{Chapter: 179: The Rules of Life And Matter Had Been Violently Rewritten}
Staring at the abomination in front of her, Alison could barely hide the disgust on her face.
It squirmed and twisted like a living mass of mud, pulsing with unnatural life. Beneath the surface of its slick, shifting skin were remnants of something once familiar—shattered window frames, chunks of roofing tiles, warped wooden beams. Embedded in its grotesque body like decorations from a forgotten era, these fragments told a tragic story of what the monster used to be.
From the scattered remains of ornamental carvings and the broken, armor-like bricks still clinging to its outer shell, Alison quickly surmised the truth: this monstrosity had evolved from a humble household structure. Most likely, it had once been a small house—someone's home, now transformed into an engine of death.
And this wasn't a one-off horror. Under the widespread influence of the plague unleashed by Dex, the rules of life and matter had been violently rewritten. It wasn't just living creatures that mutated into monsters—non-living things, too, were given grotesque forms of activation.
Wardrobes, dining tables, tree trunks, boulders, and even entire buildings had been twisted into sentient forms.
Dex had embraced the Aura granted to all who officially ascend to the rank of First-Level Wizard—an aura imbued with latent life-giving energy. While most wizards struggled to control this force, fearing its uncontrollable tendency to animate the inanimate and awaken things best left lifeless, Dex did the unthinkable. He weaponized it. What others deemed a volatile liability, he wove into his Plaguecraft, fusing it with the dark alchemy of disease. The result? A terrifying innovation—plagues that breathed cursed life into inorganic matter, transforming lifeless objects into grotesque monsters of rot and pestilence, animated abominations that served as extensions of his will.
Thus the plague didn't discriminate between the organic and the inorganic—it corrupted everything. In its wake, the mundane became monstrous.
What made these new abominations all the more disturbing was their behavior. They inherited the chaotic, destructive tendencies of their originator. With wild, erratic temperaments and minds bent on violence, they didn't merely attack the native inhabitants of this world. They also turned on one another without hesitation. Infighting among the twisted creatures was frequent, often exploding into senseless riots that tore through towns in waves of destruction.
The creature in front of Alison had just finished gnawing through a broken fence and was now crawling forward like a malformed predator. It dragged its grotesque body toward the crowd, its many appendages scraping against the cobblestone with a screech that made nearby children weep.
Her brow furrowed.
With a calm, practiced motion, she lifted her bow. Her slender white fingers pulled the enchanted string taut in one smooth gesture. A ripple of magical energy surged from her core, flowing into the weapon. Within moments, a shimmering, translucent arrow materialized at the ready.
Then, in a blur of speed, several arrows flew.
Each one found its mark with unerring precision. The creature—a patchwork of furniture and bricks brought to life—reared up in agony as the arrows pierced deep into its core.
Its mouth opened unnaturally wide. Inside was not a tongue or teeth, but a spiraling void, like a whirlpool choked with refuse, spinning violently. Then came its scream—not organic, not animal. It was the unholy noise of stones grinding, of rusted metal scraping across itself, like an industrial blender possessed by madness.
The sound was grating, and it made the hearts of everyone nearby feel like they were being slowly twisted.
The screech continued as the creature writhed in pain, then began to collapse, its corrupted life force draining away under the spell's effect. In just a few seconds, its massive form convulsed one last time before falling silent. All that remained was a wet heap of shattered wood, melted stone, and twitching debris.
Though these plague-born monsters appeared hideous and otherworldly, in truth, they were little more than cannon fodder—miscellaneous creatures birthed by a world gone mad. Against a demigod-level combatant like Alison, they posed no real threat. Even trained regular soldiers, if they were brave enough, could fend off these monstrosities with the right tools.
Still, Alison and her companions had chosen to step in directly.
Part of the reason was practical—limiting unnecessary casualties among lower-ranked soldiers. But there was another, deeper reason. Their presence on the front lines, risking their lives to push back the tide of horror, was meant to send a message.
To those still trapped behind the lines, to the civilians staring at them with tearful eyes and clasped hands, this was a sign.
You are not forgotten. We are still fighting for you.
And so, as the cheering and emotional gratitude of the rescued residents washed over her, Alison felt no sense of pride. Instead, her chest ached as if her heart were being chewed on by a venomous parasite.
She knew the cruel truth. These people had already been labeled expendable by the higher-ups. Officially, they had been written off as sacrifices for the greater good.
Knowing this, standing there and soaking in the innocent adoration of the people they had already condemned—it filled her with shame. With guilt. With rage.
No matter what strategy or logic was used to justify it, sacrificing the very civilians she was sworn to protect with her own life defiled everything she believed in. It made a mockery of the title guardian.
The pain of this realization ran deep. And from that deep wound, a fire of resentment began to blaze.
A hatred. Not just toward herself, or the leaders who issued such orders, but toward the true cause behind all this misery.
The Abyss.
The foul entities invading this world, bringing ruin in their wake, polluting reality with their corruption—they were the real enemy. Her loathing for them was so pure and intense that it crackled like lightning in her blood.
It was this storm of murderous fury that caused a certain someone, watching from afar, to pause.
Dex.
He was nearby. A shadow watching from the fringes of the battlefield.
The magical barrier surrounding the area was still active, but it might as well have been made of paper for someone like him. It was riddled with gaps and blind spots—far too weak to stop his remote avatars from slipping in undetected.
Currently, Dex stood on the rooftop of a partially ruined building, his projection in human form. From his perch, he watched Alison silently.
For a long time, he didn't speak. He simply observed the surging emotion in her every movement—the storm building in her eyes.
He could tell exactly what she was feeling. Resentment. Rage. Shame.
And while he understood it well—he'd seen those emotions in countless mortals before—he didn't feel even the slightest trace of guilt.
After all, he was the architect of this madness.
He was the demon.
To kill, to burn, to defile and destroy—it was his purpose. His pleasure. His very nature.
Even if fragments of human emotion clung to him like barnacles on a sunken ship, they would never change what he truly was.
Whether he was the hunter or the hunted, Dex never placed much weight on either role.
To him, both outcomes were equally valid—fitting ends for a creature like himself.
"It is natural for me to kill anyone. It is equally natural for anyone to try and kill me."
That was the core of Dex's philosophy—simple, unshakable, and brutally honest.
He did not see right or wrong in the same way others did. For him, everything was governed by strength and will. Life was not about morality—it was about who had the power to impose their version of truth.
And so, whether he lived or died, hunted or hunted down, it made no difference.
What mattered was that he followed his desire without hesitation.
His only true creed?
Do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, whoever he wanted.
No justification necessary.
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As if sensing the weight of his gaze, Alison, who had just begun moving toward the next danger zone, paused. Her luminous eyes shifted slightly, catching the subtle current of attention aimed in her direction.
With a slight furrow of her brows and a faint curl of her lips, she turned to glance in the direction Dex stood.
*****
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