MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Anthony's gaze tore through the space in which he had appeared. There, he saw them, demons, their numbers rising into the hundreds, sprawled across the ground as if deep in sleep.

Chaos energy seeped from their bodies, saturating the air around them. Some had their tails coiled around themselves, swaying gently as they rested.

Anthony didn't make a move. He simply watched in silence.

Any ordinary individual might have at least been tempted to do something, perhaps kill one or two of them before retreating. But Anthony did no such thing. He harbored no particular hatred for demons.

To him, demons were no different than how humans viewed ants. Ants rarely did anything significant to humans, yet they were crushed without hesitation simply for existing in the wrong place. That was how Anthony saw it. He didn't discriminate; he simply existed above such emotional bias.

Without hesitation, he brought out ten mana bombs and planted them strategically across the entire area. All the while, his illusion magic remained active, cloaking each bomb flawlessly from both sight and detection. He moved silently, his footsteps producing no sound, his presence leaving no trace. His Presence Concealment ability erased every disturbance, whether it be sound, air displacement, or spatial ripple.

His body phased effortlessly through a nearby wall as he entered another room. What he saw there was no less horrific.

Men, women, and children of various races were imprisoned in cages. Chains bound their frail bodies together, thick collars clamped around their necks. The atmosphere was saturated with hopelessness. Light had long faded from their eyes, replaced by the dull glow of resignation.

Anthony could see it in their expressions, their suffering, their pain, their understanding of a bleak reality. These individuals knew the truth: there would be no savior, no last-minute rescue. Hope was a fantasy they could no longer afford.

But it wasn't just adults who were imprisoned. Children were there as well, their bodies so thin and malnourished that even the gentlest breeze might break them. Many bore severe injuries.

Their skin looked as though it was peeling away, revealing the bone beneath. Kwashiorkor and other malnutrition-induced diseases had already set in, with swollen stomachs and lifeless stares painting a picture more tragic than words could describe.

Anthony's gaze rose upward. Hanging from the ceiling were more captives, not caged like the others, but suspended mid-air by chains affixed to their wrists. Their bodies dangled helplessly, twitching occasionally from the pain that accompanied every second of their existence.

Still, Anthony didn't react with anger. His aura remained as still and composed as a calm lake, despite the horrors surrounding him.

Without a flicker of emotion, he walked forward. He didn't attempt to break the chains or shatter the cages. He didn't speak. He didn't hesitate. He simply vanished from the room, his body disappearing as though he had never been there at all.

In the next building, he saw something that finally cracked the chilling calm on his face.

There, before him, demons and other races sat around a grand dining table. What horrified him wasn't merely the presence of these beings, but what they were doing.

They were eating.

Not in a savage or primal way, but with poise, elegance, and refinement. Like nobles at a royal feast. The scene was grotesque in its civility.

On the table before them lay an Elf, still alive, his body being dissected with precision. His lungs, liver, heart, kidneys, and spleen were extracted one after the other, then served on silver platters. His blood was collected in ornate chalices and passed around like vintage wine. Finally, his brain was removed, the last course of this inhumane feast.

The demons dined with casual grace, oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to the agony of their meal. Beside the Elf's body, Anthony spotted more victims awaiting the same fate. Dragons, Humans, Titans, they all sat trembling, bound, waiting for their turn to be devoured.

For the first time in a long while, Anthony's face faltered. It wasn't rage that broke through, it was disgust. Sheer, overwhelming disgust. He had seen some horrors before, but never something quite like this.

Yet, once more, he didn't act. He didn't rush to save the trembling victims who waited to be carved. Instead, he calmly placed more mana bombs and disappeared from the building, undetected.

In the following structure, he found a different kind of horror. People in white lab coats, clad in gloves and protective gear, moved around clinical rooms with purpose. They looked like scientists, calm, organized, professional.

Human bodies were strapped to operating tables, secured with thick belts. Around them were trays of medical equipment, scalpels, needles, surgical blades, bone saws. Machines beeped rhythmically, displaying vital signs as these so-called doctors carried out procedures.

No anesthesia. No sedatives. The humans screamed, their voices filled with agony. The scientists didn't flinch.

"The Human DNA must hold the secret behind their versatility," one of the practitioners remarked as he dissected a subject. "They excel in everything, magic, weapon mastery, martial arts, arcane knowledge, even mundane mechanical trades. And yet, they remain unaware of this potential. During their awakening, they only unlock a fraction of this power. But if we can decode it fully, we can breed humans capable of everything, without restriction. Soldiers. Scholars. Weapons."

There was a manic glint in his eyes, a madness that sparkled with ambition. The others nodded in agreement, increasing their pace as they cut deeper into living flesh.

Anthony observed them without expression. At this point, he couldn't be shocked anymore. The depth of depravity within this place was limitless. He had reached a point where even wrath seemed hollow.

He wondered, absently, whether hell truly existed, and if it did, whether it was enough of a punishment for beings like these. In truth, such creatures deserved worse. Far worse.

But Anthony wasn't here to exact judgment or become some righteous executioner.

'I've seen enough,' he thought calmly.

In that moment, numerous clones separated from his body, each one vanishing instantly to scour the compound. Their purpose was clear: to locate every facility, every room, every prison where individuals were being tortured, experimented on, or prepared for slaughter.

Though Anthony had maintained a calm demeanor throughout these sickening scenes, he was not heartless. He wouldn't leave these people behind to suffer. No. He would save them all, just not yet.

He understood the military's priorities. Once the war began, they would focus on destruction. They wouldn't bother with rescues. They would level the area, wipe out the enemy, and move on, leaving no one behind, all dead in their carnage.

A small price to pay for a semblance of peace.

But Anthony would not let that be their fate. When the time was right, he would act. The moment the military broke through the Cult's defenses, his clones would move in.

He already knew what he had to do.

When the time came, he would use Genetic Manipulation under his Quantum Manipulation ability to restore the prisoners' bodies, healing them and returning them to their peak physical states.

As for their minds, their shattered psyches, he would wipe away the memories of the horrors they had endured. He would reconstruct new memories, drawn from fragments of their lives before they were kidnapped. And when it was all over, he would send them back to their homes, leaving them with a token of hope: quark, mana crystals, mana cores, and enough wealth to start again.

It was the best he could do.

Better than what anyone else would ever do.

Because in truth, there would be no gentle, slow and steady recovery for them, not without his intervention. And even then... who would care enough to help them recover?

With his clones in position and his plan in mind, Anthony vanished.