Chapter 88: A Goddess’s Fury After A Ruined Date

"Take fire!"

The skeletons surrounding the entire street transformed, becoming more like steel humanoids as they unleashed a volley of green arrows.

But each one bounced uselessly off the Flesh Golem as it moved to attack, completely wiping out an entire squad on one of the buildings with a single slap of its hand.

"Incredible..."

Verne muttered, manifesting a huge skeletal lance the size of a streetlight in the air and hurling it toward the golem.

But just like the previous attack, the golem tanked it completely. Its chest barely even dented under the blow.

And if that wasn’t bad enough...

The shadows around it suddenly began to writhe, and with it came what sounded like one very irritated wife, the voice echoing all around him.

[You ruined our date.]

The shadows suddenly crawled up the Flesh Golem at an alarming rate, each one solidifying into armor and further reinforcing it as it crushed the undead army below with one smash.

The street buckled under the impact, a crater spiderwebbing outward as the Flesh Golem’s fist connected with the asphalt.

Skeletons scattered like broken toys, their steel-reinforced bones snapping under the sheer weight of the blow.

Verne leaped backward, landing on a rooftop across the street. His sickly green eyes tracked the golem’s movements with calculating precision, but the shadow armor was new. He hadn’t anticipated that.

"Of course."

He muttered, manifesting another skeletal lance.

"The woman...!"

The voice echoed around him again, dripping with irritation.

[We were having a wonderful evening. Dinner, a bath, a walk under the moon after a sweet conversation.]

The golem’s head swiveled toward him, its single violet eye blazing. When it spoke again, Sarael’s voice came directly from its mouth.

[And then you showed up.]

The golem lunged. Verne barely had time to erect a bone barrier before the shadow-armored fist crashed through it, sending splinters of necromantic energy scattering across the rooftops.

He rolled to the side, his coat tearing against the gravel. The lance in his hand dissolved as he focused on creating distance. He needed time to think, to analyze what he was dealing with.

A Flesh Golem was bad enough. A Flesh Golem armored in divine shadows was something else entirely.

"Impressive modification."

He called out, buying seconds.

"Is this your doing, or the Shadow Porter’s?"

[Does it matter?]

The golem’s hand reached for him again, but Verne was already moving. He’d been fighting monsters for a decade. He knew how to survive things bigger than him.

"Just curious. You’re clearly the more dangerous of the pair."

[Flattery won’t save you.]

"Well, it was worth a try."

Verne continued to move as the Flesh Golem, now under Sarael’s control, kept rushing at him, shrugging off his summons as if they were ants.

He was trying to lead it toward a less populated area of the city. Soon after, helicopters arrived on the scene, carrying hunters ready to land and help.

A giant causing chaos on a crowded street was definitely enough to draw the Association’s response, even in the middle of the night.

But Verne signaled to them with standard Association hand gestures to stop.

He wanted to face this thing alone. Besides, anyone weaker than him would be killed in an instant if they actually tried to help.

"You’re fast, but..."

He tried to speak, but stopped when he felt his retreat cut off by a solid wall. He looked back to see the shadows behind him literally solidifying and blocking his way.

"Fuck..."

He muttered before the Flesh Golem landed a clean punch on him, shattering the shadow wall behind him as he was sent flying districts away to what seemed to be an abandoned town caused by a previously unstable gate.

THUD!

His wish had been granted, though in a way he definitely didn’t like.

"Well... talk about a monkey’s paw."

He chuckled, noticing that he was actually bleeding from the mouth after that punch. He knew it was strong, but to think it could actually make him bleed.

To think that a summon from hunters that actually ran away from him could damage him...

[Give up.]

The voice echoed again, but it didn’t come from the Flesh Golem. It was still a district away. It came instead from something far more horrifying.

"What the..."

✧ ✦ ✧

The four of them arrived at John’s mansion not long after. The S-Rank was already lounging in the living room when the state of his former juniors disrupted his relaxation.

"Tristan? Yeula? What are they doing here...?"

John asked, then his gaze landed on Ronan and Sarael, the latter of whom seemed to be a little out of it.

"To keep it short, they were working for me. And all four of us got caught by another hunter, and this is where we all ended up," Ronan replied.

"Does that hunter know your connection with me?"

"No..."

"Did he follow you?"

"That’s also a no, Sarael checked, right?"

Ronan looked at Sarael, and she seemed to have a small delay of two seconds before replying.

"Hm? Yeah, I checked. No one alive was near us."

She said, acting almost drunk. Or more accurately, like someone whose attention was split between two things at once.

By now, she was already getting her revenge. After all, she had spent months preparing for this night, and she had even had such a meaningful talk with Ronan.

At the moment, she was almost as angry as when the Third Prince had nearly killed Ronan. And even that much was enough to put her in a killing mood.

The mansion’s living room fell into an uneasy silence after Sarael’s delayed response. John’s eyes narrowed, decades of experience telling him something was off, but he chose not to press.

Not yet.

"Alright... Tristan and Yeula can stay here for now."

He gestured toward the guest rooms.

Tristan opened his mouth to argue, but Yeula grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the hallway. She’d learned when to accept help, even from retired S-Ranks who technically shouldn’t be harboring fugitives.

The moment they were gone, Ronan turned to Sarael.

"You’re doing something."

It wasn’t a question.

Sarael’s eyes focused on him with that same two-second delay, like a computer running too many programs at once. Her pupils flickered, and her shadows were twitching at her feet with barely contained energy.

"I’m multitasking."

"Multitasking."

"Mhm. Very efficiently."

"Care to explain what’s going on?"

John asked as he turned on the television, only to see a literal giant battling helicopters and shadows.

"Is it too optimistic to think that you two aren’t related to this?"