Unholy Player
Chapter 121: Invitation

Chapter 121: Invitation

Adyr’s cold demeanor and heartless tactics made everyone a little uncomfortable—but that was it. No one questioned him. No one called him a monster. No one told him to show restraint.

Because they all understood one thing.

Survival came first.

As long as he helped them escape, he was free to treat human life however he wanted. And in truth, his personality wasn’t a flaw—it was the exact mindset needed to handle a place like this.

From the moment the first humans stepped onto the earth, it was never compassion that kept them alive. It was calculation. It was cold, unflinching pragmatism. The same traits modern society labels as psychopathy had once been necessary for survival.

Attacking beasts many times their size out of hunger. Sleeping exposed in freezing storms with no shelter, no warmth, no protection. Ignoring pain, fear, and grief. Prioritizing the kill. Prioritizing the tribe. Prioritizing themselves.

Their minds had been wired for one thing: adapt, endure, overcome. Humanity’s earliest survivors weren’t gentle or noble. They were predators with the faces of men.

Adyr understood this, not just in theory, but by instinct.

He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t unnatural. He was aligned with something ancient—something older than morality.

In another time, he would’ve been a hunter dragging fire through the dark, bones pierced through his skin, eyes void of hesitation. There was no glory in it. No pride.

Just the simple fact that he was still breathing.

Killing was necessary. Like natural selection, life was earned, not owed. He didn’t care if death came slow or clean, only that it came.

And with it, the hunter, Adyr, took the trophy.

He stared at the purple crystal in his hand for a moment, then sent it to the Dawn Land and turned his focus back to the room, waiting for the next mutant.

He knew they would come because he was a hunter. And hunters knew their prey.

And once again, he was proven right.

But this time, the prey didn’t come alone. The last two mutants entered together, sent to check why their boss’s meal was taking too long.

For Adyr, nothing had changed. There was no longer any need to hide.

The moment both mutants took the bait and stepped in close, he struck.

He activated Sense Fade. Instantly, a thick stillness spread through the room. Sight, sound, scent—all sensory input collapsed in a single silent pulse. The air grew dense, muffled, almost underwater.

These two were more resilient than the others, but even they couldn’t resist the full effect. Their perception staggered. Their balance shifted. By the time they realized something was wrong, Adyr was already moving.

He didn’t hesitate.

He pressed his finger to the side of one mutant’s skull and released the Sonic Burst he had been charging.

A focused wave of compressed sound detonated from his fingertip.

A low, concussive crack tore through the air.

The 0.5-energy blast hit point-blank. It ripped through the side of the mutant’s head, blowing a hole through his skull and flinging his body across the floor in a spray of blood and shattered bone.

The second mutant flinched, trying to respond. But with astigmatic eyes and dulled senses, he was blind to what was coming.

He barely twitched before two silenced rounds punched through his eyes.

Pht.

Pht.

It was over in two seconds.

Sense Fade had consumed only 0.2 energy.

As the STF operative and the others regained their senses, blinking through the fog, they found themselves staring at a scene they couldn’t process.

Two mutant corpses lay at their feet. One with half his head missing, brain matter smeared across the wall.

"Is this the power of a third generation?" the STF operative muttered, barely able to speak.

He was a strong mutant in his own right, but even he had been affected more than the older, first-generation types. His Resilience wasn’t as high, and even though he had tried to follow the action through the blur, it had been impossible.

He hadn’t understood a single movement Adyr made.

Adyr wasn’t just fast. He moved like a machine—programmed, calculated. As if every possible outcome had already been processed, and the most efficient response had been selected and executed with absolute precision. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Only the result.

The only one who wasn’t staring at him in shock but instead with something close to excitement was the Boy. Still wrapped in Neris’s arms, he looked at the scene with his blood boiling. Everything his mother used to tell him—he was sure of it now.

"Use the gun and break the chains, then get out of the building," Adyr said, tossing the weapon to the captives without hesitation. He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and left the room without a word.

That last kill had been loud. The boss was probably already on the move.

Adyr moved down the corridor in silence, every step measured, every sense on edge. It was impossible that the Cannibal hadn’t heard the chaos that erupted on the first floor.

But when he reached the second floor, the halls were empty. Not a sound. Not a breath.

He continued to the third. Still no one. His brow tensed.

Up until now, he had thought of these mutants as simple-minded brutes. But standing here, in the unnatural quiet, something shifted in his understanding. The Cannibal wasn’t confused. He was deliberate.

Two possibilities settled in his mind. Either the Cannibal was in no condition to hear what had happened below, or he had heard it and chose not to respond.

If it was the latter, Adyr knew it wasn’t arrogance. He had never assumed the Cannibal was weak or reckless prey. If anything, this silence was the most calculated response of all.

He moved to the fourth floor with heightened caution.

This level was different. Larger. The moment he stepped out, he noticed it. The air here was clean, not sterile, but strangely refined. The stench of rot and mold from the lower levels had been replaced by the sharp sweetness of burning incense. Faint traces of smoke coiled along the ceiling beams.

No signs of life. Every door on the floor stood wide open, rooms behind them dark and hollow.

Except one.

At the end of the hall, a single door remained closed. Larger than the rest. Its dark wood surface was polished, smooth, and untouched by decay. The brass handle gleamed in the faint light.

Adyr paused.

A quiet instinct stirred in him. The setup felt theatrical—deliberate. Like a stage prepared for one final act.

As he moved forward, his steps slowed even more. Muscles coiled, breath controlled. His eyes swept the walls, ceiling, and floor. Every nerve was alert.

He stopped at the door. Didn’t touch it. Didn’t rush.

Instead, he listened.

The air that drifted from beneath the door carried a strange mixture—rich incense laced with the bite of fresh red wine. Beneath it all, the soft, haunting notes of classical music played. Strings. Low, slow, elegant.

The entire scene whispered one thing.

A trap.

He turned slightly, ready to search for a window—an alternate path, something to give him a glimpse of what lay inside.

But before he could move, a voice called out from the room. "Why don’t you come in?"

Adyr smiled.

He was inside, waiting.

And that... was an invitation Adyr would never decline.

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