Ah, the good old days of being a writer, when the biggest concern was choosing between pizza or Chinese for dinner, and not whether the monster under the bed would drag you into another dimension. I used to paint these abominable dimensional beings as indestructible, theoretically speaking, of course.
However, in practice, they are as 'immortal' as a smartphone with a full battery - eventually, they will crash. Taking them down is a challenge worthy of an episode of "How to Kill Your Wolverine." And guess what? They have an Achilles' heel: light.
Fire, in theory, should work too, but it's more of a nuisance than a mortal threat to these creatures. It's not enough to send them to the beyond, but it's sufficient to make them think twice before stealing your socks again.
There I was, face to face with the aberration that looked like Samara after an upgrade to version 2.0, wondering: "What would be the trick to end this nonsense?"
My 'Dismantle' attack was as effective as a pat on the back - she barely flinched. And what about my other trick, the famous 'Illusory Cut'? Ah, that's more art than science.
It's not just about shouting "Illusory Cut, activate!" and waiting for the magic to happen. No, no. It requires a ritual: close your eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine that you are the fiercest swordsman in the universe, with a sword that cuts through reality itself. And then, my friend, you let the profession of mystical swordsman do what it does best.
And there was Viktor, the hero without a cape but with a pair of fists worth one, shouting with the bravery of someone facing the bread line on a Sunday morning: "I'm going to punch!" And like an out-of-control rocket, he charged towards Samara 2.0, who seemed to have come straight out of a horror assembly line.
Meanwhile, I pondered whether to leave the monster to our dear pugilist or to take care of the matter myself. Decided, I turned to my squad of intellectuals and brave souls - Kant, James, Caroline, and the ever-enigmatic Jack - and declared: "Follow me, Viktor is about to put on a boxing show."
James, with the look of someone who has just seen their account balance at the end of the month, questioned: "But will he survive?" As we watched the monster turn Viktor's chest into Swiss cheese. With an eyebrow raised and a half-smile that said "It's going to take more than that for happy hour," I assured: "Relax, he's been through worse on a Black Friday."
With a nod worthy of a superhero, I promised a happy ending, or at least a not-so-catastrophic one. And off we went, running to the mansion in an "Avengers on the run" style, leaving behind Viktor's fight, which looked more like a lost episode of WWE.
---
Arriving near the mansion, we could see from afar Viktor, our iron-fisted hero, still in the ring with the beast.
"Cool, what's the next step?" James asked, with the anxiety of someone waiting for the post-credits scene of a Marvel movie.
"Listen well, my dear Retaliators, James, Kant, Jack, and Caroline. I want you in formation, like a rock band ready for the show. We're going to look for the girls: the blonde who looks like she's straight out of a shampoo commercial, the brunette with eyes that remind you of amethysts, and the redhead with eyes as green as dollar bills,"
"And if by chance they mistake you for the villain's fan club or bump into a guy with hair as black as my list of jokes and eyes as red as a 'stop' sign, or another with hair as white as Luffy's conscience and eyes as blue as… well, as Luffy's blue eyes, just pretend you forgot the script or raise your hands and say: 'We're heroes in disguise, relax!'" I said, with a smile that could win an Oscar for best comedy performance.
"And you, what are you going to do?" Kant asked, with the curiosity of a cat that just saw a laser.
"Me? Oh, I'll be the main distraction of the night," I replied, with a smile already rehearsing for the next joke.
---
In the vastness of the night, Blake stood like a beacon above the mansion, bathed in the moon's silvery glow. His gaze swept across the horizon, where Viktor, defying the logic of mortality, battled his boogeyman in a duel that painted the sand red. Despite the wounds that adorned his body, Viktor fought with a tenacity that belied his physical state.
Below, figures emerged from the shadows, moving with mysterious intent. A child, whose innocence seemed out of place in that setting; a man with amiable features and a prominent belly; an individual whose thinness spoke of hardships; and a woman whose shoulders bore various drones.
But it was the man in the black overcoat, with a mask that concealed more than it revealed, who captured Blake's attention. The aura surrounding him was dense, almost tangible, his presence commanding.
"Mercenaries," Blake concluded, his mind racing as fast as the shadows that danced around the group.
"What a peculiar assembly," Blake mused, "there's no aura of threat emanating from them, except for the masked man…"
The masked man's strength was palpable to Blake, a clarity gained after honing his innate technique. He could see, as if through a vision beyond the ordinary, the darkness that dwelled within his targets. And behind the man in the overcoat, Blake perceived an ominous shadow, a harbinger of death.
Blake did not fully understand the meaning of that vision, but one thing he knew for sure: he must remain vigilant regarding that man and, when the time came, eliminating him would be his priority.
The dispersal of the group under the full moon caught Blake's attention. The pairs formed - the child and the bearded man, the gaunt one and the woman with drones - set off in opposite directions, enveloping the mansion in a coordinated movement, leaving the man in the black mask isolated. "What is their plan?" Blake wondered.
With a murmur, "Bloody Mary," he summoned an ally from the shadows. A spectral figure in a blood-stained bridal gown, with brown hair and eyes blurred with tears, wielding a kitchen knife, appeared at his command.
"Watch them for me," Blake commanded, and with a subtle bow, Mary vanished like a breath in the wind.
But, just as Blake was about to proceed, a mocking voice echoed behind him, chilling his blood: "You know I'm not a big fan of voyeurs, right?"
***
Author's Notes:
Hello readers! Sorry for the delay… ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜)
I'm writing a new novel, take a look ╰(°▽°)╯
I Reincarnated Inside My Novel as an Anomaly