Ghoul Mode!

Heaven one second, hell the next.

For the human traitors who had willingly transformed themselves into fishmen, the descent was swift and merciless. The promise of power had drawn them in, only for that promise to wither in the shadow of their impending deaths. They hadn't even tasted the strength they'd sought, hadn't basked in their new identities, before the grim reality swallowed them whole.

Did they regret their choices? Perhaps. But regret was overshadowed by something stronger; raw, unfiltered fear.

"Is he… really human?" The same haunting question echoed in their minds as they watched Luther, the man who had torn through them like a tempest, his eyes cold and unfeeling. But they had no time to contemplate, no time to answer that question in their fading minds. Death was already upon them.

Luther moved through their ranks with the mechanical precision of a reaper. One by one, he grabbed the heads of each fishman, his fingers digging into their skulls as he lifted them to meet his gaze, a look of distant, detached satisfaction. And then, with a swift, brutal motion, he slammed them down, the wet crack of bone and flesh echoing in the cave.

Bang! Another fish head exploded against the ground. And another. Again and again, Luther's movements were relentless, efficient, cold. In this moment, he was no longer a man; he was a machine of death, harvesting lives without a flicker of hesitation.

For the human women who had survived, the sight was unbearable. They huddled together, clinging to each other as the sound of cracking skulls and splattering blood filled the cave. Some turned away, their faces pale, and soon the cave was filled with the sound of retching, as the women, overcome by horror, emptied their stomachs in waves of helpless nausea.

Was Luther cruel? He didn't think so. In his mind, he was righteous. A hero. He had saved these women from the monsters that had tormented them, and a sense of pride swelled in his chest. For the first time in ages, he felt something close to… satisfaction. A dark grin crept across his face as he surveyed his handiwork.

The last of the fishmen lay lifeless, their bodies sprawled on the ground in twisted heaps. The young and old alike; all were gone. And with their death, Luther felt a strange peace, a sense of release from the pressure that had weighed him down for so long.

He turned to the human women, expecting to see something on their faces. Relief. Gratitude. Even joy. After all, he had freed them, hadn't he?

"You're free!" he declared, his voice booming over the sound of their sobs and vomiting.

But as his words echoed through the cavern, the faces that turned toward him were anything but grateful. They were hollow, numb, filled with a mix of fear and despair. The light of hope he had expected to see wasn't there. Instead, he found empty eyes, faces wet with tears but shadowed by terror.

"You can go home now," he tried again, his tone softer, almost coaxing.

But his words fell into silence. None of the women responded. They simply stared, their expressions unreadable, their bodies tense and guarded. Finally, one woman: a tall, gaunt figur, estepped forward. Her eyes held fear, but also a strange, subdued determination as she approached him.

Slowly, she knelt in front of Luther, her gaze lowered, her hands reaching out tentatively toward him. Luther's face hardened as he realized her intent, and with a swift, irritated motion, he pushed her away.

"Don't do that!" he snapped, his voice sharp.

The woman recoiled, her mouth opening in a silent gasp. She hadn't expected his rejection, hadn't expected this strange man, who had saved them all, to refuse her. She lowered her head, her body trembling, as though bracing herself for some form of punishment.

Luther's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. He hadn't anticipated this. They were free now. They were safe. But these women, broken and beaten, couldn't seem to process their freedom. Their minds had been scarred too deeply, their spirits twisted by the horrors they had endured.

He began to understand, they were too damaged to simply walk back into the world. Whatever these women had suffered, it had left them scarred in ways that went beyond the physical. Their loyalty, their fear, their submission, it was like they had been conditioned, molded by their tormentors. Stockholm syndrome, he realized. They weren't ready for the outside world, not yet.

Luther let out a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This wasn't something he could fix on his own. He needed help. Reaching out mentally, he summoned Elizabeth through the psychic connection he shared with the Zerg larvae, informing her of the situation and requesting her assistance.

As he waited, he looked back at the women, their tear-streaked faces still turned toward him, their expressions a mix of fear and confusion. He sighed again, a sense of helplessness creeping into his heart. Despite his strength, despite his victory, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed them in some way.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and addressed the women, his tone now firm, almost commanding. "Come with me," he ordered, gesturing toward the entrance. "We're leaving. I'll take you back the way we came."

The women hesitated but eventually began to follow, shuffling behind him like lost children, their eyes wary, uncertain. Luther could feel the weight of their broken spirits trailing behind him, a silent testament to the darkness of the world they had known.

As they moved through the shadowed corridors, he could only hope that, in time, they might find healing, that someday they might learn to see themselves as survivors, not victims. But for now, all he could do was lead them forward, step by step, out of the darkness.

In the dim light of the fish shop, Luther scavenged through an old cabinet, finally pulling out some faded clothes and rough, worn sheets. He handed them to the women, gesturing for them to wrap themselves up and find whatever comfort they could. Their previous garments were either torn or soaked, remnants of their captivity. As they shakily covered themselves, he turned to a dusty drawer and retrieved a document written in the ancient Grete language. It wasn't his original copy; hat one had been destroyed during the chaos of the recent battle, but it would have to do.

Once the women were settled, sitting quietly in neat rows on the floor, Luther took a deep breath and stepped outside. The sky hung low, gray and indifferent, a bleak reminder of the world they inhabited. He glanced upward, feeling the weight of exhaustion press against him. If he had a cigarette, he'd probably light up an entire pack just to chase away the lingering stress and madness of the day.

"What a fucking world…" he muttered, spitting out the words with a bitter edge. He plopped down on a small, rickety stool by the door, letting the silence settle around him. Then, with a resigned sigh, he turned his focus to the system messages flickering across his vision.

[Host has activated ghoul mode and entered ghoul state]

[Successfully devoured a pseudo-deep diver; gained a minor increase in physical strength from Deep Diver factor.]

[Successfully devoured a pseudo-deep diver; acquired an additional trace of Deep Diver factor, physical fitness improved further.]

[Successfully devoured a pseudo-deep diver; current Deep Diver factor has reached saturation, no further enhancements possible.]

Luther's eyes scanned the messages, piecing together the reasons for the changes he'd felt surging through his body.

Ever since he'd barely escaped death from the blood plague, strange mutations had stirred within him. His body had changed, his mind had shifted, and with each encounter with creatures that shouldn't exist, the boundaries of his humanity had stretched thin. Yet he'd refused to dwell on it, pushing the reality aside. After all, there was nothing comforting in the idea of becoming something monstrous.

But today, in the heat of rage, he'd let that violent, primal side of him loose, and now there was no denying it.

"Ghoul mode?" he murmured, curiosity tugging at him. He searched through the system's interface until he found the description.

[Ghoul Mode: A burst ability triggered when the host is a ghoul or has absorbed the ghoul factor.]

[In ghoul state, all physical attributes are enhanced by 30%, healing ability greatly accelerated. However, energy consumption is high, subjective consciousness is reduced by 80%, and cognitive thought reduced by 80%. When energy is depleted to minimum levels, ghoul state will disengage automatically. Energy can be replenished through consumption. Note: Although ghouls appear weak and mindless, they possess untapped potential.]

He read the information carefully, recalling the foggy memories of his actions while in that state. His body had felt different, stronger, faster, yet disturbingly detached. He'd moved with an almost animalistic instinct, every strike calculated but devoid of true consciousness. A shiver ran through him. If he were to lose himself in a crowd while in that state, there was no telling how far the carnage would go.

"Better to keep that as a last resort," he muttered, deciding it would only be used if there was absolutely no other option. His ultimate skill, a weapon to be wielded sparingly.

He scrolled further through the system messages, processing the latest updates.

[Elite Deep Diver defeated. Special Deep Diver clue +1 acquired (1/20). Deep Diver faction hostility increased by +10. Note: Collecting sufficient clues will unlock faction-related abilities.]

"The Deep Ones… real fishmen, huh?" he mused, piecing it together. "So those fake deep divers, are they humans who've transformed?"

His mind drifted to the bald, middle-aged man he'd bound up in the resettlement room. The man had undergone a grotesque transformation, morphing into a sickly yellow-skinned fishman. The memory left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Tsk, fools thinking they could become 'Deep Ones' by betraying their own humanity. They deserve every ounce of punishment." His fists clenched, the anger stirring in him again. These traitors, twisted by greed and desperation, had abandoned their humanity to serve as pawns for these monsters. He wished he could shatter each of them, piece by piece.

"Next time," he muttered darkly, "I'm bringing a castration knife. Any of those beasts I come across… I'll make sure they can't spawn any more abominations."

Around noon, the rumble of an approaching convoy broke the silence. Elizabeth arrived with a team, each of them well-prepared to transport the women. Luther greeted her with a nod and quickly explained the situation, asking her to house them in one of her private estates, a place where they could receive both treatment and careful monitoring.

Elizabeth raised a brow, understanding his subtle caution. These women had been through horrors beyond words, and though they were free, the effects of their trauma were profound. There was no telling how deeply their minds had been twisted by their captors.

As the women were helped into the convoy, Luther watched them with a mixture of relief and unease. They were finally safe or at least, as safe as they could be in this world, but their hollow expressions and haunted eyes lingered with him. Elizabeth offered him a reassuring nod before leading the convoy out, leaving him alone once more.

He stood there for a moment, breathing in the lingering dust from the departing vehicles, watching until they were out of sight. He sighed, feeling the weight settle back onto his shoulders. It was never simple. In this twisted world, there were no easy victories.

Shaking off the gloom, Luther turned and began walking toward the clinic. His steps were steady, determined. There was still work to be done, still battles to be fought.