Clawing Free
"What the hell did you do while I was gone?"
"Who knows?" The voices drifted in. Maybe they'd been talking the whole time and I was only just noticing. The new sensation flooding my body had taken time to fade, so I hadn't even realized another person had entered the room.
Shff, shff.
"...Cough."
The drug's effects had worn off long ago. Nothing remained inside me now. Yet the aftertaste still lingered in my flesh.
"You can say that after seeing him like this?"
"Haah... Fine, fine. I touched him a little. Happy?"
"...Have you forgotten our roles?"
Shff— shff—.
The sound rang through my skull. My face burned again.
"We need to finish him in one go. Don't waste Hallow playing around."
"God, I get it, I get it. I was just checking how fast he regenerates. That's all."
Hallow. A name I'd never heard before. I remembered it meant something like "hole" or "empty." Whoever named it probably tied the word to its effects. Even if the connection wasn't obvious, they wouldn't have chosen "Hallow" without reason.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
One of them approached. Shff— shff—.
"So how much did you use to end up with this mess?"
"Dunno. I didn't measure it out. Probably fed him about five bags."
"Five bags? That means you had twenty-five kilos stashed somewhere."
"Come on, it's not a big deal. We were given dozens to catch this guy."
Five bags. Twenty-five kilos. More than half my body weight in the drug had gone into me—most of it, maybe all of it—yet I didn't feel any heavier. The doses I'd absorbed during the kidnapping had been several bags too, but my weight hadn't changed then either. Maybe that was another reason they called it Hallow.
Shff— shff—.
I pulled my legs up and drove them toward my collarbone.
"What, you're struggling now? A little late for—"
Not enough. Without a stable axis or anything to brace against except my bound wrists, the force was weak. I yanked my legs up again and slammed them down once more.
"Stop him! That's not struggling—that's his power!"
"Ah, right!"
One of them grabbed my ankle. The other leg was still free. I lifted it, planted my shoe against my chest, and shoved hard. The shoes changed size to fit the wearer, but they'd been made with me in mind. Their strength was on another level from ordinary footwear.
—!
My chest tore silently. I couldn't change much, but this was enough. I redirected the Regeneration gathering in my chest toward my legs. If I could focus it on my arms, escape would be simple, but my wrists weren't bound by rope alone—the shirt was wrapped around them too. Like the shoes, the shirt wasn't ordinary fabric. It wouldn't tear. So I had to deal with the current situation first.
I folded the leg they held and kicked it out to the opposite side. The grip on my ankle was strong; my body jerked toward them, and suddenly the weight of a person hung from my foot. I'd grown enough muscle to pull one person, but not enough to lift them. That leg went useless again.
"Grab the other leg, quick!"
"Huh? Oh."
I stretched the free leg as high as it would go and hooked my foot over the blindfold. A flick of the toes and it came loose—not completely, but enough to see.
I took in everything in an instant: the iron door, the people, the concrete, the hose, the wooden desk, the deep pit beneath me, the man clutching my ankle, the puddle of water. Then I brought the freed leg down hard on the wrist holding me.
Even so, the man with the red-bridged hair didn't let go. He held on, reaching for the sword at his waist with his other hand. That level of physical control meant either an ordinary person who'd trained their body to the limit or a superpowered individual. Given the circumstances, the latter seemed more likely.
"Stop him already!"
At the shout, the wall of the torture chamber ripped apart. A hand-shaped mass of concrete formed and lunged. Not a skilled telekinetic—just someone who could only shape hands. I tried to kick both the concrete and the red-haired man, but my ankle was caught and the blow was blocked instantly. Fast.
Without pants, the concrete hand might have twisted my ankle and left wounds, but the fabric didn't seem likely to tear either. One of them was slow to react; the other was now too occupied to interfere. I no longer needed to be careful.
Shff—. Shff—. Shff—. Shff—.
I twisted my wrists violently against the rope. Heat began to build. The rope was clean, so it would take time.
"Feed him the drug first! Knock him out and start over when he wakes up."
"But you..."
"Just do it!"
He hurriedly pulled a small multi-tool from his protective suit and sliced open the end of a bag. Hallow powder swirled, then coalesced into another hand shape and drifted toward me. Wounds opened, Regeneration rose to heal them, and the power shifted elsewhere to reinforce my body. Cutting this rope would still take a little longer. If I could endure until then, I'd be free.
The Hallow hand tried to force my lips apart. I waited for the right moment.
Crunch—!
I bit down hard. One bag was five kilos, so I'd swallowed roughly five hundred grams. That was about one-fiftieth of the amount needed to knock me out instantly. They'd needed far more before because Regeneration kept up. This quantity, though... this much I could endure...!
The drug's effect vanished in an instant. I opened my mouth again.
Crunch—!
Another bite. He looked startled and quickly cut into a second bag, forming a new hand. I twisted my wrists and bit into more Hallow. My heart pounded—not from the drug, just from raw excitement.
Thump—.
The sound of my heartbeat.
Crack—.
The rope fraying.
The two sounds alternated. When the rope's splitting grew rarer, my heartbeat slowed; when my heartbeat slowed, the rope's splitting slowed with it. In the end—
Thud—
The rope gave way first.
Thump— thump— thump—.
My heartbeat only grew louder.
I spread my freed hands to the sides and lowered them. The shirt that had ridden up to my wrists slid back down, covering my body.
"The rope's loose. Drop your power and go report the situation!"
Reporting in person in this day and age... Fine. District 3 was confirmed.
Whoosh—
My body dropped instantly. The only things holding me in the air had been the rope and the telekinetic grip. With both gone, falling was inevitable. The man clutching my ankle let go as if throwing me and drew the sword from his waist, driving it into the pit wall. He was too far for me to grab, so I slammed my palm against the concrete instead. It felt like my skin was being shredded. A red streak marked where my hand had passed.
The wounded palm began to regenerate. I regenerated, and regenerated again. Then I curled the spread fingers still pressed to the wall, gouging deep furrows as I climbed.
My fingers felt like they were being ground away. More Regeneration gathered.
Splash—!
I kept descending until I reached the water pooled at the bottom. The pit was nearly twelve stories deep. Impressive that they'd built something this large without being discovered. Quite an organization.
My body was soaked. The strange sensation was mixed with the drug, but it had been diluted too much to affect me. Looking up, I saw the red-haired man still hanging from his embedded sword. He had no way to climb out from there.
I stepped out of the water and drove my fingers into the wall. Pulling myself up, I reached with the other hand and drove it in again.
Thud— thud— thud—
I repeated the motion, scaling the wall. I'd fallen so deep that stopping word from spreading about my escape would be difficult now. I kept climbing. The man watched me in silence.
"Haah..."
He only sighed, making no move to stop or interfere. He simply stared.
I climbed until I was level with him.
"...What the hell are you, anyway?"
I twisted my body, placed a hand on the blade of the sword he clung to, and answered.
"A hero."
"Son of a bitch."
He clenched his fist and brought the sword down. Clang—! The blade snapped. Still gripping the broken weapon, he plummeted into the depths.
Splash—!
I resumed climbing the wall.