Our Family Has Fallen

Some inexplicable vines cling to the tree, making it look like it’s covered in webs.

It clearly appears long dead, yet it exudes an eerie aura from everywhere.

Without much hesitation, Lance rushed up. The inclined trunk and those lumps made it much easier for him; stepping onto it was even easier than climbing a tree.

This distance meant nothing to him. In no time, he was up on the canopy, which, much to his astonishment, had a platform directly in the center wide enough to accommodate ten people, indicating just how thick it was.

The platform was filled with a heavy stench of rot, with bones visible everywhere, some of beasts, but more of humans.

Those on the perimeter, after exposure to the elements, had become brittle, easily crushed underfoot with a cracking sound.

Whether or not it alleviates stress, what lay ahead was still a scene more nauseating.

It was a nest made of twisted branches and rotting corpses, with half-decomposed bodies entangled in the branches as if fused, mixed with feathers that had long lost their luster and were wrinkled.

The nest "woven" with decaying human remains felt like a twisted chaos, filthy enough to make one retch.

Lance’s first impression was of a lazy and picky tenant, who eats the fatty "organs" and tosses what’s left aside.

Until the bedside was piled with takeout boxes, the boxes containing leftovers of various kinds rotting in a foul-smelling rental...

Lance no longer cared about how such a scene came to be before him.

Lance wasn’t afraid but was rather struck by a physical repulsion due to his cleanliness obsession.

However, he quickly changed his mind, knowing that crows often like to collect shiny items, and Screamers share similar habits.

Except their greed leans more toward items rich in spiritual essence, and from the nest, Lance sensed complex spiritual fluctuations.

As he neared, he saw the nest embellished with several fist-sized, multifaceted crystals; they looked red to the extreme black but glowed different colors under the light.

Lance could feel that these were crystals condensed from spiritual essence; the amount of essence encapsulated might equate to hundreds of people, and even if clouded, worth no less than a few thousand Gold Coins.

Lance had no idea of their origin, he just knew they now belonged to him.

But just as he reached out to grab the crystals, he seemed to have startled something, hearing a shrill cry from the sky, followed by a shadow rapidly diving from the already dim sky.

The speed was such that even Lance felt daunted, forcing him to retreat immediately without grabbing the crystals.

The monster’s figure descended, its talons lashed out like an eagle toward Lance, but as he dodged, the talons landed on the nest, effortlessly tearing through the corpse and branch-built nest,

with the momentum still propelling it into a crash landing ahead, the impact sending bones scattering everywhere, its half-spread wings reminiscent of a hen guarding its nest.

Thankfully Lance evaded promptly, else he’d be caught by those claws.

At that moment, he finally saw the intruder.

An exaggerated form standing around two meters tall and spreading its wings was akin to a small airplane, no wonder Boslake mentioned the shadow blotted out the sky.

But this thing looked incredibly abstract, resembling the body proportions of a crow with black feathers, yet corrupted by a bizarre force.

Instead of the crow’s lively eyes, its head was a mass of differently sized horrifying eyeballs scattered across its grotesquely twisted and deformed face, seemingly blinking, gaping into its gaze alone was terrifying.

Along the wing tips were clawed appendages resembling some dinosaur’s structure, differentiating it from crows.

But the outstretched wings now had few feathers left, appearing decayed, its ability to fly seemingly a miracle.

Most of its body was warped by a strange power, feathers shedding to reveal flesh resembling rotting corruption.

The massive chest muscles typical of birds had vanished, the skin peeled back to reveal thin ribbons of flesh against the bone, Lance even saw a Heavy Arrow embedded halfway, undoubtedly shot by Boslake earlier.

These mutations were trivial compared to what came next.

Through the sparsely feathered wings, a large deformation almost the size of its own body was on its back.

Its nature unknown, appearing like a hunchback of piled tumors, or like heads joined to decaying flesh on its back, altogether disturbing.

From the first glance, Lance was sure it was the work of the Ancestor, that flesh-twisting corruptive force, and those all-too-familiar eyeballs declaring its origin.

But the battle was imminent, leaving Lance no time to ponder further.

A peck attack!

The Screamer Demon flapped its wings toward Lance’s position, its sharp black beak thrust like a sword at lightning speed, to others merely a swift shadow.

Lance was unfazed, raising his hand to swing the long knife, Wolf Fang, to intercept.

The beak and bone knife clashed instantly, neither made of metal, yet producing the sound of metal clashing.

And from the force behind it, one could tell that beyond speed, its strength was also formidable. The Screamer Demon lived up to its fearsome reputation.

While others might have exchanged one strike, the two had already clashed thrice, a rarity that kept pace with Lance among monsters, last encountered the Second Phase transformed Warwolf.

Similarly, the black beak left only scratches on Wolf Fang during their collision, showcasing its own supernatural power.

The Screamer Demon seemed to realize Lance wasn’t easy prey since it could easily rip apart ordinary humans, it immediately retreated and let out a shriek.

Perched!

It hadn’t been apparent from afar, but up close, the jarring sound exploded like thunderclaps in his ears.

Even though his soul was under [Sanctuary], the physical reaction couldn’t be suppressed, a wave of nausea and repulsion making him pause.

What angered Lance more was as it opened its mouth toward him, spewing half-digested refuse, clearly having just feasted with recognizable finger segments and scattered bones.

Lance was indeed frightened, quickly dodging, lucky for his rapid response, otherwise, he wouldn’t sleep soundly tonight.

He thought he’d seen enough disgusting things in the Beast Lair, yet there’s more.

Damn Ancestor, can’t you create something clean and hygienic?

Constantly dealing with revolting creations is an insult to combat!

This provoked Lance, who avoided melee, putting distance and drawing his gun to fire.

But the Screamer, moving at no less a speed than his, evaded with a flap of its wings, showcasing its strength.

It wasn’t dodging bullets but pre-emptively avoiding before he pulled the trigger, dodging the muzzle itself.

This sophisticated maneuver puzzled Lance, had it truly been corrupted by the Ancestor?

Yet Lance’s hands kept moving, one shot wasn’t enough, so two, three...

Holding a pistol in each hand, he unleashed a barrage of bullets.

Its form so vast, before it could evade, the swath of eyes plastered on its face burst apart.

Blood mixed with viscous, dark fluid trickled down like black tears, adding to the shattered visage, making anyone watching shiver involuntarily.

The Screamer Demon let out a scream as if gravely injured, its limbs flailing wildly with the already sparse feathers shedding further in a flurry.

But the same tactic no longer fazed Lance, merely annoying him.

He directly pulled out a hand cannon, aiming squarely at the Screamer Demon.

"Goodbye!"