The thing that emerged from the corridor's depths was an abomination that belonged in medical textbooks under "What Not to Do During Surgery." Three meters of rotting flesh held together by crude stitches that would have made a first-year medical student weep with shame, the Collector shambled forward with the grace of a drunk elephant, leaving a trail of putrid fluid that made my eyes water and my professional pride scream in agony.
The stench hit us like a physical blow—formaldehyde mixed with decay and something that might have been sulfur, or possibly the collective despair of every surgeon who'd ever witnessed this butcher job. Zero, my perfect weapon, took one look at the creature and froze like a deer in headlights, his entire body trembling with what looked suspiciously like trauma response triggered by the sight of surgical malpractice made manifest.
*Great. My apex predator has PTSD triggered by bad taxidermy. This night just keeps getting more medically fascinating.*
"Formation attack!" Lord Jun commanded with imperial authority that would have been impressive if he hadn't immediately proven why emperors shouldn't micromanage military operations. Blue phosphorescent flames erupted around him like a disco from hell, casting eerie shadows that made everything look even more nightmarish.
Weiss moved simultaneously, his mental threads lashing out like invisible whips toward the creature's head with the coordination of someone who'd never worked in a team before. But coordination had never been their strong suit—Jun's flames caught Weiss's psychic constructs, severing them with the precision of a surgical accident that would result in multiple malpractice lawsuits.
"You incompetent fool!" Weiss shrieked as his mental backlash hit him like a sledgehammer to the temporal lobe, his voice cracking with the kind of pain that made me want to prescribe heavy painkillers and possibly a psychiatric evaluation.
The Collector, apparently offended by their amateur hour performance and possibly their lack of professional courtesy, opened what might have been its mouth and projectile vomited a stream of corrosive fluid that would have made a xenomorph proud and a gastroenterologist fascinated.
The acidic spray caught both attackers with the accuracy of Murphy's Law in action, dissolving Jun's precious dragon robes and melting the leather of Weiss's expensive shoes with the efficiency of industrial-grade solvent.
"My robes!" Jun wailed with the anguish of someone who'd just watched their Lamborghini get keyed by a vindictive ex. "These were hand-embroidered by imperial artisans!"
"My Louboutins!" Weiss echoed, staring at his ruined footwear with genuine grief that belonged in a support group for fashion victims. "Do you have any idea how much these cost?"
**[LIVESTREAM - VIEWERS: 78,234,567]**
→ @BloodRose_666: THE S-CLASS VILLAINS ARE GETTING OWNED BY A ZOMBIE I'M DYING
→ @ChaosQueen: This is the most embarrassing fight scene in recorded history
→ @ShadowLord donated 30,000,000 credits: "THEY NEED ADULT SUPERVISION DESPERATELY"
→ @OmegaLover: Zero is having a panic attack someone please help him
→ @Anonymous_0001: The doctor needs to take charge before they all die horribly
I watched this display of tactical incompetence with the kind of professional horror usually reserved for medical students attempting brain surgery with a butter knife and the confidence of someone who'd watched too many medical dramas. Enough was enough.
"Stop," I said, my voice cutting through their chaos with surgical precision and the authority of someone who'd spent years commanding operating rooms full of equally incompetent residents. "All of you, stop this amateur hour nonsense immediately before someone gets seriously hurt."
I walked forward, stepping around the puddles of acid with the calm of someone who'd seen worse things in the emergency room on a Saturday night after the bars closed. The Collector turned its attention to me, and I got my first good look at the craftsmanship that had gone into creating this medical nightmare.
*Absolutely appalling. Whoever did this butcher job should have their medical license revoked, their degree burned, and possibly be shot for crimes against anatomy.*
"This," I announced, pointing at the shambling horror with the authority of a chief surgeon addressing a room full of incompetent residents who'd somehow managed to kill a patient during a routine checkup, "is the worst example of reconstructive surgery I have ever witnessed in my professional career, and I once saw someone try to perform an appendectomy with a spoon."
The creature paused, as if confused by my lack of terror and possibly offended by my professional critique of its construction.
"Look at these sutures!" I continued, my voice rising with genuine medical outrage that had been building up for years of dealing with incompetent colleagues. "Uneven spacing, poor tension distribution, complete disregard for tissue compatibility, and don't get me started on the alignment issues. This is a catastrophic medical malpractice case that would make lawyers weep with joy."
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @BloodRose_666: IS HE SERIOUSLY CRITIQUING THE ZOMBIE'S STITCHING TECHNIQUE?!
→ @ChaosQueen: Only this man would give a medical review to a monster trying to kill him
→ @ShadowLord: The audacity is off the charts and I'm absolutely living for this
→ @OmegaLover: He's treating it like a failed surgery and I can't breathe from laughing
→ @Anonymous_7749: Most savage medical consultation in human history
I turned to face my three "assistants" with the kind of disappointed expression that had made medical students cry, quit medicine, and occasionally change their entire life trajectory. "Since you three clearly can't handle a simple extraction procedure without nearly killing each other, we're going to do this properly. Consider this a corrective surgery, and I'm the attending physician with absolute authority."
Zero was still trembling, but his blindfolded face turned toward me with desperate hope and the kind of trust usually reserved for religious experiences.
"Zero," I said, my voice carrying the absolute authority of someone who'd spent years commanding operating rooms and making life-or-death decisions before breakfast, "you're going to target the left patella with surgical precision. One clean strike to shatter the joint and compromise its mobility. Make it kneel like the failed experiment it is."
Something shifted in Zero's posture like a switch being flipped. The trembling stopped, replaced by the focused intensity of a scalpel finding its mark with deadly accuracy.
"Weiss," I continued, my tone carrying the kind of professional expectation that brooked no argument, "once it's down and immobilized, you'll use your threads to sever the cervical vertebrae at C2-C3. Clean cut, minimal tissue damage, textbook spinal severance. Think of it as the world's most violent neurosurgery."
Weiss's eyes lit up with the kind of manic glee that belonged in psychiatric textbooks under "Dangerous Obsessions" but also carried genuine professional interest. "Surgical precision with artistic flair. I understand perfectly, Doctor. It will be beautiful."
"Lord Jun," I finished, my voice carrying imperial command that somehow outranked his own royal authority, "cauterization protocol. High-temperature flame to seal the wound and prevent any regenerative processes. Think of it as surgical electrocautery, but with more dramatic flair and significantly better special effects."
Jun's fan snapped open with renewed confidence and what might have been genuine respect. "As you command, my physician. It shall be done with imperial precision."
The Collector lurched forward, apparently tired of being discussed like a case study and possibly offended by our complete lack of fear. But now my team moved with the coordination of a surgical unit that had worked together for years rather than three psychopaths who'd met five minutes ago.
Zero struck first, his leg sweeping out in a perfect arc that connected with the creature's kneecap with the precision of a guided missile. The sound of shattering bone echoed through the corridor as the monster crashed to its knees with a wet thud that spoke of structural integrity failure.
"Excellent form," I observed clinically, my voice carrying professional approval that made Zero practically glow with pride. "Textbook execution with perfect force distribution."
Weiss's mental threads lashed out like invisible surgical instruments guided by years of experience, finding the exact vertebrae I'd specified with the accuracy of someone who'd memorized every bone in the human body. The creature's head tilted at an unnatural angle as its spinal cord was severed with the precision of a master surgeon performing the most delicate operation.
"Beautiful work," I noted with genuine professional appreciation that made Weiss beam like a student who'd just aced their final exam. "Clean, efficient, minimal collateral damage. That's exactly how it should be done."
Jun's flames roared to life, blue fire washing over the creature's neck wound with the controlled intensity of a master craftsman. The smell of charred flesh filled the air as the regenerative tissue was burned away at the cellular level with surgical precision.
"Perfect cauterization," I concluded with the satisfaction of someone who'd just witnessed flawless teamwork. "Temperature control was excellent, coverage was complete. The patient is stable and thoroughly deceased."
The Collector collapsed in a heap of neatly sectioned, thoroughly carbonized remains that looked more like an art installation than the aftermath of a violent encounter. The corridor was spotless except for a few scorch marks that actually improved the décor.
**[LIVESTREAM EXPLOSION]**
→ @BloodRose_666: THAT WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SURGICAL TEAMWORK EVER WITNESSED
→ @ChaosQueen: He turned three psychopaths into a perfect medical team in thirty seconds
→ @ShadowLord: The way they followed his orders without question I'M ABSOLUTELY SHOOK
→ @OmegaLover: Zero looked so proud when he got praised I'm getting emotional
→ @Anonymous_0001: Most aesthetically pleasing monster execution in recorded history
I surveyed their work with the critical eye of someone grading a practical exam that would determine whether these students graduated or repeated the year. "Zero, your strike was two degrees off optimal angle—we'll work on your precision. Weiss, you hesitated for 0.3 seconds before the cut—confidence is key in surgery. Jun, your flame temperature was inconsistent in the final phase—consistency saves lives."
Instead of anger or resentment, I saw something far more dangerous in their eyes—absolute devotion mixed with the desperate need to improve, to earn my approval, to prove themselves worthy of my attention and guidance.
"However," I added, allowing a small smile to cross my face, "overall performance was acceptable for first-time surgical assistants. With proper training, you might actually become competent."
Zero practically glowed with pride like a student who'd just received their first A+. Weiss looked like he'd just received a Nobel Prize in Medicine. Even Jun seemed genuinely pleased with what most people would consider a backhanded compliment.
The psychic exhaustion hit me like a freight train loaded with medical textbooks. My knees buckled, and I felt myself falling backward—only to be caught by strong, familiar arms that felt surprisingly warm and reassuring.
"Master," Zero whispered, his voice thick with something that definitely wasn't standard medical concern and carried undertones that belonged in entirely different kinds of literature. His breath was warm against my ear as he held me against his chest with the protective instincts of someone guarding their most precious possession. "You were absolutely magnificent. Perfect. Beautiful."
I felt his tongue flick against my earlobe in a gesture that was definitely not covered in any medical textbook I'd ever read and probably violated several professional conduct guidelines.
*Well, this is getting complicated in ways that weren't covered in medical school.*
Before I could process that development or the implications of having a psychotic assassin with apparent oral fixation issues, the elevator at the end of the corridor chimed open with mechanical cheerfulness that seemed wildly inappropriate for our current situation.
What emerged made my blood run cold and my medical training scream warnings about things that shouldn't exist.
Two rows of soldiers in pristine white uniforms marched out in perfect formation, their movements too precise, too synchronized to be human. Blue bio-cores glowed in their chests like artificial hearts pumping liquid death, and their faces were blank masks of synthetic perfection that belonged in uncanny valley nightmares.
Puppet soldiers. Federally banned for good reason and apparently someone's idea of a fun evening activity.
*This night just keeps getting better and better. At this rate, I'm going to need therapy, a vacation, and possibly a career change.*
**[SYSTEM ALERT: EXTREME THREAT DETECTED]**
**[PUPPET BATTALION - COMBAT GRADE MILITARY UNITS]**
**[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION OR PRAYER]**
The lead puppet's head turned toward us with mechanical precision that made my spine crawl, its glowing blue eyes focusing on our little group with the intensity of a targeting system that had found its preferred victims.
"Targets acquired," it announced in a voice devoid of humanity, warmth, or any quality that suggested it had ever been alive. "Initiating termination protocol. Resistance is futile and inadvisable."