The boy coughed violently like a fish out of water, his body convulsing madly on the ground from bone-deep fear.
However, the expected cries did not ring out.
The boy suddenly lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Santos's direction—
Though he could only see his own reflection in the mirror.
The boy erupted with astonishing strength, stumbling and lunging towards the glass.
He used all his might, his small fists, filled with deep-seated hatred, frantically pounding on the glass.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Santos's hand, holding the pen, paused slightly on the record book.
The eyes behind the lenses suddenly brightened.
The pounding quickly escalated into a furious smashing, each impact making the thick one-way glass groan under the strain.
The boy's small body began a terrifying distortion within the black mist.
Clear and piercing "Crack! Snap!" sounds exploded like popping beans!
His bones were forcibly broken by an invisible immense force, then crushed, and instantly reassembled into an even more twisted form!
His fragile skin, like weathered pottery, instantly became covered in dark, web-like cracks.
Ominous oily black liquid seeped out, gurgling, and slid down his distorted limbs.
Even more horrifying growths began.
Arms, legs, and even from his torn back, new limbs began to erupt and grow at a speed completely defying biology!
These nascent limbs were twisted and gnarled; some were slender like poisoned claws, others thick and swollen, covered with pulsating nodules.
They intertwined, merged, devoured each other... finally coalescing into a huge, constantly writhing and deforming mass of flesh!
At the center of this nauseating, deformed aggregate, half of the boy's face, screaming in agony, was barely embedded.
Those eyes were completely submerged by the surging black tide of malice, leaving only solidified fear and a hatred that wished to destroy everything!
The distorted limbs were no longer just pounding, but violently slamming against the glass with a brute force that wanted to annihilate everything!
Thump! Thump! Boom—!
The resilient glass surface finally cracked, the first dazzling white fissure spreading rapidly like a spiderweb.
Santos did not retreat; his body even leaned slightly forward.
The eyes behind the lenses now burned with an almost fanatical light of excitement.
The boy, or rather the monster—those eyes submerged by the black tide—seemed to pierce through the shattered glass, pinning Santos.
It was this kind of gaze!
Santos even forgot to record.
Though he held a pen, he morbidly and continuously clicked the button, producing a "click-clack" noise.
In an instant, Santos felt as if he was dragged back to that dark, damp alley.
Small and frail, he was curled in a corner, blood streaming down his face, while a tall shadow approached with a sneer.
Back then, he had stared at the other party with the exact same kind of gaze!
Then, like a beast cornered, he erupted with a crazy strength beyond his age.
With his gaunt hands, with his teeth... he brutally tore apart that sneering face!
That was the starting point of his "evolution," and the perfect validation of his doctrine.
The heavily cracked glass could no longer hold!
"Crash—!!!"
It completely shattered!
The splashing fragments were like ice shards.
The pen in Santos's fingers was instantly crushed by him; he was oblivious to the plastic shards piercing his palm.
The grotesque, terrifying aggregate, with an air-rending shriek and suffocating stench, lunged directly at Santos's face!
Its sharp, twisted limbs were only an inch from his prominent nose!
As if in the next second, it could tear him to shreds!
But Santos stood his ground, unmoving, not even blinking, merely watching his creation lunge at him with a focus akin to admiring a work of art, a satisfied curve even appearing at the corner of his mouth.
Bang—!
A dull explosion loud enough to shatter a heart!
Just as the monster's fingertips were less than an inch from Santos's nose.
Its entire body, like an overfilled balloon, violently exploded from within, without warning!
Viscous, dark red blood mist, mixed with fragments of internal organs and bone residue, splattered across the entire observation room like a foul ink painting, and putrid hot liquid drenched Santos's crisp white suit, meticulously styled hair, and handsome face.
Time seemed to freeze for a second.
The satisfied curve on Santos's face vanished instantly without a trace.
It was replaced by a profound disappointment.
His expression was like that of a collector watching a rare porcelain vase shatter before his eyes.
He raised his white-gloved hand and, with the back of his fingers, slowly and carefully wiped away the blood splattered on his cheek.
His movements were as elegant as wiping dust from a masterpiece, but in the depths of his eyes, only empty boredom remained.
He lowered his head, glancing at the unfinished note in his record book. He casually tossed the blood-stained pen fragments from his palm onto the table and sighed softly: "Another... unstable defective product."
"The quality of this batch is very poor..."
Santos said indifferently, his imposing voice echoing in the blood-soaked room.
The surrounding Soldiers were scared into silence, cold sweat soaking their backs.
Just then, the heavy isolation door slid open.
A military officer in a dark green uniform walked in quickly, his brows furrowed by the strong smell of blood, but he forced himself to report: "Mr. President, it's still about the New Reclamation Area... Our perimeter forces are retreating steadily. Should we immediately send new troops to suppress them? Your subordinate can..."
Santos casually raised a hand to interrupt, not even looking at him.
The surging black mist in the cell was spreading out from the broken window. The Soldiers hastily put on gas masks, but Santos seemed oblivious, letting the mist, a symbol of fear, brush against his face.
"A little girl's make-believe game," his voice carried a hint of lazy contempt, "Let her play a little longer, it's fine."
The officer hesitated, then braced himself and added: "But according to reliable intelligence, Chloe... seems to have found the resurrected Goluthos!"
Santos suddenly turned around, his movement so fast it created a gust of wind.
"Goluthos?" His eyes, which had just been filled with disappointment, now shone like searchlights, full of excitement and fervor: "You mean... Lord Goluthos... has truly reappeared in the world? And..."
"That girl actually found her?"
"Yes... Yes, Mr. President!" The officer's scalp tingled under that gaze.
Santos was silent for a moment, then smiled again.
But this time, the laughter he emitted was chilling.
"Heh... heheh... You mean, Lord Goluthos, whom hundreds of my elites have spent over a decade searching for in vain..."
"Was found first by a little girl?"
Santos's tone was very strange; it was impossible to tell if it was anger, ecstasy, or the excitement of a child finding a new toy.
The officer's face was ashen, cold sweat pouring down, his Adam's apple bobbing, unable to utter any defense.
At this moment, he terrifyingly noticed the increasingly dense black mist approaching, and his trembling hand frantically reached for the gas mask in his pocket.
Just as he was about to put on the mask.
A white-gloved hand gripped his wrist like an iron clamp.
The officer looked up in horror, meeting Santos's face, which was inches away and wore a strange smile.
"Don't rush, Colonel." Santos's voice was unusually gentle, yet carried the chill of a viper, "This batch is too poor, I haven't had my fill... How about you personally help me test the current stage of stability?"
The officer's face instantly turned ashen, his legs buckling.
"No... Mr. President! I..." His plea for mercy was cut short as several quick-reacting Soldiers expressionlessly seized him, dragging him without hesitation into the depths of the swirling, despair- and fear-filled black mist!
The next second.
"Ugh ah—!!!"
A shrill, distorted scream pierced through the thick walls, echoing sharply in the cold tunnels of the Presidential Palace.
Startling several crows perched on the bare branches outside the palace, they flapped their wings and flew towards the lead-gray sky.
Dusk was falling...
Emerald Coast, open-air hot spring.
Several crows landed on the branches, then were driven away by the rising steam.
Serie, lazily soaking in the open-air hot spring, did not know.
Hundreds of kilometers away, a powerful figure had quietly set his sights on her.
Because Serie's senses at this moment were captivated by a completely different kind of "danger."
The water rippled gently, making soft splashing sounds.
A graceful figure, as if parting a hazy veil, quietly stepped onto the edge of the hot spring pool.
The rising mist blurred the details but outlined a breathtaking silhouette.
The tie of the bathrobe was gently untied by fingers.
The silky white fabric slid down silently like petals, piling on the warm stone steps.
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[email protected]/SolyuraMT
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