Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 84
Chapter Title: How to Survive in Fusion Punk
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“Waaah!!”
“Come out! Get out here!”
“Run awaaay!!!”
Screams rained down from all directions.
It was because of the disaster that kicked off with the countdown.
A faint friction sound echoed from the sky—no, the ceiling.
The entire steel pillars bent.
The deformed structure writhed as if granted life, while the crimson rust blanketing it like barnacles poured down like dust.
What the hell is this? The fleeing crowd all craned their necks upward.
And recoiled in horror.
The structure, warped beyond any hint of its original circle, resembled a monster.
Not just any monster, but a festering mass brandishing dozens of steel tentacles.
No wonder guttural screams erupted on instinct.
“Shiiit!! Get outta the waaay!!”
“W-what the hell is that thing? Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”
The audience snapped out of their momentary stupor and bolted with renewed vigor.
Order? Forget it.
Any sense of structure? Yeah, right.
These were Downtown folks to begin with—civic-mindedness wasn't exactly their strong suit.
Frankly, in this apocalypse, what made the staff any different?
Shoving the person ahead, elbowing the one behind.
Pure pandemonium, utter bedlam.
Amid the tide of people ebbing away, one face stood out—Drandre, scanning his surroundings in full-on panic.
“What the...?!”
He'd gotten a heads-up that something might go down mid-show, but this?
His brain short-circuited at the surreal horror show, but only for a second.
Slapping his cheeks sharp to jolt himself awake, he whipped his head around.
“Is that telekinesis?!”
“Could be a metal-manipulation power!”
Hooker fired back—and
“Either way, it's a superpower. The terrorist's a psychic?”
Drandre scrunched his nose and flicked his gaze toward the stage.
There, the crowd thrashed in ecstasy.
Gazes locked as one amid the chaos, like they'd tuned out the world entirely.
Drandre flinched.
Have they all lost it as a group?
No other explanation for acting like that right now...
Except there was one.
Boom!!!
The massive screen replayed the onstage clash between a man and a woman.
And those faces? Eerily familiar.
“...Hold up, isn't that Elina?”
Greg, peering the same way, nodded.
“Sure looks like her. Psychic awakening or what?”
Then the screen zoomed on a beautiful face with eyes rolled back, and Drandre bit his lip hard in confirmation.
“Yup. Shit.”
Finally piecing together the madness, he whipped around to scan the crowd.
Stragglers and fall-behinds dotted the chaos.
Steel tentacles poised to strike them down.
Eyes snapping wide, he bellowed.
“Save the people first!”
“Got it, boss!!”
“...This is nuts.”
Hooker and Greg bolted off in opposite directions at once.
And Drandre was right behind them.
“You morons! Snap the fuck out of it!!”
Cheer sticks hurled from the linker's hands soared skyward as he charged the stage.
Whooosh!!
A steel tentacle—tangled girders fused into one—hurtled straight at him.
Jin kicked off the ground, vaulting clean over it.
Twisting midair for a flawless landing, the metal shards beneath his feet shattered under the impact, booming like an explosive charge.
But that was merely the opener.
Without a split-second's pause, Jin bolted along the tentacle's length.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Each footfall left a crisp imprint as he charged, more tentacles lunging from every angle.
Jin never broke stride.
Leaping skyward with a twist, dropping low to skim the floor, vaulting incoming tentacles with ease.
All unfolded in the span of a single blink.
To ordinary eyes, it'd look like a violet thunderbolt zigzagging the metal labyrinth in a flash.
Boom!!
A heavy rupture as something splintered.
Next instant, Jin hurtled through open air.
Dodging every assault, he'd closed the gap in one breath—now Elina filled his sight.
The culprit who'd warped the entire arena into a steel behemoth. Kraken?
Whatever the hell it was.
Blood streamed from her nose.
Her freak talent had outstripped her body's limits.
Firing off power unconsciously she couldn't contain—the backlash had arrived.
But Jin wasn't about to wait for her to burn out.
Boom!!
Landing propelled him forward in an explosive surge.
Elina's face rushed up close.
Crack. Jin's forehead smashed her pretty, eye-rolled visage.
Both bodies ricocheted apart.
Jin had headbutted; Elina had countered with unseen force.
Staggered two steps, Jin slammed the ground.
Distance gone in a heartbeat—he snatched her collar.
Yanked hard, then drove his knee into her gut.
Bang!!
The strike birthed a circular shockwave from her back.
Potent enough to shred organs on the spot.
Yet Elina merely hacked a dry cough—no collapse.
She'd cloaked herself in the relentless energy blasts.
Barrier soaked the hit, venting it rearward as that visible pulse.
Shockingly, it traced a translucent arc through the air before smacking Jin's face.
UFC fighters get this question a lot in interviews:
If you punch yourself in the face and drop, does that make you strong? Or weak?
Punch power versus chin durability—which holds more value?
Jin's take...
Ow, hold up. Where the hell am I?
Never figured I'd eat my own attack full-force.
Rainbow reflection—kid-argue trash talk made real?
Hurts like hell, sure. But the embarrassment stung worse.
Shame drilled into his marrow late.
Jin ground his teeth.
Then slammed a fist home.
The rippling shield bucked the shock right back.
Abdomen this time—Jin clenched his jaw.
Then flashed a feral grin.
Fucking hurts.
Am I the masochist here?
Screwy thoughts swirling, he sucked in air and hauled the collar—as ever.
A barrage followed.
Every blow, of course, rebounded half- or full-beat delayed, pummeling Jin right back.
One for me, one for you.
What a straight-up trade.
The world's purest mirror match jolted his frame every which way.
Yet that collar grip? Ironclad.
Just plowed into the next strike, dogged as ever.
Jin hadn't picked this brute-force slog from blind rage.
Bigger reason: Elina couldn't muster anything beyond reflex-shields.
Jin read it as pure desperation.
No clean hits landed, but nose-and-eye blood showed zero headspace.
Push harder!
Storm of strikes hammered Elina every angle.
Then, at some point—no counters flew.
Sensing wrongness, Jin froze mid-fist.
Gurgle. The shield's surface—now a colossal wave versus before—shattered outward, unleashing pent-up force.
No dodge room—he ate it full and flew.
Back cratered the wall; blood-flecked coughs spilled out.
Gut agony bloomed like spilled ink—organ rupture, check.
...Heart's fine. Lucky break.
Cold autopsy on his own wreck, Jin groaned upright.
Tears pricking—no, streaming buckets—but no time to wallow prone.
That barrier-smashed psychic was staggering, hacking bloodclots.
End it now. Mana rallying—
Fweeeee!!!
Sudden raptor screech; Jin snapped his head skyward on reflex.
A meteor plummeted, wings flaring groundside—boom! Stomped Elina's skull flat.
“You fucking bitch!!”
The roarer: raptor-headed beastman. Massive wings shouldered out. Talon pinning her occiput deep into the floor.
What the—?
Jin scowled a beat, but ID'ing him? Easy.
Only one beastman pulsed with that raw life-force.
Malcolm.
Year back, climbed to 2nd Hierarchy—Elina's security chief.
But those eyes...?
Jin's brow furrowed tight.
Cursing the downed Elina, both orbs pulped, oozing sticky blood-tears.
Producer and guards pulped to red orbs?
Malcolm got eyes.
Elina's handiwork, natch—even unconscious, instinct pegged him biggest threat.
Not eye-targeted; just skull-crush collateral on softest bits.
“Filthy fucking pest!”
Talon vise-gripped her head, hammering pavement relentlessly.
Face flailing like waterboarding; faint shield now, mere padding—no Jin-level reflection.
Elina at her breaking point, clearly.
Proof: wild steel tentacles slowed to a crawl.
She's gonna die like that.
Jin scowled deeper.
Unlike his KO plan, Malcolm was set to squash her bug-flat.
Issue: zero grounds to intervene.
Mercy for eye-hole pus-gusher? Kinda sociopathic.
His rebuild perk versus Malcolm's cyber-eye retrofit needs.
Head-scratching mid-thought—corner vision pinged: status window.
[Protect Elina Vicente]
Window text shifted again; Jin cocked his head.
Changed already? Glitchy much?
Glanced up front—hmm?
Malcolm's earworm curses felt... off.
Every line kicking off If I'd known then~, trailing ~I should've~.
No direct target.
What bitching is this?
Face cycling expressions, Jin clapped once—aha.
One: These assholes treated folks like livestock en masse.
Two: Malcolm deep in manic frenzy—beastman curse snapping reason.
Yup.
“Shut it! I know! I know!”
Yelled at thin air, then ripped into Elina's clothes savage.
“You heard 'em too, right? Says don't go gentle. You slut.”
Madness confirmed, Jin kicked off.
Lightning crackled wild from his frame as he charged the birdbrain.
“...?!”
Rotten or not, top-shelf.
Blind, yet Malcolm whipped his head dead-on at Jin's approach.
Shoulder-checked airborne, still snagged Jin's throat mid-flight.
Wings unfurled vast.
Instant: nearby rebar, outer walls pulverized in sequence. Like hot lead through flesh, beastman-human knot demolished the arena in frenzy.
Peregrines dive 390 kph max, they say.
Flaps hit subsonic quick, white afterimages blurring—booms shredding eardrums nonstop.
Bonus: long blood-smeared gouges on grazed walls.
How many retina-searing pivots?
Sudden—blinding flash midair; mass crashed aslant to earth.
Kwarang!!!
Shattered turf, skidded dozens meters—halted: crumpled-wing beastman, Jin palm-vise on his mug.
“Ke... kek.”
Skull ground-raw, beastman spewed bloodgouts, flailing claws at Jin's cheek.
Futile spasm.
“...You... huff... weaker... huff... than Taha?”
Jin gasped it out, hefted thunder-laced fist sky-high.
Then smashed down all-in.
Boom--!!
Face to instant paste—flesh-blood wheel spun wild.
Quest clear and Malcolm EXP slammed his skull simultaneous.
Ack! Ugh!
Lightning-struck scalp vibes shuddering, Jin flopped ass-flat.
A bit off: Elina sprawled ragged.
Protection: success!