After giving Ethan a few last instructions and leaving him command of the twenty Gunters outside, I calmly returned to my mobile factory. The doors to the main research hall opened as I passed.
Enhancing Ethan within the factory had given me access to his genetic model, allowing me to produce clones—three by default—but the system didn't show any further prompts. It simply provided the output, and the subspace-managed factory handled the rest.
On the central monitor, one of Ethan's clones stood motionless, suspended in a containment pod. A fascinating creature: a carefully calibrated fusion of three different strains—the G-virus for strength, the Mold for cellular plasticity, and a refined Plagas for neurological control, not to mention regular human potential. Theoretically infinite, but fully subject to my will.
I settled into the command chair, the bluish light of the monitors flickering across my face. The clone showed no expression, no awareness—like Pascal's clones. Just a tool. But a perfect one.
Suddenly, a loud crash behind me broke the silence.BOOM! CLACK! WHAM!"Aaaahhh!" three voices screamed in unison as bodies tumbled through the door into my office.
I sprang to my feet, ready to react, but relaxed immediately upon seeing three familiar figures sprawled awkwardly across the floor, one atop the other.
The Jordan triplets.
Lying in a heap like disjointed mannequins, they didn't seem hurt—just embarrassed. Behind them, perched on the doorway frame, Tintin—my modified Tyrant—gave me a perfectly irreverent military salute, amusement flashing in his eyes. He'd received some upgrades and now stood an impressive 3.5 meters tall, though still looked completely human. If I had to compare him to someone, it'd be that S-ranked hero whose name I'd forgotten—the one who boasted about his indestructible muscles. I'd lost a lot of pop culture knowledge from my world while filling my brain with more technical information here.
I let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose."Really? Stowaways now? Please tell me you're the only ones inside?"
One of the Jordans stood up, brushing dust off his jacket, and answered with an innocent smile."Relax, Gérald. It's just us. We were bored back there, and you know… we prefer to stay close to the action."
The other two nodded in perfect sync, like they'd rehearsed the moment. That was the triplets for you: unpredictable, occasionally annoying, but terrifyingly effective in the field—at least when given clear instructions. The problem was when the orders weren't specific enough… they'd interpret them however they liked.
I couldn't help but smirk.
Unlike the other factory clones, these three had developed unique personalities. Three versions of my first research assistant clone, the original G-type, amplified and warped by the singularity of their evolution—but oddly endearing in their own way.
"You're a pain," I muttered, amused despite myself, returning Tintin's salute with a flick of the wrist."And yet, you always end up being useful. Alright, now that you're here, go see Luis and Birkin. They'll have something to keep you busy while I finish analyzing the clone. And no screwing around this time."
"Scout's honor!" they all said at once—which only made me more suspicious.
The three triplets skipped off, their childlike enthusiasm contrasting sharply with the weight of the events to come. I was left alone with Tintin.
I crossed my arms and gave him a mock-exasperated look."You too, huh? Bored?"
He shot me a knowing look, a nearly human smirk forming on his G-virus-enhanced lips."I didn't want to miss the party," he said, cracking his knuckles with the sound of shattering stone.
I activated the factory's exit system, and we reappeared in the ruins of the small house I'd blasted an hour earlier. The air was frigid, heavy with moisture and the metallic scent of blood.
I took a deep breath."Alright, just like the old days. Let's try to capture one of those mutts for analysis."
A low growl drew my attention.
On the roof of a collapsed house, an enormous Lycan perched, its body covered in thick dark fur, its gaze not fixed on us… but on the center of the village. In its clawed hand, it held a massive club made of rusted iron and compacted cement. It was waiting. Watching.
I followed its gaze.
Ethan was over there, in the middle of a massacre. He was fighting like hell, his shotgun spitting death with deadly accuracy. The twenty Gunters coordinated perfectly with him, forming a defensive ring at the village's center, pushing back wave after wave of Lycans. And yet… something felt off.
"You want the big guy?" I asked Tintin without looking at him.
He responded with a guttural, almost gleeful roar and launched himself forward without hesitation, each step shaking the earth. The rooftop collapsed beneath the giant Lycan as Tintin tackled it head-on, both titans tumbling down in a crash of broken tiles and splintered beams.
As for me, I took a different route, charging into the melee like in the good old days, my old tonfas in hand. Nothing high-tech. Just solid tempered steel and a G-virus-reinforced arm. I dove into the fray, striking, dodging, spinning with the precision only a fully optimized body could offer.
The raw contact, the sharp crack of bones breaking, the clash of fangs against my armor—every moment thrilled me.
Adrenaline, pure and unfiltered, surged through me. I was alive.
But even in the thrill of battle, something was bothering me.
Ethan, now enhanced by the Plagas and the G-virus, was slaughtering the Lycans effortlessly. Every strike was lethal. Every bullet found its mark. As for the Gunters, they seemed almost too efficient, cutting down the creatures as if they were nothing more than livestock.
I blocked a snapping jaw with my left tonfa, drove the right one into another Lycan's skull, and stepped back, exhaling sharply.
Something's off.
The system had warned me: every world would become more difficult. That was the rule. So why did these Lycans seem… weak? Less organized? Less ferocious than expected?
I glanced around, suspicion clouding my mind.
Either this is just the first wave... or something nastier is lurking beneath the surface.
I cracked the skull of a final Lycan with a swift blow, my tonfa splattered with dark blood. I looked up toward the horizon, breathing heavily but still clear-headed. A heavy thud made me glance downward.
The giant Lycan—the one with the club—crashed at my feet, unconscious, its jaw shattered and bones jutting through its bloody fur. I clicked my tongue and mentally sent the creature directly to my factory, where my scientists could study it from every angle.
To my right, Tintin slowly emerged from the wreckage of a collapsed rooftop, brushing the dust off his massive shoulders. He looked almost disappointed.
"Not even as strong as Mendez in human form..." he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "You sure this place is supposed to be dangerous?"
I turned my head briefly toward him.
"Exactly. It's too quiet. Too easy. Something's not right."
Ethan, not far off, slowly approached, still marked by the fight. His eyes lingered on Tintin with a mix of awe and dread. He wasn't stupid — even without knowing exactly what my companion was, he could tell Tintin wasn't remotely human.
Then, as if shaken from a trance:
"I heard someone through a radio transmitter… a woman's voice. I think she's still alive. I have to go."
I nodded slowly, gripping my tonfas as if to reassure myself.
"Go find her… and if you can, tell her to get out of here. As far away as possible."
"Thank you, Mr. King, but… could you take these creatures back?" he asked, pointing to the Gunters. "I'm really not good at commanding them, and I don't want to scare this person."
"Alright. See you later, Ethan. And just call me Gérald."
He nodded and walked away without another word, vanishing down a winding path through the ruins and gnarled trees. I watched him for a few seconds before turning on my heel and heading toward the castle with my Gunters in tow.
The path climbed upward, winding along the edge of a cliffside. The air grew colder, denser, filled with a metallic, mineral scent. A lingering fog clung to the rocks, masking the trail's bends like invisible traps.
That's when the sound of creaking wood and the rolling of wheels made me stop dead in my tracks.
A large cart appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, pushed by some kind of old-fashioned motorized carriage. It was adorned with exotic trinkets, gold-tinted baubles, and bulging sacks of merchandise. But none of that compared to him.
A gigantic, obese man slowly climbed down from the back of the cart, his body shifting like a mound of living flesh. His suit, though clearly custom-made, looked ready to burst at any moment. His small black eyes gleamed with a dull, calculating intelligence.
He bowed slightly, his voice deep yet oddly gentle.
"A pleasure, traveler. They call me the Duke. I offer my services to those who know how to listen… and pay."
Tintin froze at my side. It wasn't fear. It was something else. A nearly animalistic tension—an instinctive recognition of raw danger.
I felt it too.
There was nothing normal about this man. He wasn't just obese. He radiated something cold. Ancient. Powerful.
The Duke's smile widened.
"It seems a stowaway has come to interrupt my affairs."
Out of nowhere, the ground swallowed my Gunters whole. I leapt into the air alongside Tintin, quickly summoning Hermès and a Blood from the Factory. In a flash, they emerged to carry us into the sky.
"How interesting... but will that be enough?" asked the massive man, shaping an enormous hand from earth to try and grab us. I had our winged mounts climb higher.
"I want you gone, Gérald King," he said, a sickening grin spreading across his thick lips. "Winters was the only one meant to be here. That is what Eveline prophesied."
I narrowed my eyes."Eveline is dead. Crushed in the bayou over a year ago."
He let out a gravelly laugh."That's what you think. As long as the Megamycete exists, she lives. Even Miranda is nothing more than a puppet… a shadow cast by that tree."
Before I could reply, spikes of earth burst from the ground, aiming straight for Tintin and me. I had no choice but to order a tactical retreat. With a quick command, I recalled Tintin, Hermès, and the Blood back into the Factory. That left me hovering alone for a moment — just enough time to pull a grenade launcher from my inventory.
I fired.A muffled explosion.A wall of earth rose instantly, absorbing the blast without flinching.
"Nice try, but pointless," the Duke said with a calm smile. He thought he had the upper hand.
I dove toward him, dorsal tendrils whipping out to ensnare him. They wrapped around his form briefly—but he shattered them like they were dry grass.
Then he raised his hand.
I had no time to counter. The ground beneath me gave way and swallowed me whole. I was buried up to my neck, the pressure of the earth crushing against my ribcage.
"You're important, Gérald. So I'll make you an offer," he said, towering above me like a hunter over a wounded beast."Another intruder, a nuisance, is here. He hides under Miranda's protection. You take care of him, and I'll let Winters kill Miranda. And you... I'll spare."
I clenched my teeth. I hated this feeling of helplessness.
But before I could answer—however reluctantly—a groan escaped the Duke's throat. He staggered backward, clutching his chest.
"Not now… I'm sorry… I shouldn't have used my gifts with such force. The Megamycete… has deliberately limited me."
He collapsed on his side. Instantly, I deployed a Nemesis from the Factory, held in reserve. It burst forth and attempted to crush the Duke in his weakened state…
But the Duke—his cart, his entire body—teleported over 200 meters away in the blink of an eye.
"Forget this, Gérald King. Next time we meet, I will be only a merchant," he said before vanishing in a swirl of mist and stone.
I remained still for a moment, breath ragged, while my Nemesis slowly dug me out of the ground. I stared at the spot where he had disappeared.
"He controls the earth… and can teleport?" I muttered as my Nemesis pulled me free, still unaware that the Duke was an anomaly created by the corruption of Bratori on my crystal.
(Author's note: I reused some troll lore from online theories about how the Duke moves between his shop spots, and the Eveline stuff is just one of my own wild takes, since I haven't played the Rosemarie DLC yet ^^)