Chapter 35: Chapter 35
“Could my luck be this bad?”
Pressed against the wall, Jenkins watched as the point of light representing Pops joined the fray. A continuous volley of gunshots echoed, suggesting more than a single firearm was involved.
The penetrating vision of his Eye of Reality was weak against the three types of permanent Extraordinary items. He couldn't even see Mr. Hunt's Fruit Platter through his own bedroom wall, and the blue feather's aura was completely blocked just by wrapping it in a towel. But right now, he could clearly see a faint, golden, statue-like object glowing beneath the point of light representing Mr. Brown, moving in perfect sync with him.
“I think I know what's happening,” Jenkins thought, “but if I'm right, this is just terrible luck...”
His luck, it turned out, could get worse. Jenkins had thought hiding would be enough; he had complete faith in Pops, whose aura was by far the strongest. But after another sound, like a muffled explosion, a man came crashing through the door.
He tumbled across the floor in a heap, his momentum only broken when he slammed into the far wall.
He looked up, and their eyes met.
White smoke drifted from the muzzle of the pistol. Jenkins let out a shaky breath and lowered the weapon, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He spoke to the corpse, whose eyes were still wide open in shock. A small, neat hole in its forehead trickled with a mixture of red and white.
“Well, at least my aim is decent,” he muttered.
Jenkins fought to suppress the terror of having just killed a man. His gaze shifted back to the body, where the light points signifying abilities were already fading. From the man's jacket pocket, a very faint yellow light pulsed weakly.
“Why is the glow so weak? A temporary item, maybe? Something enhanced by a ritual? A talisman, or some kind of weapon?”
He speculated but didn't waste time searching the corpse. After confirming the man's aura had completely winked out of existence, Jenkins swallowed hard, gripped his pistol, and burst out of the room.
Outside, Mr. Brown lay on the floor like a discarded ragdoll, his own aura rapidly fading. Pops was ensnared by threads sprouting from the last remaining stranger, his movements jerky and stiff, like a marionette.
It was why Jenkins had to act.
Jenkins squeezed the trigger again, this time firing the special round. The stranger couldn't dodge in time and took the bullet in his right arm, but the wound sealed itself shut almost instantly.
“Careful! He's a member of the Club of Light Chasers!”
The Club of Light Chasers was a truly illegal organization. Jenkins recalled Pops mentioning them—a cult of Enchanters who believed humanity had to transform into light to survive the great cataclysm at the end of the Epoch. Their illegality stemmed not only from their members being unregistered but from their worship of a cruel and malevolent pseudo-god.
The stranger's lips peeled back into a terrifying grin.
Jenkins replied, his face a stony mask as he reloaded and fired again in one smooth motion.
He'd aimed for the heart but hit the head. The man, still very much alive, turned to look at Jenkins, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
“That waste of space is dead? Excellent!” Latest content publıshed on novᴇlfire.net
The threads still bound Pops, but in turn, Pops's resistance restricted the stranger's movements. Jenkins wasn't worried about being taken out with a single punch.
“May the Legacy Sage protect us. May Your brilliance light humanity's path forward.”
He touched the ceremonial silver dagger to his lips, whispering the prayer. Then, activating his [Flexible Legs] ability, Jenkins lunged toward Pops. A single swipe of the dagger and the black threads snapped.
Jenkins immediately backed away. Pops was on the stranger again, and without the binding threads, the man was clearly no match for him.
Jenkins suddenly cried out, his eyes fixed on the stranger's pocket, where the yellow object had begun to glow brightly.
It all happened in an instant. A strange melody echoed in his ears, sung by what sounded like a young woman. The voice was low, ethereal, and unsettling, yet it held the same morbid allure as a poppy.
Pops collapsed. Jenkins, his own head spinning from the song, had no choice but to charge again, both fists flying:
He had no illusion of killing the man so easily; he just wanted to force him back and create an opening to rescue Pops.
But the moment their fists met, an immense force slammed into him. Jenkins was sent flying backward, crashing into Pops's prone form.
“My right arm—it's broken!”
The song droned on, but the searing pain shocked Jenkins back to his senses.
The stranger paid him no mind, instead walking toward Mr. Brown's body. This gave Jenkins the opening he needed. With his left hand, he fumbled inside his shirt and pulled out a small metal plate.
He screamed inwardly, desperately pouring his spirit into the metal. The instant it grew hot to the touch, he hurled it, then threw himself over Pops, shielding him with his body.
A deafening roar, and then, nothing.
Jenkins came to in a blast of scorching heat. He was surrounded by a sea of fire; all the nearby buildings were ablaze. Where the stranger and Mr. Brown's body had been, there was now nothing but a massive, blackened crater.
“Dammit, you shoddy piece of junk!” Jenkins cursed. “Weren't you supposed to have a reduced effect?”
No time to curse the swindling merchant. Jenkins scrambled to his feet and ran back into the burning building. Amidst the flames, he frantically dug under the floorboards in the corner, pulling out a bundle wrapped in ragged cloth and stuffing it inside his coat. Good. Judging by the packed earth, it had been buried there for a long time.
After covering his tracks, he hurried back to Pops and tried to wake him.
Pops came to quickly, his eyes widening in shock at the inferno around them.
“That cultist went to check Mr. Brown's body,” Jenkins said, his voice laced with terror, “and then... the body just exploded!”
“We have to go, now!” Pops urged. “We can't let our identities be exposed!”
Panting, Pops had Jenkins help him to his feet. He picked up Jenkins's silver dagger and hastily drew a strange symbol on the ground, then pulled a paper packet folded into a triangle from his coat and tossed it onto the symbol.
“May the Goddess protect us!”
He bit his finger, pressed a drop of blood onto the symbol, and whispered the incantation. The paper packet immediately burst into an eerie blue flame, vanishing without a trace.
“Done,” Pops declared. “The message is sent.”
With another flick of the dagger, Pops scuffed out the symbol on the ground. He then told Jenkins to search the crater for anything that might have survived. Afterward, supporting each other, they staggered away from the blaze.
The nearby labyrinth of alleyways, combined with the chaos caused by the fire, meant that no one paid any mind to two men in scorched clothing.
As he helped Pops along, Jenkins discreetly used his ability to heal them both.
It was the first time he was truly grateful for his healing ability. By the time they squeezed past a water wagon trapped at the mouth of the alley, both he and Pops were able to walk without a limp.