Ch 92 - Human Potted Plant

Sandro dropped to his knees, the sound of his uneven, shallow breaths cutting through the tense silence. His hands trembled uncontrollably, fingers twitching as though trying to grasp something that wasn’t there. His wide, panicked eyes locked onto his useless, trembling limbs. Fury and desperation swirled together in his gaze.

“My body… I can’t move it,” he muttered, his voice cracking under the weight of fear. His words were barely audible, like a plea clawing its way out of his throat.

I smirked, flipping the dagger effortlessly between my fingers, its blade catching the faint light as it spun. “Ah, yes, that’d be thanks to the notorious little herb I came across earlier—a rather exquisite neurotoxin. Normally, it works in minutes, but seeing as you’re built like a bear…” I gestured to his hulking frame with a flick of the blade. “It took its sweet time kicking in. You should feel honored, really.”

Sandro’s body jerked violently, his muscles twitching as though trying to fight against the paralysis. Sweat beaded on his forehead, glinting as it rolled down his face. His breaths came heavier now, almost animalistic, his veins standing out like dark lines snaking beneath his skin. Yet no matter how hard he tried, his body refused to obey.

With Sandro incapacitated, I turned my focus inward, feeling the mana swirling through my body like a restless current. My attention shifted to the torn stump where my arm had once been. The makeshift bandage I’d wrapped around it was soaked through with blood, but that didn’t matter anymore. With a sharp tug, I tore it away, exposing the raw, jagged wound beneath.

Sandro’s gaze flickered toward me, his expression shifting. For the first time, the fury in his eyes gave way to something else—disbelief. His brows furrowed as he squinted at my arm, his breath hitching when he realized what was happening.

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself as I tapped into the pulsing energy within. Slowly, I channeled my mana, and a soft green glow enveloped the severed limb. The process began. Before Sandro’s disbelieving eyes, my flesh started to regenerate.

Muscle fibers wove themselves together like threads in a loom, wrapping around the regrowing bone with precise, almost mechanical efficiency. The marrow formed first, followed by cartilage, tendons, nerves, and veins, each layer knitting itself seamlessly into place. It was a slow, grueling process, and I could feel the mana draining from me with every passing second.

As the healing took effect, my breaths became shallow, and my vision dimmed slightly as the final layer of skin sealed over the wound. The depletion of my mana was exhausting, making me feel dizzy. Nevertheless, I focused on calming my breath and regaining my senses.

Finally, I flexed my fingers, testing the strength of my newly regrown arm. It was whole again.

Sandro’s breath hitched audibly. He stared at me, then at my arm, and finally at his own failing body. His pupils shrank to pinpricks, and his voice trembled as he whispered, “You… you’re not human. What the hell are you?!”

I sighed, rolling my shoulders to shake off the lingering exhaustion.
“You could call me a monster,” I said, my tone flat. “That’s what your comrade called me before, anyway.”

Sandro’s face twisted, his expression unreadable for a moment before settling into grim acceptance. His body still trembled, but now there was something else in his eyes—resignation.

“I should have known… You reek of the devil,” he murmured, shaking his head weakly. He exhaled, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “It’s over for me anyway, so…”

Before I could react, his hand shot toward his belt. My instincts screamed at me, and I lunged forward, shouting, “Don’t move!”

But I was too late. As I tried to dodge his whip-axe, I left a significant distance between us, and I wouldn’t make it there quickly.

Sandro's trembling fingers closed around a small vial at his side. The liquid inside swirled with an ominous dark purple hue, bubbling unnaturally as though it were alive. He uncorked it with his teeth, his movements fueled by sheer desperation, and downed the entire contents in one gulp.

I skidded to a halt, my heart pounding as a deep sense of unease crawled up my spine. The air around us seemed to shift, growing heavier and darker.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, every muscle in my body tensing as I braced for whatever was coming next.

Sandro crushed the vial in his fist, shards of glass biting into his flesh. Blood dripped from his hand, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, his body convulsed violently, his other hand clutching his stomach as if trying to hold himself together.

Then, he screamed.

The sound was raw, guttural—an agonized roar that seemed to shake the air itself. His skin darkened, veins bulging grotesquely as they turned an inky black, writhing beneath the surface like living things. His breath hitched, then came out in deep, guttural snarls, each exhale more monstrous than the last.

His nails elongated, curving into jagged, sickle-like claws. Muscles swelled unnaturally, stretching his skin taut as veins pulsed with toxic mana. His irises bled into a deep, glowing red, the light within them flickering like embers in a dying fire.

The man who had been Sandro was gone.

What stood before me now was something else entirely—a wild creature. His head snapped toward me, his lips curling back into a grotesque grin that revealed rows of serrated, elongated teeth. The growl that rumbled from his chest was low and menacing, vibrating with raw, unrestrained power.

And then he lunged.

I stumbled back, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. The realization hit me like a blow to the gut. "A berserker potion!" I hissed, the words barely escaping my lips as the monstrous figure of Sandro closed the distance between us.

Sandro’s claws tore through the air with blinding speed, his monstrous frame closing the distance in an instant. His transformation had erased every weakness, every wound. My poison had no effect now—he had become a relentless beast with raw, overwhelming strength.

I had no time to think, no time to plan; I could only react. Sandro swung his claw and leaped at me like a wild beast, but his attacks left him unguarded.

I slashed at him with my dagger, the blade slicing across his face, carving deep gashes into his flesh—but he didn’t even flinch. His eyes, filled with nothing but primal rage, as he swung a massive arm.

I barely had time to brace before his clawed hand struck me like a battering ram. I blocked it with the daggers but the impact sent me hurtling backward, my body skidding across the forest floor. Air exploded from my lungs, the force rattling my bones. But there was no time to recover—Sandro was already charging again.

I rolled to my feet and darted into the dense underbrush, weaving between trees, my breath ragged. There was no way I could fight that thing head-on. I needed a plan—fast.

As I scanned the forest, my eyes caught sight of a hollow log lying amidst the undergrowth. Without hesitation, I ducked low, slipping into the damp, narrow space. The rough wood pressed against my back as I crouched, my chest heaving with shallow breaths. Every sound seemed amplified—the growls, the heavy thud of footsteps, the sharp intake of air as he sniffed, searching for me.

For a moment, silence.

The potion he had used—a Transmutation Berserk potion—was a dangerous concoction. It granted immense strength and temporarily transformed a mage into something monstrous. But its side effects were lethal, and its duration was limited. If I could just stay out of his reach, the potion would run its course. He’d either collapse or die from its toll. I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

I held my breath, listening intently as the footsteps grew fainter, the growls fading into the distance. The forest seemed to exhale with me, its oppressive weight lifting slightly. My muscles relaxed, and I allowed myself a single, shaky breath of relief.

For now, I was safe.

Then, without warning, his arm punched through the log, jagged claws tearing through the bark.

A hand clamped around my throat, fingers like steel vices crushing my windpipe. He wrenched me from my hiding place and hoisted me off the ground, his nails digging into my skin. Blood ran down my neck as I struggled against his grip.

Sandro no longer resembled a human. His monstrous grip tightened around my throat, and I gasped, thrashing wildly against his strength. I drove my dagger into his arm over and over, desperate to free myself, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it. Frantic, I turned my aim to his face, gouging one of his eyes. The blade tore into the flesh, sending a spray of blood across his grotesque features—but Sandro didn’t react. Not even a flinch.

My vision blurred, and my lungs screamed for air. Darkness clawed at the edges of my mind, threatening to pull me under. The daggers were useless against this abomination. Panic surged through me.

I’m going to die.

The thought was cold, final, until something surfaced—a memory. With fading strength, I reached into my pouch, fingers fumbling, and grabbed a handful of berries. My last hope.

Summoning every ounce of determination I had left, I rammed my fist into Sandro’s mouth, shoving the berries past his serrated teeth. Pain shot through my arm as he bit down, but I didn’t falter. The sickly sweet juices burst in his mouth, the scent sharp and cloying. But it wasn’t the pulp that mattered—it was the seeds.

I felt the rough presence of the seeds in my hand, lodged deep within his throat. Gritting my teeth, I channeled every last drop of mana into my arm, still trapped inside his jaws. A surge of energy rushed through me, raw and all-consuming. But as I tried to wield it, something unexpected happened—his wounds began to heal. I winced, realizing my lack of control had inadvertently triggered my healing magic. Sandro’s flesh reformed, knitting itself together at unnatural speed.

His eye regenerated; his shredded face pieced itself back together. His monstrous features smoothed over as though I’d never injured him. But none of that mattered—as long as the mana reached the seeds.

Sandro’s breath hitched, his body convulsing violently. Then, it began—the first sprout emerged.

I felt it—a seed rupturing in his throat, unfurling like a serpent from a nest. Then came another. The berry seeds burst to life, growing rapidly, a tangled mess of shoots writhing free from his mouth. Sandro’s jaws stretched unnaturally wide as a thin green stem pushed past his lips, curling outward. Tiny vines began to worm their way through his nostrils, and then his ear canals, twisting and spreading with invasive speed.

A choked, gurgling sound escaped him as the plants took hold. Blood bubbled between his jagged teeth, the vines burrowing deeper into his flesh. They spread uncontrollably, roots tearing through muscle and bone, weaving themselves into his very being. His head jerked violently as the stems punctured his skull, sprouting through the scalp and curling around it like a parasitic crown.

My healing magic still lingered, working in tandem—mending flesh even as the growing vines sliced through it. The grotesque cycle continued, flesh healed as the plants sprouted anew, twisting through his eyes without destroying them, entwining his very essence.

Finally, his grip loosened. I staggered backward, coughing and gasping, drawing in ragged breaths as I watched the horrifying transformation unfold. Sandro’s arms fell limp at his sides, though he remained upright, twitching and spasming as the berry plants consumed him. Wild shrubs and tangled vines grew thick and unrelenting, rooting themselves into his form. His head was overrun, and yet he still knelt, swaying, his breath a ragged whisper.

What had once been a berserker was now something far more disturbing—a humanoid potted plant, I supposed.

My knees shook, dizziness crashing over me like waves as my body screamed for rest. I’d poured every ounce of mana I had into Sandro, and the toll was unbearable. My limbs felt leaden, my head heavy, my vision swimming in darkness. But for now, I was safe. I had stopped Sandro.

Through the haze of exhaustion, one thought emerged, sharp and cruel.

The scout. The last surviving member of Sandro’s party. He was still out there.

And I… I was out of strength.

My knees buckled. The forest blurred around me, the outline of trees twisting into shadows. I collapsed to the ground, fighting to keep my eyes open. But the fatigue was too much, and as darkness took me, all I could do was hope I’d survive whatever came next.

A gnawing hunger dragged me from the depths of unconsciousness, my stomach twisting painfully as I stirred. My body screamed in protest, muscles aching as I pressed my fingers into the damp forest floor. Slowly, I forced myself upright, blinking against the soft afternoon light that filtered through the canopy, painting the scene in golden hues.

The first thing I saw was Sandro—or rather, what had become of him.

His corpse—or the human potted plant—stood eerily still. The grotesque berry bush that had overtaken his skull seemed to have shifted. Its leafy vines reached higher now, basking in the sunlight as if it were thriving. The realization sent a chill down my spine. Had the plant manipulated his lifeless form? Guided him into the sunlight for nourishment?

I swallowed hard, unease gnawing at the edges of my mind. Was it instinct? Some remnants of muscle memory? Or had the plant—the monstrous creation born from my desperation—taken full control of his body? The thought churned in my stomach like bile.

But Sandro hadn’t attacked me, and for now, I was safe. I rose shakily to my feet, dragging my tired frame upright. Lucky didn’t even begin to cover it. If anyone had stumbled upon me while I’d been unconscious, I would’ve been helpless—easy prey in this unforgiving forest. But I wasn’t safe yet. I had to move.

A sharp growl from my stomach snapped me back to the present. The pangs of hunger cut through my lingering fear, grounding me. Grimacing, I reached into my pouch, fingers brushing against the last handful of berries I’d salvaged. Without hesitation, I tossed them into my mouth, chewing on the sweet pulp. It did little to quell the gnawing emptiness in my gut, but for now, it would have to suffice.

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on me, but I knew I couldn’t afford to stay here long. As I stared at Sandro’s grotesque, sunlit form, one thought clawed its way into the forefront of my mind: the scout.

The last surviving member of Sandro’s party was still out there. And I… I was running on fumes.

“You’re finally awake.”

The voice, calm and detached, echoed from above. My fingers shot to the daggers at my waist as I snapped my head upward, heart racing.

Perched on a thick branch was a man draped in loose, black robes that swayed gently in the breeze. His dark, unkempt hair hung over his face, framing eyes that looked perpetually sleepless, dulled by some kind of indifference. He chewed leisurely on a berry, plucking another from the bunch he held in his gloved hand.

For a moment, I thought he might be the scout from Sandro’s party. But his face didn’t register—nor did his presence. There was something off about him, something that unsettled me even more than the looming danger I’d already faced.

“Are you here for revenge?” I asked, my grip tightening around my daggers.

The man followed my gaze to Sandro’s corpse—or rather, the grotesque potted plant—and tilted his head, his expression unchanging. “Not really,” he muttered between bites. “Just another adventurer passing through.”

I didn’t lower my guard, but something about him felt… neutral. If he’d intended to attack, he could have done so while I was unconscious. The fact that he waited either meant he wasn’t hostile—or didn’t see me as worth the trouble.

“You’re not part of their group?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes.

He sighed, spitting out a berry seed with an air of laziness. “Nope. Actually…” He paused briefly, glancing at Sandro’s overgrown corpse. “I should be thanking you for saving me some work.” His tone was flat, indifferent. Then, his brow furrowed slightly as if catching an irritating thought. “Although now that he’s missing a head, collecting the bounty will be a hassle. Great. That’s a problem.”

My grip on the daggers tightened. “What do you mean?”

The man let out a long breath before jumping down from the branch. He landed lightly, almost casually, with an effortless grace that put me further on edge. Without thinking, I immediately stepped back, raising my daggers defensively.

He held up his hands, palms open, in a mock gesture of surrender. “Relax, kid,” he muttered, the hint of amusement flickering in his voice. “Not your enemy.

“How could I trust that?” I asked, my voice sharp, my grip on the daggers unwavering.

“Lemme show you something,” he said, his tone calm, almost lazy. Slowly, he reached for the pack slung across his back. My eyes narrowed, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring as I watched him untie it. From within, he pulled out—

My stomach churned.

In his gloved hand, he held a vine-wrapped bundle of severed human heads. Their lifeless faces were frozen in expressions of sheer terror, their blood long dried into dark, crusted streaks. Even in death, I recognized them—the couple who had tried to flee, the scout, and Miguel. Their dull, glassy eyes stared into nothingness, a haunting reminder of their final moments.

“What the hell—” I whispered, my voice barely audible as my grip on the daggers tightened further.

The man didn’t flinch at my reaction. He slung the bag back over his shoulder with a practiced ease, stuffing the heads away as if they were nothing more than mundane cargo. “See that?” he said, his tone as indifferent as ever. “I was actually hunting them. Just here to collect their bounty.”

My pulse thundered in my ears, my mind racing. “Who the hell are you?”

He straightened, finally meeting my gaze with those dead, unreadable eyes. “Luc,” he said simply. “A fellow merchant and part-time bounty hunter.” He jerked his chin toward Sandro’s grotesque corpse. “I was tracking them for a while. Planned to take them all out myself, but you got to most of them first.” He sighed, a faint note of irritation creeping into his otherwise flat tone. “But now I’m one head short, thanks to that mess.”

I tensed, my daggers raised slightly. “So, what? You plan on making up for that by taking mine?”

Luc gave me a flat, almost insulted look, as though the very idea was beneath him. “Kid, you don’t even have a bounty on your head. What would I gain from doing that?” He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Never mind. Besides, I don’t kill for fun. It’s just business.”

He turned away, adjusting the straps on his pack with an air of nonchalance. “Either way,” he said over his shoulder, “I should get moving before they start rotting. Can’t stand the stench.”

I stayed rooted in place, watching him as he walked off. There was no malice in his tone, no hint of hostility—just a casual indifference that somehow made him even more unsettling. He had no reason to lie, and yet… he had just shown me a bag of severed heads like they were nothing more than trinkets.

Luc stopped a few steps ahead, glancing back at me with those dull, unreadable eyes. “I’m heading into the town,” he said, his voice as flat as ever. “Let’s go.”

I exhaled slowly, my body still taut with unease. This man was dangerous; that much was clear. But I needed to get out of here, and for now, he seemed like my best—or only—option.

Gripping my daggers tightly, I slid them back into their sheaths. “Alright,” I muttered, my voice low. “But if you try anything suspicious, I’ll put these blades in you.”

Luc smirked faintly, though the expression hardly touched his eyes. “That's scary, kid. Suit yourself.”

And with that, he turned back toward the path, his stride unhurried. I followed, my every step weighed down by the tension in the air. The forest seemed quieter now, as though holding its breath, and the only sound was the crunch of leaves beneath our boots as we made our way toward the town.