The Squalor Bastard Becomes The Gravemarch

Shapeshifter

Gritting his teeth, Won lunged at the shapeshifter, slashing at its arm.

To his horror, the wound closed instantly. The shapeshifter grinned with a devilish smirk.

"How many did you actually kill?" Won snarled, leaping forward and striking again and again.

"How many do you think?" the shapeshifter replied, effortlessly dodging each blow.

"The stench of blood coming off you says countless," Won growled. "You slaughtered them... devoured them. But you—you're unable to stomach your own brother’s flesh!" he panted, bringing his sword down on the shapeshifter’s head. "What is it? Self-pity?"

"Shut up!" the shapeshifter roared, slashing Won’s leg with his blade.

Won was flung back, crashing against the stone wall.

"If you're that capable, why did you play along when we first met?" the shapeshifter asked, raising his sword to Won’s face.

But Won wasn’t listening anymore. He was laughing now—mad, manic laughter. 

The shapeshifter paused. "What’s so funny? Already met your grim reaper, have you? Gone mad on the way?"

Won staggered back, blood coming out of his leg, coughing he asked meeting the shapeshifter's eyes, “You didn't even wonder why I kept moving even after knowing you get healed instantly.”

The shapeshifter's gaze flicked to his body. He hadn’t noticed it before. But now… he felt it.

"Star iron wire?" he gasped.

Rising on shaky legs, Won replied, "Star-coated. Laced with hawthorn oil and Waitslider venom."

"You bastard!" the shapeshifter hissed.

"Your healing is fast... but not fast enough when I’ve been threading it into your nerves this entire fight."

The shapeshifter lunged one last time—but dropped to a knee, coughing up blood. His skin had already begun to blister.

“You were wary of me from the start, knowing you couldn’t charm me. You continued to keep an eye on me in case I did something.”

Won stepped forward and yanked the wire embedded in his torso. The flesh split open, blood pouring as the creature choked on its own breath.

Leaning closer to its ears, Won whispered in a cold demonic voice, 

“There's nothing more pitiful than a monster pretending it has a soul.” 

Then he rammed his sword on the shapeshifter's chest.

"You filthy animals devoured humans to feel powerful... and now you die, crawling like worms. That’s not hunger. That’s weakness dressed as hunger." He spat on the body.

The shapeshifter shifted back to its true form—a boy, no older than fifteen, with rough hair and brown skin.

"So that’s your real face?" Won raised an eyebrow. "Hope you rest in peace, loser." He turned and walked away, leaving the corpse behind.

The moment Won saw the shapeshifter regenerate, the Codex Map flared to life before him, and a voice echoed in his head:

“Ashen Won, do you wish to sell the Magic Heart and purchase the Star Iron Wire?”

"If that helps me kill this bastard, then yes," he answered inwardly, panting.

The wire materialized in his hand instantly. He began threading it through the monster’s nerves—then took a direct hit and collapsed.

Now, the Codex Map spoke again:

[You have slain a Shapeshifter and acquired its bearings.]

Won froze mid-step.

New bearings?

Can someone have more than one?

"What are they?" he asked inwardly.

[Disguise and Cognidominance]

So... I’m the shapeshifter now, Won thought, nodding.

"And Cognidominance? What does that mean?"

“Due to your cunning, the Codex Map has evolved the previous shapeshifter’s manipulative ability into Cognidominance. You may cultivate this bearing to sway situations in your favor.”

"I never asked to be manipulative," Won exhaled.

“The term is Cognarch,” Woco corrected him.

"Yeah, whatever. I need to survive—and get out of this group. Might as well hide in the skin of that handsome guy."

"So how do I morph?" he asked Woco.

“Close your eyes. Focus on your breath. Awaken every sense. Hold the face in your mind that you want to become.”

"What about the corpse in that cave? They’ll realize the boy was alive."

“No. The charm everyone had was nullified the moment the previous shapeshifter died. If you take his form, they’ll see you as the handsome one. And the dead boy’s body will appear as it truly is. They’ll suspect someone else in the group—because only that handsome guy was kind to the brothers.”

"When exactly did he die?" Won asked.

“This morning. The young boy killed him when you entered the Veyne.”

Won nodded in silence and closed his eyes.

Focus on the breath.

Awaken every sense.

Hold the face in mind.

He felt his body shift—muscles swelling, bones stretching. Seconds later, it was done.

The wound in his leg had vanished. But the pain was still there.

Mind over flesh, he thought.

I would like the healing bearing rather than the cognidominance.

Boons: Sense 4

Bearings: Sensari, Disguise, Cognidominance

Bearing Rate: 7

Skills: Used (Memory Obtained)

Vitality: 20

Vault: Item 2 (Drull’s Magic Heart sold for Star Iron Wire)

***

“Oi pretty boy!” The villain called Won as he spotted him coming out of the cave after a while.  

Oh, now I’m the handsome one, Won mused, a smirk touching his lips.

He walked towards the group who were having a bonfire and feast. He looked at the meat grilling on fire. He almost threw up looking at it.

How can they eat it? He thought in disgust.

“How’s that snack doing? Did you give him any meat?”

Won’s fists clenched. A surge of rage rippled through him—he wanted nothing more than to drive his knuckles into the man’s smug face and leave him sprawled in the dirt. Instead, he held his glare, still standing, refusing to take a seat on the log nearby.

Tilting his head, Won said coldly, “You seem awfully concerned about the snack, don’t you?”

“Of course,” the man replied, oblivious to the rage simmering in Won’s eyes. “I prefer my meat healthy. That kid’s skinny as hell.”

A short laugh escaped Won’s throat. He moved  and knelt in front of the man. The villain instinctively shifted backward at the sudden movement.

“You talk like you are at the top of the food chain…..but I have seen you crawling and hiding behind shadows when the monsters appear, as if begging with your throat half-cut.”

The man froze. Conversations around the fire died out. A few of the others looked up, uneasy.

“Did he finally lose it?” someone whispered.

“You’d better watch that mouth, pretty boy. You don’t want to piss off the wrong people.”

Won stood, brushing off his overcoat. “Too late. You already look pissed.”

The villain rose, jaw clenched tight, and drew a curved blade from his belt. The onlookers grinned, sensing a fight.

Won stared at the knife, not moving or drawing out his sword. The master was observing them with an unreadable expression. 

“Back home, they used to say: A dog barking at thunder doesn’t scare the storm.” Won’s voice was cold steel. “I never understood it—until I met you.”

He locked eyes with the man.

“Do you know why the barking doesn’t scare the storm?”

The villain stared back, silent and trembling with rage.

“Because the barking dies—wet, forgotten. Just like you.”

The villain’s grip on his knife tightened as his face twisted in anger and rage. He lunged forward but his foot caught near the fire. 

Won grinned as the villain’s body was on fire. ‘Poor soul. Stink with gasoline, letting your guard down near the fire.’ He thought, smirking as the villain’s scream filled the air, running to save his life. But no one moved.

When the villain stopped moving and fell on the ground, accepting defeat, barely alive. Won crouched beside him and whispered:

"I know you can still hear me."

"I've been watching you since the moment you called me a snack. You always took care of the fire, didn’t you? I figured an idiot like you would snap the moment I hit a nerve."

"You stink of gasoline. Always have. Now you're starting to reek of ash."

"Don’t worry… your comrades who used to laugh at your jokes will join you soon. One by one. I’ll make sure of it—so you won’t be lonely in the hellfire."

Won stood, eyes colder than the grave. "Now die silently."

‘One down, 6 more to go.’ He thought as he walked towards the river to have a bath now. 

‘I reek of death now.’

[You have slain an enemy. Do you wish to claim his memory?]

‘Memory of a cannibal? It disgusts me to even think of it.’

Even though he didn’t want to, he responded, “Yes.”

***

As Won finished dressing, distant screams reached his ears.

What now? Another monster attack? he wondered, exhaling in frustration.

I just bathed, he sighed, turning on his heel.

He was taller now—more muscular—after taking the body of the so-called handsome man.

As he approached the camp, he found chaos already in motion. People were frantically packing, scrambling to escape.

 “What’s going on?” he asked a crooked, rail-thin man rushing past.

“Thrips are here! Hide yourself if you want to live,” the man barked, disappearing into the trees without waiting for a reply.

Won froze. He knew exactly what a thrip was.

A grotesque insectoid creature, one to two meters long, with too many legs, serrated mandibles, and barbed tails that oozed venom. They regenerated rapidly. 

When Won was ten, a veyne broke out unleashing thousands of thrip swarmers into the slums where he lived. It had taken three days—and hundreds of deaths—to purge them.

If swarmers are here, he thought grimly, that means something higher-ranked is close by. Swarmers don’t move without a pheromonal or psychic command from a superior.

Before he could think further, something lunged into view.

A thrip landed in front of him, its mandibles clicking hungrily. He looked up—and saw thousands more emerging from the treeline, spilling forward like a living tide.

Crap.