FFF Class Auto Hero: The Weakest Class Turned Out To Be The Strongest?-Chapter 30: Blood That Burns

The cavern shook.

Screams of pain echoed from every direction—metal clashing against bone, wet slaps as blades sank into flesh, and the wild, excited cries of the robed priestesses from the Cult of Luminous as they tore through the black-and-red-clad intruders.

The lab was falling apart.

But deeper inside—cut off, yet still trembling from the blasts above—Veyrn was lost in his own madness.

The chamber was huge and round. The stone walls were lined with tall machines and humming magical pylons. Faint green crystals flickered overhead, casting a sickly glow over everything. The air stank of rust, burning oil, and something sharp and chemical.

At the center of the room hovered the black heart of a realm eater—an enormous, throbbing organ the size of a carriage, suspended midair by thick, burnt-looking roots and cables.

It pulsed slowly, unnaturally, and each beat sent out a wave of heat that warped the air.

Jagged tubes and twisted veins spread from the heart like spider legs. Most of them ran into nearby machines—but three led straight to the black stone platform in the middle of the room.

And on that platform, chained to a glowing red magic circle carved into the floor, was her.

A fox-kin woman, pale from blood loss after being stabbed during her hopeless struggle before capture. Her long silver hair clung to her skin, soaked with sweat and blood. Thick iron cuffs held her wrists above her head, and her ankles were shackled, biting into her fur-covered legs.

Her golden eyes were wide with fear, darting around the room. Her soft tail twitched weakly, a glowing claw-shaped mark shining faintly on her bare back.

She was the last of her kind. A direct descendant of Fin'Ra, the Sacred Fang. The blood of beast and god flowed in her veins, and Veyrn was counting on that.

He scurried around her, muttering and yelling at once, his breathing uneven.

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"Shit! they all failed. Every. Single. One. Flesh twisted. Souls broke. Blood incompatible... But you—you're different. The perfect mix of divine blood and beast. Sacred bloodline... yes, yes, this time it'll work! It has to work!"

His red robes were torn and stained, though the blood was hard to see against the fabric. One of his goggles was cracked. His uncovered eye darted around like a man on the edge—of discovery, or madness.

From the shadows near the chamber wall, a man stood still.

Harrow.

He watched with arms crossed under a black cloak. His voice was calm, but sharp.

"Veyrn, hurry. They've broken into the inner sanctum—this is your last shot. If you fail now, there won't be another chance. The council will pull away their support."

He didn't yell, but the warning in his words was crystal clear. "You promised this experiment would work. So prove it. Or you will be excommunicated."

Veyrn didn't look up. His hands just moved faster. "I know. I know. Just—let me finish the setup. This one will work. It has to."

He grabbed one of the thick black tubes from the realm eater's heart and shoved it into a port on the magic circle. Blood—thick, dark, and bubbling with strange black energy—started to flow. The runes flared brighter, beating in time with the heart.

The woman screamed as the first tendrils of that foul lifeblood pushed into her body through spiked tubes. Her veins lit up like glowing wires under her skin.

Veyrn didn't blink... He gazed in awe, excited!

"This is what the gods kept from us! Power without permission! You'll survive. You have to! You're the last piece of Fin'Ra's bloodline—I won't waste you like the others!"

He turned toward a pedestal near the edge of the circle.

On it sat a black spellbook, its cover leathery and pulsing like living skin. A single purple eye blinked slowly... then locked onto him.

Veyrn touched it like it was holy, whispering something in an ancient tongue. The eye widened, the book opened on its own, and sickly purple light poured out, glowing across the walls.

He began to chant.

The words were old—older than kingdoms, older than beast or man. They seemed to scrape ton the ears like metal scraping bone. Each word violently vibrated the air.

The magic circle pulsed brighter. The woman convulsed, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes rolling back.

The heart beat faster.

Thump. Thump. THUMP.

A dark pulse spread through the room, shaking every glass tube and rattling the walls. Sparks flew from the machines. The air itself seemed to tremble, as if trying to escape.

Veyrn's eyes glowed red with madness.

"Ascend, sacred vessel! Merge with the divine blood and open the gate!"

And deep within the spellbook, something looked back.

And smiled.

Then, cracks. Black and jagged, split across the woman's belly.

She screamed—a raw, piercing sound—as the dark lines spread across her skin like crawling vines.

Suddenly, with a sickening rip, a slick black tentacle burst from her stomach.

The cracks raced across her body—arms, chest, neck—until she looked like she was being stitched back together by shadows.

Veyrn didn't move.

He grinned, excited and victorious.

"Yes, yes, yes! I did it!"

From the shadows, Harrow stepped forward.

"Well done, it seems this wasn't a pointless venture after all."

The woman began to change.

She grew. Her limbs stretched. Her muscles twisted. Bones snapped and shifted with horrible cracking sounds. Her hair flared out like silver fire. Her eyes burned gold and black. She let out a deep, monstrous roar that shook the entire room.

The machines shook. The crystals shattered. The heart beat louder—echoing her roar.

Harrow nodded. "Let's go. The Council will be pleased."

But Veyrn didn't move.

He was still staring at her with awe.

"If I had just a little more time... I could study her. Maybe even improve the process. Can't we wait a bit longer?"

Harrow's voice turned cold.

"Unless you want to be stabbed by priestesses or eaten by your own monster, I suggest we leave. Now."

A heartbeat passed.

Then another roar shook the ground.

Veyrn scowled. "...Fine."

And they left, as the thing that used to be a woman kept rising.