Becoming a Monster

Chapter 381: Chapter 381: Another One Favored by the Divine

The world breathed chaos and struggle. People were thrust into another version of hell that they weren’t prepared for. The humans who resided in the first realm even more so suffered.

And within a certain forest, humanity once again found themselves facing off against a threat that was worse than the zombies they had survived against.

Out-of-place buildings were on the outer perimeter of the forest, sheltering survivors who managed to persevere despite the cruel nature of the world’s creatures. There were enough buildings to show that hundreds of humans managed to survive.

These buildings had at one point in time served as a place of safety. But now, as they found themselves in a world that was different from what they knew. They didn’t realize that it didn’t matter anymore if they didn’t make a sound, it didn’t matter if the windows were covered. The out-of-place buildings themselves gave rise to what happened next.

Goblins.

The goblins that attempted to scout Noah’s territory weren’t the only goblins in the forest. The goblins of this world populated just as fast as the ones in human folklore. They thrived in numbers, and with their growing numbers, many goblins branched out, creating tribes of their own.

The out-of-place buildings, the faint smell of bad hygiene. All of it was enough to draw them. And unlike the undead, goblins were hunters.

Dozens had gathered. Then dozens more. From the bush, from the tree lines. Their colors of brown and green blended into the forest until their eyes caught the faintest trace of a curious human looking out a window.

The sight of one human was all they needed. To goblins, one human meant there was always more. Humans always came in groups. And to the goblins of this particular forest, humans who ventured here were usually strong. It was for this reason that the goblins sought out their strongest.

Hobgoblins.

Where goblins bore the stature of men, the hobgoblins took it a step higher. They were traditionally broader and denser. Their skin was darker, and their muscles bulged with unnatural strength. Their strength couldn’t be compared to the likes of trolls or orcs, but what truly made hobgoblins dangerous were their abilities to evolve into specialized forms with classes.

It differed from all hobgoblins. Some became warriors with unique physical traits or abilities, where their appearances changed depending on their traits. Others, though rarely, dabbled in the arts of magic. And then there were those who had rare mutations. Out of all of them, the ones with rare mutations were usually the ones who had the most potential, and out of all of the goblin tribes, the strongest would not be found without a mutated hobgoblin.

These hobgoblins carried weapons scavenged or stolen from fallen warriors. It wasn’t crude, but it was patchworked from the corpses of the party of humans who ventured into their territory.

The lesser goblins had once fallen silent in their presence, but one howl from the hobgoblins, then a wave of thumps and screeches filled the air.

Inside the building, the humans shivered in fear. But there were those who could still fight, and the ones who could persevere this long had the capabilities to protect themselves, and the weak.

But this group was special, out of the hundreds of humans, one of them was an Awakened who had caught the divine being’s interest out of the handful of others awakened.

A woman stood at the entrance of the door of one of the buildings. Behind her were people who were marked with trepidation. The crowd trembled, yet their eyes clung to her as if she alone could hold the monsters at bay.

She looked nothing like the others. While the rest wore their mismatched armor from a random chest, she was draped in flowing, dark blue cloth bound with gold bands at her wrists and waist. A simple circlet rested on her brow, its gem glowing faintly.

Chains of gold threaded through her dark indigo hair. Heavy earrings and layered bangles gave her the solemn weight of regality. Her sharp, scarlet eyes seemed to look at the world in black and white.

In her hand was a black staff tipped with a jackal’s head. In her hands, the jackals’ eyes glowed as if it was alive. She looked less like a woman and more like a high priestess from ancient times.

The woman didn’t hold fear in her heart at all, her eyes didn’t see death as the end. No... Not with the power bestowed upon her. A power that graced the aura of death itself.

"Mark of the Ma’at," Ma’at meaning the truth and balance. A mark that symbolized her as Anubis, the god of death’s and afterlife’s guardian and judge, chosen.

As a summoner, the mark granted her an even higher form summoning magic. It gave her the authority to summon servants of Anubis. Lastly, it gave her the seal of the Underworld to bind the undead.

It was this unique trait that allowed her to lead her people and flourish when the undead continued to grow without restraint.

She didn’t let her followers fight first, always, she would send out her servants to assess the threat and to alleviate her people’s burdens.

Even now, the air shifted, from nowhere, the sudden wind materialized to sand that scattered across the plains.

From the sand, four shadows rose.

Jackal-headed warriors emerged first, their bodies growing to the height of a giant. Their bodies were completely black, muscles wrapped in bandages of ancient cloth and golden bracers. Each wielded curved blades that weren’t different from sickle swords, or another wielded a long spear. Each weapon was made out of pure gold, while their golden eyes burned with eternal loyalty.

They formed a shield wall before her and her people, their movements perfectly in sync as they advanced a few steps ahead.

Then came the hounds. The sand spiraled upwards, splitting off into twelve shadows.

Just like the earlier warriors, these jackals retained a physical body. Their black coats felt darker as their golden colors and bands created a dark contrast. Each jackal was taller than a man’s waist, with muscles as toned as their humanoid compatriots. Their eyes burned with a judgmental fire, one that didn’t perceive an enemy with hostility at all, making their presence unnerving.

One by one the hounds appeared from nowhere, their numbers couldn’t compare to the goblins, but as the people gradually poured out of the weird buildings, the goblins no longer saw them as easy prey.

The woman leading the people looked around with suspicion. Her eyes continued to glance at every single person that followed her, but with each person her eyes landed on, her expression grew darker.

There was one skill that she never told anyone about. A skill that allowed her to avoid danger, a skill that sometimes felt as if she could see the future.

Threads trailed from the chests of almost everyone around her. Everyone she ever encountered had a thread, even the undead. But not all threads were the same. The colors symbolized those who were judged to have a long life, those whose lives were in danger, and those whose deaths were inevitable.

The ability still had a long way to improve, but as she looked at each individually, more than half of them had crimson-black threads. They were going to die, and their deaths would end in gruesome suffering. Others were just the normal black color that she had grown numb witnessing. They would die, but it would be almost painless. Lastly, there were those hearts that didn’t have a thread at all. Those were the ones doomed beyond saving.

Despite the colors confirming their deaths, the woman didn’t see their deaths as being set in stone. She used these threads to determine when to flee and when to fight. It was only when someone no longer had a thread when she was forced to make risky decisions. Because it was then when she didn’t know if fleeing or fighting was the best choice.

Tonight, however, her heart sank. This was the greatest number of black threads she had seen at one time. Her fingers tightened on her staff, a silent prayer for the god of death to guide her.

She drew a breath, steadying herself. She didn’t have to physically flee or battle to determine which path each fate would lead towards. As long as she focused her intentions on the decision, she could see the changes in their threads in real time.

Her gazes shifted between the left and right sides of the forest. Dread once again filled her heart when she thought about the left, almost all of the threads completely disappeared. The same was almost true when she looked to her right.

When she thought about standing her ground and using the buildings as cover, her eyes widened. Not a single soul was left with a thread. She was beginning to accept their fate. But it was only when she looked straight ahead, in the same direction that the goblins came from that she not only saw the shifts of her people’s threads, their colors shifted to silver. Whatever was in that direction was hope, and she was prepared to stake it all.