The mercs backed down a couple of paces. Their morale weakened greatly, and many were hesitant to make a move.
"Your bullets do nothing anyway," I reminded, smiling brightly as I spread out my arms. The flesh on my thighs was taut and pulled slightly upward with gravity. My hair waved wildly as the wind blew around me, creating waves in the ocean of strands. "I'm your demise."
Despite my intimidating looks, the guards kept firing nonstop. Bullets zipped past me, striking the men surrounding me. Each of them began trembling uncontrollably, clutching their chests while screaming their lungs off.
Eventually, another explosion followed, tossing the humans aside. After that, they fled in terror and fear of dying. Several shots whizzed over my head, creating a hole near the center, while shrapnel ricocheted and pierced several mercenaries and guards. Normal attacks weren't going to work when Soul Harvest was in action. It does drain my energy like crazy, though.
I advanced forward, thrusting my weapon and taking down the cowardly ones, scattering them further apart. With my other hand, I thrust out the palm and killed them with a swift burst. One slash at a time, they fell, bleeding profusely.
Eventually, only one guard remained. He struggled to stand, shaking heavily and vomiting. I picked him up by his throat, grabbing and constricting the blood flow, slightly depriving him of breath. "Where is Banage?"
"D-d-down... a-all the m-m-m-ways," he barely replied before fainting, likely due to oxygen loss. "F-fuck you bitches... y-you'll s-s-see..." he uttered weakly before losing consciousness.
"Huh... Down? Maybe he's talking about the basement or something like that," I speculated. It would make sense for them to use the underbelly of the mansion as a hiding spot, seeing as my group would expect to find a master bedroom up here and nowhere else. If not a master bedroom, perhaps they would expect to find a lounge or a library, or at least somewhere more pleasant than a dungeon-type setting.
Not wanting to waste precious time, I rushed downwards through several hallways and stairs. The floors were carpeted with soft material beneath the feet, cushioning each step as I ran, not knowing exactly where I was going, merely heading wherever it appeared suitable.
I peeked into an arched entryway, heard voices, and finally located the man in question: Banage. A dozen burly-looking mercenaries hovered nearby, equipped with various weapons, ranging from the usual rifles to swords and spears, even. Some held their firearms with shaky hands, while others had already discarded their weapons, opting for knives and hand-to-hand combat instead.
He's their leader. Not exactly tall, but muscular. And he possessed thick, slicked-back, black hair and a mustache, coupled with a deep voice that matched his intimidating aura and the frown etched on his face. Seems like he was quite the fighter himself.
My legs froze for a moment, however, at the sight of him standing so imposingly over an unconscious Scarlet. She was injured and weak, with both of her arms and legs tied together tightly. One side of her face was completely swollen, and she sported a gash across the length of her forehead. And if I saw correctly, there were marks along the curvature of her cheek as well, causing tears to flow freely down her cheeks, her eyes glazed over from pain. She'd suffered torture at this guy's hands.
Where were the twins? Did they split up? No... My anger boiled. Was she alone, after all, only to be met with cruelty and heartless cruelty? I glared at Banage. His malicious, malevolent gaze was unwavering.
I knew charging it would be the worst-case scenario. They were likely using Scarlet as a hostage. Too risky and far too deadly for me, as they would immediately threaten to kill her. This situation required caution and strategic planning. For a while, the men and Banage simply talked back and forth about how they should handle me, not thinking much about what actions could I take in return.
I need to find the twins first.
As my gaze went further past the doorway, I noticed a pair of bound footprints leading away. Though a little messy, they looked fairly fresh. Something akin to the imprint of bare feet on the sand. Was it Lepu's and Lepa's?
I decided to follow the tracks, carefully inspecting my surroundings as I did. Eventually, the sound of clanking metal and frantic cries reached my ears. From the shadows came forth a stream of red blood, painting the floor crimson red. I rushed toward the voices, hoping to find whoever was attacking.
Lepa knelt over a puddle, and beside her lay a pair of long, pointed needles. Her arm shook terribly and seemed injured, but her legs looked fine enough to stand. On the other side, there lay the body of a beast that had its skull bashed in. Blood drenched the room, dripping off Lepa's slender fingertips and onto the wooden flooring.
"I beat him," she huffed, falling to her knees, exhausted. She pressed herself against me, holding onto my shoulders with a tight grip, and said, "Go help Lepu! She's that way," she pointed. "She's hurt badly."
With Lepa in the clear and but looking bad enough to prevent her from assisting the rescue operation, I moved forward. I dashed through the hallway at the end. A silhouette stood before me, ready to attack. I drew out my weapon and jumped on the figure. The face turned, showing itself.
My face paled when the visage of a very familiar person confronted me. Why was he here? The person had brown-colored hair that was disheveled and messy. His expression remained stoic, unreadable. But his hazel-colored eyes told me all I needed to know about his emotions.
His name was Ronan; a member of the hero's party.