[Chapter 162. Seeing Red]

As the pack of Nightmare Wolves engaged Iris, her Zweihänder moved with a lethal, practiced precision. She leaned her entire weight into each massive swing, her muscles straining against the centrifugal force of the blade. With every Arcane Strike, a trailing ribbon of turquoise light followed the steel, painting ethereal arcs across the oppressive gray of the plaza. The sheer strength of her impacts cracked the stone pavement beneath her feet every time she connected, yet the wolves seemed to tank the blows with an unnatural resilience. They were level thirty predators, and their hides were as dense as the shadows they were born from.

Hovering nearby, the two defensive drones worked in perfect synchronization, rotating their multi-layered shields to provide her with maximum cover against the snapping jaws and raking claws. Simultaneously, the four assault drones shifted into high gear. Their fire rate doubled as they initiated their Rapid Fire protocols, spraying the plaza with a continuous hail of crimson energy beams that hissed through the air like angry hornets.

Suddenly, a localized distortion in the air signaled the Gaia Turtle’s next move.

A condensed version of the violet beam—smaller but far more concentrated—sliced from the turtle's maw. It tore through the gray atmosphere with unnerving precision. Searanox watched with a cold spike of horror as one of his Offensive Drones was caught mid-maneuver. The machine hadn't even been hit directly; it had merely grazed the edge of the incandescent light. There was no explosion, no dramatic shattering of mechanical parts, and no debris. The drone simply ceased to exist. In a fraction of a second, there was only empty space where a sophisticated piece of magitech had hovered. Its violet light was extinguished without a trace, erased from reality by the turtle's overwhelming power.

Searanox cursed under his breath, the loss stinging more than just his pride. His remaining drones, acting on their internal threat-assessment, immediately adjusted their attack patterns without waiting for a command. They ceased their predictable circling maneuvers, instead moving in short, erratic, and unpredictable bursts. They were trying to present a more difficult target for the terrifyingly accurate ranged attacks of the colossal beast.

The cost of this new, cautious approach was immediate: their overall damage output plummeted. The drones spent more energy dodging than firing, and their beams became scattered and less effective.

He knew this was a battle of attrition he was destined to lose. Every beam that even grazed a drone resulted in a permanent loss of resources. He watched his HUD as forty Tech-points vanished from his dwindling reserves, alongside six silver coins from his storage ring, as he force-summoned a new Intermediate Offensive Drone to replace the one he had lost.

The Gaia Turtle, by contrast, seemed to possess limitless energy. Its movements remained patient and deliberate, like a mountain that had decided to slowly crush everything at its base. A deafening crack echoed through the plaza as the beast stomped a single, massive foot. It wasn't summoning a wave this time; instead, it created a localized earthquake, a focused seismic ripple that tore through the earth directly toward Searanox. He launched himself sideways, his boots barely clearing the ground before the pavement he'd just stood on split apart, collapsing into a jagged, bottomless crater.

Through the mental link, he caught a fleeting, hazy glimpse of Iris's struggle. She was a whirlwind of motion, her turquoise blade a flickering beacon in the gloom as it clashed against a tide of black fur and snapping jaws. She was holding her ground for now, but she was being worn down. Her Mystic Ward was flaring and dying in rapid, exhausting cycles, and the fatigue was starting to show in the slight lag of her movements.

His gaze flicked toward his TP gauge. The resummoning of the drone had brought his energy levels under the thirty percent mark. This was the breaking point. With a heavy, dark sigh, he turned away from the turtle, his jaw tightening as he reluctantly dashed toward the corpses of the fallen wolves. He had promised himself he wouldn't rely on this particular aspect of his nature unless there was no other choice. But right now, choice was a luxury he couldn't afford.

"Iris... You're on your own..."

He reached the corpse of the first wolf in a few blurred strides. His hand was already gripping the Corroded Fang, which he plunged into the beast’s chest. With a sharp, savage tug, the blade dragged through the tough, shadow-infused hide. Steaming, hot blood began to pool freely at his feet, the metallic scent hitting his senses like a physical blow. In one fluid, brutal motion, he reached inside the ribcage and ripped the heart free. His gauntlets were drenched in fresh, viscous blood as he brought the organ to his mouth. With a powerful squeeze, the remaining blood inside sprayed into his maw.

A violent shudder ran through his entire frame as he drank. The sensation was even more potent than the last time he had succumbed to the urge. It wasn't just physical energy; it was a dark, primal rush that set his nerves on fire.

The fresh blood rejuvenated him instantly, but it came with a price. He didn't stop. He moved to the next corpse, his movements becoming more predatory, less human.

"I have a plan... but I may lose myself," he murmured, his voice sounding deeper, distorted by the hunger.

He didn't wait for Iris to answer. He was already squeezing the next heart’s contents into his mouth. Blood ran down the corners of his lips, staining his chin and coat, as his pupils dilated until its color was nearly consumed by black.

His vision began to tilt into a faint, shimmering red hue—the first sign that the bloodlust was taking hold. He remembered this feeling with a terrifying clarity. It took him back to the dark, suffocating depths of the Howling Caverns, to his desperate, starving struggle against the wolves there. He remembered the primal instinct that had taken over, the need to consume his enemies to survive, to rip and tear them into pieces with his bare hands before his memory had become too hazy to record the carnage.

Searanox was already at the third heart. A primal, gnawing hunger was clawing at his insides, urging him to hunt, to kill, to feed. He felt the energy surge through his veins—a raw, untamed power that made his fingers twitch with a frantic desire to rend flesh. The rational, calculating part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, to remember the psychological consequences of the frenzy, but the Dhampir's instincts were too loud, too compelling.

Suddenly, a violet beam from the turtle roared overhead, its light consuming the space where he had been standing a second before. He vanished in a blur of speed, leaving only an afterimage behind as the ground shattered and the remaining wolf corpses in the blast radius were vaporized.

The blood on his tongue felt hot and coppery, a deep, guttural growl escaping his throat that didn't sound like it belonged to a man. He didn't return to his sniper position. Instead, he lunged toward the pack of wolves swarming Iris.

He didn't fire his rifle. He used it as a club. The heavy butt of the weapon connected with the skull of one of the wolves with the force of a falling star. A deep, resonant crack sounded as the bone splintered under the heavy impact. Before the beast could even register the pain, Searanox’s boot slammed into its ribcage with an aggressive, bone-breaking kick that lifted the hundred-kilogram predator off the ground.

His hand shot out, his fingers like iron claws, and crushed the wolf's windpipe before it had even stopped its forced ascent. All the while, a deep, evil-sounding laugh cut through the air, echoing off the gray ruins of the city. A wicked, terrifying grin was plastered on his blood-stained face as he slammed the already dead wolf into the ground, his eyes glowing with a feral intent.

Searanox was no longer himself. He had become a monster clearing a path through other monsters, no longer able to hide how he truly was inside.