The Hostage
Thud— My hand reached out of the pit. "Hngh!" I hauled myself up, pulling not just my hand but my entire body out. Then I looked down at the pit I'd just climbed out of—the same one I'd been tied up in. It had taken quite a while to ascend; the hole was deeper than I'd thought. Even though this was District 3, where communication equipment was heavily restricted, any organization capable of digging a pit this deep would have internal comms set up. By now, word that I'd escaped had probably already spread.
Being a criminal syndicate, the larger the group, the harder logistics became, so they probably didn't have that many members. But the opposite could also be true—they might be large enough to be self-sufficient. The wall material changed midway down, and the surfaces were too smooth. If this weren't District 3, I wouldn't have jumped to that conclusion. Most villains here still used messenger birds or runners, so it made sense that an organization with enough people could have someone capable of this.
Crack— Crack— I flexed my wrists. I'd focused Regeneration on my hands, and now the muscles around my wrists had grown too stiff. The door to this room was luckily unlocked, but beyond it, the corridor was completely silent. Not a single sound drifted in. Dead quiet. It was strange for the hallway outside a long row of torture chambers to be this silent. Troubling, really.
I buttoned up Shas's shirt, which was barely hanging on. Without underwear beneath it, the fabric brushing against me felt strange, but the bastards had taken everything else. After fastening the last button, I tucked the shirt into my pants. Even though the clothes supposedly adjusted to the wearer's size, the waist was still loose and the ankles flapped around. I wanted nothing more than to cut them shorter, but I had no way to do that right now.
I raised my nails and dragged them across my wrist. A thin red line appeared, dotted with beads of blood. My wrists had gotten tougher, but not enough to withstand nails that could gouge into concrete. I felt Regeneration activate and focused it on my palms and fingers until my hands felt heavier. Once the sensation faded, I wiped the red line away with my palm. The skin was smooth again, as if the wound had been nothing but body paint.
"This should be enough." My nails had grown unnecessarily long, but there was no need to trim them. I walked toward the iron door, hooked my foot on the threshold, and peeked out with just my head. Left and right—two directions. One of them had to lead to stairs. I rolled my eyes, thinking. Then I noticed the blue hose lying beside my feet.
Right. The guy I'd just dropped into the pit had gone that way to fetch the drug. The place where the drugs were stored was usually either the most important area or right next to it. The key personnel would likely be gathered there too. All I had to do was follow the hose.
Escaping would be easy. I didn't even need the hose—I could just find a window and jump out. But I was deliberately choosing the harder path for a simple reason: these people were criminals. I dragged my nails from my palm up to my wrist. A red line formed. Then I started walking along the blue hose.
And kept walking. The hose ended at a faucet. So this was where it stopped. There were no stairs nearby. That meant the important areas were deeper inside. But I didn't think I'd make it that far without trouble.
Crack— I clenched my fists. The fact that they'd dug such a deep pit meant this building was currently under their control. In that case, destroying it shouldn't be a problem. I sprinted toward the wall, accelerating, then kicked off the ground, planted my foot on the wall, and launched myself upward. Twisting my waist and shoulders, I poured every ounce of strength into my fist and punched the ceiling.
BOOM—! The ceiling crumbled far more easily than expected. Even for a criminal organization in District 3, building with nothing but concrete—no rebar or supports—was reckless. I knew concrete alone was weaker than reinforced structures. Did they have a superpowered individual who could only manipulate concrete? As time passed, stranger and more specialized abilities kept appearing. A concrete manipulator was a first for me.
If they'd at least reinforced it afterward, it might have held, but the lack of any support suggested the building's overall durability wasn't great. Of course, if there was a telekinetic inside along with the concrete manipulator, collapsing the structure wouldn't cause much loss. Still, I didn't know how many criminals or civilians were inside, so I'd hold off for now. Once I confirmed there were no civilians, though, I'd bring the whole thing down. This building was clearly illegal anyway.
I jumped through the hole I'd just made and climbed to the upper floor. I couldn't rule out the possibility that the target was still below, but torture chambers were usually either in the basement, lower levels, or completely isolated on the top floor. Searching upward would be faster. Besides, once I finished checking the upper floors, I could destroy them without worry. The lower floors were a different story.
...
......
"This floor's quiet too..." Unnaturally so. Was it normal for a place to be this silent? I clenched my fist and punched the ceiling again.
BOOM—! Same result—pure concrete with no rebar. I leapt through the new hole and climbed higher. They couldn't even use comms here, yet they'd built this place ridiculously large. They must have chosen District 3 as their base without much thought.
"There he is! Grab him!"
All the noise I'd made had drawn them quickly. I crouched low, nails extended, and reached for my ankles.
"Stop! Stand still and raise your hands!"
I pretended to obey, straightening up while driving my nails into my ankle and dragging them upward in one long scratch. My hands were now above my head. I measured the distance between us while watching them.
"A kid? Since when was there one of those?"
"Remember that person who supplied Hallow recently? Wasn't this one their target? That was the only request we got lately."
Three people, twenty-one meters away. The fact that they were shouting so quietly from that distance was ridiculous. If my hearing weren't good, I wouldn't have caught a word. They kept their guard up, talking about me among themselves. Meanwhile, I was slowly increasing the power in my legs while delaying the healing of the wound on my thigh.
Tap— Tap— I swung my right foot back, tapped the floor with my toes, and adjusted my stance. The motion was so natural that even the three on high alert didn't notice. I dragged my foot across the ground as if resetting my position, shifting sideways. When I reached the right spot, I twisted my ankle and charged.
I closed the twenty-one-meter gap in less than a second. All three saw me coming, but none managed to counter or dodge. With reaction times like that, they weren't superpowered. I'd have to go easy on them.
I rushed the one in front, grabbed him under the chin, and swung him around. Grabbing the neck would break it too easily; the chin was safer. That was experience talking.
"Kuhk—."
"—!"
One went down instantly. The other flew backward. I didn't have time to knock him out too, so I threw the man in my hands on top of him.
"Kek—."
Taking hostages would be nice, but they didn't seem to care about their own people, and even if I grabbed one, the twenty-centimeter height difference would make dragging them around a pain. No need to add extra baggage.
That said, why weren't any of these guys carrying weapons? That was odd. If they had no powers, shouldn't they be better equipped? Not that I needed to feel sorry for them.
BOOM—! Just like before, I punched through the ceiling and climbed higher. This time, though, the difference was clear—last floor had three people. This one had over forty surrounding the long corridor. All of them stared at me with tense expressions, almost like they were hoping I'd do something.
"Haven't done this in a while." It wasn't an exaggeration. Fights inside buildings caused massive casualties and property damage, so most of the time we threw opponents out the window and fought on open roads.
I tensed my arm and thrust it toward the wall.
CRACK—! The wall shattered, and I grabbed a chunk of debris. Running away by smashing through walls was one option, but... why would I? I was a hero. They were criminals. It might be cliché, but wasn't it a hero's job to punish evil? And clichés had their own kind of charm.
I hurled the fragment at the thug in front.
THUD—! He collapsed. The rest charged me. Spiked projectiles flew, chunks of ice, even a few axes. None of the blades pierced my clothes. Most attacks either aimed for my face or were blunt strikes.
Even with so many of them, the narrow space and the limit of how many could swarm me at once worked in my favor. I grabbed wrists and ankles one by one, breaking them and neutralizing each enemy. The group that had looked like over forty shrank to forty, then thirty. Twenty. Ten. Like rain soaking into the ground, they dwindled one by one until only one remained.
"D-don't come closer...!"
Blood had gotten in my eyes, so my vision was blurry, but he was probably terrified. Lying on the floor, he flipped over and started crawling away. I stomped hard on his back and tossed him onto the pile of dozens of unconscious thugs. They were all bloodied and surrounded by broken weapons, looking like a mass grave, but most of the blood was mine. They'd live.
The sudden increase in enemy numbers compared to the previous floor meant there was either a boss or something important on this level. I raised my index finger and sliced my palm. Since I couldn't find the right path, I'd just have to check the entire floor. I pressed my bleeding palm against the wall and started running. It wasn't a thread, but the red color would mark where I'd been.
***
A black door and a door painted with gold. Even someone as abnormal as me could tell that a door like this meant something important was inside. I placed my hand on the handle and turned it.
Click— It wouldn't budge, like something was caught. Locked from the inside, probably. I punched the wall beside the handle.
BOOM—!
"What the—?! Get ready, now!"
I drove my hand into the wall, grabbed hold, and yanked. A chunk tore free. Beyond the hole were six people. One had a knife pressed to another's throat. I couldn't make out their clothes or appearances—my eyes skipped over them. Another stood in front of the two with the knife, as if shielding them. Even though they were right in front of me, their details blurred. The two behind them looked small in build. The other three were completely invisible to me.
Finally, I saw the last one—a woman tied up with a knife at her throat. Formal suit. Subtle brown hair. Eyes that looked ready to cry. Disheveled body. Bound arms. Dust-covered face. Eyes looking at me. Shuddering breaths. Mouth trying to speak. Trembling eyes. Reddening ears. Quickening breaths. Wet body. Eyes blinking out of sync. One shoe half-off. Knees shifting like she wanted to come toward me...
"Mari...?"
"Ah..."
So much for hoping otherwise. Mari had been captured too.
"You get the situation, right? Surrendering quietly would be better for you."
"Hngh!"
The bastard grabbed Mari by the hair, knife still at her throat. This was District 3—if I called for backup, help would come quickly. But even with Mari's sturdy body, a knife to the neck wouldn't give her enough time.
"Please... save me..." Mari sobbed desperately.
Negotiating with evil wasn't right. Stopping them was my job. But Mari had never acted spoiled since she was little. If not now, when would I indulge her?
"...What do I have to do for you to let Mari go?"