Chapter 250
Accept
IAM's eyes fluttered open slowly as if dragged from the depths of a dream he wasn't supposed to wake from. His body felt wrong—every muscle resisting movement like it had been filled with molten lead. With a low groan, he forced himself upright, the sound of his own breath echoing in the thick, stifling air.
He looked around.
He was standing in the middle of a space that could barely be called a room. The walls were uneven and slick, carved by deep claw marks that tore through the rock in frenzied streaks. Sticky black liquid oozed from them, spreading like veins beneath diseased skin.
The floor was worse: smeared with rot, half-digested flesh, and a film of dried blood that cracked beneath his steps. It was impossible to tell where stone ended and flesh began.
The heat pressed against him like a suffocating embrace, thick and wet, seeping into his lungs with every breath. The air reeked of decay and iron, the scent so strong it burned behind his eyes.
Something was wrong. He could feel it.
His head throbbed as if something inside was missing—pieces of himself scattered and lost. He rubbed his temple, trying to remember, to piece together how he'd ended up here. But the harder he tried, the emptier it felt. His thoughts were like fragments of broken glass—it was useless and slipped away the moment he reached for them.
So he moved.
Not because he knew where to go, but because staying still felt dangerous. The air itself whispered that he shouldn't be here. That this place didn't want him here.
He didn't know what waited ahead, but he knew one thing with chilling certainty—
the longer he stayed, the closer death crept.
He hadn't walked far when he froze.
There—just ahead in the dim, suffocating haze—stood a figure.
It was barely human. Its face was completely obscured by a slick, black substance that writhed and pulsed like living worms crawling on its skin. It's movement was unsettlingly, as if the filth itself was alive and feeding on whatever lay beneath.
The rest of its body was drenched in red. At first, IAM thought it was wearing some sort of tattered cloak, but when he looked closer, the truth revealed itself—it wasn't fabric at all. Blood poured from every pore, so thick and constant that it coated the figure entirely, dripping and pooling at its feet in a steady, wet rhythm. The liquid clung to its frame like a grotesque mantle, making it look as if the creature was born from slaughter itself.
In its hands gleamed metal. Each palm gripped a rusted bar, and from each bar extended four jagged blades—eight in total—curved and cruel like the talons of a beast.
Its head bobbed unnaturally, jerking left and right, up and down, like it wasn't truly connected to its spine. The sound of the movement was faint but distinct—a soft, wet crack with each unnatural bob.
The instant the creature noticed him, it moved.
There was no hesitation—just a blur of red and black tearing through the space between them. The ground splashed beneath its feet as it sprinted toward IAM with unnatural speed, its limbs jerking like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
IAM's breath caught. Before he could even think, something heavy and familiar materialized in his hand—a sword, gleaming faintly despite the darkness. He didn't have time to question where it came from. Instinct took over.
The creature was already upon him. He brought the sword up just in time to block the first strike—a vicious, neck-level slash that would've torn his head clean off. The impact rang out like steel on thunder, the force sending tremors through his arms.
He stumbled back, barely regaining balance when the creature swept a leg toward him. Its movement was fluid yet chaotic and unpredictable. IAM ducked beneath the kick, the wind of it grazing his hair, and thrust his blade forward with all the strength he could gather.
The sword sank deep into the creature's chest.
For a heartbeat, it froze. Its head tilted down slowly, staring at the steel jutting through its ribs. Then—without a sound of pain—it lashed out. A sharp, brutal kick landed square in IAM's stomach.
The air was knocked out of him.
He flew backward, crashing against the filthy, wet ground and skidding through grime before rolling and forcing himself up onto one knee, then his feet. His chest burned—but his grip on the sword remained firm.
The creature, still standing with the blade in its chest, tilted its head at him.
IAM was completely confused as he stared at the creature in front of him. Its head twitched and bobbed unnaturally, the black, worm-like substance writhing across its face as if alive.
Then—suddenly—a word surfaced in his mind. A name. It appeared with such force it felt carved into his thoughts.
He raised his right hand, pointing directly at the figure, his index finger curling into the shape of a trigger. The movement felt instinctual, something he had done a thousand times before—yet he had no memory of it.
"KASSARA!" he shouted.
His voice cracked through the thick, suffocating air, echoing around the ragged walls. For a moment, IAM waited.
Nothing happened.
The silence that followed was deafening. His hand trembled slightly before lowering. His brows furrowed. A solemn expression crept across his face. What was KASSARA? Why did I do that?
But he didn't get the chance to think.
The creature's entire body jerked forward like it had been pulled by invisible strings. It launched toward him again, the sound of tearing flesh and grinding metal filling the air. Its claws gleamed wet and red under as it closed the distance, moving with an inhuman speed that made the world blur around it.
IAM barely had time to react.
The creature raised both clawed hands high above its head and brought them down with vicious force as it landed, the impact cracking the floor beneath it. IAM twisted his body to the side, barely dodging the twin slashes. The claws scraped past his chest, leaving a faint tear in his clothes and a burning line of pain where they had grazed him.
He stumbled backward, boots sliding across the wet, uneven ground. His grip on the sword tightened as he took several quick steps back, widening the distance. His stance shifted into a basic guard.
The creature didn't care. It charged again. The sound of metal scraping against stone rang through the space as it swung wildly, each strike heavy enough to shatter bone. IAM met the next blow head-on, raising his sword to parry. The clash sent a shock through his arm, nearly knocking the weapon from his hand.
He gritted his teeth and countered with a quick horizontal slash, the blade whistling through the air. The creature twisted its body unnaturally, bending backward at an impossible angle, and the sword cut through nothing but empty air.
Before he could recover, it spun around, its claws slicing toward his midsection. IAM ducked low, feeling the air above him split, and drove his sword upward, grazing the creature's side. The impact made a sickening, wet noise as red liquid splattered onto the ground, steaming as it touched the surface.
The thing didn't flinch.
It lunged again, slamming one claw into the wall and using it to vault over IAM's head. He turned quickly, swinging as it landed behind him, his reflexes just barely keeping him alive.
Their weapons clashed again and again—metal against metal, sparks flashing briefly in the darkness. Every impact echoed off the ragged walls like distant thunder.
IAM's breathing grew heavier. He could feel sweat mixing with the grime on his skin, his muscles screaming with effort. Yet the creature didn't slow. It kept coming, relentless, its movements unpredictable, as if every joint in its body bent the wrong way.
He stepped back once, twice—then pivoted, thrusting the blade straight forward. The sword pierced through its shoulder, but even then, the creature didn't stop. Its claw lashed across his chest, sending him staggering backward.
Still, he refused to fall.
His eyes locked on the figure before him, that impossible, bleeding form. His body trembled—but the sword in his hand stayed steady.
IAM suddenly lunged forward, his foot slamming against the ground. He looked ready to thrust.
The creature reacted instantly, darting closer, it's claws raised for the counter. But at the last second, IAM twisted his wrist, shifting his stance. It was a feint.
With a shout, he hurled the sword instead. The blade spun through the air and buried itself deep into the creature's shoulder with a heavy, wet thud. The impact halted its momentum for just a heartbeat.
That was all he needed.
IAM surged forward, slamming his body into the creature and forcing it down onto the filthy ground. Before it could move, he started swinging wildly. His fists cracked against its face, each hit sending black liquid splattering across his arms. Left, right, left again.
He didn't stop.
He roared, with his muscles straining, and brought both fists down together in a final, crushing blow to its head.
A loud crack split the air.
For a moment, everything froze. His fists hovered above what should have been its skull—and in that instant before the final strike landed, IAM saw it. The creature's form flickered, its surface rippling like liquid light. For just a split second, it wasn't the blood-soaked abomination anymore.
It was a pale figure—its hair long and bone-white.
And then it was gone.
IAM blinked, his breath ragged. He looked down, and the ground beneath his knees was empty as if nothing had ever been there.
His gaze darted around the room. The sword was gone too, vanished without a trace.
He slowly got to his feet, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. For a long moment, he just stood there, his chest rising and falling, before wiping the sweat and grime from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Without a word, IAM turned and began to move forward again—deeper into the dark.