A face.

  A chubby face I knew all too well. One I had spent far too many years resenting. The very face that could make my blood boil with just a single smirk. The man who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, always thought he was the star of some dramatic story, despite being more of a background character in a bad comedy.

  The fatass school guard!

  Just the sight of his bulging belly, hanging like a lazy moon off his body, triggered an almost primal hatred within me. My fists clenched at my sides.

  And... wait.

  "Why the hell was he naked?!"

  For a split second, I was thankful for the black goo that generously covered his minuscule manhood, although, in a twisted sense of irony, it was now swallowed up by his own bloated gut.

  So much for dignity.

  After what felt like an eternity of him squirming out of the goo like some grotesque, half-drowned pig, he finally managed to fully emerge. His arms were crossed smugly over his chest, his eyes locked onto mine with an expression I had become all too familiar with—one of complete, obnoxious superiority.

  Then, just to make it worse, he smirked.

  Of course, he was using that overused smug face. The kind of face that only someone who thinks they're the protagonist in a story they were clearly never meant to be a part of would use.

  “The hell are you looking at?!” I roared internally, not even trying to hide the sheer disgust flooding my mind.

  “Woo-hooo, the brat who’s always late, huh?” he chuckled, his voice a sickeningly high-pitched laugh that made my skin crawl. “Are you here to kneel in front of me again?”

  The vein in my temple was practically screaming at me to pop. I was pretty sure I could feel it throbbing with rage, like it was just waiting for a reason to burst out of my skull and start tearing through his smug face.

  “This pig shit…” I muttered under my breath, barely holding back my fury.

  "[My Lord, don’t be fooled... I can feel that the creature in front of us is no longer human.]" Hunter cautioned, his voice a calm contrast to my growing irritation.

  “I know. How can a fatso like that even be human?” I shot back, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “What did you say?!” His voice suddenly turned more shrill, his face turning a color that would put a tomato to shame. “You… that’s why I don’t like you!”

  It was hard not to find the whole thing hilarious, but I wasn't in the mood for laughter. The sight of him made me feel like I was about to lose it at any second.

  His face was now an ugly shade of red, veins bulging in his bald head as he seethed with rage. His bloated belly trembled with every puff of air he took, and it was clear the anger was building up to something bigger than just words. His arms, thick with the weight of a man who had clearly spent too much time sitting behind a desk, slammed down on the floor as he shifted his body like a sumo wrestler ready to charge.

  And then, something started to happen.

  His skin, once smooth and sagging, began to ripple. Bristles sprouted all over his body, thick and coarse, like the first sprout of fur on a wild animal. His muscles contorted and reformed, groaning and stretching as his limbs twisted in unnatural ways. His once human head deformed into something far more monstrous—snout protruding with sharp tusks, eyes glowing a violent shade of blue, and whiskers twitching with fury. His double chin collapsed into sagging jowls, now covered in thick, wiry fur.

  A thunderous boom echoed through the room as his transformation completed. The air itself seemed to crack under the weight of his newly-formed body.

  The human pig had become a full-fledged boar.

  “How fitting,” I thought to myself, a twisted laugh bubbling up from deep within.

  This was the last thing I expected today, but then again, when was I ever in a situation that didn’t spiral into something completely absurd? The pig had literally turned into a wild boar. The only thing missing was the bacon jokes.

  “Well, well. You certainly know how to make an entrance. Too bad you don’t know how to make a decent one.” I muttered, unable to stop myself from delivering a bit of snark.

  The boar-thing snorted in response, the glowing blue eyes narrowing, as if it was waiting for me to make the next move. Something told me, however, that it didn’t quite appreciate my sarcasm.

  At this point, I was just trying to keep my composure and not let the absurdity of the situation get the best of me. The guy’s transformation was a nightmare, but I couldn’t help but think—could things get any worse?

  Raaaaaaaaaaaar!

  The monster's roar tore through the room like a warhorn from the ninth circle of hell. The floor shuddered beneath my feet, torches flickered in protest.

  I activated [Truthseeker], and right on cue, the system kindly laid out a status screen in front of me:

  [Accursed Suis Malodorus – Lvl 15]

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  Rook rank Aberrant (Unique)

  HP: 600 | MP: 200

  STR: 20 | INT: 13

  AGI: 21 | VIT: 50

  DEF: 150 | MOR: -80

  After all that grotesque transformation, dramatic squealing, and the sheer theatrics of it all… this pig-thing’s stats were honestly a letdown. How the hell was he even labeled "Unique"?

  Unique what—uniquely pathetic?

  “WAHAHAHAHAHA!” he bellowed, chest jiggling like a gelatinous nightmare. “Behold the greatness before you! Bow, beg, and maybe I’ll snap your neck clean—spare you the horror of dying slowly!”

  This clown.

  The only thing he had in abundance was negative morality—and possibly cholesterol.

  "[Hunter,]" I called mentally, "[Are these stats real, or is this another circus act?]"

  I wanted to believe there was a catch. Maybe this was one of those "Don’t judge a book by its sweaty, porcine cover" moments.

  "[Analyzing complete. His stats are as they appear. No illusions or hidden modifiers.]" Hunter replied flatly.

  "[So... he’s weak?]"

  "[Yes, my Lord. Fortunately, embarrassingly weak.]"

  That’s all I needed to hear.

  The porky beast, unaware of our private exchange, slammed his fists into the stone floor—more tantrum than threat.

  “Youuuu!” he bellowed again. “Still refusing to show proper respect?! Fine! I’ll break your legs first, then see if you squeal for mercy!”

  This fucking pig. Was he blind to my stats? I could crush him with one hand and still have time to repaint the walls.

  "[I’ve masked our status window, my Lord, and broadcasted false interwaves to scramble his scan attempts.]" Hunter interjected smoothly.

  Now that’s what I call tech support. I would've given Hunter a head pat if I had arms to spare.

  Frustrated with my complete lack of reaction, the boar finally snapped and charged forward. His hooves pounded the floor, shaking the room with each stomp. I’ll give him this—he was fast. Not Knight-level fast, but fast enough to impress a toddler.

  But I’m not a toddler.

  To me, he looked like an overfed piglet trying to headbutt a tank.

  I stood my ground, ready to absorb the blow and end him in one clean strike—until something foul hit me.

  The stench.

  Dear Void, the stench.

  It came off him in waves—like a fusion of rotting onions, gym socks, and a public restroom during a heatwave. My stomach lurched in protest, threatening rebellion.

  Forget the impact—I might just die from asphyxiation.

  BOOM!

  My survival instinct kicked in. I dodged—not out of fear, but self-preservation. The boar barreled past me and slammed face-first into the stone wall, snout-first impact echoing like a sad gong.

  “Ha! You fear me! As you should!” he yelled proudly. “Next time, I’ll break you!”

  I was so done with this bacon-flavored drama.

  “Hunter.” My voice came out calm, cold. My eyes burned red with restrained irritation.

  Without needing further command, my fingers elongated—shifting, snapping into vicious, whip-like tendrils tipped with plated claws, glinting with razor-sharp edges.

  We’re gonna grill today.

  The boar, still puffed up with confidence, charged again. The poor guy didn’t realize he was running headlong into a meat processor.

  Maybe he was just mentally challenged.

  Or suicidal.

  Maybe both?

  Either way, I had no time to entertain his delusions of grandeur.

  As he neared, I let loose.

  My whip-claws sliced the air with a banshee’s shriek, spiraling toward him like dancing scythes. The moment he noticed, he tried to halt—but momentum’s a bitch.

  Too late.

  The claws tore into him like knives through butter. Meat, muscle, and bone ripped apart in a fine spiral, like carving a holiday ham with industrial-grade precision. Blood sprayed like an overripe watermelon being dropped from orbit. Organs flew across the room in juicy chunks.

  Thankfully, I stood far enough not to be hit by the flying essence of unadulterated funk.

  What remained of his body slopped to the floor like discarded leftovers. Only his head remained intact long enough for him to stammer:

  “Ho… how…”

  Then, silence. His eyes dulled as the last flicker of life snuffed out.

  "No tickets please!" I jeered.

  [Ting!]

  [You earned 120 experience]

  I exhaled slowly. What a relief.

  I approached what was left of him and noticed a faint glow beneath his mashed forehead. The core.

  “Hunter,” I said dryly, pointing at the revolting mess, “You can eat all these shit, right?”

  No reply. Just a long, slow, reluctant silent grievance.

  Even my greedy companion was having second thoughts.

  Hunter had just finished devouring what was left of the so-called “almighty pig,” and I swear—even with no face—he gagged.

  A lot.

  If I had a camera, I would’ve captured that moment just to remind him who made the worst meal of our journey so far.

  Still, can’t complain—my health’s been fully restored, and now I’ve got another Unique Soul Core tucked neatly inside my gauntlet, sealed with a memory shell. I could absorb the core and crack open the shell, but let’s be honest… that thing came from him. The school guard turned bacon nightmare. There’s absolutely zero chance I’d find any helpful revelation from his memories, unless I suddenly need a crash course in failure and BO.

  I’m half-tempted to use the core to summon a familiar.

  But the mere idea of having a grotesque pork beast waddling behind me as my first pet? Yeah… no thanks. That’s the kind of trauma you don’t recover from.

  Besides, unlike Hunter—my ever-reliable murder appendage who conveniently fuses into my arms like a demonic Swiss army knife—a familiar would be stuck out in the open here. Defenseless. A level 1 liability just waiting to die five seconds into a fight. I’d end up babysitting it more than battling. What am I, a trainer?

  Definitely not worth it.

  While I was deep in these thoughts, another void portal shimmered into existence at the room’s center like a dark mirror dripping ink.

  Another floor already?

  I sighed, stretched my neck with a satisfying pop, and stepped through.

  This time, the transition was instant—I barely blinked before I was spat into the next room.

  It looked exactly the same. Same grim medieval design, same eerie torchlight, same depressing ambience. But the enemies? Different. And slightly more... creative.

  Five aberrants rose from the black muck like bloated corpses from a cursed swamp. All level 18 Rooks. Pale skin, twisted faces, upper bodies bristling with thorn-like protrusions like someone crossbred a man with a haunted cactus. Their stats were even lower than Mr. Bacon’s, which honestly offended me more than it should’ve.

  In another room, I was swarmed by Pawns—snake-bodied, human-headed abominations. Men, women, children, elders—every face was frozen in a silent scream like they'd all been yanked from a Greek tragedy and slapped onto serpents. The vibe? Deeply unsettling. The smell? Even worse.

  Then came the Knight-rank guardian. Fully covered in thick white fur, towering over me like a myth come to life. Bigfoot with an attitude problem. Its movements were surprisingly agile for something with such chunky feet. The fight was intense—finally, something that didn’t feel like swatting flies.

  But I still won.

  One room after another, I fought and climbed—vigorously, relentlessly—up this endless nightmare tower.

  By the time I reached the 99th floor, the rooms had stopped resembling architecture altogether. The stone walls were now overtaken by dark, throbbing flesh. Everything pulsed like I was trapped inside the body of a sleeping god-beast. Every step squished. Every breath carried the sickly-sweet scent of blood and rot.

  The guardian here?

  A motherf*cking Unicorn.

  But not the sparkle-rainbow kind. No, this one was the stuff of chaotic punishment.

  Its frame was humanoid, freakishly muscular, and wrapped in a ghostly white coat. It looked like a bodybuilder cosplaying as a mythical horse god. Its blue eyes glowed with righteous fury, glaring at me as if I’d insulted its ancestors and stepped on its favorite flower.

  When it snorted, the air shook. One heavy breath, and I could feel the pressure bearing down on my chest like a warning.

  “Fight seriously,” it seemed to say. “Or I’ll end you right here.”

  So yeah.

  No more jokes.

  Time to buckle up.

  [Divinus Singularis Unicornus – Lvl 25]

  Bishop rank Aberrant (Special)

  HP: 800 | MP: 420

  STR: 38 | INT: 22

  AGI: 40 | VIT: 60

  DEF: 350 | MOR: -10

  So let me get this straight—

  A “Divine Rare Unicorn,” Special-tagged like some limited-edition loot box nightmare, just trotted into my life?

  This was my first tango with a Special-grade aberrant, and just skimming its stats made my stomach clench like a black hole trying to digest my courage. The thing looked like it had been hand-chiseled by a pantheon of gym-bro gods on performance enhancers.

  And the weirdest part?

  Its Morality was almost neutral.

  What—was it a misunderstood monster? A pacifist warhorse on sabbatical?

  I gave it the benefit of the doubt. “Hey, you! I know you can speak human tongue,” I called out, squinting at its glimmering, majestic mane like I was interrogating a fashion model turned war criminal. “Who are you, and why the hell are you here?”

  It just stared at me.

  Hard.

  Outer Celestials,

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  [Ting!]

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