Volume 2 Chapter 34: Skeletal Angel

Not far from the Witch’s Cottage glade in the woods, the Witch Maiar was pinned to a tree trunk thick enough for four men to hug. She was spread-eagled, arms wide and feet crossed over each other in a cross shape.

“You… you want to torture me?” sneered the Witch Maiar, her face showing contempt. “Young one, would you like sister to teach you a few tricks of the trade?”

This Witch Maiar named Meisha had regained her composure from her earlier panic. She felt deep shame for showing fear before an ordinary Demon Hunter and was now desperately trying to provoke Qin Lun with words, hoping for a quick end.

Demon Hunters and Witch Maiars were two groups utterly incompatible, like fire and water. There was no possibility of reconciliation. Whichever side won, the best outcome for a captive was death.

Compared to that, witches taken captive had it slightly easier. Their most feared death sentence was purification by Divine Light. Whereas if a Demon Hunter became a captive, their fate was far more gruesome. Many would end up on a witch’s experimental table, transformed into Magical Creatures.

But now, it seemed this Demon Hunter before her wanted to torture her, likely to avenge the heavy casualties his companions had suffered.

Still, the witch had good reason to disdain most Demon Hunters’ torture methods. Their bodies, remodeled by undead power, had dulled pain responses, and witches generally possessed strong Mental Will, capable of mentally severing physical sensations.

Apart from a very few types of damage that directly affected the Soul, most torture methods were completely ineffective on them.

“Torture?” The youth now controlled by the Serial Killer Joey seemed slightly taken aback, forcing a grim, humorless smile.

“That weak guy did have some questions planned… but Joey doesn’t mess with lowbrow stuff like torture. What I care about is ‘art’. You just reminded me! To avoid you interrupting my creative process, better shut you up first!”

Joey stalked forward with a malevolent grin. Under the witch’s horrified gaze, he thrust the broken sword into her mouth, mangling her tongue and vocal cords in a few quick twists.

“Good! Now we can start!” Joey stroked his chin, gave a strange chuckle, and pulled the Dagger of Sin from where it was embedded in the witch’s Heart Core.

In truth, a Witch Maiar’s Heart Core was akin to a human heart, yet different. If a human heart was damaged, death was certain. But a witch’s Heart Core could self-heal.

To kill a witch by damaging her Heart Core meant either shattering it completely, or piercing it with a mystical item imbued with Immortal Power to expel and neutralize the undead power within.

The reason Qin Lun’s Dagger of Sin pierced the Heart Core yet didn’t kill her instantly was because this dagger differed from weapons Demon Hunters used. It was slowly devouring the core’s power, not simply draining the undead energy outright.

The Dagger of Sin spun a neat circle in Joey’s hand before plunging efficiently into the witch’s chest. He dragged it down hard.

Splurt! A jet of dark green liquid sprayed out like an arrow. Joey deftly tilted his head to avoid it, his blood-red eyes gleaming with intense, strange light. He concentrated intently, wielding the dagger like a sculptor’s tool, beginning to “dissect” the witch’s body.

Joey’s “dissection” was unlike any ordinary procedure. He worked methodically from the outside in, layer by layer.

Skin first. The witch’s tough, leathery skin was skillfully peeled away by the dagger, then stretched flat and pinned to the tree trunk.

Now spread in a cross shape against the bark, the Witch Maiar looked like she had sprouted a massive, wing-like membrane of skin, resembling both a peacock’s fan and an Angelfixed upon a crucifix.

Muscle next. Joey carefully used the dagger to separate different muscle groups, extracting individual muscle fibers. He stretched them straight and affixed them to the stretched skin membrane, meticulously arranging them like exquisite feathers forming the wings.

“Your skin is truly perfect art. But your muscles? Slightly rotten, lacking elasticity. Not the best feather material!” Joey murmured dreamily, stroking the newly crafted Angel wing membrane pinned to the tree.

“You’re performing splendidly too! Still conscious even now! Persevere! Keep going!” He clenched a fist in a gesture of encouragement, then leaned in close to the witch’s ear and asked with falsely gentle concern, “How was that? Need a little rest before we begin part two?”

The Witch Maiar, trembling uncontrollably, eyes rolled back, dark green foam bubbling from her ruined mouth, like an epileptic trapped in a seizure, couldn’t comprehend a word he said. Once Joey’s “artistic creation” began, the witch realized her critical mistake.

Every cut made by the Dagger of Sin actively devoured the undead power inside her. Essentially, every enhancement and adaptation the undead power had ever made to her body had become a source of excruciating agony.

This devouring wasn’t simply physical pain. It was ripping power fused with her very flesh and Soul away. Besides her Heart Core, undead power saturated every part of a witch’s body.

Had Joey left the dagger embedded in one spot, consuming energy slowly, the process would have brought relatively little pain.

But his dissection was swift, the dagger touching and withdrawing quickly like a dragonfly skimming water – partly fearing his “art piece” wouldn’t survive the process without anesthetic, partly ensuring the piece would survive until completion. And this rapid, glancing extraction was precisely the source of her unbearable torment.

She felt as if thousands of tiny ants were swarming through her deepest muscles and bones, a maddening itch beneath her skin that screamed. If given any choice now, this Witch Maiar wouldn’t dare provoke Joey again; she would instantly gather her last strength for self-destruction. But now, drained of so much undead power, she had completely lost control over her body. Even self-annihilation was beyond her reach.

Whistle… whistle… Joey cheerfully whistled, grasping the dagger to resume the final phase of his “dissection.”

For the concluding act of his creation, he needed to hollow out the witch’s organs and meticulously scrape the bones clean, transforming her utterly into a “Skeletal Angel” – consisting solely of skeleton and a feathered membrane wing.

This was the origin of Serial Killer Joey Foster’s infamous title, “the Dissector,” and the reason Lin Feng had once deemed Qin Lun’s killings a form of artistry. This dissection was art, unique to the Serial Killer Joey.

“Kill me… kill me…” A weak, desperate plea sounded in Qin Lun’s mind.

“Huh? Tounge gone, yet you can still talk to me?” Joey paused his work, genuinely surprised as he examined the barely-living witch, noticing for the first time the utter despair and plea for mercy in her eyes.

“Don’t you… have questions? I’ll tell everything! Please… release me!” The witch’s tongueless mouth gaped like a suffocating fish’s, the sound projecting weakly but clearly into Qin Lun’s mind.

“And your hunched companion… I can help you… save his life!” Inspiration struck the Witch Maiar.

“NO, NO, NO! Joey isn’t interested in that chatter! Maybe you’ll be Joey’s most perfect masterpiece so far… the first ‘Skeletal Angel’ conscious through its creation!” Joey licked his lips, unleashing a bloodthirsty snarl.

“Huh?!” Just as Joey stepped forward to continue, his head abruptly jerked back as if punched solidly in the nose. Two streams of thick, snake-like blood flowed from his nostrils.

“No! You… can’t! You promised… she’s mine!” Joey suddenly doubled over, clutching his face, a low, struggling growl tearing from his throat.

“Nope! Won’t give her up!” Joey snapped his head back up. His bloodshot eyes radiated boundless madness and savagery. Shuddering violently, he stalked back toward the witch, the Dagger of Sin trembling in his raised hand.

“Mine… she’s mine! Not…!” Joey’s left hand suddenly shot up to clamp around his own throat. The dagger in his right hand slid uselessly to the ground. He collapsed stiffly under the tree, curling into a fetal position like a shrimp, writhing and rolling in agony.

Some time later, Qin Lun stopped struggling. He straightened up hunched over, a faint, weary smile touching his lips as he looked up at the half-finished Angel pinned to the tree trunk.

Gazing at the Witch Maiar stripped of skin and muscle, her bloody ribcage revealing the faint pulsation of organs within, Qin Lun shook his head slightly and sighed. “No wonder he reacted so violently. This is his most perfect work yet… so far.”

“Speak. How do I save my companion’s life?” Qin Lun suddenly gripped the witch’s chin coldly. “I hope you don’t lie. Cherish this final chance.”

“In… the cottage… in my Witch’s Cottage… a crystal ball… it can preserve a human Soul…”

“What about the body? How to resurrect him?” Qin Lun’s gaze sharpened as he pressed sternly.

“The… the body… no, no… I used the last of my undead-affinity Magic Potion… can’t repair normal human flesh… must use… use a Half-Being’s composite body…” The witch’s eyes were dimming rapidly; she was fading fast.

“You won’t die yet!” Qin Lun scoffed coldly, pulling out a Soul Power Crystal and pressing it into the split Heart Core.

“What… what is this? Why do I feel such pure soul power?” The witch’s spirit instantly revived.

“If I don’t want you dead, you won’t die. Lie to me, and you’ll experience the making of a Skeletal Angel indefinitely.” Qin Lun answered with a friendly smile that didn’t reach the icy dagger-points flashing in his eyes. “Now tell me, what Magic Traps are in the cottage…”

…

“Ugh…” Bonnie slowly opened his eyes. His head spun violently, and a searing pain throbbed on his face.

“You’re awake!” Qin Lun smiled, turning around. “Rest properly. We’ll meet up with Lady Nova and the others in a few hours.”

“Doctor Stan… the witch… did we win?” Bonnie inquired weakly. “Odo… Bla… they…”

“They are beside you. Frank is there too,” Qin Lun replied evenly after a beat.

Bonnie struggled to prop himself up. He realized he was lying on the wagon that had once imprisoned the Werewolf. Odo, Bla, and Frank’s bodies were stacked beside him. Qin Lun sat up front on the wagon, driving.

The mangled bodies of his companions plunged Bonnie into silence, an ineffable sorrow welling within him. However, the blonde youth quickly noticed a fourth corpse in the wagon. It was a gaunt, skeletal-looking old man—definitely not any familiar Demon Hunter companion.

“Who’s this? A victim from the Witch’s Cottage?”

“You don’t recognize him?” Qin Lun asked, his smile enigmatic. “He’s the creature you personally brought along.”

“He… could it…” Bonnie’s eyes widened slowly in dawning disbelief.