CHAPTER 226: INFESTATION{2}

"No! Stop the carriage! Let’s hear what they have to say!" Zyren ordered.

Annan instantly obeyed, though his chest tightened with dread. He already knew what Zyren’s next command would be: to step down and confront them.

I need to stay right beside King Zyren, Annan thought grimly, his face tightening into a grave expression. He was well aware that the moment he strayed too far from his king, regret would surely follow.

The dozen or so guards drew closer, slow and deliberate, their boots crunching against the dirt as they worked to surround the carriage. It stood only a few feet away from the gates, and their positioning left no doubt—they intended to cut off any escape.

"We don’t know who you are, but you can’t just visit and leave like that!" a man declared, stepping forward. His eyes blazed crimson, the mark of a vampire.

His uniform differed subtly from the others, enough to betray a higher rank. Eyes fixed on Annan who was still completely covered with the huge dark cloak he had on while staring at the vampire who have one yet didn’t seem to be turning to dust.

They can also take on the likeness of vampires, Annan realized, his mind recoiling at the thought.

"Step out! The last thing we want to do is drag you out!" the leader’s voice thundered, rolling across the area with a command meant to shake the ground itself.

Annan didn’t move. His body was still, his pulse hammering, as he waited for Zyren’s instructions—dreading them even as he longed to hear them.

The sound of a carriage door opening broke the silence. Zyren stepped out.

The large black cloak he wore hung heavily, its hood raised high enough to conceal his face. He descended with slow, steady purpose.

Annan instantly climbed down after him, no order needed. Zyren was his lord, and duty demanded he stand by his king’s side—especially in times of danger.

"Vampires," the leader spat the word with loathing, though the irony would have been laughable to anyone else. His red eyes and bearing betrayed the fact that he was one, but his tone dripped with disdain as if the name to him was nothing but filth.

"Even if you don’t take off your hoods, we’ll still find out who you are—after we eat you!"

Even as he spoke, his body began to twist, bones cracking, muscles bulging.

The others followed.

Their human and vampire forms melted away in a grotesque transformation. What emerged could only be described as monstrous.

Heads swelled grotesquely large, out of proportion to their massive, looming bodies. Their skin blackened into a coarse, leathery hide. Flesh tore outward as new, jagged shapes erupted, each mutation more hideous than the last.

Their mouths became jagged maws, triangular in shape and lined with row upon row of vicious teeth. From within slithered long, snake-like tongues, dripping with thick, foul saliva that hit the ground with wet splatters.

Their eyes turned black as midnight, and their hunched spines bulged beneath the weight of their twisted necks. Yet despite the deformity, their movements were unnervingly quick.

They dashed forward, reforming into a tight pack at their leader’s side.

He stood at the front, a puddle of drool spreading at his feet from the eagerness of his maw.

"As long as you are more important than this body, your presence here means I’ll be able to return to the city in your place," he sneered.

At that moment, Zyren finally lifted his hand, pulling back the hood to reveal his face. His voice rang clear and cold.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

Annan barely heard the words. His attention was fixed on the threat before them. His claws elongated from his fingers, sharp and ready, though his heart hammered with unease.

He knew Zyren’s strength was immense—but they were alone, and there could easily be more Zygons lurking unseen in the shadows.

Before another thought could take root, the Zygon leader roared.

The sound shook the earth itself, a roar of fury that reverberated across the open ground.

"I will enjoy separating your bones from your flesh!" he bellowed.

With terrifying speed, he lunged. One moment he was yards away, the next his hulking form loomed before Zyren.

And then he froze.

Mid-lunge, the monster stopped dead. His limbs refused to move, his jaw locked wide.

Confusion flickered first in his eyes, then fear.

From the corner of his vision, he realized the others behind him were also caught—frozen in place, unable to move forward.

The Zygon leader’s mind reeled. In a split second, he understood the truth. His gamble had failed. He had made a fatal mistake.

But it was too late.

"King..." he gasped, choking on the word. He couldn’t finish.

"Save your breath. You’ll need it when I’m done separating your flesh from your bones," Zyren said coolly.

The Zygon’s eyes shifted, amusement flickering within them. It was as though he were laughing silently, mocking Zyren without words.

Annan saw it too. His blood ran cold. He stumbled back a step, fear crawling up his spine. He remembered the explosion, remembered the raw destructive force of it, and dread pooled in his chest.

He wanted to warn Zyren, but fear silenced him. The king surely already knew.

Moments stretched. Zyren still looked composed, even entertained—while the creature’s dark amusement drained away. Its confidence dissolved, replaced by raw terror.

"What? You tried to explode your body but couldn’t?" Zyren asked, his tone smug.

"I know about your core. Just because I allowed the explosion to happen before, you thought I couldn’t stop it?"

His voice was sharp, filled with certainty.

He rose effortlessly into the air, his body levitating, shadows coiling upward from the ground like serpents to bear him higher. His eyes leveled with the monstrous creature’s, and his words fell like a blade.

"You can communicate through your magic cores, can’t you?"

The statement rang like an accusation, though it was clear he wasn’t truly speaking to the beast itself—but to whomever might be listening through it.

"Then listen. Quit while you’re ahead."

The final word had barely left his lips before he thrust his hand forward.

Barehanded, Zyren drove his arm into the Zygon’s chest. Flesh tore, bone cracked. His hand coated with blood.

His fingers closed around something solid. With one decisive motion, he ripped it free.

A stone-like object, dark and pulsing faintly, emerged in his palm.

Descending slowly back to the ground, Zyren landed with silent grace.

Behind him, the Zygon dissolved. Flesh sloughed from bone, blood poured, and the hulking frame crumbled into nothingness.

By the time Zyren’s boots touched the earth, nothing remained but a ruin of blood and dust.