Abyss City 1.0 - Episode 4
Name: Rohan
HP: 82%
MP: 66%
Affiliated Nation: Southern Ruins' Remnant
Affiliated Organization: Orion Academy
Attributes: [Physical] [Fire]
Status: Bleeding
Remaining Points: 273P
Rohan's status window was handy.
It gave him a real sense of how tenuously he was clinging to life, while displaying any negative status effects on his body in real time.
'Not severe bleeding.'
His mind was clear and sharp. His body was maintaining its temperature, still warm.
No need for crude methods to staunch the flow or stem it forcibly.
With his consciousness and body riding the momentum of battle, the ideal move now was to go straight for the boss.
'Let's do this.'
Rohan gripped his machete and pistol.
The knife he'd been using for a short while had shattered during the factory brawl against the mob.
A fitting end for cheap junk—it couldn't handle the stabbing and slashing, snapping at the handle and lodging itself in one thug's gut.
Rohan followed the paint fumes carried on the wind.
And there he was.
Tsssh! Tsss!
A man with a buzzcut wearing a plastic mask, spraying graffiti on the wall.
About 190 cm tall, his bulk made him look massive under that thick jacket.
His neck was as thick as a quadruped beast's.
'Ku Shadli.'
That was definitely his name in Rohan's memory.
Facing him up close brought the past memories into sharp focus.
And then, a brief exchange.
"Today's vibe was especially good. On days like this, I can't just stop a piece midway."
"Yeah, sure."
Rohan pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Bang!
The muzzle flashed and spat fire.
A bullet aimed precisely at the head. Shadli's head snapped back, then returned.
"That hurts, you know? Why the hell are you doing this?"
"…."
The bullet didn't penetrate his skull, clattering to the floor with a thin metallic ping.
A red graze marked Shadli's forehead.
'Even full-auto wouldn't do much right now.'
That settled it—the pistol was for suppression only.
If he needed to free up his hands, ditching it outright seemed fine.
"Tell me. Why'd you do it?"
"You've spent your life sucking everyone dry, and now you're curious why you're dying? Does that even make sense?"
Rohan let his disbelief show plainly, and he saw Shadli's brass-knuckled fist clench with a creak.
"Hoken sent you, right? Just like last time. He's always been jealous of my art. Obvious without even asking."
"Sigh…."
"Ah, poor, pitiful Hoken. Every time he realized he had no talent, he must've envied and hated me."
As Shadli ranted to himself, building his delusion and excitement, Rohan aimed the pistol again.
Knowing normal shots were useless, this bullet targeted the eyes if possible.
Bang!
As if reading his intent from the aim alone, Shadli dodged it eerily.
Then, smirking like he'd confirmed something.
"Your reaction proves it—Hoken sent you, huh?"
"Shut your trap. I like chatty girls, but wordy guys? Hate 'em."
"You… your actions and words don't match that babyface. Kinda fun."
Crack.
Shadli rolled his neck and closed the distance in bold strides.
"…."
The moment Shadli entered striking range, Rohan swung the machete.
A simultaneous punch extended.
The lethal strikes collided.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Scraaape!
Sparks and noise flashed under the night sky.
Rohan felt the raw power different from the Yard Pound brothers as he dodged the fists.
The impacts alone tore open shallow wounds.
And those short, compact punches without sloppy legwork.
The guy had proper training.
'Physically outmatched. But it's manageable.'
Feeling the machete rebound off the knuckles with each swing, his palms aching, Rohan aimed the pistol at Shadli's groin and fired.
"!"
Shadli twisted his body in panic at the chill sensation.
Bang! Bang!
Bullets struck his thigh and fell away.
No breather—Rohan hammered down relentlessly.
Shadli chuckled dryly at the machete aiming to smash his skull and backpedaled.
"Us… let's keep some basic courtesy. That's just too crude."
"You play the artist and psycho solo, but scared of your balls breaking?"
Rohan smirked, curling his lip.
Shadli ran a hand over his stubbly scalp to compose himself.
"…Your paintings must lack flair."
"Not into art."
"Cold bastard. From one to ten, you're all wrong."
Shadli was convinced after the brief back-and-forth.
'That babyface is a disguise? Creepy fucker.'
Anything else wouldn't add up. He couldn't accept it.
To Shadli, those moves screamed blood-soaked experience piled high—simply terrifying in their simplicity.
'Gotta end this quick.'
Sensing him approach, he'd dosed the drugs early; the effects were kicking in strong.
Physical superiority was his.
Yet no chance to smash something and seize control. The guy dodged punches like a rat.
'If the high wears off like this….'
A flicker in focus.
Rohan caught that telltale shift in Shadli's gaze and lunged.
Crack!
The machete buried into the arm hastily raised to guard his head.
"Tch!"
Then he saw Rohan's pistol barrel flow like water.
Shadli poured mana roughly into a punch.
The pistol shattered against the knuckles with a crunch, pieces scattering.
But Shadli couldn't rejoice at the annoying weapon's demise.
He'd seen Rohan release it mid-swing.
Thud.
Rohan's empty hand grabbed Shadli's arm like it owned it.
He dramatically raised the machete high.
As Shadli's eyes followed the blade, plotting a counter—
"!?"
Shadli felt something off from the touching hand and jerked back in alarm.
Rohan didn't pursue, just nodding in satisfaction from his spot.
"Hm. As expected."
"You… did something."
The lingering mana residue Rohan left. Shadli forced a grin and rubbed his arm.
The sensation crawling over his skin was utterly alien, beyond words.
Imparts Physical attribute weakness to the target.
'Good intel.'
The suspicion from spamming the skill on Shadli's goons in the melee cleared up.
Now Rohan had certainty.
'Weakness Infliction's mana cost varies by the opponent's prowess.'
And above a certain level, they sense the skill's intrusion.
Vague descriptions always hid details like this, meant to be grasped through experience.
"Sneaky bastard with a nice skill, huh?"
"Enough."
"…."
"Don't talk to me."
Rohan cut him off and stepped forward. Shadli leaned in aggressively.
Mana scraped to the dregs—his presence burned fiercer than before.
'Tackle?'
Not a bad plan. Big build, physical edge—he'd want to grapple.
Rohan got Shadli's thinking.
After that arm hit, he'd braced to tank a blow.
But.
One machete stab would show him.
The change in his body.
"Hup!"
Shadli charged like a bull, stomping the ground with a thud! and hurling his body forward.
A frontal tackle incoming.
Variables like slowing or speeding could shift timing.
Still, Rohan didn't overthink—slammed the machete down like whacking a mole.
"…."
The princess arrived near the rendezvous and instinctively hid.
Glancing at the clock on her comms gear, the appointed time had just passed.
What to do? Just head back?
Hard to decide on the spot.
Nor did she want to radio the elder.
'Wait 10 more minutes.'
Final resolve made, she leaned against the wall and slid down to sit.
How long had she spaced out staring at the starry night sky?
The promised 10 minutes had clearly passed.
Step. Step. Step.
Footsteps echoed from afar, drawing closer.
Still seated, the princess pulled out a small mirror to cautiously check outside.
'The VIP the elder mentioned—is that guy?'
One man in view, not just passing by.
Not a spot anyone would casually stroll through anyway.
'Come to think of it, didn't the elder say "guests" plural…?'
No clue. Memory foggy lately.
Uncertain, the princess decided to watch him a bit.
Unlike the rough types the elders summoned before, no thug vibe.
Looked about her age.
Still, an oddly heavy aura made her hesitate as she observed.
The man stopped, fiddling with his smartphone.
Then glanced around, searching for someone.
"…."
After watching quietly, the princess grabbed her prepared gear, stood, and revealed herself.