Explosive Getaway and Relentless Pursuit
Originally, in fights like this, the side with more to lose was the one that went down.
As Nobak's mana surged wildly, fierce beams of light shot out from his artificial eyes in thick streams.
"If you keep screwing around, I'll rip you both apart. Or better yet, I'll leave just your heads and turn you into bodies that can't even die."
Allen immediately slotted the key Vito had fetched with psychokinesis into his collar. As the shackle that had covered his neck vanished, a cool, refreshing breeze caressed his skin.
"Finally... Here, take it. And get the engine started."
Vito unlocked his own collar and leaped down toward the back of the clinic. Nobak bellowed impatiently.
"How long do I have to put up with this?"
"Just a little longer."
Soon, the sound of the truck's engine rumbled to life, and Allen pressed the projector power button with his toe.
At that instant, footage materialized in the air—raw, unfiltered recordings of the experiments Nobak had conducted in his secret lab, complete with the materials he'd used.
It was another bomb Allen had prepared. The assistants and workers who'd retreated from the open lot were now creeping back, drawn inexorably. Nobak's shouts did nothing to stop them.
Once enough people had gathered, Allen tossed the key into the crowd. Chaos erupted. They scrambled over each other, desperate to shake off their restraints first.
Nobak's face flushed crimson, his blood pressure surely spiking.
Allen watched for a split second, then bolted to the back of the rooftop, leaping onto the cargo bed of a passing pickup truck just below.
Rumble!
Thunder rolled. Mana engines were usually silent, but this one had artificial engine noise overlaid for drivers and pedestrians.
Absorbing the impact of the fall, Allen yanked open the small door connecting the cargo bed to the cab.
"Drive as fast as you can! We need to put distance between us now!"
"Working on it!"
As Allen vanished from sight, Nobak crouched slightly. His thighs and calves swelled, bursting the seams of his impeccably tailored suit pants.
In an instant, he vaulted onto the clinic rooftop and checked the tank that held his life's work.
Beep-beep-beep.
60, 59, 58...
His face twisted more with each dropping number.
Flooring the accelerator as they merged onto an eight-lane stretch, Vito finally exhaled the breath he'd been holding. Still anxious, he kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
Thankfully, only civilian vehicles dotted the road—no sign of Nobak yet. In the cargo bed, Allen rode along, still staring back.
Worried the fierce wind might drown him out, Vito shouted.
"Why 60 seconds? Wouldn't it have been better to blow it right away?"
"Too long, and he'd get complacent, making no mistakes. Too short, and he'd give up on it to chase us immediately. So I figured one minute was just right."
Unlike Vito, whose chest felt ready to burst, Allen's voice was the picture of calm.
"It's about time."
BOOM!
Flames erupted behind them, lighting up a chunk of the dark city. Nearby drivers craned their necks to see what was happening.
Allen admired his handiwork. It was the most spectacular fireworks display he'd ever seen.
I barely slept this past week etching those rune letters.
If skill fell short, sheer volume would make up for it. Allen stopped counting the number of [Flame]-etched steel plates in that blast. And the mana stones and batteries turned into gunpowder? Countless.
Grabbing the rattling truck bed, Allen shifted his gaze forward briefly. The pickup crested the hilltop and began descending.
The port city of Aroma sprawled atop mountains, with wealth starkly divided between sea-view districts and those without.
Unlike the upscale side, buildings downhill were rundown, shorter. Vehicles were older models or dented wrecks driven as-is.
Allen's focus lay elsewhere. He kept eyes glued to the road behind, scrutinizing cars cresting the peak.
No sign of Nobak or his cartel allies yet, but shaking the unease was tough.
Allen repositioned the guns and magitech in the cargo bed for easy access, cracked the rear window, and urged Vito on.
"Can't you go faster?"
"Faster here? On a downhill? We'd flip. Hold till we hit flat ground. Once we're out of the city, roads are straight and empty."
The moment the truck bottomed out on the downslope, Vito let out a triumphant laugh.
"Told you. That old bastard's probably got his ass on fire sorting out the mess. Gotta explain skipping the party too—and now the clinic's blown sky-high. Hell, rivals might think he's weakened and take a shot at him."
"I hope so, but... Just floor it. We can't worry about traffic stops."
"Worry too much and it'll kill you. As your senior in the real world, lemme advise—"
Vito's prattle barely registered with Allen. Every nerve focused on the hill crest.
Cars shrinking with perspective suddenly swerved aside. Then a massive red bike soared into view.
The bike arced like a ski jump before plummeting. Downhill momentum stretched the drop; Allen prayed it'd shatter on impact.
Crunch!
Instead, it crushed a hapless sedan as a cushion and landed. The roar reached even Allen's distant ears.
Vito, who'd been sneaking peeks despite playing it cool, saw it too.
"Crazy... He ditched cleanup to chase us first!"
"Within expectations. Whatever got exposed—true or not—takes time to explain away. His assistants were already suspicious, so Nobak prioritized us over them."
Allen pulled out binoculars to check Nobak. Wind-swept hair was singed; suit had charred holes, but the body beneath seemed intact.
"At least he's alone. That's lucky."
"Lucky?! How?!"
"If he'd stayed rational, he'd have called the cartel for backup. Rushing here means he's lightly armed."
Vito couldn't hide his terror, mashing the pedal like mad. Allen's body lurched hard.
Good thing they'd hit the outskirts. Traffic thinned, opening the road ahead.
But Nobak's bike wasn't blocked. Weaving like a racer, it closed the gap effortlessly.
Vito's eyes widened in panic.
"What do we do... He'll catch us soon."
Entering the straight suburban road, Vito stomped harder. Night air turned razor-sharp, slashing at Allen.
The northbound stretch was arrow-straight, signal-free—perfect for speed. But that edge applied to everyone.
Free of urban obstacles, the bike unleashed its full pace. Its image swelled in the mirror.
"Use the stuff we prepped! Dump it all!"
"Was about to. Focus on driving!"
Speedometer hit 150. Wind howled; they had to scream to be heard.
Allen swept aside a tarp, scattering its contents on the road—hoping for obstacles. But the wind betrayed him, dumping them on the roadside grass.
No regrets. Life never went as planned anyway. Civil war, pirates, bomb collars...
But Allen aimed to break that chain. Only then could he live the life he wanted, walk the path he chose.
Allen slung a heavy metal lump over the tailgate. He extended the sniper rifle's bipod, sat with legs braced, and shouldered the stock firmly.
Through the scope, unbroken chains lingered. Sever that, and he'd escape the toxic swamp sucking him in.
His focus drowned out the wind's assault. On the straight road, only he aiming and the target charging mattered.
Bang!
"Hit?!"
Ignoring Vito and the recoil's bite, Allen chambered the next round. Clinic lot practice with an assault rifle didn't prepare him fully for a sniper.
Still, nailing near the front wheel zeroed it roughly.
Bang!
This grazed the bike, but a barrier deflected the bullet sideways, sparking from friction.
Allen felt no disappointment. No prep from Nobak would've screamed fake. Expressionless, he kept firing.
Bang!
Sparks flew wide.
Bang!
Fire flashed at head height.
Bang!
The bike distorted briefly. The barrier rippled, warping shape.
Bang!
Finally, the damn shield vanished.
Just land a hit now—but Nobak's counter was fierce. Guns flanking the front wheel spat flashes into the dark road.
Allen hugged the bed floor; Vito gaped at the shattered side mirror.
Nobak, zeroed on the first shot, targeted precisely. The protruding sniper barrel exploded; the truck bucked wildly, jolting Allen.
"Argh! Tire's shot! We're flipping!"
Vito screamed but somehow steered. Swerving side to side, he throttled speed to regain balance. Velocity plummeted; the bike closed fast.
Peeking up, Allen gauged the distance.
Aiming for tires only.
Pure malice—to capture and torture.
Allen would prove that arrogance fatal. He chucked the wrecked sniper aside and grabbed a stubby launcher.
A six-round grenade launcher, swiped from cartel repairs. Allen loaded [Flame]-etched grenades instead of standard.
Designed for enemy wipeouts or beast hunts, it locked on the approaching bike.
Thump! A light pop—but the result blazed. Five-meter kill radius became an inferno.
Vrooom!
Nobak's bike punched through the flame wall. Paint peeled; his hair shortened drastically.
Allen kept firing. The bike shredded more; Nobak's synthetic skin flaked, flashing metal skeleton.
Screeech!
Ominous grind from the wheels, sparks flying wild—captured Allen's eye. Vito piped up unprompted.
"Tire's totally flat! Steering's gone haywire—can't drive straight anymore!"
"Veer off into the grass. Prep the barrier generator."
The truck nose swung off-road; Allen lurched violently.
Adrenaline and hormones held pain at bay so far. Relaxation would bring agony—but only if they survived.
Feeling the rutted dirt path, Allen fired on.
Beast-melting flames spread to the grass.
The bike swerved wide around the blaze, guns blazing anew. Aimed at cargo and cab now, committed.
As bullets riddled the body, one grazed Allen's forearm. Lucky shallow gouge—but blood poured freely.