Awakening of the Weakest Slayer-Chapter 125: Feral (II)

The translucent silver screen pulsed before Sezel like a living thing, streams of alien light flickering across its surface—an unwelcome reminder that reality had decided the "broken, bloodied survivor" wasn't enough of a role for him. No, now he was apparently auditioning for "necromancer's apprentice." Lucky him.

The words stayed simple and infuriating, hanging like a noose in the air:

[Do you wish to convert the target into one of your 'Puppets'?]

Puppets.

Sezel blinked, red eye narrowing. "Puppets? What, am I supposed to start running a creepy marionette show now? Should I start practicing with strings and a wooden dummy?"

The girl tilted her head, confused, her icy eyes following his gestures. To her, he knew, he just looked like a lunatic talking to glass no one else could see.

And then the jolt came. Sharp, stabbing into his skull like a lightning rod had been lodged in his brain. A puzzle piece slammed into place, one he hadn't even known was missing.

He hissed in pain, staggering. Instinctively, he summoned the card, whispering hoarsely, "Show."

The silver window snapped open in front of him. Words spilled out. His gaze traveled down, his finger trembling as it brushed the etched arrows, expanding the details of his so-called gift.

[Fable – Master of Death]

[Tier – 1 – Rising]

[Evolution Points – 80/10,000]

(5 from each Fanged Serpent, 10 from each Elder Fanged Serpent, 30 from Flesh Reaper)

[Soul Shards – 100/100]

Sezel froze, throat tight.

…Oh.

So _that's_ what this was.

He skimmed faster, eyes widening as if each word were a nail hammered into him.

[Ability – You are the being who defied death. Death is your forte. Your audacity has swayed the God of Death; you have been recruited as the Master of Death. You have the authority to order the dead and use their powers.]

He almost laughed. Almost.

_Authority to order the dead… that'd be great, except it also makes me sound like a lunatic grave robber with extra steps._

But then his focus caught on something far worse. A new set of lines shimmered into existence below. His stomach immediately dropped.

[Mission – You were helped by the God of Death. Now you live as his retainer. Find the God of Death and pay off the debt by serving him.]

[Curse – The Crown of Hollow Memories]

{Every Soul leaves a fragment of its own behind. You must bear what they left.}

{Your soul is stained with the paradox of your Fable. Natural life, untamed beasts, and beings of pure spirit will feel an instinctual animosity toward you. Your presence is an affront to the natural order. You will always be hunted.}

[Note – Complete the Mission to lift the Curse from your Soul]

Sezel read it twice. A third time. By the fifth, the words didn't make more sense—they only itched more viciously into his skin.

He let out a strangled laugh, part horror, part exhaustion.

"A curse. Of course." His voice cracked. "Because dodging death and killing oversized insects wasn't enough trouble—I needed a death god's IOU chained to my soul."

His chest heaved. Thoughts spiraled. _Hollow Memories? Bearing fragments of others? Being hunted by literally everything alive? Yeah, thanks, mysterious powers, exactly what I wanted—the role of universal mosquito repellent._

A tiny voice broke through. "Mister?"

The girl stood nearby, still watching with eerie patience. "What is a mess, mister?"

Her words cut through. And somehow—despite his soul actively being condemned—Sezel softened. He managed a crooked, blood-smeared smile.

"Nothing much," he lied flatly. "Just don't be scared of what I do next."

She blinked. Hesitated. Then nodded, small but trusting. Somehow trust made her look heavier on his chest than all the curses in the world.

Sezel drew in a long breath, turned back to the ruined body of the Flesh Reaper. The screen had reappeared, that damning line glowing patient as a predator.

[Do you wish to convert the target into one of your 'Puppets'?]

His throat bobbed. His teeth ground together. He had no idea what this would actually do. None.

But then again, standing still was just slower dying.

"…Yes," he thought with finality.

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. His own heart became deafening in his chest.

Then it began.

The corpse stirred—not with life, not with rot, but with _undoing._

A black mist oozed from wounds and shell, thick and oily, crawling across the once-dead chitin. It spread, devouring. In moments, the monstrous form dissolved, not into filth but into pure violet energy, pulsing like a sickly heartbeat.

The air crackled, filled with scentless lightning.

At the center of the roiling storm—something floated. Small at first, dense and sharp. A black core, perfect sphere, dripping a quiet menace. Around it, violet tendrils swirled in planetary orbit, a miniature galaxy of death.

Slowly, steadily, the mist reassembled. Familiar legs bent and clawed their way into being. A torso. That inhuman head. And finally—those two crimson scythes, now aglow with ghostly violet fury.

Not flesh. Not living. A shadow-born reimagining of the Flesh Reaper.

The girl yelped and clutched Sezel's side. His crimson gaze stayed glued forward, wide with both awe and dread.

The reborn monster lowered its head. Its massive two-meter form bent low, scythes in the air, posture heavy with reverence. As though it bowed.

To him.

The silence of the palace was shattered only by Sezel's own dumbfounded laugh.

"…No way. Don't tell me this thing's… my puppet."

The thought alone was insane. Wrong. Against everything the world had taught him.

And yet—there it was.

His enemy. His nightmare. His victory brought back to life—and kneeling in servitude.

Sezel dragged one bloody hand down his face, chuckling darkly. "Yeah. Sure. Why not. I survived this far, might as well add 'bug overlord' to my résumé."

Before he could process further, another luminous menu flared to life in the air. Bold words burned sharp:

[Puppet Acquired – Flesh Reaper]

[Tier – Enhanced – Rank 4]

[Abilities Transferred – ???]

[Limit – 1/1 Puppets]

More text began expanding in rolling silver lines, promising power, danger, obligations. Warnings, conditions, prices. Too much, too fast.

Sezel felt his jaw clench. A storm swirled in his chest—excitement and sheer primal dread.

He stared at the translucent window, one phrase rising louder than them all.

"…This is going to be a problem." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

And in the quiet, somewhere deep behind the words, Sezel swore he heard laughter. Not his own. Not human.

The laughter of Death.