Mutation

The blood-splattered cloth, jars, eggs, and other items, along with the thick, coppery reek filling the air, didn't cause Parish Priest Guillaume Bénet's expression to change in the slightest. Turning sideways, he glanced toward a corner of the church, his blue eyes reflecting Lumian's sprinting figure. The parish priest's irises immediately lightened, turning so faint they seemed translucent. In his eyes, complex mercurial symbols appeared one after another around Lumian, twisting around themselves like winding little streams. Lumian himself looked as if he were running through an illusory, faintly shimmering river formed by these symbols, with hazier tributaries branching out ahead. Guillaume Bénet reached out his right hand, grasping across the empty air toward one of the mercurial symbols surrounding his target. Lumian pushed hard off his right foot, preparing to throw himself forward through the stained glass and crash straight out of the church. Right at that moment, his foot slipped, keeping him from exerting his full strength. He tumbled forward awkwardly into the air. Amid a cacophony of thuds, shattering glass, and splintering wood, Lumian smashed through the stained glass depicting Saint Sixte, but failed to break through completely, landing inside the church. Several lacerations opened across his body, and bright red blood began to gush out. At that moment, the shepherd Pierre Berry, who had just lopped off Ava's head with an axe, locked his gaze onto Lumian. A gentle smile still hung on his face, but his blue eyes brimmed with vicious ferocity, as if some internal seal had been undone at an unknown moment, allowing his hidden true self to emerge. Axe in hand, Pierre Berry strode rapidly toward Lumian. With every stride he took, his body seemed to grow taller and sturdier; while physically unchanged, he exuded the aura of a giant. With his back to this cruel shepherd, Lumian leaned against the shattered stained-glass window. Having barely pulled himself through the agony of the heavy fall and the sharp lacerations, he was just about to push off with both hands and force a roll out of the church when a feeling of extreme danger struck him. *Someone behind me...* The thought flashed through Lumian's mind. Ignoring the stinging pain of his wounds and the flowing blood, he kept his hands pressed against the glass-strewn windowsill, making a show of rolling outward. The move was merely a feint. Snapping his body back, he retreated instead of advancing, falling backward. *Thud!* An axe swung horizontally, smashing into the window frame where only glass shards remained, ripping it from the wall and sending it flying out of the church. Lumian's backward fall flowed into a roll, slipping past Pierre Berry's feet by a hair's breadth and dodging the brutally violent strike. He felt neither relief nor joy, for he had been driven completely back inside the church, and the quickest escape route was thoroughly blocked by the shepherd Pierre Berry, who had undergone an obvious mutation. Though Lumian had read plenty of novels, he harbored no naive notions that continuous rolling made one invulnerable. The instant he brushed past Pierre Berry, he planted an elbow, engaged his core, and sprang to his feet. Sweeping his gaze around, he saw that apart from Little Guillaume and a handful of others, the rest of the youths seemed affected by something; all had lost their minds and turned into lunatics. Completely ignoring Ava's collapsed, headless corpse and the blood splattered all around, they chanted in jubilation: "Send off the Spring Spirit! "Send off the Spring Spirit! "..." Little Guillaume and the few others were thoroughly stunned as well. They stood frozen, staring motionless at Ava's wide-open, faintly smiling eyes. Terror, panic, and disbelief covered their faces, as if caught in a nightmare from which they could not wake. And though Pierre Berry was clearly the same height as before, he gave Lumian the illusion of being hardly any shorter than the vaulted ceiling. Having missed his strike, the shepherd quickly wrenched his axe back, spun around, and swung once more at Lumian nearby. Before Lumian could even steady his footing, he had already surged forward, successfully dodging the blow. *Thud, thud, thud!* Giving full play to a Hunter's speed and agility, Lumian sprinted along an arc. His target: the parish priest! His experience told him that in moments like this, one had to go after the enemies' leader. No matter how the others attacked, focus solely on striking him, adopting a ferocious stance of either let me go or we die together. Only then could one work a miracle in such a dire situation. Pierre Berry did not give chase. Holding the bloodstained axe, he stood before the frameless wall gap and reached out his left hand toward his target's silhouette. The entire church plunged into gloom, and around Lumian it was even worse—a swath of deep darkness. This darkness seemed to possess a life of its own, swaying gently. It felt like nothing more than a curtain, behind which pale, pitch-black, and grotesque arms lurked, poised to claw their way out. Meanwhile, in Parish Priest Guillaume Bénet's eyes, faded to near translucence, Lumian's figure remained immersed in that illusory, shimmering river composed of complex mercurial symbols. Ahead were similar, yet even more illusory things—tributaries that seemed to symbolize the future. After several attempts, Guillaume Bénet's right hand finally caught hold of that crucial pattern formed by multiple symbols. As long as he inverted it, all of Lumian's efforts would amount to nothing, and his future destiny would be rewritten. Suddenly, the parish priest's gaze froze. "Ahhh!" He let out a violent shriek. His eyes snapped shut, streaming with bright red blood and turbid tears. Amid his echoing screams, Guillaume Bénet's body swelled, as if pumped full of gas. *Riiip!* Unable to withstand the strain, his white, gold-trimmed robe tore open. His skin was stretched nearly translucent, exposing the bizarre marks previously concealed beneath his clothing. They were black imprints resembling seals, connected to an indescribable world and emanating a terrifying aura. The aura filled the church in an instant. The youths who had been joyfully sending off the Spring Spirit were thrown into sheer terror; some ran frantically around the offerings, others dropped to their knees, and still others prostrated themselves on the floor, not daring to look up. Little Guillaume and the few others who were already scared out of their wits fainted outright, the ground beneath them wet and foul-smelling. The shepherd Pierre Berry, who was just about to unleash a secret art to seize Lumian, dropped his axe, sank onto one knee, bowed his head, and froze completely. In the entire church, the only one unharmed was Lumian. He was indeed affected—his head throbbed with severe, piercing pain—but compared to that mysterious voice capable of pushing him straight to death's door, this aura fell far short. Moreover, he felt a burning sensation on his chest, suspecting that the black thorn-chain symbol had surfaced, perhaps alongside the blue-black symbol resembling an eye and an insect. Lumian had no time to check his condition, nor to ponder why he had suddenly gained the upper hand; he kept hurtling toward Parish Priest Guillaume Bénet. Whenever an opportunity arose, he had to seize it! As he drew closer, he saw those seal-like black marks clearly: they seemed composed of distinctive characters and bizarre symbols. Scanning rapidly, Lumian spotted something familiar. On the left side of Parish Priest Guillaume Bénet's chest, a black symbol resembling thorns had erupted from within, wrapping around toward his back! It was identical to the one on Lumian's chest, only much fainter. *He has it too?* Lumian's heart jolted. *Is this the root of the village's anomalies?* *Why do I have it? When did I get it?* *...* Thoughts flashed rapidly through Lumian's mind, yet none slowed his movements. He reached Guillaume Bénet, threw out his right arm, and locked it around the man's head. Without pausing, he forcefully pivoted around to the priest's back. With a sharp *crack*, Guillaume Bénet's head twisted around, facing directly toward his own spine. *Phew...* Seeing this, Lumian let out a quiet breath of relief. The biggest problem was dealt with. He needed to hurry home, flee with his sister, and leave the rest to those three outlanders! Right at that moment, Guillaume Bénet—who ought to be dead—opened his eyes. His eyes were pure blood-red. *Buzz!* Lumian's head felt as though an axe had cleaved it straight in two. The excruciating agony robbed him of even the breath to scream. Everything before his eyes shattered in an instant, plunging into absolute darkness. He lost consciousness. ... Pain! Agonizing pain! Lumian sat bolt upright, opened his eyes, and rubbed his head. He immediately saw the wooden desk by the window, the angled chair, and the wardrobe and small bookshelf flanking the sides. All of it was familiar. This was his bedroom. *Did Aurore save me? How long was I out? What happened at the church?* Lumian had no time to dwell on it. The moment he recalled what had happened, he scrambled out of bed, clutching his head, and rushed out. Soon, he found Aurore in the kitchen on the first floor. Wearing a light blue dress, Aurore was focused on preparing dinner. "Aurore! We have to run!" Lumian cried out. "The parish priest and half the village went mad! At the end of the festival, they killed Ava!" He wasn't sure whether his sister knew what had actually transpired—rescue could take many forms without requiring her physical presence—so he cut straight to the point to avoid wasting time. Aurore turned around, a look of utter confusion on her face. "The festival? "The Lent Festival?" "Yes." Lumian nodded vigorously. Aurore smiled. "That was quite a good story you just made up. In just two sentences, you sketched out a bizarre incident that genuinely gives people chills. "But next time you make up a story, do a little research. The Lent Festival is still days away." "..." Lumian froze.