Fractured: I became Her【Genderbend LitRPG】
Chapter 20: Slaughter

A piercing howl echoed through the empty port.

It was like a signal, and in the next moment, the once-silent harbor came alive with overlapping footsteps—dozens, maybe hundreds—racing through the shadows just beyond the reach of their lantern light. With her superior night vision, Maria saw hordes of shambling, corpse-like figures dragging themselves from cracks and corners no sane person would have thought to look.

The scene resembled a zombie outbreak from a horror game.

"Let him go... prepare to ignite."

The first line was directed calmly to Tyre, who immediately released the unfortunate captain. The second was shouted at full volume—a command to everyone. These hollow-eyed husks, bodies long parasitized by the [Root of Man], were far more numerous than Maria had expected. Her small lantern and raised voice only served to provoke them.

ROAR!!!

One of the [Root of Man] let out a wrathful screech, and the next moment—like floodgates breaking—a sea of parasitized bodies charged toward them! Even those who couldn’t see far could feel the ground quake beneath their boots. The wall of guttural snarls and rapid steps made it clear: this was not a fair fight.

"Fire!"

Ralph roared, sparking his torch and hurling it toward the sound. These special torches had been infused with metallic powder—producing a blinding, intense flame. Under that burst of light, the players saw it all.

Too many to count.

"H-Holy crap," Tyre stammered, his complexion shifting from iron blue to pale white. "This is supposed to be a starter mission, right?! Is this even playable?!"

"Stay to the left! Use the terrain! Keep the light on them!"

Maria’s calm and commanding voice cut through their panic like steel, anchoring the team. These weren’t total rookies—they were beta testers. They’d seen massive battles in other VRMMOs before. So long as their will held firm, they could be excellent frontline warriors.

Still, the parasitized hosts of the [Root of Man] were nothing short of grotesque.

They wore tattered rags soaked in black sludge, their skin bloated and deathly pale. In some cases, it was translucent enough that players could glimpse vile fluids sloshing beneath it. It triggered revulsion on both physical and mental levels.

Thinking of how Maria had been dealing with these creatures alone before the players arrived made everyone silently respect her tenfold.

The first clash happened in a blink.

Without a word, Phylin stepped forward to meet the charging foe. Sword in hand, he spun on one foot, leveraging centrifugal force to cleave through the parasite’s neck. It was a clean, precise strike—more like a dance than an attack.

"Nice one!" Ralph shouted, fired up by the performance.

From shared system data, they knew: these hosts were weaker than trained [Acolytes] like themselves. And when exposed to light and fire, the parasites became sluggish and hesitant. With proper technique—like the kind Phoenix had drilled into them—they could execute kill-moves that instantly destroyed the host.

And that was key. If done properly, the [Root of Man] never had a chance to emerge.

But not everyone nailed it.

One player failed the kill. His blade only split the parasite's neck halfway. Black liquid erupted from the wound, and then something far worse—something nightmare-shaped and serpentine—burst forth.

It was huge. Bigger than the host. A slithering, pulsing mass of rot and malice.

The true form of the [Root of Man].

It gazed at the player who’d wounded it, twin crystalline orbs glaring with venomous intent.

Skill: [Malicious Dread] — A fear-inducing aura cast upon the weak-willed.

The player froze. Immobilized like a bug in amber.

The parasite opened its jaw—widening beyond natural limits into a cavernous maw—and lunged straight for the helpless player!

He shut his eyes, bracing for death. But the pain never came.

BOOM!

A wall of fire erupted in front of him.

The beast screeched and recoiled, tormented by flame. Its predatory gaze turned to its attacker.

There stood Maria—the silver-haired nun with a sword-staff, cool as ever. Her crimson eyes gleamed beneath parted silver bangs, regarding the infected monsters not with fear, but with cold detachment. To her, they were nothing but livestock awaiting slaughter.

"Maintain formation. Shift left. Tyre, Phylin, stay with me—rear guard."

With a quiet command, her sword ignited with pale radiance.

SZZZT—

With an agility stat of 7.3, Maria moved like a ghost. Each swing was a clean, brutal arc—no wasted movement, no excess flair. Just merciless execution.

Slice after slice.

Cut after cut.

Kill after kill.

It was like watching a dance. A deadly, elegant ballet.

In a blur of light and shadow, she held an entire flank by herself.

The players stared in awe. And then a thought struck them:

If she’s this strong… why the hell does she even need us?