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墨書 Inktalez
Many people know that once these individuals are parasitized, it becomes extremely difficult to save them. Although in ten years, new nanotechnology will be able to completely eliminate the cells of this pest at the genetic level, allowing those who have lost consciousness to regain control of their bodies, that is still a decade away. Once a host has been parasitized for more than two hours, the chances of recovering their consciousness become slim.
Moreover, future medical technology does not guarantee the recovery of the host's consciousness, let alone the current deplorable medical environment. Using grenades to eliminate them is the best option; only flames can thoroughly destroy the parasitic cells of amoebas. Even leaving behind a trace could allow the parasitic elements to split from the remaining cells.
“Grenade?”
The bodyguards watched as Freyr pulled the pin from the grenade. A whiff of gunpowder wafted through the grenade's opening. After a few seconds, he opened the door slightly and then slammed it shut again.
Suddenly, chaos erupted in the kitchen. Someone was shouting for help. Although their cries sounded hoarse and desperate, everyone had seen their true nature. Soon, something began banging against the door behind them, seemingly trying to break free. Freyr had already locked the door from the outside, making it clear that those inside could not escape.
“Oh no!”
The explosion of the grenade was evidently powerful. They had already moved to a safer distance, using a horizontal sofa to shield themselves from the blast wave.
In an instant, the wooden door shattered into pieces; the force of the grenade explosion was terrifying.
Freyr peeked out from behind the sofa, followed by several bodyguards armed with submachine guns, cautiously entering the kitchen.
At that moment, no one wanted to turn on the lights. The smell of gas lingered in the air after the violent explosion. Freyr approached the stove and extinguished its flames completely.
Wearing gloves, Freyr picked up a carving knife from the kitchen utensils and crouched down beside one of the corpses. He carefully examined its face; blood blisters had formed on its forehead and even at the corners of its mouth. Although there was no breath left in the body, upon closer inspection towards its pupils, he noticed a faint green light flickering at their depths.
“The yeast is glowing; it’s not completely dead yet.”
Just then, unexpectedly, a hand suddenly grasped Freyr's leg.
“Everyone stay calm; don’t get close to the bodies!”
Freyr did not appear flustered as he turned and gripped the chef's neck. Soon, a crisp crack echoed as Gala's spine was twisted and broken, causing Puppet's breath to gradually weaken.
"Is he dead?"
Freyr shook his head and began to unfasten Puppet's clothing, revealing a smooth torso. However, when he turned Puppet around, the sight that met the eyes was horrifying. What should have been a back was grotesquely deformed, bulging with a cyst that glowed green in the darkness, resembling a large eye growing from his back, sending chills down anyone who looked at it.
He pressed a razor against the cyst, and to his surprise, it began to thrash violently under the pressure, pushing inward toward the lungs. If that were the case, he would need to make a deeper incision, potentially uncovering even more terrifying things. In any case, the essence of Amoeba was that cyst-like entity, deeply rooted like an old tree entwined around the spine. Unless he severed the spine with a knife, there would be no hope for the parasite.
With his left hand firmly gripping the cyst, he used his right hand to carefully cut along its edge. It was as if he were tearing off a book cover; this time it was not merely skin but rather ripping away the human flesh that harbored Amoeba's source of infection. Flesh and blood splattered everywhere as thick black blood dripped onto the ground, releasing an unbearable stench.
The repulsive creature in his left hand resembled a ball of algae that curled up in fear, its tendrils spreading out like ancient tree roots. Freyr could hardly endure the foul odor emanating from Amoeba. He quickly ignited the stove and extended two fingers toward the central nervous area of the algae-like mass—the only smooth crevice—plunging his fingers deep inside and yanking outward.
From within Amoeba, he extracted a white Bamboo Worm. This was not just any Bamboo Worm; in essence, it was far more terrifying than its harmless counterpart. This few-centimeter-long Amoeba was the true culprit behind manipulation and deceit.
Both the algae ball and this human shell were merely vessels for it. The worm wriggled desperately between his fingers, seemingly searching for a way to burrow inside him. The gloves he wore were made of strong plastic; although they hindered his dexterity, the worm could not penetrate them in such a short time.
Freyr tossed both Amoeba and its worm shell into the flames of the stove. Amoeba had an incredibly high reproductive rate and could easily undergo cell division. However, if its host suffered severe damage or was killed outright, those cells would age rapidly and die within ten to twenty minutes.
He circled Puppet's body and observed several corpses that had been blown apart on-site. The remaining Servants were missing limbs and had their spines snapped without having taken their last breaths. The stench continued to assault him as he exposed their backs; he felt no desire to wield the knife himself and quickly tossed his gloves to Relock, who stood nearby.
"Relock, you take over for me. Do exactly what I just did—extract Amoeba's protozoa. It seems Puppet is dead now, but as long as these protozoa remain alive, they will quickly take over Puppet's body."
He gestured for Relock to take charge while providing assistance from beside him.
The bodyguards stood by in silence, with only a few breaths breaking the stillness of the scene.
Relock felt a slight tremor in his hands, but he managed to act swiftly. When he pulled out the shell of the Amoeba, he let out a startled scream as the creature squirmed in his grip, emitting a shrill noise that nearly caused him to drop it.
As the parasite screeched and lunged toward Relock, Freyr raised his pistol and fired several shots. The parasite was shredded mid-air, its body torn apart by bullets. When it fell to the ground, its back split open, revealing a white Bamboo Worm with its mouth cracked open, two thin fangs protruding from it.
“Ah!”
Seeing this, Relock swiftly brought down his knife, slicing the Bamboo Worm into several pieces.
He tossed the pieces into the fire and took a deep breath before continuing to dissect the next Puppet.
The night was eerily quiet until suddenly footsteps echoed from upstairs. The sound was unsettling, rhythmic as if someone was pacing back and forth in a confined space. Freyr pointed to two bodyguards behind him, stepped out of the kitchen, and gently closed the door. He proceeded to investigate other rooms, calling for the remaining members of Second Team to split into pairs and search the downstairs rooms.
Freyr ventured alone to the farthest end of the corridor and unlocked a room with his key. Inside, it remained silent and undisturbed. On the bed lay a withered corpse, its face contorted in a grotesque expression; it was one of the five women among the Servants.
There were twenty-four rooms downstairs, each housing one to three people—family members of these Servants: lovers, children, and possibly parents. As he approached the body of the Servant, he noticed that aside from its horrific facial expression, all other Targets appeared normal. Their skin was desiccated as if all bodily fluids had been drained away. He took out a razor and made a small cut; instead of blood, a white liquid oozed out.
Freyr continued to search around the room, pulled off a blanket, and covered the head of the withered corpse. He then took out a lighter and watched as flames engulfed the body before stepping out of the room.
Soon after, other bodyguards gathered at the doorway, their faces displaying exaggerated fear; some even bore expressions of sorrow—perhaps witnessing their loved ones' tragic fates or encountering something terrifying. After discussing among themselves, they brought some liquor from the cellar and poured it around the room before setting everything ablaze for convenience.
“Go upstairs!”
“Understood!”
“Second Team, leave three people with me; everyone else head to the kitchen. Once you’re done there, burn it down and wait for us in the courtyard,” commanded Freyr.
It was not yet a time for relaxation. The bodyguards of the Second Team nodded and led a group of people down the stairs toward the kitchen, while the remaining individuals continued their ascent.
Upstairs, there was a large room, the residence of the host family.
Upon reaching the end of the staircase, they found the door to the room, easily recognizable at a glance.
As a few of them entered, suddenly, footsteps echoed from within the room, unmistakably coming from inside.
Freyr's lips twitched slightly; he knew all too well who was sleeping in that room—it was not his child. Moreover, the sound of footsteps clearly bore the weight of an adult. The group advanced slowly, pressing against the door to listen for sounds. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, followed by a rapid burst of crying.
He swallowed hard and kicked the door open with force. Inside, he saw an elderly woman dressed in a maid's uniform, her eyes glowing green as she extended a long tongue. The entire bed had been overturned, and beneath it lay a baby who seemed oblivious to the chaos around. The maid was evidently under the control of the Zerg and was about to attack the infant, perhaps intending to infect him. Just then, a figure rushed into the room; she slowly turned her head to look over.
Her eyes flickered like Will-o'-the-Wisps. Sensing a living presence, she lunged forward.
Freyr could clearly feel the impending threat. The maid had lost her consciousness and failed to notice that her opponent was already prepared for battle. One hand gripped a razor without any intention of evading; instead, it charged directly at the oncoming maid.
"Thud!"
The blade sliced cleanly through, severing the maid's neck with precision. Her bloodied head was clutched in one hand while her tongue stretched grotesquely to three feet long, dragging on the ground as dark blood gushed forth from her lower half. The nearby baby let out a wail of pain as his clothes were stained crimson, looking utterly ghastly—like a demon thirsting for blood.
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