BLOOD SLAVE CH8-THE FIRST ENCOUNTER II
Leon walked calmly, his footsteps light, his senses sharp.
From the trees, something shifted. A flash of pale purple-then silence.
He did not flinch.
"Weutter Bee," he muttered.
The creature emerged just as the children had described. It resembled an overgrown wasp from human world, yet its form was an abomination. Pale white purple, slick body, eyes glowing sickly green, wings invisible to the naked eye from sheer speed-3,000 flaps per second.
They came from the portals two years later in the official timeline. Yet here it was. Early.
A mistake in the natural order. Or a test.
These insects didn't gather pollen. They gathered blood. They devoured flesh and regurgitated it into a shimmering nectar that dissolved bones.
Even a single Weutter Bee was a death sentence to a 1-star soldier.
A swarm was suicide.
But Leon was no soldier. He was something else.
Something worse.
---
The bee struck first.
A blur. A shriek. Death incarnate from above.
Leon moved not with panic, but with method.
"Formic Tyrant Fist."
He invoked two techniques at once:
Carapace Like an Ant - his body hardened, tendons tightening like steel cables.
Six-Legged March - his movement became erratic, insectoid, deceptive in rhythm.
The bee missed his throat by a hair's width. He twisted.
Countered.
His fists shot out in a barrage-
One hundred punches in six seconds.
But the monster was too fast.
It danced between his strikes with maddening precision.
Leon's eyes narrowed
Black crystal started to apper in both of his knuckles like exoskeleton
he activated Carapace again, doubling the force.
An ant could lift fifty times its body weight.
Leon, amplified, surpassed every recorded human strength index.
The ground cracked beneath his heel as he launched upward-
Burrowing Strike!
A feint from below, followed by-
Crushing Mandibles!
His arms hooked like jaws, aiming for the thorax.
The bee retreated. A rare behavior.
It hovered, then increased its wing speed.
A screech.
No, a sonic pulse-designed to rupture blood vessels.
Blood leaked from Leon's ears. His vision blurred.
He bit his lip.
Pain grounded him. Focused him.
"No more games," he whispered.
Formic Tyrant Fist: Final Form - Formic Fist.
Ki energy flooded into his arms. His veins bulged, glowing like molten iron. The air around his knuckles shimmered with heat.
The bee darted forward again-
A last desperate sting.
But death met it halfway.
Leon's fist connected.
The sound was not of impact.
It was of obliteration.
A flash of green.
The monster burst like a rotting fruit.
Its oozing corpse sizzled on the forest floor.
---
Leon stood still, breathing slow and shallow.
His ears rang,most of his energy dissappeared like vapour healing his broken eardums and senses.leon wiped the blood of his face.
"To grasp the poison is to grasp power. Those who fear disease will never master death."
The corpse of the Weutter Bee lay ruptured like a desecrated idol.
Leon knelt, calm as a glacier. Blood, acid, and decay mixed into a foul stew beneath his boots. Yet he showed no disgust. His blade worked precisely, slicing through membrane and chitin until it reached the core-the beast's soul, if such things existed.
It glowed faintly-green, translucent, and foul-a crystalline nucleus filled with a lifetime of plagues.
Typhoid. Spinal worms. Crimson rot. And darker blights, unnamed by science, born from centuries of death.
> "You can't consume it. You'll die."
"But who said anything about eating?"
It was poison incarnate. But not just poison-potential.
The core's structure was stronger than diamonds fused in a black hole. It could fracture magic, bend steel, and retain cursed memory. Perfect for a weapon. Or perhaps something worse.
Leon wrapped the gem in dark cloth and stowed it deep inside his coat, beside his vial of scent suppressors and two venom bullets. He did not smile. He only nodded, as if the world had tilted slightly in his favor.
>"Everything toxic can still be shaped "
The monster was gone. But the child was not found.
Stillness settled again. Only the wind spoke, brushing through the twisted branches like fingers scraping bone.
Leon moved.
He searched with the calm of a man who no longer expected mercy from the world. Then-he saw it.
A white platform, half-sunken and swallowed by earth. Etched into its surface, a circle-and at the center, a sharp star sigil, pulsing faintly.
Its material-obsidian veined with flickers of light-the same as the Nexus Ruin.
A relic. A gateway.???
Leon did not hesitate. He stepped onto it.
For a moment, nothing.
Then-reality bent.
No sound. No sensation. Just a shift, like a thought unspoken yet heard.
Suddenly, he was elsewhere.
Still in a forest... or so it seemed. The trees loomed, but their bark was darker. The air thicker. The clouds above churned in unnatural spirals.
Then-gunfire.
Sharp, echoing cracks tore the air apart. Leon moved by instinct, dropping low behind a crumbling stone pillar.
Across the marshy clearing, water-soaked ground reflected muzzle flashes like lightning over a drowned world. A man in a brown coat fired back from cover-precision in each shot, a revolver gripped in bleeding hands. He fought like a man accustomed to death.
The attackers: figures in black uniforms, organized, armored, emotionless. Government? Mercenaries? Cult?
Leon's gaze snapped to his right.
A corpse. Black uniform. Dead eyes.
More importantly-a gun, half-buried in the moss beside the body.
Leon took it.
"Death takes from the careless. I collect the change."
He peered over the edge.
The man in the brown coat was skilled. Crouch low. No wasted motion. One eye squinting, measuring. Bullet supply dwindling.
Leon assessed his gear. Trench coat, reinforced boots, recorder strapped to chest.
"Not military. Not noble. Civilian... but trained."
"A detective? Private sector. Risk-taker. Asset."
Leon considered the options.
Let him die: silence, but loss of information.
Save him: leverage, debt, future use.
Intervene now: minimal risk, tactical gain.
His decision came coldly, like frost on stone.
"Dead allies tell no secrets. Living ones can be interrogated."
Leon exhaled, examined the surrounding .
In his eyes: no rage, no heroism.
Only logic.
And then decided to observe.
[To be continued....]