Novels by Betty Butterfly

Chapter 6: The Iron Skin ProtocolThe third strike was delivered with a calculated, furious snap of the wrist.It wasn’t just a hit; it was an execution of dignity. The reinforced hide bit into Ethan’s shoulders, and for a split second, the world turned into a silent, white void.It felt as if his skin were being flayed away by molten metal. His legs finally gave out, his knees hitting the stone floor with a dull thwack, but the iron shackles held him upright, his arms strained in their sockets.He hung there, a limp silhouette against the scarred wooden post. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps that whistled through his grit teeth. The room tilted dangerously, the faces of the watching Delvers blurring into pale, ghostly smears.Kaelen stood back, chest heaving slightly from the exertion. He waited for the break.He expected the sobbing, the pleas for mercy, or the hollow-eyed stare of a man who had finally realized he was nothing.What he got was a terrifying rigidity. Ethan d

Ethan stared at the massive, half-collapsed pillar section. It was a jagged tooth of reinforced granite, easily weighing a thousand pounds.Even for a B-Rank Strength specialist, this would be a challenge. For an exhausted E-minus who had spent the last hour sweeping dust, it was a death sentence for the joints.But Marcus Thorne wasn’t asking for a clean workspace; he was asking for a public confession of worthlessness. He wanted Ethan to strain until he snapped, providing a mid-morning comedy routine for the elites.Ethan’s mind went cold and analytical.Failure condition: Inability to execute a physical task under extreme social pressure.Goal: Maximum humiliation. Maximum strain. Maximum payout."I... I can try," Ethan said, forcing his voice to crack. He let his shoulders slump, playing the part of the broken dog perfectly.Marcus and his squad erupted. "Hear that? He’s going to 'try'! " Marcus shouted to a passing group of A-Rank mages."The Debt-Boy thinks he can move the mount

The morning after the lashing, Ethan walked with a stiff, mechanical stride that made every joint in his body protest.The 10% damage reduction from [Iron Skin (Lvl 1)] hadn't worked a miracle; his back was still a lattice of angry, weeping welts that stuck to his cheap linen shirt.But the skill had done something more subtle—it had muted the sharp, white-hot edges of the agony into a deep, heavy ache. It was the difference between being stabbed and being crushed.He could function. He could move. And in his line of work, that was all that mattered.His assignment for the day was a masterpiece of psychological warfare from Commander Kaelen. Instead of the dark anonymity of the sewers, Ethan was sent to the surface."The Silver Spear entrance needs a shine," Kaelen had growled that morning, barely looking up from his coffee. "The A-Ranks are complaining about the dust. Try not to bleed on the marble, Rylan. It’s hard to get out."Kaelen wanted him visible. He wanted the "trash" of the

The air in the Cleanup Corps staging area didn't just smell like rot anymore; it snapped with the kind of static tension that precedes a lightning strike.Usually, this room was a graveyard for ambition, filled with the low-grade despair of E-Ranks who had realized they were the background characters in someone else’s epic.But when Ethan Rylan stepped through the door, the atmosphere shifted. He looked like he’d crawled out of a mass grave—covered head-to-toe in the dark, putrid sludge of the Sewer’s Labyrinth—but his eyes held a terrifying, cold clarity.Commander Kaelen was waiting. He stood like a monolith of scarred granite, arms crossed over a chest that looked like it could stop a ballista bolt.Two burly guards flanked him, their hands resting on the pommels of their sidearms.A small circle of other Delvers stood in the shadows. They were the "lifers"—men who had survived months of cleaning up hero-messes.They watched Ethan with grim, hollow expressions. They knew what happe

The voice wasn’t some booming god or a shimmering fairy. It was digital. Cold. Absolute.It sounded like the startup chime of a high-end combat drone, cutting through the sludge in his brain and the fever in his lungs with the precision of a scalpel.{ERROR! MISSION OBJECTIVE FAILED.}Ethan’s eyes snapped open. The world was still a sewer, but now a translucent blue interface was stitched into his retinas.It didn't just hover in front of him; it felt like it was hard-wired into his nervous system.{FAILURE DETECTED: Total Effort Expended (98.4%). Objective Goal Achieved (10.1%).}{ANALYZING FAILURE STATE: Target—Physical Stamina & Environmental Contaminant Resistance.}Ethan coughed, a glob of green phlegm hitting the floor. He watched the numbers scroll.The System wasn't judging him for being weak. It was calculating his sincerity.It had watched him break his back against that wall of sludge, watched his heart nearly explode from the effort, and it had verified one thing: he hadn'

The heavy iron door slammed shut with a metallic bang that echoed like a gunshot.The sound instantly severed the world of the elites—the cheering, the golden light, and Marcus Thorne’s smug face—from the reality Ethan now occupied. On this side of the door, there were no heroes.There was only the smell of damp stone, unwashed bodies, and the sharp, chemical burn of industrial solvents."Keep moving, trash. I don't have all day to watch you mourn your lost potential."The voice belonged to Commander Kaelen. He didn't look like a legendary warrior; he looked like a man who had survived a meat grinder and come out the other side with a grudge.He was a mountain of scarred muscle, his skin the color of old parchment. One side of his face was a map of puckered scar tissue, and his eyes held the kind of deep-seated cynicism that only comes from burying a lot of people.He didn't wear shining silver. He wore heavy, scuffed leather that had been stained dark by years of blood and sewer muck