Lyssandra had seen them coming, of course. The [Map] function of her system was active, displaying six angry red dots converging on her position through the jungle. She'd known they were there the whole time, a minor irritation compared to the boar.
A quick scan confirmed her assessment. Red Death bandits. Levels ranged from 7 to 11. She glanced at her own status again.
Level: 21
HP: 415/415
MP: 150/150
'What do they think they can do to me?' Lyssandra thought with amusement. 'Little level 7 gnats buzzing around a tiger.'
The bald bandit's voice rang out again, more demanding this time:
"Hey! Are you deaf, bitch? Do you know who the fuck we are?"
"We're the Red Death!" another bandit proclaimed loudly, thumping his chest. "Known far and wide for spilling blood! Children, old women, merchants, adventurers. NONE, escape our blades!" He laughed crudely, the sound grating.
"Look at her!" a third one jeered. "She's shakin' in her boots! Probably pissed herself!"
The bald leader stepped closer, his eyes roaming over Lyssandra's body with unchecked lust.
"Come on, sweet thing," he cooed, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "Be a good girl and come over here. We just wanna have a little fun. Won't hurt you…much." His grin widened, showcasing missing and rotted teeth.
He took another step, his hand moving towards the crude axe at his belt.
Lyssandra couldn't hold it in any longer. She threw her head back and laughed. It wasn't a delicate sound but a loud, full-throated, genuine laugh that echoed through the trees.
"HAHAHAHAHA!" she howled, bending slightly at the waist. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "Oh, this is too much! The 'Red Death'? Really?" She straightened, wiping an amused tear away. "You bastards are the best joke I've heard all day!"
She kept laughing, the sound filling the tense clearing. The bandits looked at each other in confusion, their cockiness faltering. They hadn't expected this reaction.
The bald leader's face turned purple with rage, spittle flying from his mouth as he roared:
"YOU WHORE! How DARE you laugh at us! At ME!" He stopped in his tracks, planting his feet firmly. "GET HER! BRING THAT BITCH TO ME!"
Without hesitation, the other five bandits surged forward. Their crude weapons raised, they rushed Lyssandra with blind lust and rage etched on their faces.
"I'll fuck that bitch till she's overflowing!" one shouted.
"Can't wait to bury my face in those fat tits!" another bellowed.
"Wench got enough holes for all our dicks!" a third one chimed in crudely, their intentions clear in their hungry eyes.
They charged as one, a disorganized mob, driven purely by desire for violence and violation.
Lyssandra finally caught her breath, wiping a stray tear of mirth from her cheek. She straightened up, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Ah~~~ this is so nostalgic," she murmured, her voice surprisingly calm amidst the chaos. "Takes me back to the good old days."
As the first bandits were a dozen meters away, she casually reached her hand out to her left. Her fingers seemed to claw at the air. A small, swirling vortex of absolute darkness, about the size of a dinner plate, opened silently beside her – [Night Passage] activated.
"Let's test this little skill out," she said to herself, her smile turning predatory. She plunged her hand into the void.
With a quick, fluid motion, she pulled something out. It was large, wet, pulsating, and horrifically familiar.
A heart, still dripping fresh blood, clutched tightly in her fist. The blood, shockingly warm, ran in thick rivulets down her forearm and dripped onto the forest floor. The heart itself looked almost freshly harvested, its arteries severed and leaking.
The leading bandit, about to swing his rusty machete, skidded to a halt mid-stride. His eyes bulged comically as he stared at the grisly trophy in Lyssandra's hand.
"W-what the fuck is that?!" he stammered, his voice cracking.
The other bandits, momentum broken, stumbled to a stop behind him, their own eyes wide with dawning horror. The lustful audacity evaporated, replaced by raw, primal fear. They stared at the dripping heart, then back at Lyssandra's calm, smiling face.
"I-is that… a human heart?" a bandit choked out, his voice trembling with a fear he hadn't felt in years.
Another bandit swallowed hard, his eyes locked on the gruesome object in Lyssandra's grasp.
"Yeah… but… where did it come from?" he asked, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice. "Was she carrying it around?"
Lyssandra chuckled, a throaty sound that sent shivers down their spines.
"If you really want to know," she said, her tone dripping with mockery, "why don't you look down?"
The bandits, momentarily frozen in fear, instinctively obeyed. Their gazes dropped to their own torsos and feet. Seeing nothing amiss – no injuries, no blood on their own clothes, the confusion quickly morphed back into anger.
"You lying whore!" the boldest one roared, gripping his machete tighter. "Stop playing games! We're gonna—"
He was cut off by a weak, trembling voice coming from the back of the group.
"Uh… guys?"
They all turned, their expressions shifting from rage to irritation at the interruption. The speaker was the smallest of the bandits, standing at the very rear. His face was pale as milk, his eyes wide with a terror that was infectious.
"I-I think… I think I know where it came from," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The other bandits followed his terrified gaze… and froze.
The bandit at the back stood stock-still, his hands trembling violently. His shirt was ripped open, torn apart as if by unseen claws. Beneath the ruined fabric, his chest…
A fist-sized hole had been punched clean through his torso. The edges of the wound were ragged, flesh torn and bloodless. Dark crimson blood oozed sluggishly from the opening, dripping onto the leaf-strewn ground.
Through that bloody cavity, framed perfectly, they could see the stunned face of the bald leader standing several meters away.
His mouth hung open, eyes bulging in horrified comprehension. The heart in Lyssandra's hand was still dripping… the same rhythm as the slow pulse of blood from the hole.
The bandit with the hole through his chest let out a gurgling cough, spewing a mouthful of dark, frothy blood onto the forest floor. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed heavily to his knees, then face-first onto the damp earth with a loud thud.
He didn't move again.
The sight was a shockwave through the remaining bandits. Their brazenness, their lust for violence and conquest, shattered in an instant.
They stared, uncomprehending, at their fallen comrade, the hole punched clean through him, the blood pooling beneath his lifeless form.
"A-are we… are we still going?" one bandit whimpered, taking a hesitant step back, his eyes darting nervously from the body to Lyssandra's calm demeanor. He looked ready to bolt.
"DON'T YOU FUCKING SHITS TURN TAIL!" the bald leader roared from the back. Veins bulged in his neck, his face a mask of apoplectic fury. "COME BACK HERE, COWARDS! I'LL PERSONALLY GUT YOU IF YOU RUN!"
He brandished his axe menacingly, spittle flying with every word. The sight of his comrade's brutal end had shaken him too, but fear of losing face and control overrode it.
"B-but boss!" another bandit yelled back, terror overriding discipline. "She killed him! Just… by a flicked of her hand! How—?!"
"I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" the leader bellowed. "YOU'VE GOT NUMBERS! SWARM THE BITCH! TAKE HER DOWN!"
His words struck a chord born of pure desperation. They were between a rock and a hard place. Running meant facing the leader's wrath later. Staying… meant facing her. And the immediate threat felt far more terrifying.
The remaining four bandits exchanged terrified glances. They saw the same grim resolve in each other's eyes: charge forward and maybe survive, or run and definitely die.
"She must be running out of mana with that overpowered skill, we can do this!" a bandit mumbled.
With a collective, wordless roar that was more scream of defiance than battle cry, the four bandits surged forward once more, weapons raised high.
Lyssandra sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on," she said, her voice heavy with boredom. "At least run. Make it a proper hunt. This is just… tedious."
Her fingers clenched, crushing the heart she still held like a rotten fruit then dropped the ruined organ with a wet splat onto the ground beside, not sparing it a second glance.
With her other hand, she reached once more into the swirling void of the [Night Passage] skill. A different portal opened next to her, slightly larger this time. She plunged her hand in, grasped something dense and slippery, and pulled.
A large, glistening liver emerged in her fist, still warm.
As it cleared the portal, another bandit charging at her full tilt abruptly stumbled. His eyes bulged, hands clutching at his stomach. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a choked gurgle emerged before he pitched forward, collapsing face-first into the dirt.
Another added to the list.