The corridor was dark, oppressive.
The low ceiling—made of ancient near-black beams—pressed down on the space like a coffin lid.
To the left, a row of broken windows let in the gray light of the rainy day, cutting oblique bands of illumination through the suspended dust.
The floor was cracked, littered with debris—splinters of wood, chunks of plaster, dark stains whose origin was better left unquestioned.
Boards were broken, some hanging dangerously.
The mosquito walked slowly down this corridor.
Its massive hind legs clacked against the floor with a regular rhythm, almost metronomic.
CLAC. CLAC. CLAC.
Behind it, it dragged something.
A body.
A man. Or what had once been a man.
Completely drained of blood, skin gray and shriveled, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
The mosquito pulled him by the leg, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.
It stopped suddenly.
Its antennae vibrated.
Sounds. Multiple. Coming from ahead and behind.
Footsteps. Clinking armor. Weapons being drawn.
The mosquito released the body.
Turned slowly.
Twelve adventurers emerged from the shadows—six from each direction, completely encircling it.
Their weapons gleamed faintly in the filtered light.
“That’s him!” shouted a woman with an axe. “The monster!”
“The bounty is ours!” roared a massive man carrying a gigantic hammer.
“No! MINE!” A lancer took position.
The mosquito observed them all.
Numerous. Dangerous.
But its abdomen already pulsed with anticipation.
The first to attack was the massive man.
He lunged forward with surprising speed for his size, his weapon describing a wide arc that whistled through the air.
“DIE, MONSTER!”
BOOM.
The hammer struck the floor exactly where the mosquito had stood a fraction of a second earlier.
The floorboards exploded into a crater. Adjacent walls cracked violently. Debris flew everywhere, forcing the other adventurers to retreat.
“HEY! WATCH IT!” someone yelled.
“YOU TRYING TO KILL US TOO?!”
The hammer warrior ignored the complaints, already searching for his target.
The mosquito had vanished—rising instantly into the air with an unpredictable aerial dash.
It dove from the ceiling like a living missile.
Its proboscis—now hard as steel, sharp as a lance—aimed for the warrior’s exposed neck.
“WATCH OUT!”
An adventurer burst forward, a massive scythe attached to a long chain.
She hurled the scythe.
WHOOSH.
The blade caught the mosquito mid-flight, the chain partially wrapping around its thorax.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Got you, you filthy thing!”
She yanked violently.
The mosquito was ripped from its trajectory, pulled brutally toward her.
But it used the momentum.
Pivoted in mid-air. Claws extended.
SLASH.
It severed the chain with a sharp motion, landing to the side.
A lancer appeared suddenly.
He unleashed a series of relentless attacks.
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH.
The spear traced blurred lines through the air, each strike aiming for a different vital point.
The mosquito dodged. Once. Twice. Three…
The fourth strike landed.
SLASH.
The tip carved deep into its chitinous thorax.
Blood—black, viscous, almost oily—spurted.
Pain.
But also…
Excitement.
The scent of blood—even its own—triggered something primal.
Its movements became faster. More aggressive. More ravenous.
Intoxicated by the smell.
The lancer retreated cautiously, sensing the change.
“He… he’s getting faster?!”
The other adventurers attacked now from the flanks.
A mage hurled fireballs from the rear—orange explosions lighting the corridor.
BOOM. BOOM.
The mosquito dodged, dashed, dove.
A mounted warrior charged on a massive black horse—hooves thundering like storm.
A gauntleted fighter delivered devastating punches that created shockwaves.
BOOM. BOOM.
An archer fired arrows that whistled past.
Too many. Too coordinated.
No.
Not coordinated.
The mosquito observed between attacks.
They hindered each other. Shouted. Accused one another.
“GET OUT OF MY WAY!”
“I HIT HIM FIRST!”
“THE BOUNTY IS MINE!”
Competition. Not cooperation.
Exploitable.
The hammer warrior attacked again—massive horizontal sweep.
WHOOSH.
The mosquito ducked.
The hammer continued its arc.
Struck the scythe woman charging from the opposite side.
“AAAAAH!”
She was hurled through a wall, disappearing in a cloud of dust.
“IDIOT!” her voice came from the debris. “YOU JUST HIT ME!”
“YOU WERE IN MY WAY!”
The lancer seized the distraction to attack.
Spiraling series of strikes, dangerous.
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH.
The mosquito parried with its forelegs—now almost arms, claws hardened.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Sparks flew.
Then the mosquito counterattacked.
Its proboscis shot forward.
STAB.
It pierced the lancer’s light armor—cutting through reinforced leather like wet paper.
“AAAAGH!”
The anticoagulant was injected instantly—a chemical that prevented blood from clotting.
The lancer staggered back, clutching the wound.
But the blood didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
It flowed freely between his fingers, forming rapidly widening pools.
“It… it won’t stop!” Panic in his voice. “THE BLEEDING WON’T STOP!”
The scent.
The mosquito advanced.
The other adventurers tried to intercept.
The mage unleashed flames.
“HELL SHOWER!”
WHOOSH.
A torrent of fire filled the corridor.
The mosquito shielded itself with its wings—the chitin resisting partially.
But it advanced anyway. Through the flames.
“IMPOSSIBLE!”
The hammer warrior struck from the side.
BOOM.
Contact.
The mosquito was hurled against the wall, creating a crater in the stone.
CRASH.
Cracks appeared on its carapace. Black blood flowed.
Serious damage.
But the lancer was right there. A few meters away. Bleeding profusely.
The mosquito rose.
Dash.
Too fast to intercept.
Its proboscis found the lancer’s neck.
Drained.
Blood flowed—rich, warm, full of vital energy.
The mosquito’s wounds began to close. Its carapace to reform.
The lancer collapsed, drained in seconds.
“NO!”
“HE HEALS BY DRINKING!”
“DON’T LET HIM TOUCH ANYONE!”
But it was too late.
The fight turned into a massacre.
The mosquito was stronger now. Faster. Intoxicated by blood.
Every wound it inflicted—every drop of blood it smelled—made it more dangerous.
The scythe woman returned, furious.
“YOU’LL PAY!”
She hurled her scythe with demented force.
WHOOSH.
The mosquito caught it mid-flight.
Used the momentum to propel itself toward her.
Claws forward.
SLASH. SLASH. SLASH.
Three deep gashes.
She fell, bleeding heavily.
The hammer warrior charged, enraged.
“MONSTER!”
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Massive strikes that destroyed the entire corridor.
But the mosquito was too agile now.
It dashed unpredictably. Attacked from impossible angles.
Dove from the ceiling. Rebounded off walls.
One adventurer died. Then a second. A third.
Each time, the mosquito drank quickly.
Fully regenerated.
Efforts wasted.
With every death, it was as if the fight reset to the starting point.
The mosquito fresh.
The adventurers tired, injured, terrified.
“HE’S TOO STRONG!”
“WE CAN’T KILL HIM!”
“RETREAT! RETREAT!”
But the corridor was narrow.
Fifteen minutes later, silence fell again.
The mosquito stood in the middle of the carnage.
Four drained bodies at its feet. Three others gravely wounded, unconscious.
The survivors had fled through the broken windows, jumping into the street below.
The mosquito observed the bodies.
Sufficient resources for now.
But not enough.
Need more.
Need the main reserve.
It thought of Cassian.
Must find her.
It moved toward the window.
Its wings—now fully regenerated—unfurled.
Vanished into the rain.
---
Elsewhere in the city, far from the carnage, Cassian walked slowly through the rain.
Toward Nolan’s house.
Her hair no longer smoked—the rain had cooled the singed tips.
I insulted the sky.
And I survived.
Barely.
She thought of the shop incident.
Then realized something.
I can’t buy anything anyway.
My money is with Hiro.
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the empty street.
All my money. Every single coin.
I’m completely dependent on him.
It was an unpleasant realization.
How deeply he’s embedded in my life…
She resumed walking, more slowly.
I think about him constantly. I even see him in my dreams…
Cassian stopped again.
Wait.
That sounds weird. The way I thought it.
She shook her head vigorously.
“It’s a nightmare,” she said out loud. “Not a dream. A nightmare.”
“He haunts me even in my head.”
Even in my thoughts, I’m not safe from Hiro.
Her foot struck something.
CLONK.
Cassian looked down.
A small wooden crate.
It sat in the middle of the sidewalk, as if someone had forgotten it.
Stamped. A label nailed to the side.
Cassian knelt, reading the label through the rain.
Donation of clothing for the needy.
She stared at the crate for a long moment.
Lifted one corner slightly.
Shook it gently.
Sounds of rustling fabric. A lot of fabric.
There seems to be quite a bit inside.
Cassian felt something rise in her.
A laugh. Which she forcibly suppressed.
This can’t be real.
After everything that just happened?
She looked around.
What is this crate doing here?
Then a thought struck her.
My unique ability…
Maybe it activated? Because I desperately wished for something to wear?
She picked up the crate.
Heavier than it looked.
Headed toward Nolan’s house.
---
Inside, she carefully placed the crate on the wooden table.
As if it were a bomb.
Okay. Let’s see.
She slowly lifted the lid.
Looked inside.
Blinked.
Pulled out the first garment.
A maid dress.
Ultra-short.
So short it would barely cover… anything.
Cassian stared at the dress.
Looked back into the crate.
Pulled out the rest of the contents with growing horror.
Maid headpiece with excessive white lace.
Collar with a golden bell.
Wrist cuffs—white, frilly.
Long white gloves that reached the elbows.
Apron embroidered with the words: Yes, Master ?
With a heart. There is a fucking heart embroidered.
There were still more accessories inside.
Stockings. Ribbons. Things she didn’t even want to know the purpose of.
Cassian slowly raised her eyes to the ceiling.
Her expression was… complicated.
A mixture of profound disappointment, resignation, and helpless rage.
The door suddenly opened.
Nolan entered, shook his soaked coat, began to say:
“I’m ba—”
He froze.
Saw Cassian.
Saw the table.
Saw the ultra-short maid dress. The bell collar. The Yes, Master ? apron.
Absolute silence.
“Uh…” He blushed. “Do you… want me to pretend I saw nothing?”
