It was probably a little late to mention, but we weren't some afro and tired-eyed brotherhood duo.
Before we went legit, the two of us could hardly be called upstanding members of society. Or people.
We were simply rats born in a gutter.
Using whatever means we had to survive. Growing both in skill and status until we could finally live.
Our novel being the big breaking point for us.
But just when we were about to get out the business of assimilating with others to parasite off of them.
Stealing status through fraud and dirty dealings...
THIS had to happen.
I was sure by now that someone had probably died at this point. Because of who they were dealing with.
George didn't know how to use a gun, but he was much more vicious and ruthless than I was.
Even enjoying hurting people sometimes.
But I had no thought about stopping him
These guys were terrorists anyway. Was there a reason for any of us to hold back? Absolutely not.
We were ready to undo the sin of creating them.
.....
....
...
..
.
…What happened to me?
Ah, I remember… Someone threw down a grenade from the third floor. I was dumb and got hit by it.
A huge portion of my body was torn off by the explosion, but that wasn't enough to kill me.
[Passive Skill: 'Miasma Core' is in effect.]
[Synergy with 'Overbearing Voice' is activating the Personal Skill: 'UnLife Conductor'. Use keywords.]
There was one Skill only I was uniquely able to use in the entire Cult. I spoke the keyword necessary.
My weak vocal chords moved…
"Heal…!" I barely spoke out in a hoarse voice.
The many Miasma Cores of my fellow devotees reacted with my own. Their bodies stitched up.
This was the blessing of our God. A miracle that could only be brought about thanks to our faith.
I stretched out my Amount Converter. The bible that had been resting in my hands and never left my eyes.
The power of necromancy flowed through me.
"Oh yeah… I forgot about your setting." A voice resounded from a nearby stairway. Baiting me.
Rather than rushing forward recklessly, I decided to prepare for whatever or whoever it was coming down. After all, that girl was still here. Her priority may be the civilians, but who knew what she'd do.
I needed to act fast.
"Arise." I put some power into my words and allowed it to spread beyond the range of my sight.
[Active Skill: 'Reanimation Fixture' is being used.]
The power of death flowed into the world and seeped into the mannequins I'd seen at a clothing store.
With a single movement of my finger, they jolted to life. Cracking the glass and breaking out their cage.
Truly a work of art… even if I do say so myself.
A part of me wanted to prepare by taking hostages like before, but it looked too late for that action.
Janette Rayleigh. Her eyes were looking at me like she was ready to pounce the moment they were in danger. From the way she stood, I could tell that attacking me was how she'd deal with my puppets.
It was a hard choice to make. Usually, I'd be more than confident to take a gamble… Usually, not now.
Especially not right now.
I didn't know who it was that interrupted us, but there was no way someone who found out about our plans could be ordinary. From the way they spoke, I could only guess that they weren't only traitors.
They were definitely spies…!
How they infiltrated our ranks was something I couldn't fathom. Our security was normally airtight.
There was only one answer.
They had a stealth or mental related Gift that was able to control people. Maybe it was even illusionary.
If so, I couldn't let them live.
They might know too much of our plans. This man descending the stairs and the other hiding above.
My men were pointing the remaining firearms high in case that person came out. I had to be victorious.
Once I finished this, we could deal with that rat.
At least, that was my original plan.
My lifeless puppets circled around and formed a battle formation in front of the stairs.
I could hear the loud and arrogant footsteps of the man who cared little about being found.
Finally, he appeared without any signs of concern.
Walking confidently down the steps. His eyes a little vacant, as if he was thinking about something else.
A display of hubris…
Very well. I also had something to say to him after he came into view. The malice with me started to surge.
"Die." The one word I spoke became a cursed that went forth like a possessing spirit. It hit him dead on, but… there was no change. He seemed unaffected by my words. Almost like… like…
Was he truly on of us like his clothes suggested?
The passive skill of Miasma Core… Wasn't this a Skill rarely chosen by people because of its demerits?
Not only did the Miasma flowing through the core weaken a person's vitality, it gradually ate the user.
Turning them into an Undead.
Some clueless children would think of this as some sort of immortality, but the truth was far too cruel.
While it was true that the Miasma Core controlled the dead, the Undead were also a temporary state.
To choose a Miasma Core as his Skill meant that he really was one of us. So why? Why did he betray us?
"Who are you working with?" I asked the whacky-haired individual that had just shown himself.
"My name is Pal. You can take that name to hell. I don't have any answers for you." He scoffed at me.
"You're going to kill me?" It looked like he enjoyed making amusing jokes. Did he think he'd win?
Sure, he was unaffected by my curses… but that was it. My words didn't simply affect people directly.
"You and what army? That stupid hair of yours?" I raised my hands and amplified my army's strength.
Black smoke started to seep from their bodies. I'd given up their time and durability for more power.
"You should never had dissed the hair." The strange traitor lightly pushed up his hair before walking.
I trembled at the thought, but had my security.
"Charge!" The puppets were amplified by my words and attacked at the exact same time. With simplicity.
This move worked on most without fail.
Even if he injured them, the puppets would stall him long enough for me to use stronger attacks.
At least, that was my initial strategy.
Crackle…
"W-what?" My eyes widened as my army was dismantled with one strike each. Nullifying them.
He immediately pinned down where the core of their fixtures were located, then struck with full force.
Not even caring about hurting his fists.
"A-agh…! Fall! Slip! Harm! Explode!" A myriad of commands left my lips and altered my puppets.
They acted way more reckless and chaotically. Now even I couldn't predict how they would attack him.
This should've kept him back.
However, this traitor was far too aggressive. He did not flee. Instead taking initiative to fight.
His footwork was like a snake. Swaying and slithering before appearing right in front of me.
"Arise! Arise!" I stepped back and quickly made more puppets. Trying to keep my advantage.
Crunch!
'Huh? What is this feeling?' My senses dulled momentarily like it was a calm before the storm.
It was naive of me to not notice what happened.
The crazy thug didn't punch me at all. Instead he grabbed my lower body and tightened his hand.
A surge of pain stopped me from speaking.
"S-stop!" I barked, but it looked like the puppets I'd created had taken my thoughtless words seriously.
Immediately halting in their tracks.
"No, figh- Mmm!" Before I could continue, the man grabbed me by the jaw and looked me in the eyes.
They were the looks of a serial killer…!
"I warned you about dissing the hair, right?" He kept his hand in mouth while grabbing me by the tongue.
I wanted to bite him, but his state made me feel frail.
Almost lifeless…
'N-No… Get away from me!' He let go of my groin and tightened his fist like my childhood bully.
Crackle! Boom! Crack!
I wanted to scream. Certain parts of my body, that should've been numb from Death Healing, felt pain.
A miracle brought by cruelty.
No amount of tears or begging saved me from the beating of a lifetime. He struck endlessly as if to pay back for the hair comment. So petty… but he had the raw strength capable of making others bow to him.
Perfectly countering my abilities.
Without my specialty magic, all my abilities were useless. Even if I had spoken, could I really win?
My confidence was shattered.
…..
….
…
..
.
Janette watched the scene with wide eyes. There was a look of horror upon seeing that cultist be bullied.
"S-stop. Don't hurt me anymore. Don't… don't… I'm sorry. Stop…!" Priest Lark sniffled after being thrown to the ground and trampled on. The new arrival seemed much more evil than this cultist.
The barrier was finally made, and Janette found herself stepping away from the afro gangster.
He turned his head towards her frighteningly.
A drop of sweat went down her cheek, but she managed to show courage while taking a stance.
Without hostages, it shouldn't be uneven.
She looked back at her friend within the barrier and assured that she'd be safe. That she'd win this.
Unexpectedly, the afro thug didn't try to attack her.
Should she initiate contact?
A tense atmosphere surrounded the two of them. It felt like a bomb was about to go off at any moment.
The young man stared at her intensely.
After knocking out the idiot on the floor, he looked like he was ready for a brawl… but did not start one.
What was his aim?
Ring. Ring…
The sound of her phone started to sound out.
Interrupting their staring contest.
"Pick it up." Rather than bothering her, the afro thug seemingly gave his permission for a small break.
Janette looked at the caller ID. It was… private.
"Disgusting otaku…" She barely heard the afro thug curse under his breath. His words confused her.
Since it couldn't hurt, she picked up the call.
"I know this is sudden, but which regression are you in right now? 14th? No, you're likely in your 13th regression… right?" The person on the other side just casually brought up a secret she kept to herself.
Something there was no way others could know.
"How do you know…?" She narrowed her eyes.
"I saw your friends. One of them was clenching his teeth until we jumped in. Oh, and there's an annoying guy hiding in the corner. Make sure he doesn't hurt my brother. If you do that, I'll tell you where the 'Lula Fawn' is residing. If he gets hurt, you can look for her on your own." The caller had a lot to say. Just as he'd spoken, she noticed a presence.
And that her friends really were about to arrive.
"…I'll take care of him. So you-"
"I'll be the one to judge that. Don't you call me. I'll call you instead. Remember this." The voice was suddenly cut off. The call had ended. She was left to look at the very threatening man dripping in power.
Intimating to look at.
"Lookie what we have here. Baddies are falling out already?" Just as he said, a figure emerged from the darkness. The sound of a gun clocking made the girl's heart skip a beat. She recognised the voice.
'Oh no.' In an instant after those words were heard, a gunshot resounded along with a bullet being shot.
Pal looked down at himself.
He had been shot at, but sighed in relief when he saw the figure that had blocked a bullet for him.
His brother was disgusting otaku that created main characters in real detail. All down to their numbers.
For her to defend him meant he manipulated her.
He didn't remember this part of the novel, but remembered the character after seeing the abilities.
The stench of gunpowder and iron was something that was always used to introduce that sub-villain.
Someone easily taken down by the main character.
"Mordred Bison." His words caused both of them to look at him in shock. Not knowing who he was.
How was he familiar with the heir of Ironwork Industry? Or was he simply spouting nonsense?
"You know who I am?" A man holding a heavy iron pistol walked out of the dark. Looking disdainfully.
A contrast to the heiress of Phoenix Corp.
"What's going on here?!" A loud voice was heard before a figure instantly appeared in front of Janette.
Pal was caught off-guard, but he was sure that this was the person he thought he was after looking closely. Those features weren't unique, but all of them together went with the description of one man.
Their protagonist…
'George, where are you hiding?' Pal thought while looking at the hulking figure of dominance.
The only human trying to get a MagiKnight License to leave Faustus City. To hunt monsters himself.
Someone who was so full of potential that he never 'lost' in their story. Constantly breaking his limit.
'Harold Driftwood.' Pal felt intimated simply by looking at that invincible back protecting his girl.
And saw Janette was blushing.
Even though he co-wrote this story, Pal had the awareness to know he wasn't the best at lying.
If he opened his mouth, there was a high chance of this devolving into a fight. Not beneficial to him.
That's why the only thing he could do was be quiet.
So much so that they'd come up with their own opinions on why he was here dressed as a Cultist.
He let himself fade into the background.