“Ahhh shit.”

Steadying himself as the terrain around him began to shake and shift, Brock immediately placed the Treasure into his inventory. His flashlight panned over the area, letting him eye the slouching mounds of flesh and crumbling skeletons. Slowly, he felt his altitude begin to rise as the beast stood.

Brock wasted no more time and bolted, aiming for where he’d marked as opposite the throat, “I’m so fucked. Fucked, fucked, fucked!”

His curses echoed through the stomach as he veered around remains and puddles of acid, skimming over the uneven and rugged tissue with little effort. His legs blurred and his breath came out in streams of steam, the beast’s interior quickly heating up as it awoke. Before, when its bodily processes had been inactive, it’d been fine.H

But now, it felt like the makings of a sauna. The air was getting thicker and harder to breath too.

Regardless of all that, he held his flashlight ahead and kept his eyes trained on the darkness unrevealed. If he was honest, he didn’t actually know if tortoises had a ‘behind’ or not, but he really hoped it did. Never thought I’d ever hope for that…

He shrugged.

As he sprinted, the Tyrant lurched and reached its full height, making Brock stumble a little. He had no idea what the creature could possibly do to him inside of it, but he’d rather not stick around to find out. The air alone was enough of a reason to leave. If he remained much longer, he’d probably suffocate.

“Mio was right,” Brock leapt over a puddle and grimaced as he landed in another, “this was a terrible idea.”

“Yes, it was.”

Brock almost tripped in shock and plummeted face first into a pool of stomach acid. Fortunately, the surroundings darkened, and he caught himself with Oppressive Might. Brows almost climbing past his hairline, he righted himself and looked at Mio, who had phased up from his shadow and appeared beside him.

His face remained emotionless, “You could teleport this whole time?”

She crossed her arms and snorted, “Doesn’t matter. What did you do?”

It really… she enjoyed my suffering, didn’t she. Fuck me. Brock resisted the urge to groan and continued onward. Mio followed, although the darkness came up and provided her a walkway over the fleshy terrain, “I got the Treasure. Seemed to have some sort of alarm made with aura around it and it triggered.”

As his phone light laid upon a large expanse of flesh ahead, he caught Mio raising her brows at his words, “Interesting. Either way, I’d recommend we wait in here. The beast seems pretty… angry, to say the least. At least in here it can’t attack us.”

A glob of acid fell from the ceiling, and Brock shielded his eyes as it landed, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Her brows furrowed, “What?”

Fluid began to drip from the ceiling regularly, and liquid spurted up from the flooring. As it settled, it steamed, reeking of acid. Slowly, the release of it increased in volume. Those wet spots before… were glands…?

Soon, as they finally reached the wall of flesh and found nothing even remotely resembling a rectum, intestinal passage, or anything else of the sort, the squirting liquid was falling down around them in streams. Either this one’s broken, or monsters have an extreme metabolism that wastes nothing.

“Mio.” He warned, the terrain quickly becoming a swamp. It wouldn’t be much longer before that swamp became a lake. Then an ocean. Already, as droplets touch his skin and clothes, Brock felt them sizzling and melting.

In response to him, the darkness roiled underneath and rose up to consume them, “On it.”

The beast bellowed as they were deposited into darkness, and in seconds, Brock found himself falling up onto the back of the creature. As he looked around and spotted the head only a few dozens meters away, a cold sweat dripped down his forehead.

Six crimson eyes flickered around at random, the movements separate from the rest, as they attempted to locate the offenders upon its domain. Currently, Brock’s feet were planted on a small plateau at the edge of the island rested upon the Tyrant’s shell, and he feared that he’d be spotted.

Luckily, while the monster had clearly put an aura alarm around the Treasure inside it, it didn’t seem to possess the intelligence to realise that the shockwave it within was from it being taken. Instead, it seemed the beast thought it had been attacked. It’s… so dumb…

Eventually, as Mio and Brock made the decision to hide themselves behind nearby foliage, the Tyrant settled down and whined. It took another few minutes before the creature was satisfied that nothing else was going to attack it, and it collapsed back to the ground. Brock sensed its aura recede and die out, and he knew it had returned to hibernation.

It’s… nothing like Gor’eth or Ur’Kahn. Or even that Elemental… Brock’s brows furrowed as he considered the implications of this. To his side, Mio peered out and over at the monster’s head, and seeing that it was soundly asleep, snorted in victory.

More and more so, it was seeming that there really was two classes of monsters. Mutants created from the majority of the pre-existing animals on Earth, and true monsters created organically by the System or taken from elsewhere. He felt that Ur’Kahn and Gor’eth fell under this category, as did the Gargoyles guarding the former.

Does it not have enough resources to produce its own entirely? He found it interesting, and rather questionable that the System wouldn’t just focus on producing its own, organic monsters. While he wouldn’t claim to understand the truth, he felt there was certainly a reason for it.

Aside from that, it also made him wonder where these organic monsters were stored. Gor’eth and Ur’Kahn had seemed to have known each other, or at least of each other, meaning they’d probably had lives before the Earth was integrated. Just keep getting more questions than answers these days.

“What’s with the glazed eyes?” Mio’s voice resounding over to his side snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced over at her.

He scratched his cheek sheepishly and shelved the thoughts for later, “Let’s go back.”

Mio nodded and activated her Technique.

**

She’d done it. She had done it. As the crowd designated representative counted the final vote and laid the box containing the rest to the side, Margo was announced Mayor. Like Brock had said, she’d organised an election, and she’d run for the position fairly. And she’d done it!

Margo had trouble believing it, even as the crowd roared and the men and women who had grown to respect her wooed out her name. Over to her left, the man who had attempted to run in her opposition drooped his shoulders and sulked off stage. He’d gotten a total of five votes out of 370.

The matter of him being one of the healers sent in from another city they were yet to officially ally with – although Margo planned to make that alliance her first official action in office – aside, he never had a chance. She knew it, even if it sounded like the height of arrogance.

Sure, he was one of the few healers creating them a medical infrastructure, which garnered the population’s respect in and of itself, he hadn’t been leading them through the tribulations and turmoil that had led them to where they are now. Margo had been at the head as they tackled the home stretch, and the townsfolk would be slow to forget it.

If Brock Carter and his group were local heroes, the worshipped saviours, then she was their respected acquaintance. Often times, others in the city that she wasn’t close to assumed she was good friends with their saviours and held her upon some kind of pedestal.

I wish…

Certainly, being close to such a man would be a boon, she couldn’t claim so. Currently, their relationship was more business partners, if anything. Acquaintances, maybe. In a way though, she was much like the rest of King’s Cavity. She lauded the man and his friends as heroes. Because that’s exactly what they were.

As the crowd died down and Margo gave her victory speech, she felt a flare of fulfillment within her. She… she needed this. She’d never taken interest in leadership before the integration, but now that she understood and felt herself close to the people she was caring for, she could help but compassionate about it. She wanted to lead these people to a better future.

The afterparty followed, and she made amends with the runner up, who, while sour, was a good sport about it. People cheered her, drank in her name, and gave her slaps upon the back. A few of the particularly powerful warriors even sent her flying in doing so. Anastasia was one.

“Good job, Margo!” her hands, marred by callouses and tanned, found purchase upon her back, and Margo spiralled forward. A few others moved and caught her, although to them, it was all good fun. They laughed, and got back to drinking, “Oh, whoops. Anyway, congratulations!”

Smiling sheepishly, while silently amazed that she hadn’t put her back out, Margo thanked her and surveyed the woman. She was about a head or so taller than herself, easily above six foot. Muscle dotted her limbs and body, although not overly so. It was sleek and tight, like that of a predators. Bulky armour adorned her frame, and despite her pleas, the woman had chosen to bring her halberd along to the election.

Its dulled edge seemed to avoid the light, and a myriad of scratched marred every portion of it. While she didn’t say anything, Margo believed it was high time she got a new weapon. According to those healers, their city has some good blacksmiths.

As Anastasia roared in laughter and downed a bottle of vodka, Margo smiled. Maybe I’ll get my head of military a gift.

“Here, here.” the woman in question loomed over her and shoved the remains of her vodka into Margo’s chest, breaking her from her thoughts. She stumbled and little, before grasping onto the bottle. Anastasia bellowed in laughter once more, “drink it. Booze worthy of our leader.”

The Mayor of King’s Cavity smiled sheepishly and took one whiff of the alcohol. She almost vomited. While she understood where the rest of the alcohol was pulled – from the remains of civilisation their warriors had sought out a fair distance away – she didn’t recall anyone ever telling her about the vodka.

Regardless, under Anastasia’s wild gaze, she took a swig. She swallowed a few seconds too late, leaving her tongue, nose and entire throat burning. She hissed out a breath, and the others cheered. Soon, beers, spirits and anything else of an alcoholic nature was being thrust her way. As she savoured the burn of the vodka, she wondered if drinking a little more could hurt.

The night of her election was a party after all, a celebration. And so, she drank.

**

“Haggh… huh?”

Groaning, Margo furrowed her brows, her eyes remaining clasped shut. Sunlight attacked her eyelids, despite the fact a roof was meant to be over her head. Her roof. She groaned once more as she rolled on her side. Under her arm, she felt dirt. Dust. Huh…?

Her eyes snapped open, and she winced, the blazing sun overhead searing her retinas. Quickly, she shielded its rays with her arm. A headache throbbed in her skull, and a grogginess had taken root in her body, though she could tell her Vitality had curbed the most of it.

What… happened last night?

As she panned her gaze across her surroundings, her eyes bulged. The familiar arid landscape of Russia surrounded her, although signs of flora were beginning to come through. In the distance, she could make out the walls of King’s Cavity. To her side, she heard a groan, and she glanced over.

With literally seven different bottles clutched in her arm, Anastasia laid across the dirt, drooling as she slept. Her armour was slick with spilled alcohol, and she reeked of a mix of different drinks. Margo glanced down at herself, her formal armour – created by Ivan – smelled strongly of beer and wine, although stronger stuff was certainly mixed in along with in.

In her hand rested a bottle of whisky, most of its content spilled onto the dirt. I… can’t remember anything…

And suddenly, Margo remembered why she had hated drinking. Because it was always a long walk back.

“…I’m too old for this…”