232 (II)

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The sheer amount of vitality that the item offered him was delectable. If Shiv had had to guess, there was enough life force stored inside here to compose two True Heroes at the peak of their health.

But then he heard something else. An echoed cry, a voice he’d recently found himself familiar with.

“Marcus?” Head Chef Velly’s voice sounded from within the shivering heart. “Marcus… whoever you are… Please, please. It is dark here, and I feel so choked. Please, I must, I need to be free. I ask you, please free me. Whatever you do, free me.”

And Shiv’s stomach fell. It wasn’t just one shift that the Anointed Knight had used this piece of twisted equipment on. It was everyone, and that explained why Velly’s, Nornsong’s, and Bowden’s corpses were so splattered. Fae had drained all of them. They had fed them to this thing.

“You sick son of a bitch!” Shiv hissed under his breath.

The Anointed Knight cackled with brutal amusement. “It is simply the ripeness of our revenge you hold in your hands, and the means by which we sustain our own power. When you are done drinking your succor from it, please return it to me. I still have need of it.”

Shiv considered not draining from the heart at all out of spite, but then the Anointed One let out a scoff. “If it sates your ape conscience, it is but an echo. They are gone. Well, they are mostly gone. If it is your desire to see them restored to life, perhaps if in the impossible circumstance you prevail, that can be negotiated as well.”

“Bullshit,” Shiv sneered. “You don’t have the power to resurrect someone.”

“Who said anything about a resurrection?” the Anointed One replied. “A death is a death for most of you patternists, but we have our own ways around the annoyance posed by a most unexpected end to a fleeting creature’s life. It is so hard to retain good help otherwise. Replicas are sometimes superior to the real thing, Deathless. All you need are the right memories, after all.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Shiv drew in the life force from the heart. It felt like he was channeling the full heat of a passing star through his being. In a sudden burst of brilliance, he emerged from his Vitae cocoon, feeling more refreshed and stronger than ever.

Shiv looked down at his hands. He saw a glimmering glow shroud him. For a beat, he suspected he was about to be betrayed or attacked somehow. But that glinting flame simply lingered, simply shrouded him in an aura. It didn’t feel hot—in fact, it held no temperature at all—but it coursed through him. It flowed from the heart itself and engulfed him. Strangely, the scintillating fire curved and bent to his will as if it were a part of him now, and it quickly caught on, spreading over his other mana fields, granting them its shine.

“Ignore the Loreflame,” the Anointed Knight said dismissively. “It will go out in a few moments. Now, the heart, please. Return it, if you have any honor within that unnatural mass you call a body.”

Shiv didn’t bother walking over. He simply tossed it back with a bit more force than necessary. Instead of catching the heart, the Anointed Knight simply allowed it to slam into his chest. His toast plating shattered, but the heart receded between the cracks and vanished without inflicting any lingering harm. A second later, the cracks in the crust closed back up, and the Knight of the Summer Court brushed a few stray crumbs aside.

Shiv struggled against the desire to use his Last Morsel on the haughty fae. His Mince the Unminceable Enchantment yearned to be tested upon an adversary supposedly immune to harm from those he deemed unworthy. But Shiv held himself back.

Might still have a chance to do that later, he comforted himself. For now, he looked down at his body. Let’s see what I can do with my own corpse. A beat followed. Man, my life is really all kinds of fucked up, isn’t it? Can’t believe I’m about to cook myself.

Devoid of equipment and ignorant of what a piece of bread might find tasteful, Shiv started by taking his body apart. He used his mana hydra to harvest his own organs, and he plucked his bones free from his flesh. His skeleton slipped loose from his body’s back with a slick pop, and Shiv left the meat inside a coat of skin while soaking away his blood.

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In the meantime, he fired up the mana grill and watched as each of the metal ribs gleamed white-hot as circulating Pyromancy spells danced beneath. While the cooking station climbed in temperature, Shiv began breaking his bones apart and molding them together. As durable as an adamantine column at a base level, Shiv began to shape them using his Biomancy, carving them into various forms of bone, hollowing their centers to create spoons and spatulas. He even made a pair of tongs from his femurs. As he laid each tool out from the side, he heard one of the Gingerbread-Knights mutter, “Well, that’s creative…”

The Anointed One’s head promptly snapped toward the lesser knight, and the little soldier straightened with a flinch. Shiv could feel a building taste of fear stink up the air. That Gingerbread-Knight was probably going to face quite a bit of punishment for that bit of admiration expressed.

As he finished crafting the tools he needed, he assimilated the rest of his skeleton. Then he finally moved on to the meat. It was drained of blood, but still the insides were raw and red, and everything about the body was as unpalatable as it was repulsive to Shiv.

It wasn’t that he was bothered by killing himself; he had done so just to harvest materials more times than he could count. But the fact that he was cooking and feeding himself to someone was still a strange thought. He used his Biomancy to skin his body properly; his outer hide slit free, and what remained was thick cords of muscles and dense bands of sinew.

He took thin slices of meat from his thigh while stripping his ribs and the meatiest portions of flesh. While he did this, he observed the Anointed One, trying to guess what a humanoid bread-creature might like to taste in a human body. Instead of rushing through his preparation process, he watched and studied the surrounding bread. More than just the fae, however, he also regarded the chefs trapped within their cocoons.

The Deathless couldn’t touch them using his mana for fear that he might be infested with bread tumors upon contact, but he could see the general outlines of their bodies: several of them seemed partially intact, with torsos, but missing all of their limbs. That pattern was consistent enough that he suspected the limbs had been digested or eaten. And then Shiv recalled how the Anointed One barely held himself back from ripping into Shiv with that infection earlier. That urge to infect Shiv with bread tumors was probably also part of the fae’s hunger.

More than that, the fairies couldn’t lie. If what he made tasted good, they couldn’t just deceive him and declare his dish bad, right? So, Shiv stopped for a second. He filtered out all the meat on his limbs, and he stared at his Last Morsel, considering doing something that might just be a little out there. If I can slice a bit away from all my magical skills and include a piece of my Vitae as well, maybe that will give me something entirely unique.

But something made him hesitate. It had been so long since he’d cooked something properly using his own two hands. The Last Morsel was useful, unique, and he hadn’t truly touched the fullness of its potential. But even so, it was automatic. It took the joy out of the art, and it simmered and burned everything on its own, creating completed meals without any additional touch-ups or careful adjustments on his part.

Shiv wanted to cook on his own. He wanted to refine his art. He wanted to be the chef once more, instead of just a monster playing at being one using a tool gifted by the System.

Shiv put the Last Morsel down on the fry station. “Sorry, friend,” he said to his Legendary frying pan. “I’ll pick you up in a moment if I really need you. For now, let’s see what I can make on my own. Let’s see if I still got it after all that killing. Gotta knock the rust off.”

The grill was ablaze with a brilliant glow, and Shiv began laying out chunks of his own meat along the sizzling ribs. As he did just that, he moved over toward the sauces and considered his options. After a moment, he simply shook his head and—

Blood splattered down on Shiv’s feet. He blinked. “The fuck—”

His voice trailed off as he saw all the utensils he’d made from his bones—along with the flesh he’d cut away from his body—decaying and spewing puddles of crimson blood from a spreading series of cracks. The edges of the grilling station were consumed by a waterfall of viscera, and Shiv watched in horrified disbelief as foul-smelling smoke rose up from the searing grill.

For a second, he suspected the fae to be cheating—to have used their magic to twist his culinary endeavor. But then, the Anointed One let out a gasp of surprise as well, and Shiv knew something else was at play. “What is this… Blood? What have you done to your tools?”

Shiv’s mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to process what was unfolding before him.

And then a notification appeared in his awareness, reminding him of a forgotten gift.

Curse: Hands of the Bloodied – Anything you craft and create will be stained with blood and degrade at an increased pace.

And, with the long-delayed comprehension of what Maiden’s Curse truly entailed and the sight of his blood-stained cooking station, something inside Shiv snapped. The world turned red. Shiv’s body swelled in size and tremored with the unstoppable urge to inflict unspeakable violence. A flood of repressed rage exploded through the dam that had become of Shiv’s ironclad Psychology and mental resolve after his Delve, and everything inside him came undone as he fully realized what had been taken from him.

“FUUUUUUUU—”

Berserk 24 > 40

Then something inside Shiv’s head popped, and he dropped dead once more.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep