse impacts like shock absorbers, preventing damage from even the most devastating blows.

  With all the adaptations that she had borrowed from her near-perfect memories of all the schooling and extra study that she took place, she didn’t just place these adaptations to the abdomen only but spread them throughout the whole body.

  When Elaine finally exhaled, her hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer precision of what she had just done. This was not chaotic healing.

  This was evolution.

  She sat back, breathless, watching as Xin-ta's body responded, her wounds sealing, her skin radiating a faint luminescent sheen before settling into normalcy.

  Xin-ta gasped. Her eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert, her breathing steady.

  Elaine had done it.

  Every ounce of her energy had been poured into the reshaping of Xin-ta’s form, her knowledge and instincts woven into the very fabric of biology and evolution itself. She had defied nature—not by rejecting it, but by perfecting it.

  The moment her task was complete, the weight of it all crashed down on her like an unstoppable tide.

  Her limbs trembled, heavy and unresponsive. Her vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in as her mind flickered between exhaustion and the quiet satisfaction of achievement.

  She barely registered the feeling of her body slumping to the ground, the cold earth pressing against her cheek. The last vestiges of consciousness slipped away from her, but before they did, a small, tired smile curved her lips.

  Her final thought escaped as a whisper, barely audible against the stillness of the moment.

  "A perfect near immortal apex predator…"

  Then—darkness.