Chapter 213: Slaughter: The Sawyer Family

Inside the room.

A group of people were still immersed in joy.

Heather sat on the bed, examining the furnishings and objects in the room, trying to glimpse her family’s daily life.

Even now, she couldn’t believe this place truly belonged to her—that she really had such a wealthy grandmother.

But why?

What about the rest of the family?

And why had she been adopted by foster parents? Where were her biological parents? Were they still alive?

One question after another piled up in her heart, diluting the joy she had felt over inheriting vast wealth and planning to chase her dreams in Hollywood. She sat on the bed, staring blankly.

Suddenly, the spot beneath her buttocks felt uneven. She reached down and picked it up—it was the letter from the lawyer, left by her grandmother, with explicit instructions to read it.

Perhaps the answer lay inside?

Heather opened the envelope.

Meanwhile, in other rooms, her friends were having the time of their lives.

Loud, pulsing beats thumped faintly.

Four people twisted their waists, swayed their hips, flailed their arms, their bodies constantly rubbing against each other, gurgle—

Adam’s apple bobbed; some hormone was being released.

If only there were alcohol and neon lights, this place could instantly become a party.

Lei En and Heather’s best friend drew closer, the space between them shrinking until it was nearly an embrace.

The two men beside them smirked and walked away from each other. “Wanna play pool?”

“Sure.”

They had just reached the pool table.

A muffled sound echoed from inside the room.

Both men fell silent.

“Damn, this is urgent. That bastard Lei En doesn’t care if Heather finds out.”

“Heh, he probably thinks Heather’s got this huge estate now and won’t want him anymore, so he’s just screwing her best friend.”

“Tch. That must be it.”

“I hope he finishes in one minute.”

They exchanged glances, both sensing the other’s resentment. “Come on, come on. We two lonely dogs can’t play pool—let’s just play pool.”

“Wait, did you hear that sound?”

“Tch. Yeah, that’s just a cat in heat. Oh, they’re going at it pretty hard. You think they’d mind if I joined? Nah, I guess they wouldn’t agree.”

“No, it’s that scraping sound—the floor being clawed at, like…”

Creak!

A hidden door behind the pool table swung open.

A two-and-a-half-meter-tall, massively muscular monster stepped out in one stride.

Its upper body wore only a white chef’s cloth tied around its neck; its lower half was clad in greasy, baggy pants. Every muscle was knotted, hardened, and darkened like bark or chitin.

Most bizarre were its hands: its left palm was far wider than a human’s, its nails sharp as claws; its right hand seemed fused with a chainsaw, thick veins and flesh spreading across the blade as if feeding it power.

On its head was a mask made of layered human skins, peeled alive and stitched together with pins, dried over years into a thick, leathery face, caked with black, dried blood—like some cult artifact.

Within the hollow eye sockets carved into the thick skin mask glowed a pair of crimson eyes, filled with agitation and brutality—when they locked onto the two men.

Before they could scream—

Hum!

The chainsaw whirred—

And effortlessly sent both men straight to hell.

Perhaps due to its overwhelming strength or the chainsaw’s razor edge.

The blade cut through with unnerving smoothness, no resistance at all; even after being severed, the two men were not quite dead, screaming in utter terror.

Then—

The chainsaw continued humming.

The sound soon fell silent.

Creak… creak…

The skin mask’s cheeks twitched slightly, a trickle of blood oozed from its lips, and the chainsaw in its hand pulsed faintly, its red glow brightening.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing! You scared me!”

“You scared me stiff—I swear I’ll kick your ass with my shoe tip!”

Lei En and Heather’s best friend, interrupted, cursed as they flung open the door—only to have a spray of blood explode across their faces.

The skin mask turned its innocent yet blood-red eyes toward them.

The skinned face turned its innocent yet bloodshot, terrifying eyes toward the two.

“….”

After a brief silence, both did the instinctive thing any human would—screamed.

After a brief silence, the two did what any human would instinctively do—they screamed.

Amid their terrified screams, they followed their companions’ fate—within ten seconds, the skin mask moved too fast. For all its bulk, it was astonishingly agile, no less nimble than a lean, lithe man.

Now, the skin mask stared at the two fresh corpses, scratched its head, and sighed with a twisted kind of happiness.

For the past half-month, its family hadn’t brought food. It had to hunt alone—killing just one person a day, enough to eat.

Actually, it didn’t want to do this. Its family had said one corpse should last ten days. But it was starving—ever since that old man did something to it over two years ago, it had been constantly hungry, never full, and had become this.

Actually, it hadn’t wanted to do this; its family had said a corpse should last ten days, but it was too hungry—ever since that old man did something to it over two years ago, it had been constantly hungry, as if it could never be full, and had become this way.

And it had obeyed the last family member’s rules.

Because decades ago, it hadn’t followed orders to kill cleanly—resulting in its family being burned alive. It felt guilty.

So now, it listened to its family.

Since the last family member told it to hide, it hunted only at night.

But now, the last family member was gone. What should it do? It seemed it could only stay in this house—it was their home, too.

The skin mask lowered its head slightly, sadness creeping in; the blood-and-meat chainsaw in its hand slowed its spin.

The skinned face lowered its head slightly, sorrowful, the blood-soaked chainsaw in its hand slowing its spin.

After slicing again,

The skin mask tossed eyeballs and genitals into its mouth as snacks and began patrolling the house.

It needed to confirm whether any strangers remained inside.

It needed to confirm whether there were any other strangers in the house.

!!!

The skin mask’s crimson eyes flared bright.

It smelled it—the scent of a stranger!

It smelled it—smelled the scent of a stranger!

Kill the intruder—the food!

With heavy yet agile, contradictory steps, the skin mask rushed upstairs.

With heavy yet agile, contradictory steps, the skinned face hurried up to the second floor.

Heather trembled as she stared at the letter.

Its contents made her refuse to believe them.

Her family had been a cannibal clan—twenty years ago, the town sheriff, Bert, and others had slaughtered them all.

She, though saved by her foster parents, had also seen her mother murdered by them.

As for her grandmother, she had escaped by chance while away, and found the last surviving member of the Sawyer family: a mentally disabled individual with the intellect of an eight-year-old child—the skin mask, Jedidiah Sawyer.

He was her cousin. As family, he would protect her; and likewise, she was to care for him—and this care was peculiar.

Two years ago, a mysterious man came, using some unknown power to alter the skin mask, making it crave raw human flesh and vastly increasing its strength.

But don’t worry—he was still family, still part of the Sawyer clan.

So her duty was to use the estate’s wealth to acquire corpses. She had arranged this through Farnsworth—the corpses came from graveyards, crematoriums, hospitals…

In America, corpses were never in short supply.

One corpse per day was enough to feed her cousin.

Of course, her grandmother never forced her to return to the family. She only wished Heather to have a happy life—just as her grandmother had long known of her existence but chose not to seek her out, unwilling to burden her with the family’s sins.

Only now, in her will, had she left the choice to Heather.

Only now did it leave a will, leaving the decision to her.

Reading the handwriting, Heather breathed heavily—everything had come too suddenly, too violently.

But the blood pumping in her heart seemed to boil, whispering to her the truth of her innermost choice.

She was a member of the cannibal clan—born with this blood.

She wanted real family—real people who would support her.

She wanted to chase her dreams, and needed money to make it happen.

She wanted to pursue her dreams and needed money to support it.

So...

She traced the last line on the envelope, which bore her original name.

Edith Rose Sawyer.

“I am Edith.”

Edith hung the necklace from the envelope around her neck—it was the Sawyer family crest and token.

As long as he saw this, Pi Lian would recognize her.

Edith trembled as she rose, wanting to step out, find the hidden door, and meet her cousin.

But then.

Bang!

The door burst open.

Pi Lian, massive and grotesque, lowered his head and stepped inside.

In his hand, the flesh-powered chainsaw hummed violently, slashing straight toward Edith.

Yet at the very moment of impact.

Pi Lian stopped.

His eyes locked onto the pendant hanging from Edith’s chest.

Hum…

The chainsaw’s whir slowly faded.

“Cousin?” Edith, startled, ventured a call.

Pi Lian said nothing, only stared at her.

Edith slowly stepped forward; in that moment, she felt a pull between bloodlines.

She was certain—he was her family.

“Cousin.”

Suddenly.

Pi Lian whipped his head downward.

His nose told him another stranger had arrived!

Hum!!

The flesh-powered chainsaw roared back to life.

Bang!

One step forward—he shot downward with terrifying speed.

Edith hurried after him from behind.

She leapt three steps at a time.

She rushed downstairs.

There, a strikingly handsome young man crouched beside Lei En, whose body had been cut into pieces and not yet cleared away.

Pi Lian’s flesh-powered chainsaw swung down toward him.

The howling wind mixed with the chainsaw’s distinctive hum.

The strike carried immense power.

Enough to split the young man in two!

(End of Chapter)