The Paranoid Elf Queen Turned Me Into Her Sister

Volume 3 Chapter 13 – What There Is, Is Only a Group of Pitiful People

“I’m not... ready to die!!” the man’s voice grew hoarse and frenzied. From his twisted form burst countless black tendrils, wrapping tightly around his body.

Once encased in those black substances, his form softened like malleable clay, kneaded and flattened by an invisible hand, as if his entire body had been broken down to atoms and reassembled.

These black materials altered his skin and physiology—his flesh darkened, the surface layered in barbed spikes. His muscles swelled explosively, thick like support columns, mismatched by his now stunted legs, casting doubt on whether they could even hold up his massive upper frame. His facial features warped grotesquely, twisted so far from their original positions that his face resembled a child’s chaotic doodle.

The towering, two-meter-high monster—dark and monstrous—grasped Teresa’s hand. Its gaping maw, shaped like a zipper, opened and closed as it echoed the man’s final human plea in a rasping, saw-like voice.

“I don’t want to die.”

“So...”

“You die for me.”

The creature yanked Teresa through the gap and hurled her viciously to the ground.

With its barbed arms, it pinned her limbs, pressing her to the dirt. Thick drool from its mouth dripped onto the side of her golden hair.

Its zipper-like jaws, lined with two rows of inverted fangs, lunged at her pale neck.

Crack! The sharp teeth did not tear through Teresa’s flawless skin. It was as if they’d hit something solid—intercepted and stopped. Her bracer bore hairline fractures from the impact.

Teresa braced her feet against the creature’s abdomen and pushed it off inch by inch. Then she drew a mud blade from the earth and rammed it into the creature’s mouth, kicking it away.

Realizing it hadn’t pierced her flesh, the monster cursed and spat out the mud blade, then dropped onto all fours and charged again.

Teresa flipped backward, nocked an arrow to her bow. A star-forged light arrow streaked from the string and struck the charging monster mid-air, bursting into dazzling radiance.

The beast flew back, crashing into a brick wall that crumbled instantly under the impact. The entire structure collapsed.

Yimi, busy relocating the wounded to safety, paused as the boom resounded. Her heart clenched until she saw Teresa emerge unscathed from the wreckage, landing gracefully.

“Such rudeness toward a lady is terribly improper, you know.” Teresa stood with one hand on her bow, the other on her hip, staring down at the monster dragging itself out of the rubble.

A demon disguised as a human?

But demons shouldn't be here, and earlier—he had radiated the aura of a living human.

At least... he had been human.

Teresa activated Divine Appraisal on this disproportionate, black-skinned creature bristling with spikes—and just like those masked figures who had blocked her path to the central district, its race field read ‘?’.

He, too, was being unrecorded in this world?

What in the world was going on?

“Raaaughh!” The creature squatted, snarling at Teresa with vicious greed. Black pus oozed from its abdomen. Her light arrow had clearly struck a vital area and wounded it severely.

Her eyes narrowed. Whatever this creature was, it had lost its humanity. Its eyes held none of the sentiments of a person—only a toxic mix of negative emotions.

Teresa didn’t hesitate. She raised her longbow.

This time, she didn’t aim to miss. The light arrow pierced its vulnerable neck.

“Gragh!” Its raspy throat gurgled, then fell silent. It writhed a few times before collapsing into a puddle of viscous black pus.

The neck was its weak point—evidence that these monsters still shared structural traits with humans: a heart, vital organs—they weren’t stitched-together husks.

“Weren’t you rescuing survivors?” Yimi approached.

Teresa didn’t answer—just pointed at the now-dead monster.

“That was the one calling for help?” Yimi mused. “Then, the ones destroying the city right now are...?”

Boom! A nearby building collapsed in flames. At the same time, a piercing cry rang out.

“Help! Help me!”

Both women turned toward the sound. A soldier in battered armor was limping their way.

He’d lost an arm, dragged a crippled leg, and leaned on a broken spear shaft, leaving a trail of blood behind.

“Geh-heh...” A laugh came from behind him—a woman with disheveled hair and purpling skin.

Her loose hair masked her face. Her tattered white robes were blood-stained—whose blood was unclear.

“Reinforcements? You! Help me! These cultists—they’ve gone mad!” The soldier’s spirit returned at the sight of Teresa’s bow. He screamed at them, blood-streaked and panicked.

Cultist? The woman following him?

“Geh-heh...” The woman said nothing. She simply followed at a measured pace, ignoring Teresa entirely, her eyes fixed solely on the guard.

“Don’t just stand there! Aren’t you from the capital?! Kill this cultist already! She’s trying to kill me!” The guard was desperate.

Yimi finally recognized him. He was one of the flunkies of the law enforcement captain they’d encountered yesterday.

How ironic. The bully who once strutted through the streets now limped, chased by a cultist.

But regardless.

This woman was no longer human. Whatever had befallen this city—she was a part of it.

No matter what, Teresa had to stop her.

She raised her bow, loosing an arrow ahead of the woman.

Thud! A light arrow struck at the woman’s feet. She paused, glanced down—then simply walked around it and continued her pursuit.

Teresa frowned. The warning had failed.

She nocked a second arrow.

Still, the woman paid no mind. Either she didn’t notice, or the soldier was all she could see.

The arrow pierced her back, and black pus spilled from the wound and her lips.

Silence.

Her gaze finally shifted.

She turned with effort and faced Teresa.

Teresa braced herself for retaliation.

But the woman only lifted her head.

And Teresa froze. Slowly, she lowered her bow.

From her figure, the woman was clearly still young—but her face bore terrifying, disfiguring scars, so deep they’d ruined her features.

One scar ran through her left eye socket. The eye was gone, replaced by a black void.

Her face was swollen and mangled, whipped and slashed into unrecognizability.

Yimi took a step back, visibly disturbed. Though harsh, it was true—some appearances were so ghastly, one couldn’t bear to look again.

But Teresa didn’t look away.

In her eyes, the woman’s face had once been breathtaking—beautiful enough to draw dangerous attention. That beauty had brought her nothing but trouble—eventually, even death.

To protect her loved ones, she had destroyed her own face...

“You think one cut’s enough to keep me off you?! Fine! You don’t want that pretty face? Let me help!” Righteous in appearance, the city’s enforcers had pressed her face into strong acid under the guise of “cultist interrogation,” disfiguring her completely.

Now, with only one eye, she had fallen from grace—mocked, abused, abandoned.

Her grotesque face turned upward toward Teresa. Her ruined lips moved, desperately trying to speak.

Perhaps cursing, perhaps venting—but Teresa’s instincts told her it was neither.

Again and again, the woman mouthed three words: Why is this so?

Why were the wicked unpunished, roaming free? Why did the kind get pushed to the edge, with no room to live?

Whom had she wronged?

Why would people so easily trample others and steal everything?

Why, when she had nothing left, was even her vengeance to be stripped away?

She wanted justice—to make those who destroyed her pay.

Her heart had long died. Only rage and sorrow kept her moving.

Teresa didn’t know why she could feel this woman’s pain—but she could. Her bow slowly lowered.

“?” Yimi glanced at her, confused.

The woman smiled. It was chilling—but also heartbreaking.

She’d lost even her final chance at revenge. Her body weakened as more pus spilled out. She slumped to the ground, her long hair spreading over the earth.

Teresa fell silent.

“Hah... hah! Damn cultist! Still putting on airs?” The one-legged guard, seeing she no longer moved, regained his nerve. Bloody and disfigured himself, he staggered over.

His fear is gone, replaced by rage.

“Trash! You think your wretched life even compares to mine?!”

He smashed his spear’s shaft onto her corpse.

Again and again.

Even Yimi frowned at the brutality.

But the guard forgot—he had only one leg.

With no crutch to support him, he slipped and fell.

Right into the pool of black pus the woman had left behind.

“AAAAHHH!!” The pus seeped into his wounds, and the toxins rapidly infected his bloodstream.

“Help me—!” he cried—then foamed at the mouth and collapsed, dead within seconds.

The pus was lethally poisonous—once it entered the bloodstream, death was swift.

Watching his agonized death, Teresa felt nothing.

“...Maybe there were never any cultists at all,” Teresa murmured. “Just a group of pitiful people.”

She thought of the Corpse Blossom just outside the city—and the words spoken by Piece.

The Corpseblossom fed on hatred and despair. These emotions nourished it, allowing it to grow.

But the Corpseblossom didn’t appear on its own. Without the nutrients of suffering, it wouldn’t have taken root in Kaleburn.

The real villains weren’t the flowers—they were the people. The greedy ones with no limits.

That’s why Piece had said the Corpseblossom was a force of nature. The rebellion couldn’t truly threaten the nobility—so the upper class felt free to exploit the commoners.

Only the Corpseblossom could threaten that hierarchy.

In a twisted way, its very existence kept the nobles from becoming even worse.

Where there is oppression, there is resistance—and this flower was the final resistance of the lower class, even if they hadn’t intended it that way.

Now, Teresa understood why Piece said it was all part of nature’s design.

She didn’t know why realization struck her so suddenly—but now she saw the full picture.

She looked down at her hands, a strange feeling stirring in her chest.

It felt as if something like this had happened around her before...