Chapter 387: Laying Out the Dead

A pair of wide, terror-filled eyes stared directly into the face of the short, stocky squad member who had opened the door.

The man shuddered as though jolted by electricity, stumbling back a step until his back struck the doorframe.

His lips trembled. “S-Squad leader...?”

The voice squeezed from his throat was so distorted it barely sounded human.

It was a head.

The squad leader’s head.

The face was twisted, the mouth gaping, as if he had tried to scream before death but no sound had come.

That familiar face still bore the sheer horror of the final moment.

The eyes were bulging, veins webbed around the sockets, gaze frozen on whatever he had seen last.

He was dead.

Beheaded by something.

The squad members’ pupils shrank sharply.

Before the fear could fully erupt, another sound came from outside.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

It was the sound of footsteps.

They were not heavy—one might even call them light.

But every step fell directly on the rhythm of their pounding hearts.

Tap.

Like a countdown.

Tap.

Like an announcement.

The footsteps drew closer, unhurried, until the figure stepped from beyond the mist and into it.

The gray-white fog churned and parted at her sides, as though welcoming its returning master.

Against that gray-white backdrop, her face became completely clear to the squad.

Her skin was pale, as if it had never been touched by sunlight.

Her features were delicate, devoid of any unnecessary expression.

And her eyes were utterly placid, indifferent—like two bottomless wells.

She was—

“Lady Pandora?!”

The three of them spoke almost at once.

The shout carried shock, disbelief, and the faintest trace of relief.

“Hm?”

Pandora seemed to notice the three behind the door only then.

She tilted her head slightly, sweeping her gaze over the frightened figures inside, her tone mildly puzzled.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Her tone was as casual as running into acquaintances on the street.

Pandora looked at the figures behind the door. They were members of the support squad, so she naturally recognized them.

She might not have remembered every name, but their faces were familiar.

She had rushed here because of the distress signal, and had only just arrived.

The moment she entered the building, she had felt something watching her.

The sensation had come and gone, like a gaze slipping through a crack in the wall before quickly retreating.

On the tenth floor, she had seen a figure lingering near the corridor entrance.

Its outline had been indistinct, like a crumpled shadow pacing back and forth at the end of the hall.

But when she moved toward it, the figure had fled at once, skittering deeper into the darkness like a startled insect.

She had chased it all the way here.

Just now, she had seen it throw something in this direction and had come to inspect.

She had not expected to run into these support squad members.

Pandora’s gaze moved across the three faces one by one, then paused for a moment on the severed head on the floor.

Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Then her attention returned to the three. They looked largely unharmed. There didn’t seem to be anything seriously wrong...?

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Pandora noticed their expressions suddenly twist in horror.

That was clearly not the way they should have looked upon seeing her.

Their eyes flew wide in an instant, mouths open but no sound emerging.

Their stares went past her shoulder and fixed on something behind her—as if they had seen something utterly terrifying.

The expression on their faces now was fear.

Pure, instinctive fear.

Which meant the thing was behind her right now, and...

Pandora’s senses were frighteningly sharp. Even without looking back, she had already perceived it.

Something sharp was nearing the back of her neck. Less than three inches from her skin. Two. One...

It was about to touch her.

She had no doubt that, in the support squad’s eyes, her pale, smooth neck looked terribly fragile compared to that sharp, dreadful thing.

Perhaps one light slash was all it would take, and her head would tumble to the floor just like the squad leader’s.

But...

The Rank-3 body fused with her Witch bloodline—how could it possibly be so fragile?

Even if she stood still and let it hack at her, it might not even pierce her defense.

And moreover...

A faint coolness bloomed at her neck.

But the instant it touched her skin, that coolness came to a complete stop. It could go no further.

It was like a dull blade slamming against an anvil.

The reason was simple.

Countless bright red threads had appeared around her, silently weaving themselves into an impenetrable net that now held the Anomaly fast.

The threads were a glaring red, like strands drawn from blood. Each was fine as spider silk, yet unimaginably tough.

Every joint of the attacking Anomaly, every gap in its carapace, every connection between its limbs—all of it had been locked down by the Witch’s Heartstrings.

It could not move a fraction of an inch.

Pandora turned her head.

At last, she saw clearly what it was.

It was a humanoid, ant-like Anomaly.

It stood nearly two meters tall, still leaning forward like a curved blade ready to strike.

Its torso had the classic three-part ant structure: head, thorax, and abdomen.

Its head was a flat triangle, covered in dark-red chitinous armor. The surface was etched with fine patterns, like clay scorched by fire.

Compound eyes covered two-thirds of its face, made of countless tiny hexagonal facets that refracted a sickly gleam.

The gleam flickered in the gray-white mist like a cluster of venomous fireflies.

Two scythe-shaped mandibles extended from its mouth, their edges razor-sharp, the inner sides lined with serrated ridges. They looked utterly horrifying.

Its human-like arms ended in curved, blade-like structures whose arc perfectly matched the curve of a neck.

Right now, one of those curved blades pressed against Pandora’s neck, trembling slightly.

The trembling was not fear, but the strain of pushing with all its might and still being unable to advance.

It was clearly doing everything it could to cut off Pandora’s head.

Yet the curved blade pressed against her fair skin without leaving even a shallow mark.

At the same time, it kept forcing its ghastly mouthparts closer to the top of Pandora’s head.

Its scythe-like mandibles snapped open and shut with faint clicks, as if gnawing at something invisible in the air.

Under normal circumstances, this Killer Ant used both methods at once—decapitation and skull-gnawing—more than enough to guarantee a kill against any prey.

However...

Now, the one it faced was Pandora.