The Huntsman Of Death:A Gamer's POV As Side Character-Chapter 110 - 112:The Primordial Creator

The dark hall reeked of blood and decay, the air thick with a nauseating stench that clung to every breath.

Cloaked figures stood motionless, their faces obscured by shadows. At the center of the room, a man with wild, greyish hair stood before a grotesque altar. It was a monstrous creation—an amalgamation of bones and rotting flesh molded into the shape of a giant, clawed hand. The torchlight flickered, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the twisted structure.

Phil Malcolm gripped a weathered book tightly, his eyes gleaming with manic fervor.

"Hahaha! The time has come!" he declared, his voice echoing like a chorus of madness.

His laughter was sharp and grating, filling the hall with an unsettling sense of dread. "I, Phil Malcolm, the 31st Patriarch of the Malcolm family, have prepared for decades for this moment! The descent of the Heir of the Primordial Creator!"

His words hung in the air like a curse, and the room seemed to darken further, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on all present. Malcolm opened the book, chanting in a language that seemed to claw at the edges of sanity. The altar trembled, the grotesque hand twitching as if awakening from an ancient slumber. A swirling darkness began to form around it, thick and pulsating with malevolent energy.

Suddenly, a sharp crack of gunfire shattered the ritual's rhythm. A bullet whizzed through the air and struck Malcolm square in the chest. He staggered slightly but remained standing, his body completely unharmed. A twisted grin spread across his face as he turned toward the source of the attack.

"Oh? An unfaithful servant among us?"Malcolm's voice dripped with mockery, his eyes gleaming with a crazed light.

"One who dares defy the will of the Heir?"

From the group of cloaked attendants, a man stepped forward, revolver still raised. His disguise was discarded, revealing him as a member of the Hounds.

Before Malcolm could speak again, more figures emerged from the ranks of the attendants. Bright arcs of swordlight erupted in the dim hall as the disguised Hounds launched their attack, blades slicing through the air with deadly precision.

The glowing arcs streaked toward Malcolm, aiming to cut him down. But before they could land, a shimmering shield materialized around him. The attacks deflected harmlessly, the arcs dissipating in bursts of light. Malcolm stood untouched, his grin widening into a laugh of pure madness.

"Hahaha! Is this all you have? This is nothing! Everything is as it should be!" His voice rose to a crescendo, reverberating through the chamber like the wail of a thousand lost souls.

At that moment, the heavy wooden doors of the hall swung open, and a blinding light flooded the room. Daniel, Richard, and Andrew stepped inside, their expressions a mix of shock and grim determination.

They took in the scene—the grotesque altar, the writhing darkness, the fallen cloaks of their fellow Hounds—and their eyes locked on Malcolm, who stood at the center of it all, radiating a deranged energy.

"This maniac…" Daniel muttered with his fist tightening.

Malcolm turned his gaze to the newcomers, his grin stretching unnaturally wide. "Ah, more insects to witness the glory of the Heir! Welcome, welcome! You shall all be part of this grand moment!"

Ignoring Malcolm's ramblings, Daniel stepped forward, his expression hard as steel. He reached into his coat and pulled out a string of shimmering beads, their faint glow contrasting with the darkness of the hall. Raising the beads high, Daniel channeled his focus, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

The beads pulsed with light, and the swirling darkness around the altar began to falter. The oppressive air grew lighter as the souls being sucked into the grotesque hand slowed their ascent. The tortured cries of the lost spirits faded into a faint hum.

Malcolm's laughter faltered for the first time, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Daniel. "You dare interfere with the divine? Foolish! You cannot stop the will of the Creator!"

Daniel's grip on the beads tightened, and he stepped closer to the altar, undeterred. "This ends here, Malcolm. Your madness has gone too far."

The tension in the room reached its peak, the air charged with energy as light and darkness clashed. The Hounds regrouped, their weapons trained on Malcolm, while Daniel, Richard, and Andrew prepared for the battle ahead. Malcolm's laughter returned, though it was tinged with frustration, his wild eyes darting between the forces arrayed against him.

"Let's see how far you can go!" he screamed, his voice ringing with both fury and madness. The grotesque hand on the altar twitched violently, its fingers curling as if to strike.

The battle had only just begun.

The spiritual energy surging toward the altar split in two. Half of it was absorbed by Daniel's beads, and the remaining energy was swallowed by Malcolm. As he consumed it, the pieces of rotting flesh scattered around the room began wriggling and crawling toward him, fusing into his body.

Andrew watched in horror. "What the hell… this vile creature is morphing!" he yelled, his voice shaking.

He turned to look for his comrades, but they were nowhere to be seen. "What… where did everyone go?"

One of the Hounds pointed ahead, and Andrew's eyes widened as he saw Daniel and Richard charging straight at Malcolm without hesitation.

"Aren't they even afraid?" Andrew muttered, his body trembling. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to follow.

The Hounds unleashed a barrage of spells at Malcolm, aiming to halt his transformation. Explosions shook the room, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. From the dense mass of writhing flesh, a grotesque, monstrous figure emerged, its form barely resembling anything human.

Daniel and Richard unsheathed their swords and dashed forward, their movements swift and precise. With every swing, arcs of light streaked through the hall, slicing off chunks of Malcolm's mutated body.

But no matter how many pieces were cut away, they crawled back toward him, reattaching as if mocking their efforts. A guttural, grating laugh erupted from Malcolm, his voice echoing through the hall.

Richard growled in frustration, channeling his aura to slash at the regenerating flesh. "It's not working!" he muttered, his breaths heavy.

Daniel gripped his sword tightly, his gaze cold and unwavering. "It's turned into a mindless monster," he said, his voice calm but tense. "It lost its combat skill but gained insane regeneration."

Hearing this, Daniel's killing intent surged, thick and suffocating. He reached for a blade strapped to his waist, its edge engulfed in black flames that flickered like living shadows.

"Don't worry," Daniel said, his voice steady. "We're prepared for things like this."

With a loud bang, he stomped the ground and charged forward. Malcolm conjured grotesque, mutated limbs to strike back, but Daniel's blade moved like lightning, cutting through every attack without hesitation. Blood and severed flesh sprayed across the room as the black flames consumed the pieces, preventing them from regenerating.

Malcolm's crazed laughter suddenly stopped. His grotesque form trembled as he stared in shock at the flames devouring his flesh.

"You… what have you done?" Malcolm's voice cracked, panic seeping into his tone.

The flames spread faster, eating away at his regenerating body. Malcolm screamed, thrashing wildly. "No! What is this?!"

Daniel stepped closer, lowering his mask just enough to reveal the deep scars etched into his face. His voice was cold as ice.

"This is the power granted to us Hounds. You haven't heard of it because no one who's faced it has lived to tell the tale."

He raised his blade, the black flames roaring to life. "These are the Flames of Destruction."

Malcolm froze for a moment, staring at the flames in disbelief. But then, to everyone's shock, he began to laugh again, louder and more maniacally than before.

"Hahahaha! That's it! That's it!" Malcolm screamed, his voice filled with unhinged glee.

He writhed in the flames, his body breaking apart, yet his voice remained defiant. "The summoning was nearly complete! The divination showed no flaws, yet you dared to interfere!"

He glared at Daniel with bloodshot eyes, his expression a mix of fury and madness. "Don't think this is the end! We are everywhere! Cut off one head, and more will rise!"

Daniel didn't respond, his face cold and expressionless.

Malcolm's voice grew louder, echoing through the chamber. "The Heir will return! He will take the throne that is rightfully his!"

Andrew, standing off to the side, shivered. "Who is this lunatic?" he muttered under his breath.

Malcolm snapped his head toward Andrew, his eyes blazing with fanatical devotion. "Don't you dare call him a lunatic!" he screamed. "He is the Heir of the Primordial Creator! The one who made this world!"

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His voice grew louder, each word filled with madness. "He will descend! The one and only! The Ancient One!"

With a final, ear-piercing scream, Malcolm's body was consumed entirely by the black flames. His twisted figure crumbled to ash, his voice fading into silence.

The room fell still, the oppressive atmosphere lifting at last. But the Hounds remained tense, their weapons raised, knowing that this was only the beginning.