Reincarnated as a Duck: A beast progression litrpg isekai-Chapter 285 - 276: Pushed to the edge

Below, the situation was steadily deteriorating into a much worse state.

At least in complexity, time became like a bomb. The fight between Bagus and Razmund was a minor clash of interest that some beings wouldn't find worth noting.

Here, below that crashed shaft, and in place of old secrets, Lint was too late to deal with everything, and a surprising turn came to Lookish, who hadn't dealt with Razmund at all.

He accepted the fruit as if it were candy and let him go on his hunt. Lint wasn't sure why he had done that, though. From Mindarch's tone, it didn't sound like anything good.

Lookish wasn't a janitor of this place, nor was he a guardian. He was doing his job and belonged to many things.

Neither was important at the moment. He was someone who was supposed to be a secret, close to some of Levandis's most secret projects, far away from prying eyes. That wasn't the case anymore. It changed and no longer hid from the light and anyone but herself.

Mindarch carried on a peculiar legacy, bearing the control and gifts of the Old World, and was a testament to the art of men and the concepts of fabrication and runes.

Alas, this Gate and what it entailed were more for eyes than souls, while Ultra Gems and golems were far from being heaven-defying.

For Lookish, a single day came with many surprising visitors, so he was reminded of Reality and felt alive rather than working. How many years was it since he felt that way?

Razmund was having yet another failure right after the others. It was as if he was unable to hold on, or do what Centralis was so keen on supporting, so why was it all crumbling down?

Was he so miserable and stuck on problems, or was it just the way his life stood? Fuck luck. Screw Fate!

Dice chirped anyway, saying how fake luck was and that he should still try his best. He didn't believe his tries were fine or dreams were real. The efforts paid off. Usually, that is.

Judgment was part of the game, and so was the failure, and how acts were even heavier than consequences that shall soon be in his hands.

The Gods were just like mortals but more powerful. That was what Razmund had believed for a very long time, in times when this world talked back and where worse voices came further.

Inside the arena and close to that purple portal, Razmund felt his defeat. Lorry pretended to be a rock in the ground, and Lint made his appearance, but felt he was unable to change anything.

Lookish seemed to have more fun in this mess than his face told, while he kept trying not to watch that crashed Slapper.

Then, Mindarch was panicking, but only for himself rather than for everyone's sake. These twists entertained him and turned over these mines, and he was glad that Murai and Lisa were both out of the picture, as well as from the danger that not just Razmund had defined.

The actual problem was what he would do if he succeeded or... what would happen next. It had gone to pretty interesting places, and it wasn't even everything. Vermillion was a pretty darn twisted, and Ceila's part was the same.

They demanded many things from him and Levandis, and they agreed to some matters but not to everything. Letting a couple of flanks run their course was fine, as everyone was a bearer of their own lines.

And like a good construct, Mindarch was in total control of this place, thus able to influence that portal and tolerate most clauses. Even when Ravine alone became touched and halted, or when the world underwent a transformative shift, he could work it out.

It wasn't for Levandis, however. It strived as a reminder, and Mindarch found it so hilarious that he couldn't even condemn Ceila and her group. He must give it to Vermilion. She deserved everything she wanted and what was soon to come, and he was there to watch it, hopefully to the very pinnacle.

Levandis was a minor drawback, yet she agreed to let Murai have this change, but only if he was strong enough to reach it and deal with a proper Guardian.

Because of that, his journey was what it had been: challenging for those around him, while he trained and improved like a beast, and self-found an evil objectification of hope and himself.

Of course, Levandis took many sights for mistakes and wonders, often saying how interesting it was to see them and not get involved, but watch. It wasn't a big shame, though Mindarch hoped she was more gutsy.

Mindarch wasn't worried about the health of this place. He will live for a long time even if all the Gates crumbled from the base to the Surface.

Razmund had come and approached yet another variable. That was Ceila's party, which knocked and enlightened his mind.

He wondered what had happened here, in a time when that portal activated and twisted. That mistake wasn't the worst. It shouldn't be here, in this place.

He should have caught his prey much faster, so he blamed himself. He almost slapped his head and dropped his claymore because of it. It was yet another twist that he hadn't expected to be so darn close.

He watched as the overall picture shifted, but Ceila was odd no matter what. Guided by Vermillion herself, her moves were away from his logic since Ravine was an existential apex of this world.

Ceila was unexpected because of it, yet not unknown, similar to Razmund. They met flesh to flesh this time around, and a new variable might be born as one was a proper Encounter's Side, while the other was an invasive one already met with one Judge.

Watching their steps, Razmund wished to curse Fate with a bloodthirsty toss of his Dice. He blinked, claymore swung, and his steps stopped.

He charged aside, oblivious to Lookish, who was slightly surprised to see Paladins and smell excellent blood. Patting his back, one arm scratching his beard, he found something as fun as teasing an Anatidae after so many years!

"Hohoho," he laughed dryly. "Now, this is quite a reckoning force coming to my humble abode. What fools come, and why do they step into an arena where they don't belong? I say it sounds like a foolish challenge to my little home, wouldn't you say, Mindarch?" He asked the air, noticing that no stone hid the little spirit, but it was everywhere.

Like Ravine's ethereal conviction, as one with the planet itself, Mindarch was conceived and evolved into a state of a similar nature but much smaller in scope.

Sun God cherished it, and now, Levandis couldn't, so she tried to do the same and liked the challenge. Unlike the previous owner, Mindarch was more unrestricted than ever, able to speak and act to anyone he liked.

And that wasn't something Levandis wanted to limit because she didn't care or couldn't change the inevitability of this spirit.

Of course, Mindarch was taking advantage of that and speaking and acting with those he deemed worthy or moving in interesting lines of thought.

Levandis knew that and had plenty of ways to work with it. She had even more people, actions, and things to do aside from this place, because her Hell was bigger than this temple and his eternal confinement.

Mindarch didn't reply to Lookish, unfortunately, but not as if this old devil needed any remedy or words of confirmation when a divine party invaded his home.

He could act on his own, move whenever he wanted to, and even clean the dishes Levandis left unchecked. Maybe they were even in her chambers? If he had to, he might visit them himself. Of course, she wouldn't like it, but that was another story.

While Lookish walked onwards, welcoming the incoming group, Razmund hurried somewhere else, coming closer to Lint than the Guide would like. He clutched his head, pushing him to the ground.

He came in hand after a long time, but he alone might be a false hope or a wish that could do more harm than help. Still, Razmund had to try to learn what a waste of time this was. His fault was already pretty gnarly and apparent.

And others?

His foes let him here, giving him tastes of failure and edging hope, while he tried his... well, it wasn't his best, considering his acts weren't able to finish this.

"Guide!" Razmund said, gritting his teeth over the incoming party. He didn't want them. Why had they come!? How did they know where to go without a Dice?

He couldn't endure the fact that if he had his fateful guidance, why couldn't others have something better or equal?

"Take me to Gate 4! Right away!" Razmund ordered, and not only was Lint not surprised, he didn't take it as an order, let alone something he wanted to do. Lint was thinking, assuming this could be a good idea. His Soul Flames swirled, and his teeth chattered. Then it calmed, and colors swirled with fear. Fake fear.

"D-don't make this mistake!" Lint whispered. "You are not thinking straight... and you are yet to even be right for this Gate! Where is your target, huh? Not here, mind you."

Razmund forced him even deeper to the ground, as at the moment, those freaking Paladins reached four pillars.

All of them were there, so that meant Ozeki was done for. Two had armors that had seen better days, so Ozeki had his fun. Razmund knew it could have been better.

"Great, that fucking tool failed stalling them," Razmund grunted, noting the tables had turned and he was the one in a pinch.

His single right arm was all he had left; the left one was still hanging close to his chest, bleeding and getting cold, yet warm. His potions kept doing something in his chest and cycling mana, but it was a struggle to fix this mess either way. He was lucky that Itrosh hadn't spent everything to clash and kill him, because she could have done it.

Lint struggled with his single hand in the rubble until he forced his head free, gasping as if he had almost drowned. "Wanna hear how Ozeki ended up? Whether he lives or...." A hand showed him even deeper, leaving fingers fidgeting for freedom.

Razmund was done with Guides—all of them.

He didn't need them. He grasped the claymore, which he left etched in the ground.

"Huge mistake! I smell a huge mistake!" Lint shouted from the rubble, uttering things with a fake fear, panic, and a thin, echoing, devilish laughter.

Razmund ignored him, considered stabbing his claymore to the ground where he was, but time was more critical.

He might end up haggling for his life once more unless Lookish solves this group. That alone was a curious possibility since Lookish didn't take them for a small force. He didn't take Razmund for it either, so that was it.

Ceila arrived behind the paladins, looking tall and, as he remembered, bright, tense, yet... weirdly forceful and serious. Her armor wasn't in the best shape, so she looked like someone stole her lunch.

The Vermillion Church wasn't very notable in Centralis territories, yet Razmund learned a great deal about most churches. He knew enough about this one, which included members, notable characteristics, and what they could do or influence.

All of that pointed to one thing.

They weren't very impressive, even if their God was at Rank 2.

Yet they still pushed all the way here, invasive and righteous, and Levandis let them while the Voice was down. That alone might help with some answers.

"Neutrality, eh?" Razmund snickered and turned to them. "What a fucking joke."

There was no question that Razmund was more than capable of forcing Guides and Lint's skull to a nearing End, yet could he force him to assist him? No. Souls were souls, and Guides had a purpose, so could he try his Intent on him? That thing could cut things that were conventionally uncuttable.

Upon meeting yet another walking mess, Razmund refused to panic, let alone forget his task and what he could do or say. His brief panic and fury subsided while his wounds worsened.

This was definitely among the top five worst situations he had ever encountered.

If anything, this party wasn't pretty. Or weak.

Every Guide knew all about his stays in this temple, while many fools on the Surface knew about grudges, wars, and stuff of hells and nations.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The Centralis Kingdom had its Blessed. This temple was aware of it, as well as rumors and facts about them, stemming from the Surface, which posed as interesting subjects and encouraged deep information gathering.

Now, with this Encounter and Hell Party closer, things turned to a crashing downfall that might soon transform into a raging storm. In that sight, perhaps Centralis had seen it, and in that case, it was fine. Razmund acted reasonably, and his travel through the temple or even his Welcoming Party wasn't worth mentioning.

His previous participation was archived at the weaker date, where he wasn't as overkilling of a Blessed, or where he was hard to read.

Ceila doubted Mindarch knew half the things about him that she did, thanks to time, her Lady, and preparations. However, she didn't dare mention his mistakes. She should take Razmund for who he was and wasn't.

"Mistakes..." Razmund raised his brows, eyeing the group and Guides alike. At least those who were visible, he judged as targets. "Speaking as if mistakes are fine, it isn't beyond the Order! I am ordering you, Lint!"

Razmund swung his claymore, digging Lint up from the ground. The Guide caught and hugged the blade, clearly unbothered by a changed angle or rocks stuck in his skull. His Soul Flames swirled like a storm regardless.

"At least, fre—" Razmund smacked him down before grasping his face again.

"Don't try me. Show me the way out, or I won't bother with anything acceptable. Wanna keep this place a secret? That Portal is impossible, so do you think I am stupid? Who or what are you hiding here? What is the purpose of this mountain, and what is even that devil doing here? What hides below the descending shafts? It isn't about the Paradise, is it?"

Lint's eyes calmed as abruptly as he stopped hugging the claymore. He turned serious, scratching his bony chin as he reconsidered his choice.

"You see," he said, "you are terrible at blackmailing. For a Blessed such as yourself, I found that most shocking and lacki—" The palm caught his lower chin, though it wasn't what was stopping or should stop him from speaking.

Lint felt like not speaking, so he shut up.

Razmund wondered what this skull could endure. "Am I wrong?" He said coldly, his eyes flashing with these raging yet small torrents, while his real eyes skipped colors from open blue and white into mixed red veins and sudden blackness. It happened for a moment.

"Sure!" Lint said and waved his hand. "That sounds more useful. What else do you want? Do you want a party or a lounge area to wait in while your prey returns? Could it? Why would it need to reach Paradise? A mere first-time Challenger wants that sort of thing, yes? That sounds doubtful."

"Don't pretend."

"Yeah? Well, how about a dinner with Levandis herself? Perhaps she would like to..." A single crack of his jaw shut him up.

Then, another floating Guide came over, Lorry, who seemed to gain strange confidence in his Soul Flames.

"Oy, calm down, you damned lunatic!" Lorry said in a gangster tone, sounding loud, rough, and powerful. He could be a great actor, so he floated quite some distance to get closer and didn't fear the same fate as Lint.

His single skull was his treasure, as it was precious, sturdy, and limbless. Could he do anything with one usable hand?

Too bad. Not everyone can have it all. Nobody can.

"Shut it, head," Razmund said, noticing how his quick ideas ended up inflated. So he glanced aside, seeing how a surprising figure stood against that whole party, or as Mindarch decided to call it, a Divine Party. It sounded good, but there was nothing right about them. Just a shadow of one, if Mindarch knew his guesses.

Lookish found the whole party hilarious and ended up chuckling, almost slipping as he faced the large Paladins alone.

Then, Ceila came closer, watching him with the same expression as if she knew what to do to him and what to expect.

But she didn't.

There wasn't anything about this Lookish devil anywhere. For centuries, he should have been dead. Before any of that, he wasn't enigmatic. He was outside of everything, so that might mean he may no longer be an Overlord, or equivalent for one.

What was above Overlords?

Ceila didn't like the sound of it, but Hell held many Gods and even more wanted to follow the heights established by this Hell and Levandis.

"Leave us be, devil," she said coldly. "This concerns nothing that you need to judge or see."

"I smell lies," Lookish said, chuckling. "You are terrible at this, lady."

Ceila frowned even more and lifted one arm up.

Lookish did the same thing, but with a single palm, gesturing her to stop. "Don't waste this old devil's time. Your time is out of here, isn't it? So, how about an idea or a deal? Or a dinner? How about it?" He smiled like a devil.

Ceila snapped her finger. "I refuse."

All the Paladins charged at Lookish from multiple sides: one from the left, the other from the right, and the rest from above.

Lookish continued smiling and bit his lips, leaving a single droplet to leak and travel down his throat.

"I am getting turned on when I see such little toys knocking on my door. I thank the Old One, I suppose. Those are so freaky," Lookish declared. Then, before any weapon came close, they stopped, and something profound and red expanded, halting them in their space.

Ceila stepped aside, hiding behind one of the Paladins. Ultium grasped David and hid behind a bright, unmoving pillar.

Everything turned red, and one sharp and explosive clap resounded, smacking the redness away. Every single Paladin was deep in the walls, not moving.

One even ended in one of the pillars, which cracked and split in two. It didn't create any Gems or formless mists. It was one solid, structured Gem that fell into two pieces instead.

Lookish panicked. "Oh, fuck's sake!" He slapped his head. "My aim is so terrible these days. How sad."

Ceila was still close, standing after dodging her meat-shield. "You want to go this far, a relic of the past?"

Lookish retrieved his hand, bathed in red hues resembling a cloak. It moved as if alive, looking thin yet thick. "Well, if you entertain me, I might not be of the past anymore. Also, I am not that old. You are old!"

Ceila snapped her finger again. Nothing happened. "Move him aside," she demanded. Nothing happened. "Move!" She ordered.

Paladins grunted and forced their bodies out of the rubble. Then, each moved as if heavy injuries and unwillingness established their luck against this devil.

An order was an order.

Lookish didn't mind it. "You are giving me those toys?! You are sooooo generous," Lookish beamed in happiness and clapped both palms together once. "Thank you!"

He would hug her, but his cloak moved quicker, moving like a hand that grasped the first Paladin by his feet and tossed him from the arena. Then, the cloak moved to another one.

Lookish grasped one himself and walked from this room, grabbing every Paladin behind him, and left Ceila behind.

"Enjoy yourself," he waved behind his back.

Razmund looked at that show from beginning to end and was uncertain what it was about or how to think of it.

Did Lookish help him? That weird ability aimed at those paladins alone.

Aside from him, Lorry felt it was his time to shine. Then, he felt like a turd. He shook his head in disappointment, feeling that Lookish was unfair. Ceila wasn't even alobe, though David and Ultium waited aside and weren't within Lookish's sight.

Lint observed Razmund. "Still leaving?"

"You and this head," Razmund grunted. "You are just slaves of this temple. Toys. You should listen to me for your own good."

"We aren't your things." Lint reasoned. "You think too much of yourself all the freaking time, man. You should listen to yourself and learn some manners. The world is too vast. The universe is even bigger!"

"That's inconsequential. You are one dead loser dependent on living like a toy and set against the enemies of your kin, so don't teach me. I have died once." Razmund continued, oblivious to the lingering steps that were approaching.

Lint laughed. "Fair. You should take care of your own troubles first. Gate 4 is your next goal. That is a fine rule still in play, so reach your portal. Now, should I recommend what comes next?"

Before Razmund forced his hand, Lorry talked.

"Deal with your wounds first. There are still plays to do. Don't be angry with something beyond you, human. You can't even think straight and think for yourself. You aren't even a big deal, alright? You don't even have a clue what you're facing. It is right. Correct. We agree."

"Who says that?!" Razmund shouted and swore his left arm better come together quicker, or he would soon gnaw that Guide apart.

"That darn Mindarch," Lorry said. "Don't we all see reasons in the current mess that are advantageous only for those who are fucked in the head? It is about reasons, deals, and how to handle it."

"Deal. Help me."

"That," Lorry hesitated, glancing at Ceila, who loomed over Razmund like a grim reaper, "may be harder than it looks."

Razmund turned, squeezing Lorry in his grasp, leaving Lint aside, who moved away from Ceila. Razmund also backed off and inspected his wounds and choices since she wasn't attacking him, nor speaking.

He had less than five choices left, though new ones might come out of these Guides, or Mindarch, or someone else, if he had good deals or words in his mind.

Something neat came up.

If this place were so secretive, then no one should be looking at this situation at all, or they did. Levandis should have locked this area, so in the end, could there be watchful Gods or Judges?

This place reeked of off-limits, shielded from prying eyes and Wills, so Razmund wasn't feeling very well.

"Afraid?" Ceila stated, one hand resting on her hip, the other on her sword.

Razmund would disagree; the wound around his neck wasn't very deep, though the hideous slashes Itrosh—by a miracle—unleashed in his most vulnerable state, weren't healing that well.

Some hit arteries for sure, crashing against the backlash of his potions. It weakened his core, his blood flow was in disarray, and the constant pressure on his muscles made his motion sluggish.

Usually, such wounds weren't vital for him to care about. Now, he had to consider them much more, which was his way of saying that he enjoyed it. The thrill of this pressure created a new kind of smile on his face.

It had been a while since he tasted this kind of freedom. Thar was the last time, and other recollections created crashing memories when he almost died. Dungeons were ridiculous. No. This whole world was like that.

And he enjoyed it.

Overcoming difficulties was exciting yet often forgetful. That was what changed him in this world and made him into a better person.

Still, his left hand was a problem. It was hanging by a piece of flesh, revealing open cuts, blood, and the neat anatomy of his muscles and internals. His bones were shockingly thick, almost glowing at their edges, looking dense like surrounding muscles.

One could see red veins and even mana cruising and changing, fixing, or breaking stuff, while those potions were a lot nastier. It seemed like his flesh was possessed, and the sight of nerves and veins was eerie.

In any case, this wound was still just a wound. Connecting it back was his current issue. It was possible here, though his past one also had this possibility, but it was more like a trial of error. Or terror. Attaching detached arms was a tedious process before. Cutting it off or killing the person was easier than fixing that shit. However, not here.

Even when the cut was in the middle of his forearm, his Dice remained crisp and glowy, and uncertain yet optimistic about this sort of Fate.

Razmund failed. It was quite happy; it wanted to bounce left and right, even though it knew Razmund had little blood left.

But he could look for more right away. This Gate had tasty, possible locations for Ancient Blood.

"Shit," he cursed. "Here I went, wasting those potions. All because a certain cursed coward learned to come back, not crawling, but biting back where it hurt."

Ceila didn't follow him; she figured she had him literally cornered. Lookish wouldn't end this anyway. Paladins will make him busy and better.

"Oy," Lorry whispered. "This is awkward. I have my purpose somewhere else, so how about leaving me be?"

Razmund didn't listen to him and opted to give his pouch much-needed attention. It was a problem, so he rolled Lorry under his arm and tried to look for it.

He found a cloth and handled it with pain, as he forced his claymore to his left armpit. He picked out bandages known as Silk Blossom Fabricals, a synthetic alchemy treasure mixed with smithing in the Centralis Kingdom. It was a special kind of fabric that could adjust to the human skin and connect and heal detached limbs.

It came as no surprise that Razmund was familiar with using them. Their properties were slow, but they worked without any handicaps or downsides. It was the best way to stop such wounds without relying on potions, which were impossible right now.

He applied it to his neck as well, wrapping the cloth and tearing it with his fingers. The silk absorbed the blood and fused with the skin, stopping the thin flow of blood.

He did the same with all the cuts while backing away from Ceila. His body has its healing factors, though Itrosh gave him even more issues.

That backlash revealed and pushed that powerful Beak Shattering ahead, while the Steelclad Feathers were also exhausting. Itrosh staggered him multiple times as well.

Frankly, his internals should have been a mess for days, with his fatigue being even worse. The last Gate messed with him too, but this was still shitter, even after waiting and mending his body for days. He was careless.

When Razmund tried to apply the silk to his shoulder, he stumbled and collapsed to his knees, losing Lorry and his claymore.

"Fucking hell..." he cursed, unbothered by the fact that Lorry was free.

"You are yet to lose too much, boy. Trust me." Lorry argued.

"Shut the fuck up." Razmund grabbed the claymore before solving his left hand, where that shitty Dice looked at him. "I still have my Fate. Gate 4 will be no grave. It will be my paradise, or my Helpers may find my peace first."

"How poetic. You should change your profession, lunatic," Lorry rolled his Flames. "I know a Guide that would cheer you up."

"You speak as if you know everything. What is going down there?"

"Hell Party is a very private thing. You have no idea or reason, even with your Blessed Companions there. The Voice doesn't work, you see. Too bad. Choices are limited, so what will you do?"

"What?" Razmund got to his feet and noticed the lurking shadows of three people further away. Ultium, David, and Ceila surrounded him and heard his pathetic talk.

At the edge of the arena, Razmund felt alone, as each of them stood before those undamaged pillars.

"Ready to face your consequences?" Ceila asked. "Or will you talk to that head for eternity and call it other names?"

Behind the broken pillar, Lint glanced over it, wondering what would happen to his pride.

Razmund laughed at their words and first stated his intentions to Lorry.

"They are alive. Why shouldn't they be? I don't need Voice to trust my guts and my team. Rules of the Hell Party are obviously against me, but why do you think I did what I did? Why are you even here?!" Razmund pointed the last question at Ceila and spoke with quite a vicious tone.

She shrugged and waved a hand for Ultium to move first. It was a test, it seemed. "Rules and Voice be darn or gone, but we are all looking for something new and old, aren't we?"

Ultium walked forward, one arm out, one arm in his pocket.

Great, another freaking devil, Razmund thought, wrapping his left arm with at least a dozen layers of this fabric. He needed to attach it well first. Then, his physique would do the rest in a few minutes.

It would heal quicker in a calm state of mana, usually in half a minute, but he couldn't be too stingy at the moment.

"You are a crafty madman," Lorry said. "The worst kind of enemy. Think outside of the box. I am your enemy too, you see."

Right. Razmund almost forgot it, but he trusted Mindarch, which might be even worse. If there was a deal, it should have validation, and he had yet to lose his touch.

At worst, he could flee by sustaining even more damage, but that was bullshit, since, again, where the hell was he? He had to get out of here, and everything wanted to kill him.

Even if he got out, going to his location was another thing. There, he would encounter more problems, so, yes, it didn't look like a choice anymore.

Running and killing seemed like the first and last steps. No Lurrs shall stop him, nor those shitty portals and rules of this Gate.

It wasn't a mysterious location, so he was ready to face it if he escaped this predicament.

Razmund forced his body into a fighting stance and recognized it was time to give farewell to yet another great treasure that should put tears in his master's eyes.

Did he have time? Ultium was quite careful in his approach, knowing that his physical defense was lower than Bagus's, but his overall concept was much higher.

Before any clash, Razmund grasped yet another thing from his pouch. He already did it many times, so why use it again since it was half the reason he was feeling like shit? It didn't make sense, and everyone around him thought he was about to bring a bomb or something, but no, he wasn't.

"Do you want to kill yourself?" Ceila wondered out loud, wondering if she should stop him or let him cripple that mana flow more.

He didn't bring out a potion or a bomb. It was a fruit. Round, bouncy, and soft, it was a true fruit.

It had a soft texture, evident from the way it jiggled or tensed by his squeeze. It was a ball, about the size of a clenched fist, colored in vivid shades with green stripes.

Lorry whistled, and even his Flames changed to curious tornadoes that zoomed in. "Lurius Fruit?" he asked. "Where the fuck did you get it?!"

"A courtesy of a fellow hunter, and since your matters disgust me, fuck you for pushing this on me and having done shit," Razmund added, biting it without hesitation. Its flesh was surprisingly normal. It was sweet, with a soft and juicy consistency, and it felt like a waterfall rushing to the abyss.

The taste was between apples and peaches from his previous life, but what was coming later was nothing alike.

Time will tell what was right, for time suddenly twisted and overturned.