Marcello coughed on his own cigar's smoke when the baseball bat along with the Embernit tattoo vanished from Luca's hand and appeared in Fang Fang's possession. Despite been a part of the Mafia for three decades and having taken part in a multitude of battles that exposed him to a wide array of powers, he had never even heard about the potential theft of Embernits.
"Mammamia! It-a makes-a no sense."
Embernits were acquired through rituals that had been honed and refined over millennia. They weren't lollipops available at a store; local bullies couldn't just steal them.
Without realization, Marcello's fingers unconsciously released the cigar, allowing it to drop to the sand below. The sun behind him neared the horizon. He repeatedly wiped his mouth, his contemplative gaze hinted at the gravity of the situation.
Meanwhile, Luca's left forearm became the center of his frantic attention. He rubbed it like a madman, trying to feel the Embernit that once was his very own.
While raising his cultivation, he had also worked hard to collect resources for his second Embernit. All his relentless dedication, countless sleepless nights, and blind bloodshed; all the sacrifices for his dream now seemed to disintegrate like an illusion dissolving into thin air.
Fang Fang on the other hand, felt a deep sense of surging energy on the spot of his newly formed tattoos. It was as if someone tore open his skin to insert a miniature heat ball.
Examining his palm, he deciphered the manifestation of the Revolver Embernit tattoo. It bore the form of a winged gun, its barrel directed towards his fingers.
'Appear!' He called in his heart. Subsequently, he began to weave intricate gestures with his fingers, contorting and maneuvering them in various ways, each motion representing a distinct sigil.
"Go gun. Blast away." He said followed by every shake of hand.
Yet, the weapon refused to materialize.
A frown formed on his face as he realized the tattoo wasn't inked at all. It was just an empty outline, meaning this Embernit was out of stamina.
His mind triggered him to furrow his brows and contort his expression into one of sadness, but his facial muscles didn't respond as prompted, resulting in a rather sinister countenance.
Luca coughed up blood on seeing Fang Fang's face. He could feel an eerie connection emanating from that boy's direction. Remo rushed forward to catch him, preventing him from collapsing onto the desert sand.
"Eh, brother, what's wrong?" Remo inquired, his voice tapering off as he discerned Luca's un-tattooed forearm. Panic edged, his face turned towards Marcello.
The sun still blazed behind Marcello, casting his long bossy shadow on Fang Fang and the rest.
"So, is this-a plan to kill me?" Marcello strolled around his car "If you spill-a the beans on which Mafia boss sent you, maybe I spare-a you."
"It's a mi-mi-mistake," Daniel stammered. He was now shirtless. His lean torso displayed the faint outlines of his ribcage. A greenish dragonfly shaped tattoo was present near his heart. "We don't wa-wa-want to fight anymore. Ha-ha-how about this? We will pay you m-m-more than we o-owed."
Since the battle had entered a mini stalemate, he found the chance to negotiate.
"No, this is unacceptable." Remo interrupted. "You said the same thing the last time, and the time before that, and-a before that, and-a before…" He was at a loss for words as he could clearly recall the string of instances when Daniel and Lil Marquis had postponed the debt by incurring more interest.
By this time, the interest on loan had become more than that the principal amount originally borrowed.
"Return my brother's Embernit or-a this sand is your grave." Remo added. He looked towards Marcello with the corner of his eyes.
"Dead? Me?" Fang Fang chuckled; his face still twisted.
He rotated his left hand, the one grasping the baseball bat, to throw the bat at Remo. It was the same maneuver Remo had employed earlier.
The bat rolled through the air, resembling a spinning cartwheel, yet instead of connecting with Remo, it dramatically crashed through the Fort T's glass windshield.
Marcello halted his stride toward the car's rear. He first cast a glance at Fang Fang, then shifted his gaze to his vehicle. The car stood as the most valuable possession he owned. His boss had left him the vehicle before retiring from loan sharking.
"You're-a dead!" Marcello's voice tore through the air, his face twisted, the shadows on his face made his features resemble more like a rat than ever. He advanced, intent on unlocking the car's trunk.
Fang Fang coughed twice, his mouth agape in embarrassment. He willed and the baseball vanished from the car and materialized in his hand again. At least one Embernit worked.
However, on inspecting it, he had found that it only had 30% ink, which was now down to 28%.
'What's the 2% decrease for? Repairing the scratches on breaking the vehicle's window?'
"Can you fa-fa-fight?" Daniel asked. "You kn-know, Marce-ce-cello is a combat teacher in the ma-ma-mafia rats."
"Don't worry I have studied 31 fighting styles, and a brief warm-up will enable me to execute them," Fang Fang assured with a confident smile.
He rotated his head to demonstrate neck muscle stretches, but after the first movement, his left eyeball got stuck, leaving him unable to move it.
"Now, my field of vision is enhanced, surpassing that of an ordinary human,"
"Ye-ye-ye-ye-ye-yeah right."
"That is dope," Lil Marquis mumbled, still recovering from the blunt head trauma he had endured.
Daniel let out a dry chuckle as he pulled Marquis towards the waiting camels. The dragonfly tattoo on his chest was now lacking any visible ink. He was out of stamina too, not much fight left in him due to his thin frame. On top of it, he regretted playing ball in this fight because he lost one.
"It's my turn to protect you brothers." Fang Fang declared as he turned to look at the car.
Marcello appeared to be slightly hunched over as he fiddled with something at the back of the vehicle. The vast desert landscape lay eerily quiet, the only sound being the dragging of Marquis's feet through the sand. It seemed like the atmosphere was almost 'calm before the storm'.
Suddenly, Marcello's movements ceased, and the trunk of the car creaked open. A wicked chuckle bubbled from his mouth as he put his hands inside the vehicle's interior.
In the next moment, he jumped at the top of that car.
His fingers closed around the pistol grip of a Tommy Gun, while his other hand gripped the front of the weapon to support its weight.
Fang Fang's composure remained unshaken. He flexed his knees slightly, ready to spring into a dodge at a moment's notice. In his mind, he was comparing the Tommy gun with Luca's revolver.
'This is just a big version of it. Weapons like this have an obvious weakness. A powerful shot is of no use if it doesn't hit the mark. I will make my move right after he fires the first shot. Just like Luca, he'll be vulnerable during the recoil. But how many rounds can this thing spew out?'
As an experienced scholar who had lived over 500 years in his previous life, he could easily draw a mental picture of his counterattack. But after Marcello made a move all he could think in his mind was one word: 'fuck'.
'Is this what they mean by: I am fucked.'
Marcello's long coat billowed, the round black hat still planted on his head. With a malicious grin that resembled a rat's cunning expression, he unleashed a torrent of bullets from the Tommy Gun. It was not just one or two bullets but a relentless stream, a hailstorm of lead projectiles hurtling towards Fang Fang.
Dududududududu!
The shots tore through the air in a deadly symphony.
Fang Fang began a sideways sprint in a desperate attempt to evade the impending doom. On hit, the sand grains erupted like water droplets in an array of dots. The golden dusty splashes behind him would've been decorated in red if he paused to let the bullets tear through his chest.
What scared him more was a bone-chilling realization - Marcello was just toying with him. The aim of bullets was off by more than a meter.
Level 1 peak stage cultivator, Luca could only shoot one bullet but this short rat bastard was firing away.
Loud laughter ran out in the air as Marcello noticed Fang Fang's expression. He adjusted his body to slowly rotate as traced his target's path. The intensity of his laughter increased with each successive shot that crept closer to Fang Fang.
Fang Fang ran with every inch of his life. To even pause for an instant meant certain collision with those lethal projectiles. His life depended on the desperate sprint. Yet, in less than ten seconds, he tripped.