Tag Archives: Fiction

In-Progress, Unscripted

Unscripted CH 005 Hundred Flowers Blooming

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“Ah, good morning, fair world!”

A melodramatic voice declared loud enough to startle clarity back into the glaze that had taken over Mi Sha’s eyes. He found himself sitting up straighter in an unconscious gesture when he spotted a familiar golden head bobbing onto the stage. 

Before he knew it, several auditions had gone by in a blur and it was only just now Mi Sha felt how stiff the pleasant smile on his face had become. No one ever told him having cameras trained on every micro expression was this exhausting. Nevermind the fact that these cameras were actually quite well disguised as hummingbirds.

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Renato stood confidently in front of the judges, beaming that seraphic smile of his. He began his audition with a deep bow, his exaggerated movements drawing scattered laughter. “Another day in the life of Malvolio, the ever-dutiful, ever-hopeful, ever—dare I say it?—misunderstood servant.”

Like Rory, Renato had prepared a stage play performance, only—and at this Mi Sha raised an imperceptible eyebrow in interest—he, or someone, had helped him to write an entirely new scene based on a well-known Shakespearean play character rather than go the traditional route.

Renato took a few steps towards the floor-to-ceiling windows and pantomimed opening curtains. With a flick of his wrist, he mimed being blinded by sunlight, flailing dramatically. “Ah, but the sun conspires against me! A celestial betrayal!” He staggered back, tripping over an invisible stool and landing on his rear with a loud thud.

Several more watching contestants let out startled snorts and laughter, and even the judges leaned forward, their body language if not their faces managing to convey a piqued interest.

As Renato climbed to his feet, his faux frustration grew palpable. “Never mind! The day awaits, and duty calls! Lady Olivia demands perfection, and perfection she shall receive!” He adjusted imaginary stockings with an air of self-importance and one could easily picture a mismatched servant’s ensemble featuring absurdly high stockings embroidered with golden cross-garters on his person rather than the jeans and hoodie he actually wore. After which he then crossed the stage, miming the act of dusting an imaginary vase.

Suddenly, his foot caught on another invisible object, and he stumbled. With perfect comedic timing, Renato flailed his arms wildly before grabbing onto the “vase” for balance. His expression shifted to horror as he realized he had “broken” it.

What followed was an increasingly hilarious sequence of events as Renato depicted an ordinary day in the life of the servant Malvolio. He found a stubborn spot on a table, mimed scrubbing furiously, blowing on the spot, and finally resorting to spitting on an invisible cloth and using it to polish the table. As he leaned in for a final inspection, he accidentally “knocked” over an imaginary bottle of ink, which he reacted to with frantic despair. 

Renato’s antics had everyone in stitches, but he wasn’t done yet. After preening in front of a mirror, he began strutting across the stage with an exaggerated sway of his hips, only to trip on his own “stockings” and tumble to the ground.

Even the judges chortled behind politely raised fans or hands as Renato picked himself up, muttering, “It’s fine. Dignity intact. No one saw that.” He froze, glancing straight into the eyes of the closest hummingbird drone, then added in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Except everyone.”

Renato finished his act with a grand bow, sweeping his arms wide and grinning ear to ear. “And thus concludes another day in the life of Malvolio, servant, dreamer, and unfortunate fool. Thank you, one and all!”

Many contestants erupted into applause, the sound echoing through the grand ballroom. The judges, surprisingly, also clapped with genteel enthusiasm.

“He has great comedic timing.” Phoenix leaned over and whispered by Mi Sha’s ear, his breath unintentionally disrupting his hair. 

Mi Sha lifted a shoulder and rubbed absentmindedly at the itch, agreeing with a nod. “A perfect blend of Shakespearean charm and modern humor.”

Both actors, Renato’s clearly more “exaggerated” acting seemed to have gone over even better than Rory’s more restrained style as he exited the stage to thunderous applause, his smile bright and infectious. As he rejoined the other contestants, he was met with pats on the back and words of congratulations at his high rating.

In truth, Mi Sha himself preferred Rory’s acting style when choosing actors for his films. But he had to admit, Renato did an excellent job at injecting some much needed energy towards the auditions as the lineup crept increasingly closer towards the midway point—and to Mi Sha’s own turn to take the stage.

There was only one other contestant’s audition he was looking forward to before it was his turn.

And as if on cue, Augutstus’ tall, thin frame stood up in a seat nearby and passed Mi Sha on his way to the front. Mi Sha’s keen sense of smell couldn’t help but pick up the scent of sandalwood and fresh linen.

It wasn’t until Augustus approached the grand piano that Mi Sha noticed he had left his cello case conspicuously behind back on his seat. Exchanging a surprised look with Phoenix, Mi Sha looked back just in time to see Augustus place his hands on the keys, and the room fell silent.

He began with a haunting operatic introduction, his deep, magnetic voice weaving a melancholic melody. But just as the audience settled into the classical tone, the performance shifted. Augustus transitioned into a complex jazz-inspired piano arrangement, his fingers dancing across the keys with precision and flair.

And then came the rap. 

His voice transformed, delivering rapid-fire verses with an impressive cadence. The lyrics were poetic, introspective, and perfectly matched to the intricate piano accompaniment. The blend of genres—opera, jazz, and rap—was unexpected yet seamless, doing more to showcase Augustus’ genius as a composer and performer than a piece of resume could.

By the time he finished, the room was buzzing with excitement, with some standing on their feet. Mi Sha, who had initially expected a cello performance, was also on his feet, clapping loudly. Even as he felt adrenaline rushing in his blood, he noticed a conspicuous boy with a cloud of pale pink hair standing stock still like a stump of wood a little ways in front of him. From his perspective, Mi Sha’s gaze easily traced the popping veins on pale forearms and fists stuffed into his jeans pockets.

Even though he wasn’t able to see the boy’s expression, Mi Sha somehow felt that the other was actually restraining his excitement rather than any feelings of offense.

But before he could linger on the boy with pretty, cotton candy hair further, it was finally Mi Sha’s turn to be called up. Right after Augustus, coincidentally enough.

When his name was called in a crisp, detached tone by one of the NPC staff dressed in sharp monochrome with silver epaulets and the perpetual faceless white porcelain mask, many of the contestants cast him sympathetic, almost pitying looks. How could anyone top that audition after all?

But Mi Sha ignored the exchanged glances and whisperings with ease as he made his way forward, his expression calm, almost serene. He only paused to smile back at Phoenix who had clapped him on the shoulder supportingly.

He passed by Augustus, who had his new uniform in hand, looking as ephemeral as ever despite delivering a powerful and unexpected rap audition of all things. Slate gray met starry black before the taller man nodded at Mi Sha, an unspoken acknowledgment of a fellow kind. There was more than one person here who had hidden and unexpected depths to them.

Lady Wonderton seemed to watch him closely as he took his place in front of her, the eerie slash of scarlet-painted lips on her otherwise faceless porcelain mask seeming to take on a sly note.

“No. 98, Mi Sha” she crooned, her tone dripping with a curiosity that sounded both mocking and genuine. “Well, let’s have it then… your performance.”

Mi Sha inclined his head slightly, unfazed. “I am sure it will be worth your while,” he replied with a smile just flirting on the side of impudence, his tone respectful yet challenging.

Lady Wonderton laughed, the sound a high, delighted crowing, as she gestured for him to proceed with a wave of her jeweled hand. He took his place in the center, and though he hadn’t prepared in any traditional sense, he knew precisely what he was doing.

Like smoke from an incense stick, a pale, slender wrist that tapered down long fingers twisted lazily in the air.

But in the next breath, a forceful, decisive movement shattered that softness—a powerful swing of the elbow, a bend at the waist as sharp as an axe cleaving through stone. Each action carried a stunning grace, fluid and precise, a beauty that was both clean and intense.

Every gesture seemed effortless, every detail casual, as though nothing were planned—and indeed it was as free as the flight of a bird. Yet the effect was magnetic, an undeniable allure that seized one’s gaze, making it impossible to look away.

The performance was saturated with a silent strength and beauty, each moment drawing the eye with irresistible force.

In a daze, all the contestants seemed to see a magnificent blood red spider lily, its spindly stamens fluttering in the wind, blooming without hesitation to scorch the retina with exquisite allure. 

And at its heart, shone a dark, fathomless starry night.

No—that wasn’t the night sky. It was Mi Sha’s eyes.

Hidden beneath a cascade of inky lashes, those dark orbs flashed in the fervor of his dance, as piercing as the gaze of a masterful hunter.

And any prey caught in those eyes—surely none could escape.

He moved with an effortless grace, his expression a controlled mask of concentration and poise, projecting a charisma that felt both captivating and elusive. He wasn’t simply performing; he was commanding the stage, a natural ease in his movements and gestures that drew the room’s focus to him alone.

Lady Wonderton watched, the lazy fanning against her chest pausing in mid-movement, her focus sharpening as she leaned in slightly, as though she were trying to decipher some hidden layer within his performance.

When he finished, the silence lingered for a moment before Lady Wonderton let out a girlish titter, followed by her approving nod. “Another unexpected audition. But I suppose surprises are necessary for entertainment, aren’t they?” Beside her the pink lady fluttered her feather fan in coy delight. 

She flicked her fan closed with a sharp snap, her “gaze” holding his for a moment longer before she nodded to another NPC staff dressed as a footman. The footman approached with Mi Sha’s uniform: a white silk bomber jacket adorned with a band of five golden stars, the highest possible rating. The first to receive five stars that day.

As he slipped the jacket over his shoulders, a subtle murmur rippled through the contestants. Mi Sha felt several distinct gazes on him once more—scorching and eager, admiring and flustered, intense and focused, or airy and intangible.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

He could feel the energy in the room shift as he took his place among the contestants once again, his rating clear on his sleeves. Gone were the pitying looks to be replaced with an enthusiastic reception. Hands from all directions reached over to give him high fives and fist bumps as their owners smiled and cheered him whether in true genuine feeling or simply putting on a front for the cameras. 

This reaction, more than anything, cemented the fact that he was no longer simply the Director Loveless observing from afar, detached from the world around him. Here, on the stage and in the spotlight, he was a player, just like the rest of them—and if he had his way, he’d claim that center spot for himself.

Mi Sha’s smile widened just a bit.

In-Progress, Unscripted

Unscripted CH 004 Meet The Villains

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A gust of wind blew by just as Mi Sha stepped out of their barouche, catching a few loose strands of ebony and setting them adrift. Around him, the luxury and the gleaming artifice of this world—its perfect gardens, sculpted statues, the very stones of the drive—seemed almost too beautiful, too polished. Yet, he knew that beneath this veneer lay the ruthless ambition, the cold calculations, and the unpredictable power struggles that drove the showbiz machine.

“Welcome, contestants,” a voice suddenly greeted, crisp and dignified.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Mi Sha turned and raised his head, along with the other startled contestants, only to find a statuesque woman in black butler attire standing at the top of the stone steps leading to the grand double doors of the manor. She stood poised and immaculate, from the magenta hair swept back in a tight knot to the crisp folds of her suit and the spotless gloved hands folded in front of her waistcoat.

But none of that was as unsettling as the smooth porcelain mask covering her face that did nothing to prevent the assembled contestants from imagining the satisfied smile of the cat that got the canary spreading over faceless features.

“As guests of the Lady Wonderton here at the Wonderton Manor, you will be expected to undergo several trials to prove your worthiness. The Lady and her honored friends will see to it that not a single pearl will remain covered in dust. As for pebbles…” The butleress paused meaningfully, “their fate is to be abandoned on the side of the road, is that not right?”

A stilted silence fell among the crowd of 200 contestants, which in itself was not a small feat for young rambunctious men in their late teens to early twenties. 

The faceless butleress paid no mind to the effect her words had on the young dreamers in front of her, “That being said, the auditions for your initial ratings will begin shortly, to be called by the number on the invitation sent to your holocoms. So dear guests, I wish you all an enjoyable performance—and of course an enjoyable stay at Wonderton Manor!”

And with that, the faceless butleress bent slightly at the waist and turned around to gesture at the grand double doors of the entrance, which swung open at that moment to reveal a splendid grand foyer brightly lit with chandeliers. Two rows of faceless attendants in identical black suits or black ruffled dresses stood waiting on either side of the entrance, and upon the swinging open of the doors, they all bowed or curtsied in unison, “Welcome, to Wonderton Manor!”

As former viewers of Starbound Express’s previous two seasons, both of which were smashing successes, would know, this particular idol survival show was different from the rest on the market. And its most unique quality was not just the extravagant filming sites but also its immersive roleplaying filming method comparable to the making of an actual feature film—complete with an interesting backstory and host of colorful NPCs that act as the staff members and judges.

Naturally, as contestants on the show, everyone here had studied the previous two seasons thoroughly beforehand and had a general idea of what to expect. Even so, many found themselves awed and intimidated by the show’s creative team. 

It was no wonder the IP, Starbound Express, was so popular with the audience and coveted by industry figures alike.

If not for the rumored eccentric backer of the show, the very owner of the IP and this floating city, remaining firm on a stance of relative fairness and opportunity. The show would’ve turned into a playing ground for capital, just like many other show projects, especially idol survival shows which were often hit the hardest. Many young hopefuls were stumped at the first step—without a strong talent agency willing to put you forward to the show you wouldn’t even know where to send your audition materials.

However, it must also be noted that, while Starbound Express contestants did not need to worry about malicious editing, unfair treatment in regards to screen time, etc., they were far from resting easily. Because the very unique filming process of the show required more from the contestants; those who did not possess true talent, charisma, or a strong heart did not dare to step foot onto the show lest they end up as stepping stones for competitors and embarrass themselves in front of millions of viewers.

Fair it may be, it was still a competitive environment. And competition has always been cruel. This was simply a game of survival not much different from the gladiator style boxing matches that had seen a resurgence on the Ground in recent years, only less bloody and more dazzling. 

Beside him, Phoenix nudged him, his holocom already turned on. “What number are you?”

As they all moved towards the grand entrance most, like Phoenix, anxiously checked their holocoms for the electronic “invitation” the butleress had mentioned. Mi Sha was also curious about his number as well and obligingly turned on his holocom.

Congratulations, No. 098! You have received the script for this show—you’ve been assigned the role of a guest at Wonderton Manor, and the main storyline has been loaded onto your personal communicator. Please strive to raise the Scream Index for this performance—the higher the index, the richer the rewards. 

P.S.: This stage has no restrictions, all’s fair in the road to stardom. Wishing you an enjoyable performance!

Ninety-eight, a number in the middle with neither the advantage of getting it over quickly and enjoying the performances of others nor the advantage of getting to “size up” the overall competition and compare it with your own act. But neither was there the disadvantage of getting a more conservative scoring in order to leave room for higher scores for performers who auditioned later nor was there the disadvantage of feeling the mounting pressure to measure up against previous impressive auditions.

The only thing you had to worry about was the intermission fatigue of the judges and the danger of being buried by other earlier or later performances that had or would make lasting impressions. But for Mi Sha this wasn’t a concern, so he was relatively satisfied with his number.

“Not bad. Number 98. You?” Mi Sha looked over casually.

Phoenix chuckled wryly, “Near the end, number 189.”

“Not bad.” Mi Sha repeated, “Honestly, I don’t think there is any bad number. It all depends on your performance and how strong it is in the end.”

Phoenix glanced at him sideways with a smile, “Optimistic.”

Mi Sha flashed him a thumbs up.

*

Murmurs and the shuffling of feet filled the opulently spacious vestibule as the young men crowded in, some clearly tense, others projecting a well-honed air of indifference. Mi Sha took in the gleaming expanse before him, its high-vaulted ceilings adorned with delicate, iridescent chandeliers, casting splintered light across the marble floor and the grand staircase leading to the second story. But soon his attention drifted to the elaborate set of double doors leading to a no less grand, glittering ballroom—the place where the initial auditions would take place.

As he entered, the room was already quickly filling with contestants who gathered in clusters, conversing in low voices, nerves evident in their posture and darting glances. Bands of virtual screens swirled overhead like ribbons which displayed a rotating array of images and short clips from each contestant’s self-introduction videos. Mi Sha noticed the chairs, cushioned in dark velvet, lining the far side of the room where contestants awaited their turns to be called. In contrast, several chaises and loveseats were placed in the center of the ballroom facing the floor to ceiling windows lining one side of the room where the auditions were to take place.

“Attention, please,” the distinct voice of the butleress cut through the buzz of conversation.

Every head turned as the butleress announced the impending arrival of the judges. Behind her, several more attendants filed in, each moving with a precision and grace that marked them as NPC staff.

“All contestants are to gather here until their turn to perform in front of the Lady and her honored friends. Once rated, you will receive your rank uniforms,” the butleress continued, gesturing to the row of mannequins along one wall. Each mannequin wore a white silk bomber jacket, its banded arms bearing different metallic stars in bronze, silver, or gold. Gray fedoras, white tunics, black trousers, and white leather wingtip shoes with matching star accents completed the ensemble—a look both pristine and understated, save for the metallic bands that marked their rank.

This set of attire was the official uniform for this season and also the outfit to be worn for the Main Theme Song MV. Of course, the silk bomber jacket would be replaced (or not) after the first official rating.

The ensuing footsteps were soft, yet there was an air of command in the steady rhythm that accompanied their approach. All eyes shifted once again as a towering figure in scarlet swept into the room, cutting through the murmurs with her presence alone. 

The Lady Wonderton had arrived. 

Her crimson gown glittered with a million finely wrought stones, the train trailing behind her like a pool of rubies. A lace fan, dripping with diamonds, unfurled in one gloved hand, while the other rested lightly at her side, projecting an effortless elegance. Her face, masked entirely in a similar pristine white porcelain with painted lips of bright red as the sole feature breaking up the monotony, only added to her aura of manic inscrutability.

She wasn’t alone. Beside her, seating themselves gracefully on luxurious chaise lounges and loveseats, were her “honored friends”—a peculiar and opulently dressed group, each of them wearing a mix of feathers, lace, jewels, and silks in shades that ranged from pastel pinks to deep blues. The closest one, a lady draped in a soft pink gown, raised her white ostrich feather fan to her lips, two encrusted sapphire eyes on her porcelain mask seeming to glint with mischief.

“Kekeke…” Lady Wonderton let out a high, shrill cackle, her fan hovering just over her chin, before her “eyes” swept across the room, lingering briefly on each contestant. The pink lady beside her joined in with a chortling, “Ohohoho…”

Their laughter rang through the room, somehow both amusing and vaguely sinister, as if a trap was being laid with every syllable. The contestants exchanged wary glances, some glancing nervously at the judges who sat like haughty monarchs, draped across their thrones.

Mi Sha observed it all with the faintest glimmer of amusement, feeling a twinge of anticipation as the stage was set. The personalities of these NPCs had been tweaked by him, the more caricature and “villainous” the better. In fact, all of the NPCs he programmed for the Starbound Express IP were over-the-top and fairytale-esque in order to keep with the theme.

The contestants were called up one by one by their invitation number to showcase their skills before the judges. Mi Sha watched as a nervous young man fumbled his vocal piece, Lady Wonderton snapping her fan shut with an impatient “snap”, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. A pipe-wielding gentleman in an emerald green waistcoat next to her leaned in with a sly smile and murmured something to her, and she responded with an approving nod.

Mi Sha’s eyes flicked from the judges to the virtual screens now displaying each contestant’s performance in real-time and with excruciating detail on par with the big screen. The tension in the room built steadily as each contestant awaited their rating, glancing warily at the judges. 

Meanwhile, the auditions continued on the screens, and Mi Sha found himself growing more intrigued by the diverse array of contestants. Some exuded natural talent, dancing or singing with an ease that hinted at rigorous training; others seemed less practiced, their performances raw and unrefined, though no less captivating.

A familiar contestant with a shock of russet hair performed a solo piece from a well-known stage play with expressive tone and movements, and even his freckles seemed to come alive with his emotion. Mi Sha recognized him immediately as Rory Lee Carlisle, a recent graduate of drama school majoring in theater and drama—and the clumsy young man who had nearly toppled over a suitcase trolley back in Wonderton Station. His performance ended to murmurs of approval and faint applause from the watching crowd of contestants.

“Kekeke,” Lady Wonderton cackled, tapping her fan thoughtfully against her knee. “Interesting… but is he… versatile enough?” Her voice held a taunting edge, a trap in her words meant to prod at any insecurity Rory might have. And indeed, the young man paled, the smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose standing out sharply. Despite standing at a 187cm lanky height, he appeared to shrink into himself under the judging stares as he waited for her final judgment.

But Rory was already on the receiving end of “gentler” treatment in comparison to the contestants that followed. The judges barely hid their dismissiveness at mediocrity, turning to each other and letting out sighs of faux exasperation meant to cut deep, eliciting another round of titters and chortles. It was like being back in grade school again and subjected to public humiliation from the “in-crowd”.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Looking around at the dejection and tenseness of his fellow contestants, Mi Sha cleared his throat. He wasn’t feeling guilty, per se. But he had to admit, in order to create highlights and “drama” on the show without the traditional use of malicious cutting and piecing of footage, deliberate additions inevitably had to be added. And what better source of drama than snide NPC characters in a position of power? 

Besides, even for real people judges, sharp critique and acerbic remarks were not unheard of. His NPC judges were just more overt because they didn’t need to worry about their public image. They were the “villains” after all.

In-Progress, Unscripted

Unscripted CH 003 Towards Wonderton Manor

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The golden clock tower at the edge of Wonderton Square began to chime, its deep, melodious tone cutting through the low murmur of conversation among the gathered contestants. A hush fell over the square as the contestants instinctively turned to watch the enormous clock’s hands align at the hour mark. The intricate carvings of cherubs and celestial designs adorning its golden surface caught the afternoon light, casting an ethereal glow over the plaza.

The contestants’ attention, however, quickly shifted to the center of the plaza, where the grand carousel that had seemed purely decorative began to hum softly. The wooden platform beneath the intricately designed mechanical horses rotated slowly, gears clicking into motion. A few contestants stepped back, startled by the sudden movement, but most stood transfixed as the carousel came to life.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

With fluid precision, the mechanical horses, previously stationary, stepped off the rotating platform one by one. Their finely crafted forms gleamed in shades of ivory, ebony, and gold. Each horse had a unique design: some sported ornate saddles, while others bore delicate engravings along their metallic hides. Their manes, made of shimmering metallic filaments, flowed as though caught in a breeze.

The NPC concierges stepped forward at this time their long coats trailing elegantly behind them. Each concierge pushed a barouche—a small, open carriage designed to seat four people comfortably. The barouches were painted in pastel tones, their velvet interiors richly colored in shades of red, blue, and green. With quick efficient motions, they attached the barouches to the carousel horses. 

As the mechanical steeds lined up, the concierges in their impeccable uniforms bowed low before stepping back. Without drivers, the mechanical horses stood poised, ready to lead the contestants to their final destination.

There was a moment of collective confusion. “Wait, no drivers?” someone muttered, prompting a ripple of whispers across the crowd.

One of the NPC concierges stepped forward as if waiting for this prompt, his voice clear and calm as he addressed the crowd. “Sirs, welcome once again to Wonderton. These carriages will take you to Wonderton Manor, your residence for the duration of your stay. Please find a seat in any available barouche. Each can accommodate four passengers.”

The murmuring grew louder as contestants began to move hesitantly toward the carriages. Some formed small groups with friends or acquaintances they had already made, while others hesitated, unsure whom to approach.

Mi Sha, standing near the edge of the group, let out a quiet chuckle. He leaned toward Phoenix, his earlier acquaintance, and murmured, “The creators of the show are eccentric, don’t you think? I get the feeling they like to keep us on our toes.”

Phoenix grinned back, adjusting the strap of his guitar case. “Well, I did hear a lot about Director Loveless’ unconventional ways. Maybe he likes to unsettle people and then watch them flounder.”

Mi Sha let out a short burst of laughter, glittering black eyes dancing with mirth. He protested, “What does it have to do with Loveless anyway? He isn’t actually directing the show, you know.”

Phoenix cast him a skeptical look, clearly not buying this public information. “But the production team undoubtedly report to him. Besides, this,” he gestured comprehensively at Wonderton, “has his brand of whimsical chaos.”

“Ah, such a reputation. I feel so wronged for the poor guy in his stead.” Mi Sha tsked and shook his head, still amused.

The two had been walking along the line of barouches while they talked and at this time, Mi Sha’s gaze landed on one pulled by an ivory-colored horse with a cotton candy pink mane. He gestured toward it with a carefree smile. “That one looks like it belongs in a candy store. What do you say, Phoenix? Shall we claim it?”

“Let’s do it,” Phoenix replied enthusiastically. The two made their way to the barouche, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestones.

The mechanical horse stamped its hooves once as they approached, its glossy ivory body gleaming. Up close, Mi Sha could see the intricate details carved into the horse’s metallic hide—delicate floral patterns that seemed almost too fine to be real.

As they waited, two more contestants approached the barouche. One was a familiar young man with a tall, thin frame and a pale, almost withdrawn fragility. His dark gray eyes looked up at Mi Sha to Phoenix before he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and climbed in, sitting on the seat opposite them with his cello case propped by his feet. The other contestant, slightly shorter and more sharply dressed, followed. His rich, chestnut hair was neatly styled, and his sharp features gave him a refined, almost aristocratic look. He glanced at Mi Sha briefly before settling into the seat beside Augustus.

Rozier Damião, framed against the velvet upholstery of the barouche, lounged with all the careless grace of someone fully aware of their own worth. Known for a magnetic presence on the web through his personal social media accounts where he posted images of himself that were equal parts compelling and captivating, he sat as if he were the only one worth looking at, a veritable storm brewing in his silence. The afternoon sunlight caught the golden rims of his glasses, reflecting a brilliance that was only matched by the custom-made diamond encrusted holocom on his left wrist.

Once everyone was seated, the mechanical horse gave a soft whinny and began to move. The barouche glided smoothly over the cobblestones, joining the procession of carriages making their way toward Wonderton Manor.

They moved at a steady pace, the rhythmic clatter of the mechanical horse’s hooves creating a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet ride. The path led them through the heart of Wonderton, past whimsical shops and charming houses that seemed to belong to another era. Delicate flower boxes hung from windowsills, and intricate iron street lamps lined the cobbled streets.

Mi Sha sat leaned back, resting an arm casually along the back of the seat. His sharp, narrow jawline relaxed into a natural pout as he observed his companions. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint hum of the mechanical steeds and their artificial hooves striking stone, as well as the laughter and chatter from other barouches. 

“So,” Mi Sha began, his tone light and conversational, “it seems a lot of contestants can play instruments. There’s Phoenix and his guitar, and now you and your… cello?”

Augustus who sat ram-rod straight blinked, caught off guard by being so suddenly addressed. But he answered politely nevertheless. “Yes. That’s correct.”

Mi Sha hummed. “I’m not much of connoisseur but I’ve often found classical music as background noise to be soothing. Especially the deep, resonant notes of a cello. It’s too bad I don’t play any instruments myself.”

Phoenix looked over with a slightly teasing smile. “I actually thought as much. You seemed the type to play classical music on gramophone while brooding in the dark.”

Mi Sha’s lips twitched. “…And I actually didn’t peg you to have such a vivid imagination.”

Enjoying the bantering, but not one to be inconsiderate, Phoenix offered a friendly smile at the other two. “Hi. I’m Phoenix Black. This is Mi Sha by the way,” he said, gesturing to his quirky companion who seemed to have forgotten all about introductions. “Mind if we know your names too?”

Augustus smiled back briefly, a polite and distant curve of pale pink, almost bloodless lips for a moment before speaking, his voice deep and mellow like the cello he played. “Augustus Meng,” he said simply, gaze making direct eye contact more out of ingrained manners than any fondness of it.

“And I’m Rozier Damião,” the well-dressed young man added, his tone calm and measured. His gaze cool and observant behind his spectacles as he seemed to gauge them all to a scale he was only privy to.

“So,” Mi Sha picked up where he had left off, training an unnervingly inquisitive gaze on the ethereal beauty of the young man in front of him. “Are you a cellist by hobby or by trade?”

“By trade,” Augustus replied, his voice becoming slightly more animated which offset the previously detached and almost weightless quality of his presence earlier. “I’ve been playing since I was six. I’ve performed with a few orchestras and composed some original pieces.”

Rozier, who had been watching the exchange with a seemingly aloof expression, tilted his head slightly, a hint of curiosity flashing in his dark eyes. “You’re a composer?” he asked, his tone not fluctuating but clearly conveying his intrigue. 

It seemed that Mi Sha had inadvertently picked a topic that spoke to all four of them, however their interest and appreciation for classical music had come to be due to their varying backgrounds.

Augustus nodded. “Mostly classical, but I’ve experimented with blending genres.”

Phoenix leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay, now I have to ask—what made you join an idol survival show? You seem more like the kind of guy who’d be performing in concert halls than competing on a reality show.”

Augustus hesitated, mouth doing a funny twist that almost seemed sardonic but so fleeting it could have been missed completely. “I suppose the answer would be that I wanted to challenge myself, to see if a completely different environment might inspire something.”

Mi Sha wondered thoughtfully. “Inspiration for your music?”

Augustus gave a slow nod. “Something like that.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, sensing something more to it than that but didn’t prod. He was no stranger to personal quagmires, from witnessing it in others and even experiencing them himself. 

The barouche continued its journey, the scenery shifting from the whimsical charm of Wonderton’s streets to more open countryside. Fields of wildflowers stretched out on either side of the road, their vibrant colors swaying gently in the breeze.

Phoenix, with his abundance of EQ, kept the atmosphere light with humorous anecdotes about his life as a street musician, drawing occasional laughter from the group. Likewise, Mi Sha settled in an easy banter with Phoenix, finding himself surprisingly delighted at the ease with which the other matched his flighty train of thoughts. 

Though still reserved, Augustus engaged more than he had at the start. That ephemeral gaze seeming to become more substantial as the conversation continued, full of the abrupt starts and stops of topics from Mi Sha and Phoenix smoothing and rounding any jagged ends. Even Rozier, who had initially exuded a lofty air about him, snorted once or twice in a totally unrefined manner. He observed Mi Sha with a contemplative expression, as if trying to figure out what made the other boy tick.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Not long, the barouches halted one by one at the entrance of the manor, a grand fountain rising at the center of the drive, its crystalline spray catching the golden rays of sunlight like playful water sprites before diving back down into the azure depths at the bottom of the fountain. The rhythmic clinking ceased, and the contestants began filing out, each greeted by a rustle of anticipation from unseen NPC staff members and an audience of flickering drones capturing every breath, every glance—

All against a backdrop of the palatial estate rising in grand splendor before them, all marble columns and cascading terraces of flowers. Several exclamations of awe and admiration sounded as the 200 young men from various backgrounds finally gathered at the very place where either their dreams were to be made or shattered.

AN: apologies for the wait, FM basically took over my writing time. Starting several wips is not a great idea but I never seem to be able to help myself orz 😫

Feline Mystique, In-Progress

Feline Mystique CH 026 First Battle

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In this chaotic and twisted world, Corrupted and Evil Ones were everywhere. Many fanatical people, influenced by Corruption, worshipped them and sacrificed their lives and everything they had.

For nearly a thousand years, countless organizations of this nature had appeared worldwide. They deceived ignorant followers, harming innocent people.

Regal Ones and their humans around the world fought against the Evil Ones, but in this world of rampant mysticism, cults remained active in the darkness.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

But Felix never expected to come across one of them so soon.

Having been discovered, Felix stepped forward and out of their hiding spot, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. “Let them go. Whatever you’re doing here—it ends now.”

Internally, Felix was surprised at himself for sounding so stern and brave. Who knows, he might just be able to pull off this heroic front, unexpected and unwanted though it might be.

Dr. Hart chuckled, a low, chilling sound. “Do you even understand what you’re looking at? This is progress. A gift from the Goddess of Life herself. These poor souls were broken, incomplete. I’m making them whole again.”

“By turning them into monsters?” Sorath growled, drawing his dagger.

Dr. Hart tilted his head, his pleasant smile never faltering. “Monsters? No, no. You’re thinking too small. This is evolution, perfection. The Goddess’s vision brought to life.”

Dr. Hart stepped closer, his movements unnervingly smooth. His gaze flicked to Felix, lingering for a moment before his expression suddenly shifted into something uglier.

“And you, Regal One. So pristine, so untainted. You could never understand how weak and flawed humans are.”

Felix’s fists clenched at his sides, his voice sharp. “I understand enough to know that you’re an insane fucker. I mean seriously, worshipping a thing like that?”

“A deluded cultist, that’s what he is.” Albrecht remarked, a slight sneer curling his thin lips.

Hearing these words, Dr. Hart became very displeased. “What cult? I worship a god! A god! The greatest god!” His eyes suddenly shone with incomparable brilliance, like an octopus baring its suction cups lined with fangs and claws. “She is everywhere, at all times. She is the origin of all life, the greatest god! To offer everything to Her is your blessing!”

Dr. Hart laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the cavern. “And I? I am a Blessed One.”

To demonstrate, he held up his arm and dragged a scalpel across his forearm, splitting the skin open. Before their eyes, the wound closed almost instantly, leaving no trace of the injury.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Dr. Hart said, his tone now almost conversational. “The Goddess’s blessings are boundless. Pain, death—mere inconveniences to one such as I.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed as Dr. Hart turned back to the table, picking up another instrument. He gestured toward one of the cages, where the only intact young woman, clearly the kidnapped Clara, cowered in the corner.

“Perhaps I should show you more,” Dr. Hart mused, smiling affably at them.

“No,” Felix snapped, his voice echoing through the room. “No more crazy shit.”

Dr. Hart met his gaze, his expression darkening. “I do not listen to you, Regal One.”

The air grew heavy as Dr. Hart stepped away from the table, his movements fluid and unhurried. His confidence was unnerving, and Felix’s instincts screamed that this would not be an easy fight.

“Be careful,” Felix said, his voice low but firm. “We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Sorath moved to Felix’s side, his dagger gleaming in the dim light. “Whatever he is, we’ll take him down.”

Thel’s eyes scanned the room, calculating. “Focus on him. The captives—especially the pregnant woman—must be prioritized. We can’t allow the thing inside to come out alive.”

The words sounded ruthless, but knowing the purpose and fate of the fetus monster, it was necessary perhaps even merciful.

Dr. Hart spread his arms wide, several spider legs tearing through the flesh of his back before the skin knitted back into themselves. A smile full of teeth and malice stretched impossibly wide on his face and he stared at Felix with unnerving focus. “I have never had a Regal One as a test subject before, but I find myself eagerly looking forward to the prospect.”

The battle for the captives—and their own survival—was about to commence.

The dim, claustrophobic space of the underground facility was now charged with an ominous energy. The air felt heavier, oppressive, as though the very walls themselves were bearing down on them. Dr. Hart stood at the center of it all, his grin sharp and predatory, his glowing eyes locked onto Felix. 

Felix stood poised, his body tense, his senses honed by hours of training. With a soft exhale, he shifted into his hybrid form. Muscles rolled underneath deceptively velvety skin, his ears sharpening and his claws glowing faintly with an ethereal light. His tail lashed behind him, signaling both readiness and apprehension.

The next second, two extended spider legs struck with horrifying speed, aiming straight for Felix’s neck and chest. The rest sliced through the air with Felix’s humans as targets.

“Stick to the plan!” Felix called, his voice carrying a commanding edge that was surprisingly authoritative for the boy always out of his depth since arriving in this world.

Sorath met the hairy black arachnid leg aimed at him head-on, his dagger flashing in the dim light. It stabbed at him, but he dodged and parried with precision. He slammed his shoulder into a second one, gritting his teeth at the heavy impact not assimilar to being rammed against an uprooted tree trunk, but still managed to push it back and away from Albrecht and the captives.

“Got this one!” Sorath crowed, his confidence palpable.

Thel moved swiftly, never staying in one spot but always positioning himself with a tactical view of the room. His eyes scanned the chaos, calculating every movement. “Focus on deflecting them. Don’t let them cut you off! Felix, try to get to the woman!”

Virgil darted toward the cages, his nimble fingers working quickly to pick the locks. “Just keep the freaky appendages away from me, yeah?” he shouted, ducking just in time to avoid a blunt impact to his head from a spider leg striking nearby.

Albrecht, unexpectedly steady and methodical, knelt beside an unconscious young man with his arms replaced with shark fins, quickly checking his pulse. “They’re alive,” he announced, relief in his voice. “I’ll stabilize the victims. Cover me!”

Dr. Hart stood in front of the surgical table with an outward calm, one eye locked onto Felix while the other remained trained on his masterpiece. “Without the Goddess I would have been just as worthless as those worms you are trying to save.” He taunted, his voice low and reverent. “Oh, but to have the Goddess’s gaze on you. You will never know anything more powerful or intoxicating.”

Felix grinded his teeth, his claws slicing through one of the spider legs only for it to regrow in quick succession from the severed stump, preventing him from reaching the center of the room. Dr. Hart hissed, clearly feeling the pain, but smirked as it regenerated itself.

“That’s not power,” Felix shot back. “It’s decay.”

Dr. Hart sneered, raising a hand. In it was a familiar small, opened vial filled with murky liquid. Tendrils of dark energy began to coalesce around it, pulsating with malevolent intent. “So proud. You Regal Ones seem to forget. You are not the only ones with power in this world.”

He downed the liquid in one gulp and at the same time, those several foot long spider legs seemed to only increase in length and circumference. They struck out, drilling into the ground around Felix. He dodged, his movements quick and fluid as he danced through a veritable forest of legs, but the oppressive energy made it harder to breathe, harder to focus.

Sorath, spotting Felix’s struggle, picked up one of the empty cages and threw it at the doctor, distracting him. “You okay, Felix?” he called out, not waiting for a response before fending off another attack from his left.

“I’m fine!” Felix replied, though his heart was pounding. He glanced at his humans, watching our of the corner of his eye as they moved with surprising efficiency.

Thel snapped out, “Virgil, the left cage is clear. Move on to the next! Sorath, keep assisting Felix!”

“On it!” Virgil called, freeing another captive before rolling away from a flailing spider leg.

Albrecht injected the contents of a small vial into a man suffering the most signs of Corruption. He glanced up, his eyes meeting Felix’s. “We’ll get them out. Focus on the target!”

Felix nodded sharply, the trust in Albrecht’s voice steadying him.

As the battle raged on, Dr. Hart’s attacks grew more frantic the closer the clock ticked towards the birthing. There was no longer any plan to the strikes dealt by his arachnid appendages, and he seemed uncaring that his laboratory was being destroyed around him. His only concern was the successful birth of his masterpiece no matter the relentless assault by Felix and his humans.

“You’re ruining everything!” Dr. Hart snarled, his expression thunderous. The spider legs around him thickened, the dark energy coating them growing more volatile.

The air grew colder, heavier, as though the cavern itself was reacting to his displeasure. Felix felt it then—a deep, unnatural pressure settling over him. His breath hitched, his fur standing on end.

It was born, the Corrupted in the pregnant woman’s womb was born! 

As the woman screamed in pain, the nearly S-Rank Corrupted was officially born. The powerful aura of Corruption around it made Felix a little breathless. 

After Dr. Hart saw the creation of his most satisfying work, he was so overjoyed that his arachnid appendages flailed wildly and he quickly prepared for the sacrifice. 

Dr. Hart knelt on the ground, clasped his hands, facing the sky through the openings in the cavern above that were punched through by the force of his spider legs during the battle, and recited an invocation with piety and gratitude before anyone could stop him. 

In this world, S-Rank Corrupted and above had a corresponding invocation. As long as their invocation was recited, their attention could be attracted. 

The invocation was like a string of incantations. By reciting these incantations, one could summon Evil Ones. 

The situation here was already chaotic enough. If another actual S-Rank Corrupted was summoned here, they would have no chance of survival! 

At some point, Thel had managed to slip through the wall of spider legs around Dr. Hart. He lunged at Dr. Hart with all his strength, one of the doctor’s own surgical blades in his hand. 

After a human bonded with their Regal One, the physical power of the human would become ten times stronger than that of ordinary unbonded humans. The weakest bonded human could also beat three strong men. 

Unfortunately, he was not dealing with an ordinary human, but with Dr. Hart, who was a B-Rank Corrupted, and he couldn’t get any hits in at all.

Felix moved a beat later than Thel, heart in his throat, half of him flabbergasted at Thel’s actions. He, too, didn’t make it to Dr. Hart in time to stop him from reciting the invocation though he did manage to meet Thel. The two could only stand back to back as they watched Dr. Hart warily. 

“O’ Lady of Life and Renewal,
Beacon of hope in a decaying world,
Great Goddess of Life,

Your devoted follower calls upon you.
I humbly beseech you to come to my side,
To hear and answer my prayer.”

The invocation had the contamination properties of the Corrupted, but at the same time, other people would also be affected by the powerful mystical energy, thereby infecting them with Corruption. 

Almost as soon as Dr. Hart finished reciting the invocation, Felix and others in the half-destroyed laboratory felt as the surrounding air became thinner and the temperature, which was originally quite chilly to begin with, began to drop below freezing temperatures. 

And unbeknownst to them in the distant sky, a cloudy white eye the size of a grapefruit appeared out of thin air. It opened lazily and looked towards the underground laboratory. 

This intangible gaze caused a splitting headache to form in the humans around Felix. They didn’t even dare to raise their heads, because an S-Rank Corrupted was no longer something they could just look at casually. 

Who would’ve thought that the invocation recited by Dr. Hart would really summon an S-Rank Corrupted!

“She’s watching,” Dr. Hart whispered, his voice trembling with mindless awe and reverence. “The Goddess of Life sees us now.”

Under this malevolent pressure, even Felix’s body seemed to slow down a notch. Although he was less affected by the Corruption, being an A-Rank Regal One himself, beside him, his pets and the humans who were captured were in very bad condition, and grotesque signs of Corruption began to grow all over their bodies. The captives began to cry and despair. In the end, they would still die at the hands of the Corrupted. But they really want to live… 

Save them, save them! Who could come to save them?

Amidst the crying around him, Dr. Hart looked particularly ecstatic. He couldn’t control his excitement and exclaimed to the sky, “Goddess! Goddess!” 

He waxed his praise and love for his goddess and master. Then, he pointed at the newly born Corrupted and presented his masterpiece to the Goddess of Life. 

“O’ Great Goddess of Life, this is a sacrifice given to you by your devout follower, please accept it.” 

The Goddess of Life seemed to be very satisfied with this sacrifice, and the surrounding Corruption seemed to rise a bit more. The gentle sound of rocking water could be heard, as if enveloping Dr. Hart in embryonic fluid. 

Dr. Hart’s face was a little flushed, and it seemed that even if he were to die for the Goddess of Life right that instant, he would be more than willing. 

Felix was nearly out of his mind with panic. What should he do? What should he do? How on earth could this be stopped? He was just an A-Rank trainee, how could he save everyone here? 

For the first time, Felix regretted taking his humans along with him. He had only endangered them! Some owner and master he was.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Felix felt extremely helpless and angry in his heart, and hated himself for being weak. If only he were smarter. Maybe he would have acted differently. If only he were stronger. If he were stronger, he might be able to save the others. 

Felix felt as if his head was going to explode. He tried his best to adapt to this world, but in the end he found that his best didn’t mean anything. 

Just what the hell kind of world was this?!

AN: So sorry for the delay! 😖 irl and my other wips got in the way. Add to that my stockpile is at 0 😱 I will likely not be updating as frequently as before. Need at least a week or so to rebuild it before I can go back to the old schedule🤦‍♀️ so please bear with me 🙏 thank you💛

Feline Mystique, In-Progress

Feline Mystique CH 025 Confronting Evil

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Dr. Hart suddenly fell silent, staring at her cheek and arm with an unusually gentle gaze.

Clara became even more flustered, her face turning red.

Dr. Hart lifted his head, his warm brown eyes seeming to glow with lit embers within. He smiled, which made him appear even more approachable and handsome. He asked, “You said you liked me and were willing to do anything for me. Is that true?”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Clara thought it was just a sweet moment between lovers and, with a happy heart, replied, “Of course, I’m willing.”

Dr. Hart’s lips curled into a sweeter smile, and he couldn’t resist taking her hand in his own. “That’s really wonderful…”

He moved even closer, and with his other hand, gently stroked the young woman’s skin, as if caressing a rare treasure.

The cold touch made Clara shiver, and she almost wanted to push him away.

But by the time she realized, she found that Dr. Hart had already trapped her completely in his arms.

He whispered the most strange words in her ear with the sweetest voice.

“If that’s the case, then offering everything to the Goddess should be acceptable, right?”

Clara’s expression froze on her face. “Goddess?”

Dr. Hart’s expression suddenly became crazed at that moment.

“She will like you, She will like everything about you…”

*

The forest air grew colder as Felix and his humans crept through the dense trees. The moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy above, casting faint shadows on the ground. Felix’s ears twitched, catching the faint sound of Dr. Hart’s hurried steps ahead. Every instinct in his body screamed that they were heading toward something vile.

The metallic scent that had first alerted him was now overwhelming, mingled with the sickly-sweet aroma of decay. Felix’s stomach churned, but he pressed on, his breath almost held anxiously in his chest.

Sorath, eyes sharp and glinting like silver coins, motioned for the group to stop. He pointed ahead, where Dr. Hart was disappearing behind what looked like a thick curtain of vines. Felix strained his eyes and saw it—a jagged opening in the earth, hidden by the dense underbrush.

“A cave?” Virgil whispered, his voice barely audible.

Thel inclined his head, carnelian eyes flashing with interest. “Or worse.”

The group waited until Dr. Hart disappeared into the darkness before cautiously following. The narrow path twisted downward, the air growing damper and more suffocating with every step. Felix led the way, his supernatural vision and enhanced senses guiding them through the labyrinthine tunnel.

As they descended, faint echoes reached their ears—muted groans, the clinking of metal, and a low, almost rhythmic humming that sent shivers down Felix’s spine.

“Does anyone else feel like we’re walking into a nightmare?” Albrecht murmured, adjusting his gold watch habitually in a nervous tick.

“Just don’t scream and alert our perp,” Sorath quipped, though his hand rested tensely on the hilt of his dagger. Even though they had yet to confirm anything, it was clear he was already of the mind that the amiable village doctor was the sinister source of the disappearances.

Call it an almost bloodhound instinct.

Indeed, when the tunnel finally widened, opening into a cavernous underground private laboratory, the sight that greeted them was worse than any nightmare.

The room was dimly lit by flickering, makeshift bulbs hanging from frayed wires. The walls were lined with cages, each one holding a human in various states of distress. Some were unconscious, their faces pale and bodies unnaturally still. Others muttered incoherently, their eyes wide with terror.

But this wasn’t what was most shocking and disturbing of all.

Felix’s gaze traveled to the center of the room, where a pregnant woman, emaciated but for the unnaturally large bulge of her belly, was strapped to a surgical table placed in pride of place like some grotesque altar. Even from here, Felix could see the poor woman twitching and convulsing, the skin of her belly distorting along with her as if the thing inside was also writhing in agony.

A sharp, acrid stench filled the air, a blend of chemicals, blood, and something unidentifiably foul. Felix felt an uncontrollable urge to gag and he pressed a hand to his mouth to keep from retching.

It was very clear now. Dr. Hart was a B-Rank Corrupted, higher than most of the average statistics shown on Mzia’s official web page.

There were more people locked up here than they had thought and Felix was almost shocked that none of these disappearances had hit official news other than the occasional superstitious speculations. 

Except for Clara, who had only just been brought here yesterday, everyone else had been modified. Parts of their bodies were missing, replaced by other Corrupted limbs or organs.

The room was filled with wailing and despair.

Dr. Hart closed his eyes in obvious enjoyment, finding these sounds nothing short of heavenly music.

He looked at these people with tender affection, as though he were gazing at treasured possessions he had kept for many years.

For Dr. Hart, this was his masterpiece, the most perfect offering to his Goddess!

Since childhood, Dr. Hart had been deeply interested in human body modification.

He was extremely curious about what would happen when human and Corrupted genes merged, how powerful and monstrous they could become. Perhaps even overtaking the apex species of their society, the Regal Ones themselves.

This ambition tormented him continuously, and it was the driving force that led him to become a doctor.

After becoming a doctor, Dr. Hart began his experiments, but all of them were carried out on guinea pigs, rabbits, and other small animals of the like.

As time passed, Dr. Hart grew unsatisfied with merely combining limbs from two different animal species. He wanted to experiment on humans for real.

However, with the current level of biological advancement, he was far from able to fulfill his obsession.

He could only continue his experiments on animals, using them to soothe his increasingly obsessive desires.

Unfortunately, these experiments were soon discovered by his wife.

Although his wife didn’t say anything at the time, Dr. Hart still saw her scared expression and caught her secretly planning to call the Combat Division.  Why? How could she? He just wanted to realize his dream. Why didn’t even his wife, who he had known as childhood sweethearts support him?

She was simply a fool! A useless, empty-headed woman! 

For his lifelong dream, Dr. Hart had no choice but to kill his wife. This was his first time killing someone, but he was not panicked or sad because at the moment he killed his wife, he met Her, the most powerful and magnanimous Master in the world—the Goddess of Life.

The Goddess of Life possessed half the Life Godhead and could bestow followers with a Corrupted power related to life. After being blessed by the Goddess of Life, Dr. Hart became a B-Rank Corrupted with the ability to ignore the genetic conflict between two species and combine the genes of one organism with the genes of another organism.

With this new ability, he was able to realize his dream for many years and carry out experiments that only fanned his obsession. All the people who have disappeared over the years have been equipped with Corrupted limbs and organs by him, but the effects of the experiments always fell short of his expectations. Those humans equipped with Corrupted genes were not strong, and the strongest ones were only D-Rank.

In order to create stronger Corrupted creations, and to express his devotion to the Goddess of Life, Dr. Hart began to work on the prenatal body. He thought, since the effect of the experimental product fused later was not successful, would it be much better to directly fuse the Corrupted genes into the fetus growing inside a pregnant woman? As soon as this idea appeared, Dr. Hart was so enamored that he immediately carried the plan out.

He began to lure and catch pregnant women, preferring to target single mothers among the overlooked population of their society—“leftover humans” or “strays” who were never chosen by a Regal One master and thus lacked protection—and Corrupted genes were transferred to the fetus in those pregnant women. After the operation, those pregnant women began to slowly feel the gradual metamorphosis of their child, frightening and strange as it grew in their womb little by little, and finally bursting out of their bellies. 

In the underground lab, in addition to kidnapped victims, there was also a twisted piece of flesh.

It had no limbs and needed to use the eyelashes on the many eyes growing from its body to move forward, like a caterpillar. This thing was a test product given birth by a pregnant subject when the experiments were first conducted. It was a failure of course and only deserved to be fed to the true masterpiece as a nutrient supplement.

Dr. Hart could still recall the painful screams of the pregnant woman when she gave birth to it. 

That melody was more beautiful than any angelic choir could produce. 

Dr. Hart then looked at the most recent pregnant subject on his surgical table. The thing in her belly was his most satisfying test product in a long time.

He was very excited, because this masterpiece was also a sacrifice to be offered to the Goddess of Life. The current rank of the Goddess of Life was S-Rank, and She was still one step away from becoming an SS-Rank Evil One. As long as he offered this sacrifice to Her, and She swallowed it, She would become a supreme Evil One, worshiped by everyone, and gain many more followers!

And he would become the Evil One’s most favorite follower of all. 

At this time, Dr. Hart suddenly thought of the young Regal One and his four pets who were staying at his parents’ inn. From the first moment he saw those carelessly laughing humans, Dr. Hart knew that they would’ve been very suitable subjects for his experiments. The results of integrating Corrupted genes into their bodies would definitely be outstanding. But it’s a pity—they were bonded to a Regal One. It would be unlikely to successfully capture one at his power level nevermind that it would have been impossible to avoid detection even if he had succeeded. 

For the lucky souls that they were, they had been chosen by a Regal One practically straight out of school and were clearly cherished by their master. A far cry from the many unwanted strays out there.

Dr. Hart’s expression twisted fiercely with jealousy and wrath, but quickly returned to normal. At the moment, his masterpiece was more important.

*

The situation was worse than they imagined, Dr. Hart was conducting unnatural experiments! Moreover, he was a crazy follower of a high-ranking Corrupted! 

The rank of a Corrupted that could gather followers was generally not too low, at least an S-Rank Evil One. Once Dr. Hart summoned that powerful Corrupted and helped it ascend to Ss-Rank Evil One status, everyone here would die. No, not just them, not even the entire Misty Springs Village would escape. 

“Dear gods…” Albrecht breathed, his face pale.

Virgil’s normally sparkling eyes were darkened. “What the hell is this place?”

“An abomination,” Thel said, his voice neutral but an underlying disgust could be detected. “A temple to madness.”

At the far end of the room stood Dr. Hart, his back turned to them as he hummed to himself. He was bent over the surgical table with the pregnant woman on it, his hands deftly manipulating the attached machines around her. The subject beneath him—the emaciated woman clearly having her nutrients greedily absorbed from her by the thing in her womb—let out a weak moan, her body jerking as Dr. Hart worked.

Seeing the pregnant woman in pain, Dr. Hart only found it particularly interesting and exciting. This test product was his most perfect masterpiece. Although it was not S-Rank, it was still the pinnacle of A-Rank. He just had to wait for another hour and it would rip its way out of the womb.

Dr. Hart’s face lit up with twisted reverence as his hand gently caressed that grotesquely swollen belly.

His eyes were filled with fervor for his deity. “O’ Great Goddess, you will surely like this. They will become your most devout nourishment!”

“You are the greatest, the most selfless, praise be to you!”

With horror, Felix realized that the pregnant woman was still conscious as tears of despair flowed uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes.

Felix swallowed hard, his claws unsheathing instinctively. At the same time, Albrecht attempted to send off a call to the Combat Division.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

But the next second Dr. Hart whipped around, a sharp spider-like protrusion extended from his back and pierced through Albrecht’s phone, nearly stabbing his hand as well if he hadn’t dropped it fast enough. Any signs of the amiable village doctor were gone, replaced by the crazed zealot Corrupted beyond recognition. His eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural light.

Dr. Hart’s face was full of anger. “Did you think I really didn’t notice you all? No one can ruin my sacrifice!”

Feline Mystique, In-Progress

Feline Mystique CH 024 No Rest For The Wicked

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The next morning at Misty Springs Inn began with an air of anticipation. Felix had been looking forward to exploring the village, imagining quaint shops, scenic paths, and perhaps even some local delicacies. The rising sun painted the sky in soft pastels, and the scent of dew and bamboo wafted through the open windows of their room.

Felix stretched lazily on the plush futon in his human form, his silvery-white hair falling in soft waves over his shoulders. Sorath and Virgil were arguing over who got the last ricecake from the breakfast spread they bought from a pastry shop axross the inn, while Albrecht combed his sleek blonde hair fussily and dithered over what to wear for the day. Thel was already by the door, his expression one of impatient expectancy.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

But their lighthearted morning was interrupted by the sound of hushed, panicked voices drifting in from the lobby below.

“What’s going on?” Felix asked, stilling slightly at the tone of distress.

“Only one way to find out,” Sorath said, tossing the last ricecake into his mouth and heading for the door.

The group descended the wooden staircase to find a small crowd gathered near the check-in desk. The innkeeper, Mr. Hart, stood with a furrowed brow, trying to calm a distraught young woman. Beside him, his wife also looked pale and worried.

“What’s the matter?” Felix asked, stepping forward, subconsciously exuding his A-Rank Regal One aura which immediately commanded attention.

The young woman turned to him, wringing her hands together. “It’s Clara,” she said, her voice trembling. “My s-sister, sh-she hasn’t come back. She said she was going to explore the outskirts of the village yesterday afternoon, but… she never returned. I thought she might’ve stayed out late, or maybe stopped by the local pub but now…”

Mrs. Hart who had been speaking with Mr. Hart chimed in. “I told Amanda’s sister not to go near the forest. Strange things have been happening there.”

Felix’s gaze sharpened, and his humans exchanged uneasy glances.

“What kind of strange things?” Thel asked, his tone calm but probing.

“Disappearances,” the old woman whispered, lowering her voice as if the word itself might bring ill fortune. “People—both tourists and locals—go into the forest and don’t come out. Some say it’s the mist—gets into your head and leads you astray. Others say it’s something… unnatural.”

Virgil pulled out his phone, quickly navigating to local social media pages. “Let’s see if anyone’s posted anything helpful,” he muttered, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen.

Albrecht, noticing Felix’s concern, stepped forward. “We’ll help search,” he declared. “Standing here worrying won’t bring the young lady back. Felix?” He turned to their master, waiting for confirmation.

Felix nodded. “Of course. We’ll do everything we can.”

Virgil frowned at his screen. “Nothing except rumors about people disappearing near the forest,” he reported. “Some vague warnings, but no concrete details.”

“We’ll have to rely on the old-fashioned way then,” Thel raised an eyebrow. “Let’s split up into pairs and cover as much ground as possible.”

The young woman hesitated, still wringing her hands. “Are you sure? It could be dangerous…”

Felix offered her a reassuring smile, though unease prickled at the back of his mind. “Don’t worry. I’m part of Mzia’s Combat Division. We’ll be careful.”

The eyes of the young woman, Amanda and the Harts brightened in surprise and hope.

“Oh! Officer, this, this is such good news! We are much more reassured now!”

Felix smiled awkwardly, now almost regretting letting that information slip. “There’s no need to call me ‘officer’, I’m only a trainee.”

So the group headed out, their earlier plans abandoned in favor of the urgent task at hand. The village, so peaceful the night before, was bustling with activity during the day. Locals and tourists mingled, and strangely enough, no one seemed to spare the news that a young woman had gone missing other than a brief word of gossip here or there.

Felix and Albrecht took the lead, heading toward the forest’s edge where Clara was last seen. Virgil and Sorath veered towards the neighboring shops and establishments, and in particular the local pub, questioning anyone they encountered, while Thel stayed behind to coordinate with the innkeepers and gather more information.

Felix and Albrecht walked through the bustling village, warm from the mists wafting from the natural hot springs that ran underneath the village. 

“This isn’t how I imagined our morning,” Felix said, his voice low.

“Life rarely goes as planned,” Albrecht replied, his tone one of pompous wisdom. “But my dear is handling it well, like a true officer of the Combat Division.”

Felix glanced at him, a faint blush dusting his cheekbones. “If I didn’t know you any better I’d have thought you to be sarcastic.” In fact, if those words had come from Thel’s mouth, Felix would be positive that the man was indeed being sarcastic about his earlier slip of the tongue.

Albrecht smiled down at him, “My dear, what kind of pet would I be if I showed such disrespect for my master? I am not a ruffian like some.”

“…” By some, Felix had a feeling he was referring to three conspicuously absent men. He side-eyed the pleased expression on Albrecht’s handsome face at having managed to subtly put down the others in front of Felix.

Felix felt it was better to let Albrecht—and the others for that matter—to think they have managed to be quite sly and cunning.

Before long, they passed by the village square, Felix sniffing the air instinctively. His heightened senses distinguishing among faint traces of human scent, to something darker mingled within—a faint sweetened metallic tang that made his incisors sting.

“Do you smell that?” Felix asked, his voice tightening.

Albrecht frowned, taking a step closer to Felix. “I don’t, but as a Regal One your senses are much keener. Lead the way, dearest.”

Forgoing the earlier plan to head towards the forest edge, Felix followed the scent, his steps quickening as it grew stronger. His mind raced with possibilities, none of them comforting.

Meanwhile, Sorath and Virgil had little luck with their inquiries. Most villagers were tight-lipped, their answers vague and evasive. Frustrated, Sorath muttered under his breath, “They’re more scared of the rumors than they are of someone actually missing.”

“Can you blame them?” Virgil replied, his eyes scanning the horizon. “If people are really disappearing, they probably don’t want to be next.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a call from Thel. “Felix and Albrecht might have found something. Head towards the local clinic.”

Sorath and Virgil exchanged a glance before turning in that direction.

*

The sweet metallic scent wafted through the air like a ghostly whisper, tugging at Felix’s heightened senses. It was faint yet distinct, lingering just enough to make him uncomfortable. He paused mid-step on the cobblestone path behind Misty Springs Village’s local clinic, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s him,” Felix murmured, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of villagers going about their day.

The small clinic looked cheerful and inviting from the outside, painted in soft pastel hues with flower boxes under its windows. A handmade wooden sign that read “Misty Springs Clinic” swung gently in the evening breeze. The warm lighting from within should have been comforting, but to Felix, it felt like a façade masking something sinister.

Sorath stepped up beside Felix, pale eyes scanning the building. “You’re sure? The doctor?”

Felix nodded, raising his nose slightly to take a deeper inhale. “That scent—it’s coming from the clinic. It’s stronger here.”

Virgil crept closer in curiosity and peeked through one of the windows, cupping his hands around his face to block out the glare. “Looks normal enough. Clean, organized. Maybe a little too perfect. Reminds me of Thel’s ocd ways.”

Thel crossed his arms, his expression unreadable as if he didn’t hear the offhanded dig. “Appearances can be deceiving. Still, we can’t act on a hunch alone.”

Just then, the clinic door swung open, and Dr. Elias Hart stepped out, whistling a jaunty tune as he locked up behind him. He looked every bit the affable village doctor, his white coat swapped for that plaid coat and slacks combination they had seen yesterday. He glanced around the empty street, his smile as bright as ever, before strolling off with an easy gait.

Felix stiffened. The scent intensified as Dr. Hart passed by, the sweet metallic tang clinging to him like a second skin.

Sorath smiled carelessly, but his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the side of his leg. “He’s definitely up to something.”

Thel frowned, his voice low and measured. “Suspicious, yes. But we need proof before jumping to conclusions. Felix, are you certain it’s him?”

“Yes,” Felix said firmly. His tone carried an edge of certainty that made the others exchange glances.

Albrecht adjusted his fine wool coat, his gaze following Dr. Hart as he disappeared down the path. “Then we shall follow him.”

The group trailed Dr. Hart from a safe distance, their footsteps careful on the cobblestone path that wound through the village. The cheerful ambiance of Misty Springs seemed to darken the farther they walked, the hum and chatter of villagers fading into the background.

Dr. Hart meandered through the village with a practiced nonchalance, stopping occasionally to greet passersby. He exchanged pleasantries with a shopkeeper, chuckled at a group of playful children’s antics, and even paused to observe a chipmunk that crossed his path. Yet something about his movements felt rehearsed, like an actor playing a role.

“Is it just me, or is he trying too hard at a normie act?” Virgil whispered, his voice barely audible.

“It’s not just you,” Sorath replied, his hand twitching slightly and his eyes flickering slightly to the hilt of a dagger tucked into his right boot.

When Dr. Hart turned a corner and left the bustling part of the village behind, his demeanor changed. His cheery whistle faded, and his pace quickened. He glanced over his shoulder, his warm smile replaced by a cold, calculating expression.

“Whoa, psychopath alert,” Virgil muttered under his breath.

The group picked up their pace, careful to stay out of sight. Felix’s sharp eyes and sensitive ears kept them on Dr. Hart’s trail as he took a detour around the outskirts of the village, avoiding well-trodden paths.

“Where is he going?” Albrecht pursed his lips, his tone a bit annoyed.

The answer came when Dr. Hart veered off the path entirely, slipping into the dense forest that bordered the village.

The forest was a different world. Tall, ancient trees towered overhead, their gnarled branches forming a canopy that blocked out the moonlight. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves, but that faint sweet metallic tang still lingered, guiding Felix better than any beacon or compass could do.

Dr. Hart moved with purpose now, his earlier casual stroll replaced by brisk, deliberate strides. He didn’t bother to conceal his path, crushing leaves and snapping twigs underfoot.

“He’s getting sloppy,” Sorath remarked, an almost wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Probably thinks no one would dare follow him out here.”

“Stay focused,” Thel said sharply. “We’re not here to provoke him—just to gather information.”

Felix, leading the group, raised a hand to signal them to stop. He crouched low behind a bush, his head tilted slightly as he listened with intent.

Ahead, Dr. Hart had come to a stop in a small clearing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of dark liquid, holding it up to the faint sunlight trickling in through the leafy canopies above. Felix’s stomach churned as the sweet metallic scent grew overpowering.

“What’s he doing?” Virgil whispered, leaning closer.

Dr. Hart muttered something under his breath, his words too quiet to make out. He uncorked the vial and poured its contents onto the ground. The dark liquid seeped into the soil, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then the ground trembled.

Felix’s hair stood on end as an unnatural energy rippled through the air. The shadows around Dr. Hart seemed to deepen, writhing like living things. The faint glow of his warm smile was long gone, replaced by an eerie, otherworldly aura.

“What the hell is that?” Sorath hissed, his hand gripping his dagger.

“Something unnatural,” Felix said, his tone grim. His instincts screamed at him to act, but he forced himself to stay hidden.

Dr. Hart stood motionless for a moment, as if waiting for something. Then he turned and began walking deeper into the forest, his movements swift and unerring.

Felix rose slowly, his eyes locked on the retreating figure. “We need to follow him. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not good.”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Thel gripped Felix’s shoulder firmly but gently. “Careful. If he senses us, we’ll lose any advantage we have.”

The group exchanged tense nods before continuing their pursuit. The deeper they went into the forest, the stronger the unsettling energy became. Felix’s heart did a funny little jump as they approached what felt like the center of the disturbance.

Whatever lay ahead, he knew it would be nothing short of trouble.