Chapter 139 | The Crimson Moon Returns

With a suppressed exclamation, Miss Valente was tackled to the ground by Lynch. Rolling over, the two saw where the dull thud behind them had landed. There was nothing there—just a patch of pitch black, no different from their surroundings.

But the thud and the impact were real.

Releasing his hold on the noble lady, Lynch exchanged an astonished glance with her, both putting aside any embarrassment. They scrambled back a couple of steps, getting clear of their original positions while moving quickly and trying to observe carefully.

Darkness swirled. The beam from the Torch of Light barely managed to pierce the dark to illuminate the floor. The two hadn't misseen—there truly was nothing on the ground. Tilting the beam upward, the ceiling above from which they had just dropped came into view. Just like down here, the light barely piercing the darkness revealed no foreign objects.

Damn it, what kind of monster was hiding in the dark?

Fear often stems from the unknown; the less they could see, the more tense they became.

There was definitely something there, and it had acted with hostility, yet nothing was visible in the darkness. They had to force it out; otherwise, no one knew if it would attack again, and they might not be so lucky next time.

“Cover me, Mr. Levive.”

Miss Valente, standing opposite him, waved her beam of light. Seeing Lynch wave his flashlight in response, she moved her feet carefully, stepping toward where the darkness had landed.

Right, trying a different method of perception might work. Lynch nodded. He had intended to draw his gun to cover her, but after a second thought, he held his cane tightly and closed in alongside Miss Valente, ready to strike down at a moment's notice.

But strike what? There really was nothing there.

As Miss Valente approached step-by-step, Lynch repeatedly swept his light beam in front of her. Nothing changed. The light barely cut through the darkness, shining upon...

Hmm?

Why was it barely cutting through the darkness? Why did there always seem to be a haze behind the dark?

No—it wasn't that there was nothing there; the darkness itself was present.

The moment he realized this, Lynch felt a wave of instinctual fear. Experience told him this was a physiological reaction to first comprehending a mystery heteromorph, yet he still felt a chill in his heart, like needles pricking his back.

“Watch the ground!”

Suppressing his instincts, Lynch barely managed a low growl before swinging his cane hard at the swirling mass of darkness.

With a dull thud, the impact felt like hitting a rubber tire. A powerful force far exceeding his own arm strength rebounded through the cane. Because he maintained a death grip on it, his entire body was lifted off the ground by the force, sliding back several paces until he slammed heavily against a stone pillar.

Miss Valente froze at the sound. Though she didn't understand what to watch out for, her feet had already stopped. Then she witnessed the whole aerial maneuver. Before her brain could process it, her body reacted automatically.

A flame of light flared at the tip of her folding fan. With a loud roar, a large spray of buckshot erupted from the muzzle, plunging into the darkness in front of her. The darkness paused as if it possessed a physical form, then lunged forward to envelop her once more.

A light shield re-emerged—an eggshell-like barrier popped out from within her, shimmering with faint light as it collided head-on with the darkness.

A surge of shockwaves rippled out, noticeable even to Lynch in the distance. Staggering back several paces from the impact, Miss Valente barely kept her footing thanks to Lynch reaching out just in time to support her.

“Oh, Fiona above... it's a Son of the Formless.”

Lynch's wrist trembled. He had heard the name during an anecdote shared by his professor in an archaeology class. Supposedly, they occasionally appeared in ancient ruins—troublesome, bizarre creatures. With no time to overthink, Miss Valente pulled his arm, and they both backed up two more steps. Now, Lynch finally got a clear look at their enemy.

It was a translucent, dark mass resembling a giant slime, slowly writhing. Its volume was large enough to wrap several people up, standing taller than a human when stretched upright. The thing was pitch black, making it impossible to distinguish in the dark—especially since it seemed to have pounced from above earlier, making it even harder to detect.

Wait, overhead?

A chill struck both their hearts simultaneously. Exchanging a glance, they quickly shifted positions while pointing their light beams upward. Sure enough, within visible range above, another one was perched directly where they had stood moments ago, on the verge of pouncing down.

“We can't fight them head-on, Mr. Levive! They have immense strength, and once swallowed, you'll be crushed like those mummies. And remember, they're immune to physical attacks!”

Checking to confirm there were no enemies directly overhead, Miss Valente paused and snapped open her folding fan to eject the spent shells. She then pulled out two red cartridges to reload:

“We need attacks with secondary effects, like fire!”

“Wait, don't use fire!” Seeing the noble lady's movements, Lynch grabbed her hand. “Setting a fire here will only shorten our lifespan. We won't be able to breathe!”

“Then we'll use acid.”

Miss Valente didn't find this troubling at all. As if performing magic, she swapped them for two green-shelled shotgun rounds, loading them into the folding fan. Pulling back the front section of the fan with her left hand, a sharp metallic click of a bolt sliding sounded—her movements as fluid and practiced as a seasoned soldier in a movie.

“Take these two. It's a pity I didn't bring acid rounds for handguns, but I'll make sure to bring some for you next time.”

Lynch was momentarily stunned, instinctively taking the two brown glass bottles handed to him by the noble lady. The bottles were tightly sealed, containing more than half a bottle of liquid. What was this now?

“Strong acid. Just throw them directly. I noticed I still had some extra space earlier, so I packed a dozen. I didn't expect them to actually come in handy.”

Gasp, girl, why do you have everything? Are you planning to throw items at monsters to kill them all the way? And packing a dozen? Fine, money power rules, you're amazing.

“Save your ammo then. I'll do it.”

Stowing one bottle with mixed feelings, Lynch unscrewed the other and rushed toward the writhing Son of the Formless.

The creature wasn't fast; it relied on its massive size to move faster than an average human relative to its scale. But in terms of tight maneuvering, it was nowhere near a match for Lynch, who was blessed by the Cat God. Lynch charged straight ahead, suddenly executing a sharp turn just as the dark, slime-like entity lunged to cover him head-on, hurling the open bottle hard against the monster's body.

The bottle sank silently into the darkness, like being swallowed by a swamp.

Hmm?

Lynch paused briefly, his feet coming to a halt instinctively, followed immediately by Miss Valente's anxious warning from behind:

“Above you!”

Damn, careless!

Lynch's heart sank as he felt a fierce gust of wind dropping from above, rushing straight at his head. He exerted nearly all his strength trying to step back and dodge the overhead assault, but the sound of rushing wind had already reached his crown; dodging was completely impossible.

Gritting his teeth, Lynch gripped the stored acid bottle at the final moment, planning to force-feed it a bottle of acid upon being swallowed—a desperate last-ditch effort for survival. At that precise moment, however, a beam of light materialized out of thin air between him and Miss Valente, followed by a tremendous force pulling him across.

【Authority: Protection, Ability: Grasp of Protection】

Thud! Another Son of the Formless slammed down almost touching Lynch's head, raising a blast of air on the ground. Meanwhile, Lynch was pulled back through the air by the light beam, landing stumbling next to Miss Valente—whose face had turned pale with shock—before falling heavily onto his rear.

Just as Miss Valente reached out to pull him up, his expression shifted again. He sprang up abruptly, grabbing Miss Valente to retreat, just as a third Son of the Formless pounced on the empty spot where Miss Valente had just been standing overhead.

That was close. The two exchanged a shaken glance, seeing the anxiety in each other's eyes.

Inside the Son of the Formless that had swallowed the acid bottle, a sudden sound of shattering glass echoed. Shortly after, a large cloud of acrid smoke billowed from its body. Like a leech sprinkled with salt, it melted rapidly, eventually turning into a puddle of dark sludge flattened against the ground. However, the two newly appeared creatures were completely unfazed by their kin's death, stubbornly writhing toward them.

How many of these things are there? We can't let them keep multiplying like this.

“We came to destroy the evil god's avatar, not to clean up the city. We can't afford to get bogged down in a battle—we must find our target as quickly as possible.”

“Alright. The evil god's avatar should be hiding in their Temple of Death, but I don't know what it looks like or where it is.”

“I know. I've been to the one in Maya's dream. It should be the same as this one. The temple emits a green light.”

Lynch grabbed Miss Valente's hand. With one shining their light beam overhead and the other aiming forward, they bypassed the two Sons of the Formless, sprinting out of the stone-pillar enclosure and rushing into the ancient city.

It truly was identical to the city in the dream, except there were no roaming ghouls on the streets.

At the edge of their vision, far off in the distance, a beam of green light emitted an eerie, faint glow.

Just as expected. A look of joy appeared on both their faces—a target this conspicuous was undeniably good news.

Yet, an unsettling feeling lingered in Lynch's mind. Wasn't this a little too obvious?

No sooner had the anxiety surfaced than rustling sounds echoed from the surrounding darkness—the sound of Sons of the Formless writhing along the ground.