Something extremely mottled and decayed in the midst of strange shapes was facing away from them in a half-kneeling position, reddish-brown moss-like rust multiplying on it every inch, giving it a soft, loose texture.

Judging by its appearance, it was a full-body armor, and it was worth a lot of money.

The face of the past is long unrecognizable, and the patterned accessories have been reduced to a faint raised band under reddish-brown, except for the inverted sword-shaped emblem that has been squeezed and twisted by the rusted part.

It should be kept in the hands of some families who once had a high status, and it should be cleaned and maintained every day, as a symbol of the martial arts of the ancestors. Its significance goes far beyond its practical value, and it will not be worn and used unless it is in special circumstances.

However, the truth is that it appeared in the middle of the waterway, in front of the intruder.

The helmet had a nodulous bump of unknown origin, falling low and emitting a slight sound like a mussel shell opening and closing, and the paste stirring.

They noticed something under the armor that they had thought was mud at first. It was a monk's robe, thoroughly soaked with water, enveloping a shriveled and contracture-like body that smelled of pungent rust.

Green didn't say a word, held his breath and drew his sword, slowly approaching.

The crouching position makes it look like a giant snail shell that runs aground after the contents have died. Some hermitage will soon take over the space and make it a part of itself.

When it moves, it creates the illusion that the original owner still exists for a moment.

The nail pieces that have lost their firmware and hinges rub slightly in a way that was once impossible to move. As we got closer, the strange sound of rust rustling became more pronounced, mixed with the tongue-like pronunciation, similar to the faint cry for help of a dying slurred speech.

They heard some familiar accents, but not from the human form wrapped in robes, but from the humming of a semi-enclosed chamber like an iron bucket.

Before the monks could feel the urge to come to their rescue, the sound of the suspected human voice disappeared completely.

Instead, there are layers of chewing and twisting, reminiscent of a long, toothed tongue licking and scraping on the inner walls of the armor.

The armor, or rather the lodge that took over the armor, moved in an indescribable way.

There is no restriction on its movement at all, and the joints of the armor are overextended and even twisted, supporting it to stand up. The helmet, which had lost half of its visor, turned to the living, casting a kind of creepy gaze.

The broken grid of windows is broken and toothed, and shadows that cannot be fully illuminated flow and fluctuate where they should be faces.

"The devil."

Green heard the monk whisper. Even the most evil of the most evil descriptions cannot express the feeling that causes extreme discomfort.

After all this, it's hard not to suspect that the light of the Father has abandoned this place, and they are in hell, where fear and confusion penetrate the protection of the Holy Scriptures and whip their hearts that are on the verge of collapse.

They didn't even immediately draw their weapons, and watched as the thing approached in anthropomorphic motions, lifting its elongated upper limbs.

But not all of us need Heavenly Father to have the courage to act.

"Blasphemy!" As the roar exploded, a sword pierced through the splash of water from the step, stabbing at the driven armor.

It didn't dodge, allowing the blade to pass through the missing half of the armor and into the helmet. A powerful stab pierced through something of nowhere, hitting the back of the helmet's head, and carrying the entire head backwards.

Green felt himself stabbed into a mass of flesh and bone, wringing in an attempt to wring his sword into it.

The upper limbs grasp without pause, and the form makes it difficult to associate them with normal fingers, more like a new thing that is fused and elongated, with the surface of the original arm armor attached, between the body and the soft body of some long shrimp.

There are no weapons, no rules, there is just a predatory logic, hoping to grasp new ingredients and incorporate them into themselves.

In a trance, the figures on the stone walls twisted and moved, breaking away from the hive grid, and enveloping from under his feet, overhead, and in every direction, hooking the soul and dragging it away from the darkness of common sense like a deformed limb in front of him was about to grasp his body.

Green struggled to pull the blade to the side, trying to shake it off.

It feels much heavier than expected. The armor was filled with filler that left no gaps, and it was only slightly deflected in the face of full force, and then continued to wrap closer.

The helmet against which the sword is held is torn off the breastplate, conveying the feeling of peeling off the tendons from the bones or pulling up the suction cups.

"Help!"

The monk who had woken up from a dream hurriedly stepped forward to help, slashing at the upper limbs that were about to touch Grimm.

The reinforcements' attack shook off large chunks of loose rust, buying Green, who was restrained by his weapon, a little time to draw his sword, but did not cause any effective damage.

Even if it is decaying, this is still a plate armor, the most difficult existence in the battle array. In addition to heavy weapons, it is only possible to attack through gaps and weak points, or to control the movement of joints.

Realizing that the attack was not working, one of the monks slashed into the gap between the helmet and the breastplate.

With Green attracting attention, this blow cut in most of the way, and the neck guard was not fully effective. The success of the hand made him feel a little calm, and he was ready to expand the cutting range and separate the opponent's head and body.

However, the bizarre pain left him without the ability to move further.

Looking down, the "arm" that had just been knocked off was reversed without being limited by angle, and its slender and knotted palm bit into the waist through the defensive gap.

【Bite】

This is the only word that can be used to describe the feeling, and there seems to be something like a barb hidden on the palm side of the hand armor, which tears open the skin at the moment of contact and fixes it in the part where there is no point of focus.

What's even more frightening is that the pain is spreading deeper, and the rough rust texture and sharp objects stir the abdominal cavity, accompanied by several scratching and tearing pain points.

He tried to pull out his sword to cut it off, but encountered the same difficulty as Green, the blade of which was tightly clamped and difficult to withdraw.

The armor swooped down with the force of the drawn sword, fear and pain destroyed the ability to resist first, and the massive loss of blood slowed down consciousness, and there was no effective resistance until he fell to the ground.

The sound of the weapon pounding on the iron armor could be heard, but it remained unmoved, clutching its victim like a leech that had clung to its skin.

The abominable helmet, scented with rust and blood, hung low, and a flowing shadow brewed in it, then poured out of the gap in the visor like a regurgitation.

This time, Green saw the source of the chewing and licking sound from the front.

Some amorphous and complex substances, like semi-solid embryos, break open the egg shell on their own, and use precocious molars and soluble parts to crush and decompose what they come into contact with, and incorporate them into their own reconstruction.

Realizing how it was eating, the courage it had mustered and what little coolness it had left quickly crumbled, and the last thought left was to turn around and flee.

Few people realize that this is the best opportunity – but Green is just that.

He pulled out his spare lamp oil and poured it on the amorphous mass of swords.

(End of chapter)