Chapter 109
Chapter 109
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: Masked Ball (25)
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***
There was one part that worried me deep down.
The name Zeus. It was a ridiculous concern, but as he looked at the equipment sparking unstably, the first thought that popped into the Professor's head when he pressed the button was that the name looked extremely jinxed.
When World War III broke out, nations around the globe poured all their resources into weapon development, leading to the creation of countless armaments.
Among them were several expected to change the course of the war, and scientists brimming with national pride were all too eager to name them after gods.
The Cluster Biohazard Missile Hades was one such example,
along with the Napalm Rail Round Agni,
the Avian Guidance Device Horus,
and the Lightweight Vehicle Crossing Device Moses, among others in that lineage.
But as if paying the price for such hubris, none of them met a good end.
Hades went haywire and vaporized an entire nation,
Horus, meant to block enemy air routes by creating walls of bird strikes, turned its prototype lab into a Hitchcock movie set due to a researcher's mishandling,
and Moses, the portable infantry vehicle crossing gear, earned the infamous nickname "Styx Stepping Stones" after collapsing from the shockwave of just two tanker trucks' worth of water dumped upstream—sturdy but extremely vulnerable to lateral pressure.
For some reason, every weapon named after a god had issues or ended up causing problems. In the end, scientists came to believe in the "Divine Weapon Jinx," and from then on, new weapons were named things like R-7 or MK-3.
"Cough! Ack!"
[Argh, my body, my body won't move! Hey, meat puppet! You still conscious?]
"Ah, ughhh..."
Every inch of his body cramped up as if he'd been injected with muscle relaxants everywhere. As expected, the overcharged Zeus had dumped all the gathered power at its limit, radiating stray currents it couldn't control.
[Don't fight it—just lie still! I'll try moving!]
"Shut up.... If I let it pass like that, who knows what kind of freak I'll turn into this time.... Cough!"
But surprisingly, his body was mostly fine. Sure, spiderweb-like red burn scars covered him like a lightning strike victim, and excluding the excruciating pain everywhere and the total lack of strength, the rest was remarkably intact.
[Aren't your standards a bit too harsh? Normal people would call scars like that "I nearly died."]
"Feeling pain in every part of your body means your nerves are completely fried. Honestly, I thought.... Cough! I might end up paralyzed for life. If I survived, that is."
He'd seen plenty of near-death folks act tough with "I know my own body!" but after brushing death himself, he got why they said it. It was a serious injury, but he'd recover with some rest. No reason—just a gut feeling.
'Maybe I dipped a foot in the afterlife and instinctively know the sensation. Not my time yet, or something.'
The Professor tried crawling to the window but collapsed flat, his body too weak.
'Check.... I need to check the results....'
[Stay put. I'll move us.]
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
His left hand's fingers clawed at the floor, dragging the Professor's body—covered in burst capillaries like red tattoos—along.
Thud.
Feeling the launch-heated glass press against his back, the Professor turned his eyes.
"Ha, haha.... Holy shit...."
Gone.
He'd meant to check the enemy's damage, but there were no enemies.
From the cockpit's target point and beyond.
The area littered with dozens of tanks, combat vehicles, and Raptor infantry now held only a vast, reddish-brown canyon. Dozens of tanks, twice as many combat vehicles, countless Raptor troops, sand, and bedrock—all melted together into a bizarre canyon rimmed by strange rock formations.
"Heh.... No wonder they brag that holding out means certain victory with this thing."
[If I were a grunt, seeing that fly over our heads would spark patriotism out of nowhere. Patriotism? Ashes-heart? Whatever.]
"Ian should've been the one to fire this."
[He'd cream his pants and pass out on the spot. Might've hijacked my consciousness entirely.]
The Professor thought he knew why Zeus alone survived with its name intact, unlike other divine weapons scrapped by accidents or renamed due to the jinx.
"Fuck, God.... If one button can do this, the world's doomed...."
Even the user unwittingly invoked a god amid its horrific power.
Surely, even divine eyes would find this human-made blue thunderbolt no insult to the name—quite satisfying.
Zeus was a weapon worthy of its name.
***
Shhhhhhhh—
Rain.
Sudden droplets fell from the hazy sky, steam rising over the terrifying canyon where flesh and metal had melted together.
"Thunder followed by rain.... Game's gotta step up. What's the point of magic and monsters when reality's this unreal."
The battle from dusk to night. The explosions must've lofted ash and dust sky-high. Add Zeus's launch superheating the air and updrafts from the near-lava canyon. Scientific explanations aplenty.
But to the Professor, it felt like a divine signal: Enough, stop now.
[You.... believe in that stuff?]
'Shut it. Near-death's making me sappy, I guess.'
Neither Hyde nor the Professor said it aloud, but they felt it. Enemy or not, one gesture vaporized over three digits of lives.
'....Tried living right to go to heaven with Mom.'
[....You?]
'Wasteland standards, asshole. Even that's fucked now.'
[Eh.... If I were God, killing Raptors might score points. They're the living population control policy.]
'It's not the killing. Even now, post-battle, my head's full of.... only thoughts of who to kill next.'
The Enforcers who killed his mother. Hiding somewhere in the city.
'Kill them now. Defeated, they'll join Raptors or hole up. Miss this, gone forever.'
"Huff!"
Luckily, his left arm—whatever it was made of—was utterly unscathed, unlike the rest.
[Where to?]
"Dunno.... Throat's Sahara-dry, but let's head out. Rain like beans in a wasteland drought."
Crack!
"Water mages.... survive with just water, right? As a water-loving guy, how could I pass that up?"
Using his left arm—half again as long as his right—as a crutch, the Professor limped outside. Where defeated Enforcers might flee. Just a hunch, but he had a guess.
***
Rumble!
"Ram it! Ram harder! Keep him off us!"
"This is the armored car's max speed!"
"Shake him off or go out and shoot him—do something!"
"Excluding essential crew, everyone's already outside...."
Clang!
"Kuhahaha, hey, Sol. What's wrong? Your voice over comms was nothing like.... this. If the Commander-in-Chief sounds so terrified, the Raptor Society you love so much might lose face, no?"
Sol felt like he was in a nightmare. Thought they'd escaped perfectly. Watching the massive light and metal vapor storm the opposite battlefield, he'd patted himself on the back for choosing survival!
"Be a man with some spine! Especially my former subordinate! Show some grit! Smile bright—like when we first met, or over comms earlier!"
Bang!
Clang!
"Like when you killed my family and claimed it was all for me! Sol!"
"Eeek!"
A motorcycle tailed them, its rider clinging to the moving tank. Shaking failed to dislodge him; he climbed higher. Fearing their camouflaged vehicle might be exposed, Sol sent troops out.
Soon, blood splattered the periscope. Sol relaxed—
Bang!
Clang!
Another massive jolt rocked the armored car. Troops down, the gauntlet-cannon-wielding freak resumed firing.
Camouflage didn't make it invisible—it projected surroundings to blend seamlessly. With the man stuck on top, the tank mirrored his image across its surface.
When a familiar voice spilled from the hate-filled face plastered everywhere, Sol couldn't believe it.
"No, impossible! How can a man change that much! The embodiment of reason and destruction, Raptor's poster boy—how does he end up like that—"
"Oh. Sol. Shout once more? Your thick voice resonates so well here,"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Squelch, crunch, crack!
"U, uwaaaah!"
Pew!
"Especially thin here!! Even trash has its uses!"
Finally, Ian's hand cannon found gaps in the stripped armor, punching holes.
A creepy brown eye peered through, rolling around inside.
"Hiels, Johnny! Kuhahaha!"
"G-get away! Get lost!!!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Guhk!"
"Ugh!"
Large-caliber rounds from the finger-sized hole ricocheted wildly inside, embedding in bodies one by one.
"Argh!"
"Pack Leader! T-the main gate at the target point is closed!"
"Kaaaah! M-my leg!"
"Gate's blocked!"
"Get in! Ram it and shake that bastard off!!!"
Boom!
The armored car, unslacking speed per Sol's order, smashed through the target— the Enforcer garage's iron gate.
***
Rumble!
"Fuck.... Did some amateur grab the wheel.... Cough!"
Ian kicked off the wooden shards covering him. He'd clung on one-handed, but the impact was too much.
"Hm? Damn it! This is loose! Brand new from Inspection yesterday!"
Cursing at his left arm's hand cannon auxiliary loose, as he pondered warranty or compensation, something dark red oozed between the parts.
Sticky.
"Blood? Shit. Did I fuck up somewhere?"
Examining the sticky blood on his fingers, Ian checked himself frantically. Adrenaline masked wounds in battle; best to inspect visually. All good—except a shattered crate shard deep in his calf.
"Jimmy. Talk about bad luck....!"
Squish!
Yanked it out without hesitation, sealed with leftover hemostatic spray from Vex. Barely a scratch.
Shaking his ringing head, he gripped the hand cannon left-handed, scanning slowly while dragging himself. Smoke leaked from the armored car. No hatch open—occupants dead or staying put.
'Blood.... Not just mine?'
Some corpses around. Crushed on entry? No, traces differed.
'Five visible. Sharp.... spear? Stake? Ballista? Slashes too.... This one's crushed like heavy gear?'
Ages 40s-50s. Bodies too mangled for more. Not explosion marks. Like mauled by a massive beast....
'No way....'
Suddenly, noon’s monster fight flashed in Ian’s mind. Type 2 mutants couldn’t do this, but a Type 3....
"Haha! We're saved! Raptor reinforcements! You're done, monster! No matter how strong, you can't take a tank!"
'People!'
Click!
Joyful voice from behind stacked crates where Ian hid.
"Hey! Over here! We're Enforcers! Raptor allies! Friendlies! That monster's a Dome assassin! Kill it! Shoot now!"
And before them, a hunched, familiar back view staring down.
"Hm? Ian? What're you doing here?"
"You.... You....!"
Bushy black hair, now familiar. Weaker, but still smirky voice.
Hand cannon thudding from his grip, Ian staggered toward the Professor.
"N-no...."
"Whoa, how long's it been? You look fine. Where's Vex? Came alone?"
Screee—
That friendly, glad voice—tears gushed like a waterfall from the world's toughest man's eyes.
"Uwaaaaaah!! Nooooo!!!"
"W-what! What's with you suddenly!"
Whoosh!
Before the Professor could stop him, Ian—forgetting enemies—sobbed and hugged him tight.
Lightning scars blooming on exposed skin. Blood-soaked uniform. And,
A left arm no longer human—monstrous.
Ian knew exactly what this wretched sight meant, from his morning clash with Old Picture.
"My friend's dead!!! Turned mutant!!! Uwaaaaaah!!!"
"D-dead? Hey, wait! What're you—"
Ian stroked the scarred body in grief. He knew those spiderweb burns.
'Electric torture scars. Yeah, diving into Dome streets crawling with urban warfare masters—getting caught without these would be weirder. Simplest, quickest torture setup. Near-fatal, yet he never cracked.'
Visions of the Professor dying from electric burns after Enforcer tortures filled Ian's eyes.
The iron man's heart shattered.
'Those front corpses—your mutant doing, huh. Professor Park, you were the strongest man I ever met. Even as torture claimed you, that final will turned monster to finish the mission! Strong enough to power up and chase Enforcers here!'
Ian hugged his once-in-a-lifetime great friend hard, snot and tears streaming onto his shoulder.
"Sob! I respect you, my friend! Lived more intensely than anyone! You were.... one hell of a guy!"
"Uh.... Ian? Metal Jaws? You on something? Raptor doping stuff?"
Ian didn't wipe his tears—they wouldn't stop. Yeah, that was his voice. What now? Even killing everyone here, mutant Professor wouldn't fall. Smart guy. Knew Enforcers weren't root cause even after they're dead. Knew it was Raptors.
Ian pulled his late wife's memento from his bosom.
"I won't let it end like that.... Won't let my friend wander the wastes chasing Raptors and die pathetically!"
Click!
Ian firmly believed his derringer had found its true purpose.
"Farewell, brother of my soul. If you meet my wife Molly in death.... Say you're my friend—she'll treat you right. I'll never forget you."
"Y-you're crazy! Put the gun down! You lunatic!"
Smack!
Zinging forehead pain brought fresh tears. This headbutt—last from the Professor! Ah, friend!
"Don't refuse! At least give my comrade a proper send-off—with these hands, myself!!!!"
"Die yourself, you psycho! I'll kill you!"
"Grk! Even in death, your stubbornness stinks! Die! Die by my hand!"
"I'm not dead! Not dead! I'm Professor Park! Alive—powered the generator, fired Zeus, made it here fine, you tinhead fuckaaaaaa!!!"
Fuckaaaaaa—
Fuckaaaaaa—
Fuckaaa—
Ian's tightening gunplay choked the air, the Professor's desperate survival screams echoing in the Enforcer garage.
Creak—
A menacing friction from the Professor's left hand.
If it didn't stop, he'd smash with the left arm, control be damned.
***