Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 84: Brutal Instinct

Morning came too soon.

The fire had long since died, leaving only warm embers buried in the dark earth. Dylan hadn’t slept. Or rather... he hadn’t dared to. Every time he closed his eyes, a shiver crawled beneath his skin, as if the demoness waited just behind his eyelids. As if one wrong step into sleep would be enough to swallow him whole.

And then... there was Maggie.

She never really slept deeply. She kept watch like a wolf on edge, her axe always within reach, her gaze ever so slightly turned toward him, even in the dark. Dylan knew that a single wrong move, one twitch too sharp—and this time, she wouldn’t miss his head.

The truth was, he was in way over his head. He’d never been prepared for this. For any of this.

In the army, he was an officer. A lieutenant. He’d commanded a platoon. And he knew it: Maggie blamed him for the death of her men. That platoon, gone within the first hours of their arrival in this world. Soldiers cut down one by one. Deaths she’d never digested.

But what few knew... was that Maggie, despite the nickname she still carried—Commander—had actually been a colonel. She’d commanded multiple platoons. Including his.

They’d never been close. Their relationship had always been strictly military: superior and subordinate. And not the friendly kind. Dylan had always been the lone wolf type, improvising in the field, ignoring orders when he thought he had a better plan. And it worked. His missions were always successful. But that didn’t erase the quiet contempt of those who lived by the book. Like Maggie.

She was order. Structure. Precise efficiency.

He was instinct. Intuition. Organized chaos.

They had nothing in common.

And yet, here, in this strange world, they had eventually started talking. Tolerating each other, a little. Not quite understanding—but coexisting.

Dylan feared her. He wouldn’t lie to himself. It was like living beside a wounded predator, just waiting for one sign of weakness to finish what it started.

Without Élisa, he wouldn’t have made it through the night.

She hadn’t slept either. She’d stayed awake, half-sitting, her golden eyes ever alert, refusing to give him up even under pressure. She didn’t need to say it—it was there in the way she positioned herself between him and Maggie, even without hostility.

Dylan owed her more than he’d ever admit.

And now, the sky was beginning to pale.

The morning wind slid over the shattered stones of the Cemetery of Heroes.

And the hunt was about to begin.

---

Just as Élisa had said, the Cemetery of Heroes teemed with monsters.

And the trio found out faster than they would’ve liked. Barely out of their shelter, shapes had already emerged between the rocks, the blades, and the cracked tombs—carried on the cold morning mist.

Things that prowled. Things that watched.

If not for the guardian—still motionless somewhere in the fog, tall as a pillar of shadow—this entire place would’ve been nothing but a ruined infestation, a nest crawling with demonic beasts. But his presence alone—silent, terrifying—kept a fragile balance. He didn’t intervene... but his vigilance held the worst creatures at bay, like a wordless reminder that this place was sacred.

They moved cautiously, weaving between rusted blades stabbed into the soil, stepping past forgotten skulls and crumbled totems. More than once, they stopped.

There — a scaly mass crouched beneath a shroud of mud.

Here — a four-legged thing with a split jaw, surrounded by carrion.

Farther — a murder of crows too black to be normal circling a fresh charnel pit, spinning slowly above a seething knot of shadow.

Some monsters hunted alone. Others moved in packs.

A nest. A roaming horde. A feral patrol.

For a moment, none of them spoke. The trio watched. Measured each beast. Still hesitating.

They weren’t here for glory. They were here to survive, to harvest anima gems, to fortify Dylan’s soul before time closed in on him. This wasn’t about winning—it was about not dying.

So they chose.

Not the weakest—there were none.

But the least fatal.

An elk. Or what had once been one.

The creature wandered alone between two stone pillars. Its massive body was covered in dark fur, bristled with bony outgrowths. Its eyes glowed with a dull, almost mournful blue. But every step from its powerful legs made the ground tremble. Long, twisted antlers rose from its skull, warped like clawed branches, dark veins still pulsing faintly through them—like something unseen still clung to its body, refusing to let go.

"Tier three. Lone type. Tough, but slow," Élisa murmured, crouched behind a fragment of a broken stele.

"Not the easiest... but we can manage."

Maggie gave a nod.

"We’ll have to wear it down. Harass it. Take turns. But if we let it charge, it’s over."

All eyes turned to Dylan.

He nodded silently.

They didn’t expect much from him—he knew that. But he had a role to play: strike, then retreat. Don’t be a burden. Don’t lose control.

They moved into position slowly, each taking their place around the warped clearing.

Their target still grazed silently, its antlers twitching with every breath.

And around them, the fog drifted softly, pushed by the breeze—as if it, too, was holding its breath.

They attacked as one. A tense machine, improvised, but without hesitation.

Maggie was the first to break cover, axe raised, her shout short and sharp like a signal. The beast lifted its head in a snap. Its antlers twitched. But it didn’t move immediately. It turned its gaze slowly, its pale eyes locking onto Maggie with an almost human sluggishness. Too late. The axe came down on its flank, slicing through the rough hide and into the muscle.

Bone splintered. Black ichor sprayed. A guttural snarl followed.

But the demonic elk didn’t buckle. It reacted with feral speed. Its antlers swept the air with crushing force. Maggie tried to retreat—too slowly. One jagged point tore through her shoulder, ripping flesh and cloth, flinging her against a rock. She winced, but got back up immediately, breath ragged, axe already up again.

Élisa struck next.

Fast as a shot, she leapt from pillar to pillar before launching onto the beast’s back. But the elk bucked wildly, violent as a maddened stallion, and slammed into a stele. Élisa nearly got crushed. She dropped one dagger, clung to a bony protrusion, and drove her other blade into its shoulder. The creature rolled furiously to throw her off.

Élisa let go at the last second, hitting the ground hard, gasping, hands slick with blood that wasn’t hers.

And Dylan... finally moved.

He’d been waiting. Watching. Breath held, machete split down the middle in his hands. Not even sure of his swing. But he knew if he stayed frozen, someone would fall.

So he charged.

Slipping between two stones, circling the beast, he aimed for the hind leg. The blade bit into flesh. The creature reacted instantly, lashing out with savage power. Dylan crashed to the ground, pain flaring in his hip. He growled, pushed himself up, lunged again.

And then... he felt it.

A shiver up his spine. Like a dark heat pulsing deep in his gut. Something primal. A wild, thrilling high, barely contained. Each blow he struck fed him. Electrified him.

He slashed the abdomen—the beast roared. He darted back just in time to avoid a hoof. His breath quickened with his movement.

And he was smiling.

Inside. Silently. No pride. No cruelty. Just raw, brutal, inexplicable pleasure.

But he kept that to himself.