The Transcendent Godslayer-Chapter 78: Horror

With the old book in one hand and the knife in the other, Menelaus walked up to Kallen and grinned. The light of madness in his eyes had reached a point where it couldn’t have gotten worse—even if he tried.

Kallen’s heart pounded wildly in his chest, and even breathing had become difficult. As someone who had yet to awaken his core, dynamis did not actively circulate through his dynisis roots.

Yet now, he could feel a flood of dynamis rampaging chaotically through them. His chest felt tight—no amount of oxygen seemed enough to fill his lungs.

’I’m afraid’, he thought, the realization striking with sharp clarity as he struggled to still his racing heart.

It didn’t help that the dynamis in the atmosphere had surged—multiplied more than ten thousand times—the moment Menelaus revealed the essence orb. And it was still climbing steadily.

Menelaus stood still, studying Kallen’s profile like a specimen under a microscope. It seemed that no matter how hard Kallen tried to suppress it, his fear still bled out—and Menelaus fed on it with quiet joy.

Holding the book open in one hand, Menelaus flipped to the first page.

Kallen glanced downward and saw the outline of a person—parts of their body marked with strange, runic drawings.

Menelaus studied the drawing for just over two seconds before flipping to the second page, where one of the runes was magnified—its curves and nuances fully displayed, along with detailed instructions on how to draw it.

Without a word, Menelaus walked to the table, dragged it closer with a scraping screech, and placed the book on its surface.

Then in a sudden movement, he grabbed Kallen’s face and pushed backwards, slamming his head against the wall with brutal force that even through his hair, it cracked open, his big palm, crushing Kallen’s nose in the process. Blood trickling down Kallen’s hair to the warm stone wall, and from Kallen’s nose, spraying between his fingers.

A shrill ringing flooded Kallen’s skull, and he was dazed. The pain was sudden, instant and animal.

Holding him there with vengeance-fueled strength, Menelaus took the knife and began to carve the emboldened rune circle into Kallen’s forehead, following every instruction down to the last faded stroke of ink.

Agony bloomed with every stroke. Kallen’s skin split open with the sickening, wet sound of slicing fruit, and warm blood rolled down his face in sticky waves, clouding his vision.

The waves of pain jolted Kallen’s disoriented mind awake, and he stared at Menelaus’s face through the pain, his breaths shallow and ragged.

Menelaus’s hand still pressed against his broken nose, his palm large enough to partly cover his mouth as well, made every breath come like a wheeze.

His cold eyes studied Menelaus, taking in every glint, every change in expression—while Menelaus seemed utterly entranced by his work. His eyes bouncing between the bloody "art" he was carving and the book lying beside him.

Flickers of glee spark in his eyes amidst the maddened light of concentration, each time a fresh spurt of blood erupted from Kallen’s forehead.

Even blinded, Kallen refused to close his eyes.

His blood blurred his vision, staining everything crimson, they made his eyes sting until it became unbearable. But he held them open stubbornly, even as the sting made his eyes water, trying in vain to clear the never-ending stream of blood.

It was as though Menelaus’s face had become the entire world to him.

His heartbeat slowed to a crawl. His breath alternated between icy shivers and burning heat. And yet, Menelaus took no notice—completely absorbed in his work.

##

Within five minutes, Menelaus finished the rune on Kallen’s forehead and casually flipped the book to the next page, completely unbothered by his bloodstained hands staining the book.

The next rune was centered on the chest.

Without pause, Menelaus grabbed Kallen’s shirt and tore it away. Then, with the same vicious efficiency, he ripped off his pants, stripping him completely bare. There was no hesitation. No shame.

With renewed fervor, he began carving the larger rune into Kallen’s chest.

While the one on his forehead was barely larger than an eye, this one was massive—spanning his entire chest from shoulder to sternum.

Blood poured out in thick, steady streams, as with a fresh wave of pain.

Kallen’s body shuddered lightly, growing weaker with every passing second... not just from the blood loss, but from something more insidious. The runes... they were feeding... draining away his energy and even that was not enough, feeding from the dynamis in the atmosphere as well. If they weren’t subsidizing with the atmospheric dynamis, he would’ve died already.

Menelaus seemed to grow more skilled with each cut. This rune, despite its size, took him less time than the first.

Since this one was larger, it allowed for better maneuver, without the fear of ruining the whole rune... that, and the fact that he was becoming more adept—his precision becoming better with each stroke.

He flipped the page again. This time, an even much larger rune stared back at him, etched in ancient ink and surrounded by detailed instructions.

Menelaus stared at the page for a moment.

Then he frowned.

A rare glimmer of clarity passed through his eyes, a momentary break in his madness as he finally turned to acknowledge Kallen directly.

His gaze met eyes hidden behind constant streams of blood and tears, but still cold. Those deep crimson eyes stared back with a promise of ruin... of painting the world the same red currently leaking from his body. They were terrifying, even now, that he imperceptibly shuddered.

Seeing those eyes, Menelaus grinned. Somehow, impossibly, the madness in his eyes deepened.

If Kallen had the strength or clarity to think, he might have marveled at how something already so deranged could descend further. But thought had long become a luxury.

Blood dripped from his forehead and chest in streams. His regeneration trait, though trying to work overtime, was completely outpaced.

Truthfully, it wasn’t even functioning at a silver of its capacity. With him loosing blood and the runes siphoning every bit of energy, his body tried to muster, there was nothing for the trait to pull on, healing him.

And even if there was, whatever form of energy that came close to the runes, were completely devoured. Even his mangled legs, shattered long ago, were barely healed.

Whatever moment of hesitation Menelaus had felt evaporated.

He delivered a sudden backhand to Kallen’s ear, forceful and disorienting. Kallen’s already fragile senses were thrown into disarray... again.

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