Wonderful Insane World
Chapter 135: Monkeys

Chapter 135: Monkeys

The degenerated macaques came down on them like a torrent of claws and yellowed fangs. Dylan deflected a swipe that would have ripped his face open, but a searing pain tore through his shoulder—another monkey had sunk its teeth deep into him. On impact, his white stigma lit up like an ember beneath his tunic, and the torn flesh sealed itself shut in seconds, leaving only a bloody trace.

"Go for the eyes!" Elisa repeated, her spear slicing deadly arcs through the air. But there were too many of them. When one deformed macaque lunged for her throat, her golden pupils dilated abruptly. Her green stigma pulsed along her neck—and the beast was flung back before it could even touch her, its skull shattered against a rock. An emerald glow hovered around her trembling hands.

Maggie laughed—a harsh, joyless sound. She had just skewered two monkeys in a single swing of her flail-halberd, but three more were already coming from behind. Then her red stigma flared to life, bright as a burn on her left forearm. Her muscles tensed—not in raw brute strength, but with lethal grace. She turned, and her blade became a perfect whirlwind:

The first macaque’s throat was slit in an upward motion.

The second took the blade through its eye, to the hilt

The third was knocked back by a precise pommel strike to the temple

"Still so damn cute, these little bastards!" she spat. Her eyes gleamed with supernatural clarity—as if every muscle, every weapon, every angle of attack was being revealed to her in a language only she could understand.

But the largest one—a male with streaks of white in his fur—lunged at Dylan from behind. Too fast. Its fangs sank into his back with a sickening crunch of bone. Dylan screamed, and his white stigma blazed like a beacon, sealing the wound in a storm of nerves knitted by pain. He collapsed, unable to breathe.

"No!" Elisa stretched out her hands. Her green stigma flared, and the macaque was yanked off Dylan by an invisible force—but the wound still bled, too deep, too raw.

Maggie saw the despair in Elisa’s golden eyes. She also saw Dylan’s sword lying in the dirt—a jian she’d never wielded before. Her red stigma burned brighter. In two steps, she picked up the blade. And suddenly, she knew. The weight, the balance, every microscopic notch along its edge. As if the weapon was whispering its secrets to her.

"Cover me!" she barked at Elisa.

When the macaques charged again, Maggie danced. The jian became an extension of her soul:

A pinpoint thrust pierced a bloodshot eye. She swept sideways, severing a tendon, then parried a bite straight into the throat of another.

Elisa used her psychokinesis to create openings—hurling stones like projectiles, tripping the creatures up. But Maggie was everywhere, anticipating every strike, exploiting every weakness unveiled by her stigma. She fought with the ancient instinct of a born warrior.

Then the dominant male—the one that had wounded Dylan—roared and charged at Maggie, froth clinging to his fangs. She drove the jian into the ground, grabbed a sharp stone. Her red stigma pulsed. Instantly, she understood its weight, center of gravity, the optimal angle of release.

Like reading a book, Maggie needed only to touch it and know: this is a weapon. And she knew how to use it.

The stone flew like a bullet. It exploded the macaque’s right eye, then ricocheted to slam another square in the temple. The creature dropped, howling.

Silence fell as abruptly as the storm had begun. The remaining macaques whimpered, backing away, then vanished among the rocks.

Maggie was trembling, the jian still in her hand. Her red stigma dimmed, leaving behind a spiral-shaped mark like a warrior’s brand. "Still alive, wounded boy?" she asked without looking at Dylan.

Elisa was already kneeling beside him. Her green stigma flickered faintly as she examined the gash. "His regeneration is working... but slowly. He’s lost a lot of essence."

Dylan gasped, his white stigma now faded to a milky glow beneath his skin. "That... performance of yours... was impressive," he murmured toward Maggie.

She shrugged, returning the jian with an odd reverence. "Once I have a weapon in hand, it’s like a flood of information pours into my head." Her gaze drifted up toward the peaks. "But knowing how to use it and actually being able to... those are two different things. I try to keep up with what the weapon tells me."

Her red stigma pulsed faintly—like a warning.

"We need to leave this place. Now," Maggie said, her voice low and grave. Her eyes scanned the rocks, the twisted trees, the shadows. "I have a bad feeling."

Behind her, Dylan groaned as he pushed himself up on one elbow, his face pale, lips cracked. He nodded toward the bodies strewn around them—some nothing more than heaps of fur and blackened blood. "Let’s just grab the gems real quick," he whispered. "We’ll need them... for Martissant."

He began crawling toward the nearest corpse, shaky but determined.

"No!" snapped Maggie.

The word cracked through the air like a whip. Dylan froze. He looked up at her, startled by the sudden outburst—not of anger, but fear. A rare thing in Maggie. Pure. Unmistakable.

"Leave. This. Place. Now."

Elisa, crouched next to Dylan, lifted her head. She felt it too—a vibration in the air, almost imperceptible. The wind had stopped. Completely. No rustling leaves. Not even insects.

"She’s right," Elisa murmured. Her green stigma, still dim, pulsed weakly. "Something’s coming."

Dylan clenched his teeth but obeyed. He nodded without protest and reached out. Maggie was already there, helping him up, her arm under his without a word. He wobbled, but stayed upright. Sweat beaded on his brow. He didn’t ask questions. Not now.

They left the area as fast as their battered legs would carry them.

They walked at first without speaking, their throats tight, as if each word might awaken what Maggie had sensed — what her stigma had detected — that presence in the shadows, larger and colder than the degenerated macaques they had just slain.

It was like a weight pressing down on their shoulders, invisible yet heavy. Even the wind, returning in fitful gusts, no longer dared to brush against their skin.

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