Chapter 256: Release

In the obscure darkness, that unusually tall and slender silhouette, like a thin curtain, was suddenly yanked open by something, so lightly that it shook one's perception of its weight and volume.

Its already abnormal shape bent even more unnaturally; the upper limbs twisted as if boneless, and the ribcage collapsed inward like a flattened empty box.

The soft tissue tearing and the friction of the broken ends, compressed into an instant, were so severely distorted that forming an intuitive concept of what happened became difficult.

All that was known was that within an extremely short time, the owner of that terrifying iron hammer no longer possessed the ability to continue wielding it, letting it slip from his relaxed palm as his body fell to the ground, like a heavy cinder never extracted from a nightmare.

Yvonne stood in place, feeling her thoughts stagnate in that instant. She waved her five fingers, recalling the feel of throwing the object.

Her consciousness, not yet fully free from the dream, remained weary, immersed in the strange sense of freedom from the passing dream and the vast gap with reality, obeying instinct and reflexive actions, not even yet understanding what she had just done.

Long-term adaptation had gradually accustomed the body to change, often causing one to forget what kind of thing lurked beneath an apparently ordinary appearance, unintentionally revealing itself when uncontrolled.

Standing dazed in place, she spent a few deep breaths understanding the sequence of events. The first thing to appear was habitual panic, as before every time, realizing that when something was wrong, the mistake had already been made, with fragments of window frames, pen shafts, or glassware stabbing into her palm.

But the gradually prevailing logical mind realized the situation differed from usual. There was no need to feel sorry for that fellow who had "abnormality" written all over his face, and the bronze candelabra probably wouldn't mind such a small collision.

Some similar scenes surged forth, mostly related to night and doors, with noisy or quiet things moving outside, beating against an unsteady shelter; all one could do was find a safe corner within the limited space.

And this time she stood outside the door. The darkness, filling every space like deep water, enveloped her, also containing malice of unknown form and quantity.

Instincts carved into the bloodline and these memories produced a slight fear, like salty water choking deep into the nose and throat, bringing a stinging sense of danger and insecurity. Behind her was a thick wooden door, with a metal bolt two fingers wide.

She tried taking a step forward; it wasn't as difficult as imagined, then she moved faster and more freely until she stood before that fallen body, emitting a barely sustainable, rattling wheeze.

Unlike the incident at Westminburg, she could feel the other's movements, though very faint; this person, altered by some power, still maintained consciousness after losing a hand and a quarter of his ribs, vainly trying to salvage a life already on the verge of exhaustion.

Suffocation and pain prevented him from concentrating his mind to think; he merely groped toward the injured part with his remaining hand, wanting to find the embedded object.

Yvonne saw reflected in those eyeballs deeply embedded in the eye sockets the things previously concealed by darkness and fanaticism: survival, pain, confusion, and her own figure, stretched long and shadowy by the spherical surface under the faint light.

【I have done this once before; it's nothing major.】

Thinking thus, her hand grasped the exposed handle of the candelabra and slowly exerted force to pull it out.

The bronze structure was not designed for piercing, nor was it as hard as steel; under the violent impact, it deformed, jammed between hard objects, and the entire upper body was lifted by this motion.

Like dealing with a shovel driven into the earth, she tried twisting the handle left and right; the slightly moist metal surface was somewhat slippery, the loosening degree was not ideal, and it seemed to have caught on even more things, coming to a complete halt.

She did not know what that was, did not think about it, and subconsciously was unwilling to think about it; she stepped on the spot beside the candelabra and increased her force.

The sense of obstruction did not last long before disappearing; something brittle yet tough snapped, and the rhythmic trembling beneath her feet gradually weakened and came to a complete stop.

The candelabra broke free from its shackles and returned to her control; streams of liquid gathered at the tip fixing the candle, dripping drop by drop onto the ground.

Logically speaking, Yvonne felt she should be fearful, shrinking back, or at the very least feel nauseous and sick. But in reality, she had simply completed all of this, like an unrelated bystander, manipulating her hands and feet like a marionette.

Her heart was not calm; some intense emotion was surging, merely appearing strange because it had been so long.

Fragmented rustling whispers chattered incessantly, becoming sharper, whistling like a needle tip scraping. It clearly manifested its presence, not only in the mind but also in the body; they were one.

For the first time, Yvonne heard something from within: a direction. Turning to look behind, a new furtive shadow appeared in the open doorway.

Discovering his concealment had failed, the intruder rushed forward decisively, raising his weapon high. He doubted whether he had any effect on his companion, but did not think deeply about what had happened; he only felt that no one should stand there to stop them.

Perhaps in his expectation, he could quickly win by physical advantage; what he worried about most was actually this witness fleeing and bringing more helpers.

The girl clearly felt the thing brought out from the illusionary dream: full of aggression, yet forced to choose compromise under suppression; it was part of herself but did not fully belong to her.

Before the unknown price arrived, the carrier rooted here also provided side effects unintended by its original purpose—power, power sufficient to bring change, and now was precisely the occasion where it could and should be used, even if the Professor would support it.

That emotion was still pouring out, growing with the wild swinging of the heavy object in her hand, making her spirit light.

Breaking through thick barriers, it surged forth from the deepest recesses of the sealed heart, scattering the repressive gloom and shattering self-doubt; it was not any kind of processed emotion, but pure release.

She fully released this power, using it with subjective will and firmness, and deeply understood why her guardian was unwilling to see anyone come into contact with it—things that defied common sense naturally possessed irresistible charm, even when one knew such pursuit would invite negative results.

Seemingly tall, invincible obstacles shattered before it; steel blades curled back, finger bones snapped, and skin tore.

He howled and retreated backward, clutching the partially vanished limb, his body hunched in pain; the situation reversed.

He could not hear specific content, mostly scattered, incoherent interjections, incomprehensible curses, and unwilling pleas for mercy. Those half-understood broken words were too loud, active in every straining muscle, symphonic in the mind, leaving her no time to listen to the final boring curses.

Hard bone plates shattered; the brass silenced the voice of the one bearing this power, releasing him.

There was no second form daring to make a sound.

The corridor fell silent; in the air filled with the smell of rusted iron, there was a strange yet familiar laugh of satisfaction.

Yvonne stood for a while, found a clean spot to set the candelabra steady, lifted the limp cultivator from the ground who appeared to have concussion symptoms, and waited for a batch of belated, hurried footsteps to ascend the stairs.

"Nothing, I handled it." She had wanted to say this sentence for a long time.