After a great deal of effort, the trio finally arrived at the cave.
What greeted them was a dark, low-ceilinged cavern path. Murky water seeped underfoot, soaking their boots, and a light touch on the stone walls revealed them to be covered in water droplets.
It was damp.
So damp that staying too long could lead to rheumatic bone disease. Yet, the cave was not dim; a blue light seemed to guide their way. Frieren, leading the way, looked from side to side, occasionally touching the walls carefully at forks in the path.
Following behind, Miriadel and Flamme remained on high alert.
They passed through the shallow parts of the cave smoothly, and soon, they could hear the echo of waves crashing against the shore as the air grew tinged with a salty scent.
"Be careful, it's just ahead."
Frieren, who was in the lead, stepped aside to reveal a large group of prostrating fishmen.
The red-haired girl, seeing this for the first time, felt her pupils shrink. It was too bizarre. Why were these villagers prostrated and motionless? They showed no reaction to her group, deeply immersed in their worship.
A closer look revealed a deep level of kin transformation; their lower bodies had almost entirely turned into fish-like tails. Their bodies were barren and emaciated, their stick-thin arms clasped together in prayer.
She almost mistook them for stone statues, but they were undeniably alive.
"These walking corpses are slaves to the Old God. To think they've remained this way after all these years. It's been a while."
Miriadel, witnessing it once more, answered matter-of-factly. When she first stumbled into Yharnam, she too had been startled, which had forged her strong heart. Now, she wouldn't be so easily frightened by such things.
As for Frieren at the very front, she strode past the fishmen as if they weren't there.
The cave mouth.
A gust of sea breeze blew in their faces.
Bidding farewell to the cramped and eerie cave, they emerged onto a tranquil beach—not too big, not too small, just large enough for a village to sustain itself.
For many years, they must have worked from sunrise to sunset here, until the Old God descended.
Soon, Flamme's gaze was drawn to a white object on the shore. A closer look revealed it to be a "pile of squid," shriveled yet growing arms, with faint traces of muscles, bones, and blood vessels. It was lifeless, likely a corpse.
Though it was a simple combination of elements, a chill ran down her spine.
No, it wasn't dead.
A bulge on the white squid's abdomen was writhing... no, that didn't seem right either.
It wasn't as if it were alive, but rather something was hidden inside its body, on the verge of breaking free from its cocoon.
At that moment, Frieren and Miriadel stepped forward together without hesitation, positioning themselves in front of Flamme.
The old hunters knew something big was coming.
The squid's bulging abdomen swelled further before bursting open with a hiss, and a gaunt, skin-and-bones claw emerged from within.
It then slowly dragged its stooped body out, revealing a head full of wrinkles, eye sockets so deep its face was obscured, a hooked nose, and no lips—only a mouth packed with sharp teeth, which let out an infant-like cry.
A trail of red flesh, seemingly a placenta, dragged behind it. Did this not mean the Old God, Kos, had given birth to a child, who now faced the sea, gazing at the path from whence it came?
All was silent.
The soul-stirring power made Flamme forget to breathe. She trembled as she looked at the tall, slender, white Old God under the moonlight, her head splitting with pain as a line of bloody tears streamed from her right eye.
But the pressure vanished the next moment, as two fully armed figures stepped up to face it.
"Stay on the offensive. Let's end this quickly," Frieren instructed.
"This thing is as ugly as ever." Miriadel then provoked it, "Kos, sorry your mom died."
"ROAR—"
The response was a roar from the white Old God as it turned its head.
The intense mental interference in its voice forced Flamme to turn away, watching as the two sides created distance. The Old God actually picked up its placenta, brandishing it like a hammer, eager to fight.
She had to control her Insight and mental fortitude as quickly as possible to join the battle.
The two elders who had taken the strong enemy head-on conveyed a sense of security with their backs: Take your time and adapt. Buying time wasn't difficult; the key was when their primary fire support could recover, which would directly determine the difficulty of this battle.
The Orphan of Kos understood this as well, its stumbling steps turning towards the red-haired girl.
At first, its movements were clumsy, wobbly as it walked, but after three steps, it stabilized its form and actually began to sprint!
Bang!
Frieren fired a shot from her gun, interrupting it.
The Orphan of Kos, which had just started running, staggered. In that moment of sluggishness, Miriadel lunged forward, this time with the buzzing of a chainsaw crashing into its abdomen, tearing out chunks of flesh and blood as it cried out in agony.
An ordinary monster would have been disemboweled in a single strike, but the body of an Old God, though seemingly fragile, was incredibly tough, its health pool bottomless.
With just a single step back, it swung its blood-red placenta hammer to counterattack!
Miriadel nimbly dodged, and as she moved aside, a flash of cold light gleamed.
A piercing thrust!
Frieren's blade struck its wrist with precision. The Orphan of Kos, having just gathered its strength, lost its footing.
Seizing the opportunity, the skilled hunters would not let it pass. The two crisscrossed, slashing and cutting as if in a dance, creating a bloody rose on the empty coast.
Their elegant swordplay enveloped the enemy, slowly chipping away its life force.
Although the Old God was incredibly resilient, it still had a poise meter. Frieren and Miriadel, maintaining their alternating attacks, gave it no room to breathe.
An aura of death hung in the air, spreading in all directions.
For a dozen exchanges, the Orphan of Kos couldn't mount a decent counterattack. It could only clutch its placenta and endure the beating, accumulating wounds as its movements gradually quickened.
The newborn Old God was adapting to its environment.
In the end, this was a dreamscape, forged from intense obsession and amplified by other Old Gods. It was bound to be a tough fight.
The two old hunters' fierce assault was, in a way, a conservative tactic.
By controlling the rhythm of the battle, they could prevent the Orphan of Kos from launching a sudden, unexpected attack. It also relieved the pressure on Flamme, preventing it from having the time to attack her from afar, thus allowing her to prepare her magic as quickly as possible.
Swish!
In the midst of their exchange, they inflicted more wounds on the Old God, some infused with lightning and fire. It shrieked in pain for a few moments before immediately regrouping to counterattack.
Even though its movements were slow and couldn't hit them, its attacks were devastating blows that had to be guarded against.
Unfortunately, Frieren and Miriadel were both restricted.
Because they had been to Yharnam before, their signature magic had been interfered with by the Moon God, who currently held the upper hand. For safety, they couldn't use it.
They were forced to fight using the techniques of hunters. This was fine against minions, but they were clearly struggling against an Old God.
Bang!
Suddenly, the Orphan of Kos used its placenta to block Miriadel's large saw. The latter was slightly taken aback, feeling an immense force.
She was about to be pushed back.
At the critical moment, Frieren thrust her sword into the enemy's throat, forcing it to retreat. Gaining a moment of respite, the two renewed their pincer attack, but beads of sweat had formed on their foreheads.
Its speed was increasing.
The newborn Old God was maturing, far faster than expected.
Even with two top-tier hunters, well-prepared and working together, they could feel the mounting pressure from the Orphan of Kos.
"This isn't its own power," Miriadel asserted. "If this were the original, it wouldn't be able to withstand the two of us together. Another Old God is empowering it."
"Right, the Moon God has a free hand now."
"Are you alright?"
"Don't worry. The very fact that they're ganging up on us means they can't break through my main body's conscious defenses, so they're trying to take us out directly. Still, if you died, it would be a severe blow to me," Frieren said, her expression grim.
"I'm going to see you become the strongest sorcerer. I'm tough to kill."
Despite their words, both felt the pressure skyrocket, and the Orphan of Kos's fighting style was changing.
This was getting difficult; they couldn't rely on past experience.
They prepared for a fight to the death. They could not retreat, because exposing their rear to the enemy would create a weak point. Firm in this resolve, the pair of childhood friends began to change their tactics.
Let's go.
The Orphan of Kos was the first to act. The newborn Old God, its mind still nascent, didn't understand cunning; it only understood action.
It felt a continuous surge of power. It was faster, stronger, and no longer felt pain.
What were mere scratches to it?
Brimming with confidence, the white Old God dashed forward. With a light push of its feet, it seemed to fly low to the ground, using the momentum to slam its placenta down hard.
Clang!
The blow struck Frieren's Saw Cleaver, the heavy downward smash almost making her lose her balance. Miriadel, beside her, did not stand idle, attacking at this opportunity, but the enemy was faster. The placenta whirled around, covering a wide area and splashing blood.
Both suffered bruises and impacts of varying degrees, their internal organs shaking.
With them already unstable, the Orphan of Kos pressed its advantage. Another blow was about to fall on Miriadel.
Starburst Art! A remodeled magic native to Yharnam finally blossomed in Frieren's hands, like dazzling streams of light pouring out, piercing in all directions and naturally blasting the Old God before her, leaving it covered in dust.
Pfft!
One of the beams pierced through its leg.
This perfectly timed, precise shot slowed its proud speed. Miriadel, the target just a moment ago, immediately launched a counterattack.
The massive chainsaw roared as it slammed viciously into the Orphan of Kos's abdomen.
It tore flesh and blood, causing the placenta and entrails brought out from the large squid to churn and collapse, spilling uncontrollably. This was a full-power blow; even the enhanced body of an Old God shrieked in agony.
Comet Blade!
Frieren didn't miss the chance for a pincer attack either. After unleashing a round of Starburst Art, she thrust her sharp blade into the enemy's wound. The Orphan of Kos was now suppressed, capable only of roaring at the heavens.
The violent roar sent the sea waves receding, and countless fishmen's heads exploded or bled from their orifices as they died.
Even Flamme, at a considerable distance, clutched her head.
The red-haired girl watched with concern, only to see the two hunters fighting on as if nothing had happened, continuously attacking the white Old God.
They had adopted a strategy of trading blows and chipping away at its health in a direct confrontation. Every time the Orphan of Kos dealt a bit of damage, they would hit back hard, the splattered blood allowing the hunters to recover.
It was a veritable perpetual motion machine of slaughter.
Ordinary people couldn't fight this way, but Frieren and Miriadel had an extremely high tolerance for pain. No injury could cause their movements to falter or show any weakness; their assault could not be stopped.
The two top-tier hunters' attacks were like a torrential storm, turning the tables once again.
Seeing this, Flamme devoted herself completely to meditation to stabilize her mental fortitude. Faster, I must control my Insight to be of help...
Suddenly, the Orphan of Kos pulled a pink intestine from its placenta.
On the spot, it created a flail and swung it, forcing Frieren and Miriadel to retreat. Seizing the opportunity, the white Old God also created distance, its physical wounds rapidly healing. At this rate, it might return to its full state.
Absolutely not.
After exchanging a look with her childhood friend, Frieren reactivated her Starburst Art, concentrating all the beams into a single point and sending them forth.
The Orphan of Kos, which had been trying to recover, was interrupted.
Just as it was about to dodge, two throwing knives lodged in its left and right shoulders, momentarily slowing its muscles. That split-second opening was enough for Miriadel to bring her saw down on its head.
Amidst a deafening boom, blood splattered everywhere, and she didn't forget to kick its vulnerable stomach.
"Your curse isn't good enough."
She maintained control of the battle's rhythm with attacks from her large weapon and throwing darts, leaving the Orphan of Kos, which had intended to use mental interference, no time to act. It could only swing its placenta hammer with all its might, a blow strong enough to send her flying.
However, she didn't move an inch. An immense weight came from the placenta; Frieren was standing on it, her strength unshakeable.
In that instant, both launched a full-power attack simultaneously!
Crack!
The Saw Cleaver and the chainsaw tore through the body of the Orphan of Kos, sending flesh and organs flying.
Still not satisfied, the two old hunters followed up with a round of swift sword strikes, which, as expected, caused its life force to plummet, forcing it to its knees. Their suppressive tactics had succeeded. Now was the time to fight cautiously—
But they were immediately knocked over by a fierce gust of wind, the air blades mixed within it covering their thin hunter's garb with slashes, leaving them covered in wounds in an instant.
A pair of gossamer wings unfurled.
The Orphan of Kos stood taller than before, no longer cowering like an infant. It now gripped both ends of the placenta firmly, its eyes fierce, and its wings billowed in the wind like a cloak.
Its demeanor was completely different from before. The pressure mounted; it felt as if it had been reborn from the inside out. The true Old God had arrived, the master of the cyclical dream baring its fangs.
The sea grew calm, the waves ceased, as if afraid to make another sound.
In contrast, whispers gradually arose from the fishing village. The fanatics were praising and praying, desperate for their god's attention.
Having seen its second phase before, the two old hunters stood ready.
Since this was an enhanced Orphan of Kos, they certainly couldn't judge it based on past experience; they had to be prepared. In the worst-case scenario, this form would be more terrifying than anticipated...
BOOM!
In a single clash, it shoved its placenta and crashed violently into the two of them. It was too fast to react.
In that moment, both Miriadel and Frieren felt their bones shatter and organs rupture, a roar echoing in their ears.
Frieren quickly rolled to absorb the force and caught the flying Miriadel, using herself as a cushion and carving a trench in the sand.
A searing pain. She didn't need to guess to know her ribs were broken and her back was scraped raw.
"This is too much of an enhancement."
Although Miriadel cried out in pain, her gun parry deflected the Orphan of Kos's follow-up attack. Fortunately, Frieren had caught her, giving her a moment to breathe and the focus to aim at her target.
Unfortunately, it was just a temporary measure; the ensuing attack was unavoidable.
The placenta hammer came crashing down again.
______
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