NOVEL NEXT Chapter 161: Into The Divide [VII]
He had multiple things to test before he even thought of confronting the horde.
Charging in blindly was suicide at its finest.
From their last encounter, Azel already knew two things: the Dreadhorns' poison was terrifyingly corrosive, and their skin was unexpectedly soft once you broke past their momentum.
That alone gave him a path forward.
Now he needed something more — something that would allow him to kill them in one strike, without wasting stamina or leaving himself open to venom.
Above all, he needed to confirm if his hunch about gravity truly crippled their flight.
It was easier said than done, but the lone Dreadhorn in the clearing was the perfect subject.
The creature didn't shy away when he approached.
Its body hunched low, its carapace slick with mucus and glistening blood from the half-eaten carcass beneath it.
It chewed while staring directly at him, black compound eyes unblinking.
Its serrated mandibles clicked together with a wet crunch.
It wasn't pausing at all.
It was daring.
Azel's lip curled. 'Such a strange being… it thinks its speed will save it.'
He slid his hand over the Ever-Bracelet, channelling aura into the artifact until faint ripples of distortion bent the air.
The ground beneath him sank an inch as if the world itself had grown heavier.
The Dreadhorn twitched.
Its wings shot outward with a loud whirrrrr but they didn't carry it into the air. Instead, the monster slammed face-first into the snow, its body plastered against the earth.
It convulsed, legs scratching furiously, wings flaring open and snapping shut with wet cracks.
Each time the delicate membranes stretched, the crushing weight of Azel's gravity field tore them apart, splintering them into gore.
Regeneration stitched them back together in moments, but the cycle repeated, shredding them again and again in an endless, grotesque loop.
Azel exhaled slowly, relief blooming in his chest.
"So gravity is their weakness," he murmured.
The discovery was vital.
These abominations relied on blinding speed and evasive movement; strip that away, and they were just oversized beetles with fragile bodies.
He remembered the rabbit mutants they had fought earlier.
Those things had manipulated gravity clumsily, well, He wasn't done.
Weakness was one step and now he needed a weapon.
Something simple yet brutal.
"System Shop."
The translucent blue screen flickered into view.
His eyes scanned until one entry caught his attention.
[Item Name: Paper Bomb]
[Item Rank: A]
[Description: Born in the early wars of the Starbloom Empire, when soldiers sought ways to wound their enemies without ever raising a blade. These talismans, deceptively light as parchment, carry within them the fire of ten thousand burning coals. Affix one upon your prey, and with a trigger, it shall blossom into flame. As fleeting as a whisper, as final as a funeral pyre.]
[Cost: 5 FP]
Azel smirked. "Perfect."
With a flick of his wrist, he purchased the talisman.
A square of pale parchment materialized in his palm, etched with crimson sigils that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
He stepped forward through the gravity field, the monster's body trembling beneath the invisible weight.
Up close, the Dreadhorn was even uglier.
Its head was grotesque, slick black chitin bulging like tumors, mandibles glistening with half-chewed meat, a pair of compound eyes fractured into hundreds of gleaming pits.
Its "neck" bent at an unnatural angle, allowing it to keep its gaze fixed on Azel even as its face lay crushed into the snow.
A thin mucous oozed from its spiracles, hissing where it touched the frost.
The back of its head was no better.
A warped dome, too slippery for paper to cling naturally.
Azel grimaced, slapped the bomb against the chitin of its upper thorax, and leapt back in one fluid motion.
The bracelet dimmed as he released the field.
The Dreadhorn immediately screamed.
Its wings snapped outward, throwing shards of snow and blood into the air as it tore itself upright.
It shot skyward, body weaving, preparing to run as if to call for allies.
But already the parchment burned hot against its back.
The crimson sigils flared, lines spreading like veins across its carapace.
The heat grew unbearable, brightening into a glow.
Then it detonated.
The explosion wasn't deafening.
It was a controlled one — a flower of fire blooming across the frozen sky, which would have been beautiful if it wasn't a burning ugly monster.
Flames wrapped the creature's body in a cocoon, its wings shrivelling instantly, carapace melting into steaming slag.
It spiralled downward, slamming into the snow with a hiss.
By the time the fire died, nothing remained but ash, scattered in the cold wind.
A faint ding chimed in his mind. The counter ticked upward.
Azel lowered his hand and let out a long sigh. "So it works."
He could repeat this strategy. Gravity to pin them, bombs to incinerate them.
But to be truly effective against a horde, he needed to do it massively.
Still, his blood thrummed.
He didn't just want to take them down one by one.
He wanted to annihilate the entire swarm.
'I wonder if the trial will distribute extra rewards for the number of corpses I'm about to bring,' he thought with a crooked grin.
He regrouped with Medusa and Veyra at the tree line.
Both had been watching in silence, their expressions tense.
Veyra exhaled slowly when the ash scattered.
"That's… terrifying," she muttered.
Medusa tilted her head, studying the bracelet then smiled without a word.
Azel shrugged, lips quirking. "Let's get going."
Together, they pressed deeper into the forest.
The silence broke occasionally — rustles of other beasts in the distance, faint growls that never grew close.
Twice they had to dodge patrols of monsters, ducking behind roots or slipping into hollows as abominations passed by.
Each time Azel's hand hovered over his weapon, but he forced himself to wait.
Not yet.
Then, at last, they found it.
The source of the buzzing.
Azel crouched low, brushing aside thick shrubbery.
What he saw made his chest clench.
A vast clearing stretched out before them, unnaturally bare.
Dozens of trees had been uprooted and cast aside like toys, leaving a wide circle of open ground.
At the center stood a colossal tree, ancient and twisted, its bark blackened by rot.
And on that tree clung a structure so disgusting it turned Azel's stomach.
The nest.
It bulged outward like a tumor, woven from hardened mucus, shredded wood, and layers upon layers of resin.
Oily fluid dripped constantly from its edges, burning the earth wherever it landed.
Openings pulsed across its surface like festering wounds, and from those holes poured the Dreadhorns.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
They came in every shape and size — some with elongated limbs, others bloated with venom sacs, wings shimmering with translucent oil.
The air was alive with the drone of their buzzing, a constant vibrating hum that rattled Azel's bones.
They moved in and out of the hive like soldiers in formation, their movements precise, coordinated, monstrous.
The nest itself was the size of a house.
Not a hut, not a shack but rather an entire residential home clinging to the side of that rotted tree like a cancer.
Azel's throat went dry.
"Fucking hell," he mouthed, barely daring to speak aloud.
Veyra's hands trembled against her sickle.
Even Medusa's expression hardened, her lips pressed thin as the endless tide of wings filled the clearing.
It wasn't a swarm… there was a whole hive of these things.