Can you avoid becoming a monster if you walk the path of hate?
Noche L. Grim has sworn revenge against Edward Death, and while her strength is unparalleled compared to the average Create User, it's pathetic against his seven Birds of Death.
Especi...
The mine-cart came to a slow stop. One by one the party exited and approached a steel door. It was as large as a bank vault and twice as thick. Boots approached, paused, and held his breath. His eyes softened as they lingered far beyond the reinforced metal frame. He took a shaking step forward and his foot stopped before the floor; he hesitated.
Noche kicked the door open.
The orange-haired boy in the straitjacket went wide-eyed as a ton of metal went crashing onto the ground; each thud reverberating like thunder. His mouth was ajar as the blonde grinned and walked past him.
Beyond the door was a massive room. About twenty stories tall; full of monitors and lights. Pipes covered the ceiling like spiderwebs. Ticking gears, bolts, and metal knick-knacks lined the walls. At the end of the hall was a gargantuan, monochromatic stained glass window with bright, white light leaking through it.
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"Bruh, fuuuck... This place is fucking HUUUGE!"
"Language," Shaylin said.
Mary turned to the ginger with furrowed brows and her eyes narrowed.
"People used to live here," Boots said. "DeathTech needed a lot of slave labor — Edward had to store them somewhere."
"Why'd he move them again?" Mary said.
"Like I said — who knows," Boots responded. "Maybe to make them afraid, so he could savor their fear... But honestly, who knows."
Noche walked ahead of the group and into the open. "You make it sound like he literally eats fear."
"I think he does," Boots muttered. "...Don't stray too far Noche."
"Dude, what are you worried about?" She smirked. "You said it yourself. This floor is abandoned. The only creatures on this floor are security guards and soldi—"
Noche's voice was interrupted with a thwack as she walked into something. It wasn't hard, but it wasn't soft; whatever it was, it was meaty.
She stepped back and from the corner of her eye Boots went pale. Her gaze rose to an orange visor looming above. Behind it was the top of a Gatling gun — the words Mom Killer engraved upon its barrel. Noche paled too.
The anglerfish soldier drew his knife.
"N-No. It can't be," the blonde whispered. "You're dead."
It lunged forward — Noche took a step back from the impact to her chest. Her eyes lowered to the knife; it was embedded up to its hilt in her stomach. Hours passed as she stared, unblinking at the sight. The blade was ripped out — an explosion of pain occurred.
