This Is My Last Respawn

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Cattle

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The ceiling was pale blue, paint peeled in the corners where moisture had soaked through. Abo lay on his back in the crib, silent and still, staring up at it as if it might eventually tell him something worth knowing. There were other cribs, rows of them. The room smelled faintly of milk and detergent. Some babies whimpered, others kicked or gurgled, abo didn't make a sound. He heard her before he saw her. The familiar rhythm of soft soles on hard floor, the faint swish of fabric, and the squeaky cart wheel with the loose axle that always leaned to the left.

"It's her again," he murmured under his breath.

Lira.

The head that appeared above the crib was the same as the past days, hair pulled back, eyes soft, mouth always set in a smile a little too wide to be natural.

"There you are," she said, voice bright but not loud. "Good morning, Powder."

She'd given him a nickname and Abo didn't mind. She scooped him up with ease. The air shifted around him, warm lavender soap, powdered formula, faint perfume. Abo didn't resist. He knew the routine by now.

"The first time she saw me, she damn near lost her mind." He remembered the squeal.

She'd hover over the crib like she was guarding something fragile. Her eyes gleamed, not with joy exactly, but with that quiet kind of relief, like when you check for a crack and realize the glass is still whole. She'd pinched his cheeks, gently, and called him precious, adorable, like a porcelain doll.

"I don't look like a doll, I look like a corpse."

System: You resemble popular depictions of cherubic infants in this era. Reaction is statistically consistent.

"She nearly dislocated my jaw cuddling me."

Since then, Lira had dialed it back, just enough. She handled him like fine china, but she no longer squealed. She hummed, whispered. Talked to him like he could understand, which unfortunately, he could.

"You're such a strange little thing," she murmured again, holding him against her shoulder as she walked. "They say you have albinism. That's why your skin's so pale and your eyes are that beautiful red."

She smiled down at him, as if trying to convince him, or maybe herself. Then, with a shaky voice— "They say when you grow up, you'll have difficulties. You won't be able to go out in the sun like the other kids. Or you'll get sick more often…"

She trailed off, her throat moved in a hard swallow as tears welled quietly. "But it doesn't matter," she whispered. "It just means you're special."

He stared back at her. "You're like a snow fairy," she added, placing him gently on the padded changing table. Her voice softened. "In stories, fairies are delicate. The monsters always go after them first." She paused. "But don't worry, I'll protect you from the monsters."

"She's repeating herself. Does she think I forgot?"

System: Reinforcement of positive traits builds caretaker attachment. Looks like playing nice is actually getting us somewhere.

"If she calls me a fairy one more time, I'm biting her."

System: Not recommended.

Lira hummed as she cleaned and powdered him, careful with every motion. She reached into the cabinet below and pulled out a folded onesie, soft, cotton, slightly faded from use. It was pale blue, and free of irritating seams.

"This one won't bother your skin," she said gently, easing his limbs into it. "I checked the tag, no wool, no blends, only cotton. Just for you."

Abo blinked slowly. He watched her hands, the way her fingers moved, and how she tucked the fabric under his arms. She was methodical, gentle. Maybe too gentle. He didn't know what to do with that. He wasn't used to being cared for.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A Few Days Later

He should've been dead by now. Or at least in a coma. The hem was entirely gone. In the three weeks in that forest, hem had kept him going, but even then, it was already running out. He lay there in surrender, cursing the gods with every breath, staring blankly at the sky, listening to nothing, waiting for nothing. Now, he stared up at the ceiling, limp in Miss Lira's arms. His body was cold, but her arm was warm, cradling him.

He closed his eyes, he could bear this, hunger wasn't new. He'd known worse, starving on warpaths, weathering monsoons curled beside his brothers, gnawing on roots, trading ghost stories just to keep the dark at bay.

He opened his eyes again. She dripped a few drops of milk onto her wrist, checking the temperature with a light touch, like it was some kind of sacred ritual. Then she tilted the bottle toward him, close enough for him to smell the formula.

"Here we go, sweet pea," she whispered, brushing the rubber against his lips. "Nice and warm."

Warm... what?

System: Standard infant formula. Bovine milk base with iron and vitamin D supplementation.

He scowled. He didn't understand most of that, whatever it was. But when he glanced at the bottle, he caught the vague image of a smiling animal on the label. "She's feeding me... liquid from some creature I've never seen"

System: Yes.

He clamped down on the bottle out of spite more than need, then the taste hit. "What the hell is this?"

System: Fortified milk formula. Nutritional value optimized for infants.

"It's.... Its amazing. What manner of beast produces such a thing? The creatures I know give only meat and hide."

System: ...

He kept drinking, eyes wide now, half-deluding himself that maybe, just maybe, this could replace hem. Who wants to drink blood anyway? It tastes like iron and regret but this stuff? This was sweet, like liquid heaven. Screw hem, babies had it good.

Miss Lira chuckled softly and stroked the side of his face with her thumb. "There's my little powder," she whispered.

He flinched slightly at the phrase. He hated the syrup in her tone, hated the softness she draped over him. It was a blanket he didn't ask for. But he didn't hate her. Not really.

At night, after the others were already tucked in and the fluorescent hallway lights dimmed to an amber hue, she would come back, just for him. She'd lean over the crib, brushing her fingers across his brow as if chasing away something invisible. Then she'd sing, quiet lullabies, songs about silver rivers, ringing bells, girls with lanterns lost in the fog. Her voice cracked sometimes. Off-key, but never unpleasant. He didn't think she sang to the others.

He'd keep his eyes shut and pretend to be asleep, listening to the soft rise and fall of her voice. She hummed even after the words faded, just to fill the silence. Just to stay a little longer.

When the humming finally stopped and her footsteps disappeared down the corridor, Abo would open his eyes and stare again at the pale blue ceiling. The hunger was still there, gnawing, low and deep. But for now, he let the warmth linger. Just a little longer.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Five Days Later

He was beginning to crack. A week and a half without hem. The bland baby mush kept his organs functioning, sure, but it did nothing for his hem. Hem wasn't just hunger, it was thirst, urgent and cellular. The kind that humans felt after a day in the sun with no water, when even muddy puddles start to look drinkable. But for him, it wasn't water. It was blood.

He lay awake in his crib while the others snored and whimpered and farted in their sleep, stewing in their innocence like a stewpot of temptation. He inhaled deeply. The children smelled like livestock. Soft, pampered, milk-fed livestock. Rows of tiny, helpless calves. It would've been laughable if it wasn't so mouth-watering. "Don't look at me like that," Abo muttered, glaring at the snoring lump in the next crib. "You smell like soup."

△ SYSTEM WARNING

Predatory impulses rising. Host suppression holding. Barely.

"I'm fine," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I've starved before. Days on end. We chewed tree bark till our gums bled. Sucked saltwater through cloth just to fool the body."

But even as he said it, the words felt stale in his mouth. His eyes drifted sideways. The baby, two cribs over shifted in his sleep, soft neck exposed, little fists curled under his chin like an offering. Abo's fingers twitched. Just one bite, just one. He rolled quietly onto his belly, eyes narrowing, lip curling with intent. He dragged himself toward the edge of his crib like a pale, starving goblin. A dramatic escape. A silent predator on a plush battlefield. One foot hooked over the bar, then another.

Just a little more—

⚠ SYSTEM OVERRIDE

Unruly behavior: DETECTED

Neural signal disruption initiated.

Motor functions temporarily locked.

His limbs locked. The whole world jolted, hard stop. Abo froze mid-crawl, face mashed halfway over the rail, like someone had just hit pause on a very stupid crime documentary. "You son of a—" he wheezed.

System: Attempted assault on infants is not permitted under current ethical configuration.

"Then change the confibulation!"

System: Request denied. You'll have to find something else to feed on. Animal hem is allowed, less efficient, but it'll keep you alive.

"Meat is meat," Abo growled, trying to wiggle free. "Where the hell do they keep it? I've seen sick carabaos out the window. Or are we still pretending I can't walk?"

System: A dungeon break is predicted within the week.

Local staff response pattern: evacuation of non-combatants to basement levels.

There was a pause. "Wait. Say that again?"

System: There's a 78% chance of a dungeon incursion soon. When it happens, the staff will move the children to the underground shelter. Fewer adults means you'll have a short window to move freely, and hunt without being noticed.

Abo grinned, or tried to. His face was still locked, frozen like a badly rendered emoji. "So you're telling me..." he whispered, eyes gleaming. "That everyone's gonna be busy running scared, and I get free rein?"

System: Accurate.

His muscles relaxed one by one, tension leaving his body in small jerks. He dropped back into his crib with a grunt and stared up at the ceiling in silence. "Alright," he muttered. "I can wait."

He turned his head toward the snoring infant beside him, the one he'd almost devoured like a pudding cup. "For now."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Hunt

It began with whispers. Then hurried steps, slamming doors, keys jangling, someone shouting down the hallway. Abo was awake. He was always awake. He lay still in his crib, eyes half-lidded, listening as the panic bloomed across the orphanage.

"—confirmed breach near Västralund—"

"—Gottenvik defense line's holding, but they're pulling Players from inland—"

"—move the children to the basement, now! We don't have time to clear the building—"

Dungeon break. Close, close enough to rattle the staff, close enough to taste. He sat up, slowly, like something unwinding from years of stillness. No sirens yet, no tremors, just the brittle urgency in every footstep. The kind of fear that made people skip steps on the staircase.

ℹ SYSTEM NOTICE

Regional dungeon incursion confirmed.

Threat level: YELLOw.

Evacuation in progress.

"Yellow?" he muttered. "What the hell does that mean? Banana alert?"

System: The color code shows how deadly the threat is. Yellow means the danger to the facility is below 15%. They'll probably contain it.

He squinted. "You could've just said that."

Chaos poured through the hallway. Staff moved in frenzied lines, wheeling cots and carrying infants. Some guided toddlers by the hand or picked them up when they couldn't keep up. Lira passed by once, shoulders tense, arms full of babies taken from the nearest cribs. She wasn't choosing, just grabbing whoever was closest, moving fast and efficient.

"Get the twins from Block B! No, closest first. If they're alone, we move. Sweep later!"

Abo took a breath, tension coiled in his limbs. He crouched—

△ SYSTEM WARNING

Hem reserves insufficient for Shadow Step. Stealth Mastery compromised under current lighting conditions.

He paused mid-movement. The nursery lights were fluorescent. Harsh, unforgiving, no shadows to slide into, no crevices to slip through. "Great," he hissed.

ℹ SYSTEM NOTICE

Recommend use of Skill: Possession (???)

Allows the player's soul to enter or exit their bound vessel at will.

Cooldown: 0 — Cost: 0

Note: Possession of other entities is not permitted.

"You mean that garbage skill that doesn't even let me possess other people?"

System: Incorrect framing. Skill allows spatial scouting while host body remains dormant. Use it to navigate the terrain, plan your escape, and avoid being seen by adults. Your current hem levels are too low for active movement. Stealth recon is your best option.

"What? Then why call it possession? Why not... uh… what was the word again? Astral frustration? Shit, that's not it—"

System: For Gods' sakes, ask them. They're the ones who named this shit and glued origin magic on it.

He was caught off guard. "..."

System: You're exhausting.

Abo sighed and let the rest of his thoughts go. He exhaled, let his eyes unfocus, and loosened his hold on the body. His soul began to peel away from his flesh. It started at the spine and pulled upward, layer by layer. "They used to call me The Ghost," he muttered. "Guess I'm finally living up to it. Let's go ghosting, bitches."

He rose. Silent, weightless, unseen. The edges of the world blurred, lights faded, and sounds became distant and muffled. Below, his body lay still in the crib, eyes shut, breath faint. No one looked his way. He moved through the nursery and into the corridor, passing between doors and shadows without resistance.

Down the hall, carts rattled and boots hit the floor in heavy steps. Staff moved quickly, carrying the last of the children toward the emergency bunker. A nurse called out headcounts. A medic muttered about a jammed hatch.

He followed the movement, checking every exit. The stairwell was sealed, the mechanical lock active and humming. The elevators weren't working, backup power must have taken over

He glided through the lower level, reaching the basement entrance hidden behind the supply hall. A cold draft came from the maintenance corridor. Inside, two dogs were asleep in a cage next to stacked bleach containers and a tipped-over mop bucket. No good, too exposed, and the staff used this path.

He turned around and headed through the west wing. The infirmary was half-abandoned, with emergency lights flickering above. Medical carts were scattered around, monitors still active but unattended. There were no usable exits, just one window, sealed shut.

He kept moving, passing closed classrooms and an old vending machine. Then finally, he reached it. The long glass pane overlooking the yard. He'd seen the cattle earlier, from this very window. But the real target wasn't them, it was the path. He checked the perimeter, fence line, blind spots, and a maintenance ladder partly hidden by ivy. It led to a drainage hatch behind the yard. That was it.

The opening was tight and low, just wide enough for his small corpse-body to squeeze through. But it would work He returned to his body with a jolt, vision narrowing, muscles flaring to life. He rolled silently from the crib. He slipped into the corridor, retracing the path he'd mapped. Down the west wing, past the shuttered classrooms, past the vending machine. One careful step at a time. Finally, he reached it, the long glass pane overlooking the yard.

The night outside was still. He pressed a hand against the glass. Then he slid it open. Cold air poured in, brisk and dry. Underneath it was a stronger scent, dense, and animal And there it was. A small fence enclosed a muddy yard where a group of cows lumbered about, large, slow, and completely unaware of their doom. Abo smiled.

"By the gods... they're just sitting there."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Meanwhile

Lira was counting heads. Her fingers trembled as she moved down the line of cribs in the low-lit shelter, whispering reassurances over the hum of the emergency bulbs. "One, two, three... where's..."

She paused, chest tight. She turned and scanned the row again, slower this time. Something wasn't right. Powder wasn't there. His crib was gone too.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. Still gone. She dropped the clipboard. "Powder?" Her voice was tense. She turned sharply and ran, up the basement steps, fingers fumbling with the stairwell latch. The door slammed open. She ran into the upper corridor. "Powder!"

The hallway was dim, lights flickering. No footsteps, no voices, just the creak of the building and the steady whistle of wind outside the windows. She moved faster now, instincts driving her. Past the nursery. Past the infirmary. Her pulse was loud in her ears. Then she saw it. The window at the end of the east corridor was open, the curtains shifted in the wind, tugged inward by the cold air rushing through And beneath it, something heavier: a metallic scent.

She approached the window and checked the height. The drop was a little over two meters, too far to jump without risk. She climbed through, turned around, and lowered herself until she was hanging by her hands. Once her feet were about a meter from the ground, she let go and landed with bent knees to reduce the impact. She stepped into the yard, and stopped. The cows were dead, all of them.

Her hand moved beneath her apron, fingers wrapping around the grip of the pistol she kept holstered at her hip. The pen had caved in, wooden slats broken and half-buried in mud. Blood covered the ground, dark, thick, and pooled in uneven patches. One cow twitched, likely a reflex, but the rest didn't move. Their bellies were torn open, organs exposed. Steam rose from the bodies into the cold night air.

At the center of it all was a shape. Pale, hunched, and soaked in blood. Lira screamed. It didn't look human at first. The figure twitched, then sat up straighter. In its hands was a chunk of raw meat, dripping. It bit down, teeth small and sharp, and tore off a strip. It chewed, then swallowed. Then it turned.

Two red eyes glowed faintly as they locked with hers, and in that moment, she recognized him. Not a monster, not an animal, it was Powder, covered in gore, and mouth full of raw flesh.

His eyes widened, caught like a fox in lanternlight. Without thinking, without meaning to, he gulped. A thick strip of flesh slid down his throat.

✦ ✦ ✦

End of Chapter