Bloody Odyssey

Chapter 52: Parasitic Seed II

Boom!

Rains of currents streamed down on Zain, covering his entirety in blinding silver-white fury. The bolts struck with deafening cracks—each one thicker than a man's arm, forking and twisting like living serpents. The alien battlefield went silent, the only sound the goblins' wild, guttural cheering—deep, rhythmic, almost reverent.

To everyone's surprise, the lightning did not consume him.

A completely silver figure emerged from the storm—two black horns crackling with residual electricity curling upward from his forehead like a crown of thorns. Two petal-like whip-tails lashed the ground behind him, each strike leaving scorched craters and trails of ozone. The transformation was complete, violent, beautiful.

"The seed has germinated," Dax said from above, voice low with genuine enthusiasm. He watched with folded arms, eyes gleaming.

"My precious Sprawl Tree seed has two different paths: the Tree path or the Flower path. Both are powerful, and different in their own nature."

He saw it clearly—an image superimposed over Zain's form: a towering thunder tree, roots cracking stone, branches forking into endless lightning veins, leaves shimmering with stormlight.

"It has become a fine tree," Dax murmured. "Magnificent."

Zain's image blurred for a heartbeat—still in the same spot, yet somehow more. The air around him warped, charged, heavy.

Boom!

The goblins coughed out mouthfuls of blood as the pressure wave rolled outward. Zain dodged—faster than sight, a silver streak. 01's blood sizzled where it struck the ground, green venom eating through crimson rock like acid.

01 blocked with its blade—anticipating the next attack. Silver tentacles burst from Zain's back—six in total, writhing like living whips. He dropped to all fours like a beast—armor shifting, blackening. Half his silver suit turned midnight black; the material pulsed like a beating heart, opening a narrow gap on the right side of his face revealing a single glowing eye of foresight— sea blue, unblinking.

—

Down below, Hanna watched with open concern.

"Zain… what's wrong with him?"

She looked back at Anastas.

"Ariel, we need to try and stop him."

Anastas's eyes remained cold—calculating.

"What are we going to do, fool?" he asked quietly. "Those two have barely used up their aura reserves—like mana itself is unimportant to them. These creatures we're struggling with have insane strength. Just look at their leader—more powerful than the rest—and Zain is keeping up."

He paused, voice dropping.

"Tell me—is that normal?"

In a blink Nadia appeared behind the discussing duo—silent as light, robe fluttering in the charged wind.

"No," she answered softly. "It is not."

Hanna turned, startled, then smiled warmly.

"Oh! Captain's woman."

Nadia's face flushed crimson.

"He's my benefactor," she whispered beneath her breath, barely audible.

"Yes—you said that thing on Vice-Captain is a type of genetic modification?" Anastas asked, cold air around him thawing slightly.

Nadia nodded once.

"Really, I'm just… astounded," Anastas continued. "That looks like a battle between two Rank Nine powerhouses."

Hanna didn't bother glancing at Anastas.

"Ohh—you're back!" She beamed at Nadia instead, chatting easily. "Tell me more about these modifications. Is it alchemy? Blood ritual? Something else?"

Nadia's gaze remained fixed upward—watching Zain's transformed form clash with 01.

"Captain's work," she said simply. "Beyond alchemy."

—

Zain was on all fours—one of his six tentacles coiled tightly around the spear haft. Killing intent surged from him in thick, tangible waves—silver-black, crackling, suffocating.

Before him, thousands of outlines appeared—every possible future, every trajectory, every feint laid bare. His eye of foresight drank them in.

He threw the spear.

Then moved—punching forward with a barrage of crackling silver tentacles and fists. The attacks came in a storm—relentless, precise, overwhelming.

01 welcomed them with insane speed—cutlass blurring to meet each strike. Sparks flew; venom mist hissed where lightning touched green blood. Yet it was pushed back—step by step, boots carving furrows in the rock.

Thunk!

Boom!

The spear sank deep into 01's shoulder—blasting the goblin backward. It embedded firmly into a distant tree, trunk splintering around the shaft. 01 screeched in pain—deep, guttural, shaking leaves from branches.

It tried to pull free, but the numbing sensation of lightning and the raw agony of torn muscle clouded its mind. Holding tight, screaming through clenched fangs, it wrenched the spear loose with great effort—green blood pouring from the wound.

Zain moved again—going for the kill. He traveled like a willed beast—low, fast, deadly.

But before he could close the distance—

A familiar white-haired figure appeared.

Dax touched Zain's head—gentle.

"Don't lose yourself."

His tone was calm.

Then he blasted Zain backward—embedding him deep into a rubble pile with casual force. Rock shattered; dust billowed.

With haste, Anastas and Hanna rushed forward to help—Hanna already channeling healing mana, Anastas summoning faint grey mist to shield them.

Dax tugged the spear free from 01 with a casual pull—then returned to the sky, weapon in hand.

—-

Above the fractured battlefield, the wyverns circled the anomaly like wary predators sizing up prey.

The creature—02—floated in the violet sky: nine serpentine heads swaying on long, sinuous necks, manticore body rippling with green-scaled muscle, wings spread wide enough to cast a shadow over half the flock. Each head hissed independently—fangs dripping venom that fell in hissing droplets, sizzling as they struck the floating rock spires below. The pressure radiating from it was oppressive—thick, suffocating, pressing down on every wyvern's wings like an invisible hand.

But Cain and Little Purple hovered at the center—unmoving, unflinching.

Cain's body trembled once—spikes along his spine, usually hidden beneath armored scales, rose dangerously like black obsidian blades. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest, vibrating the air itself. His red pupils had narrowed to slits; bloodshot veins spiderwebbed across them. The parasitic suit that normally covered him in battle lay dormant for now—he didn't need it yet.

Little Purple moved first.

Static force crackled along his violet scales—building, coiling, until the lightning surrounding him reflected a massive illusory image ten times his size: a roaring thunder dragon, jaws wide, eyes blazing white. The phantom's wings spanned the sky, crackling with stormlight.

A loud whistle pierced the heavens—sharp, deafening, like metal tearing.

Boom!

Little Purple struck.

He became a violet comet—velocity so extreme the air itself screamed. Three of the hydra-manticore's heads lunged to meet him; he sliced through them simultaneously—clean, surgical cuts that severed scale, bone, and sinew without resistance. Severed necks spurted thick green ichor that rained downward in steaming curtains. The heads fell—tumbling, jaws still snapping uselessly—before they even hit the ground.

Instantly, new heads began to grow—flesh bubbling, bone cracking into place, scales knitting over wet muscle. The regeneration was grotesque, rapid, relentless.

Cain dove.

Wings spread to their fullest—black membranes catching the storm light—he clamped his talons around the thick neck stump of one freshly regrown head. His jaw opened wide; teeth gleamed silver in the lightning flashes.

He ripped.

Like a trained killer, he tore backward—tearing away flesh, tendon, and vertebra in one brutal yank. The head came free with a wet, sucking sound—veins snapping like overstretched cables, green blood spraying in a wide arc that painted the sky.

02 screeched to the heavens—nine throats unified in a single, ear-splitting wail of agony and rage. The sound rolled outward—shaking loose boulders from distant spires, making the wyverns falter mid-flight.

The pressure wave forced the rest of the flock to descend—wings beating frantically to regain control. They dropped toward the battlefield below, talons extended, ready to join the fray.

Cain released the severed head—it fell like a ruined comet, trailing smoke and venom. He roared once—deep, triumphant—then banked sharply, red eyes already searching for the next target.

Little Purple circled high—lightning coiling tighter around him, the massive illusory thunder dragon above mirroring every twist of his wings. Static popped and snapped in the air; the storm overhead grew darker, clouds boiling faster.

Dax floated higher still—hands behind his back, expression calm but eyes alight with interest.

He watched the wyverns descend—Cain and Little Purple already turning to meet the regenerating heads— he murmured to himself:

"Interesting. Even 02 can't keep up with coordinated instinct."

Below, the battlefield had paused for a heartbeat—squad members, goblins, and summoned undead alike glancing skyward at the aerial carnage.

Zain—still in his awakened Tree form—tilted his horned head upward. Silver tentacles writhed behind him; the eye of foresight pulsed once.

Nadia's purifying light flickered brighter—her gaze following the battle up above.