Schlack charged.
A silver storm. A thunder-crack of steel. Zeke couldn't even see them—just the blinding, explosive light where the village center used to be. The shockwaves hit like a physical blow, a giant's drum-beat against his chest, staggering the rookies.
They were on a different plane. This wasn't a fight; it was a calamity.
"Choice 1," the rookies muttered, their faces pale. "Find the villagers. Now." They broke into pre-arranged pairs, fanning out into the burning, smoke-choked streets. They were here to hunt, not to fight. They gave the storm of light a wide, respectful berth.
Zeke retreated with them, the portly "Uncle Wang" sticking to him like glue. The man was fuming. He'd lost out on teaming with the hot, makeup-wearing woman—she'd latched onto the fatty with the B-Rank talent. Now, he was stuck with the "scared" new kid.
"Let's go, little brother Zeke," he grunted, his eyes already scanning the houses for an easy kill.
"Okay, Uncle Wang," Zeke whispered, playing his part, his eyes wide with "terror." They moved to the nearest house.
The door was locked.
Uncle Wang braced himself. A pale, sickly white light gathered around his leg. He held the pose for five agonizingly slow seconds.
[D-Rank Talent: Charge Kick]!
BOOM!
The lock didn't just break; it disintegrated. The door flew off its hinges, slamming into the far wall.
Inside, a middle-aged woman shrieked. She was holding a kitchen knife, her knuckles white. She was trembling, but she held her ground. In this age, in this land, two-horned figures in the doorway meant only one thing.
Death.
Uncle Wang's eyes lit up. Easy target.
He moved forward, a predator. The woman slashed wildly, the knife flashing. He jumped back, annoyed. He needed a meat-shield.
He turned to the naive, pale-faced rookie.
"Kid," he grinned, "you take—"
He never finished the sentence.
A shadow fell over him. The faint, familiar smell of old wood, dust, and ozone.
A pale yellow... computer desk... materialized in the air above him.
It slammed down, crushing his skull like a grape.
CRUNCH.
Silence.
Zeke lowered his hand, his face thoughtful. 5 MP. The desk, a perfect copy from his old apartment, dissolved into particles.
[Memory Magic (Lv1): Consume MP to replicate anything from memory. Replication strength is limited by skill level.]
Simple. Effective. He made a mental note. Guns? Martial arts? Skills?
Later. His MP was precious.
He glanced at the stunned woman, who hadn't even screamed.
He looked down at the twitching body.
He raised his boot.
And stomped.
Again.
And again.
He didn't stop until the red and white... stopped.
[You have eliminated Reincarnator ID: 33550330.]
The corpse dissolved into black particles. Zeke watched it go, his heart rate perfectly steady.
The Demon Bloodline is terrifying, he thought, a cold, distant part of his mind observing. I was... I am... such a kind person. And I felt nothing at all.
He turned to the woman.
"It's dangerous here," he said, his voice flat. "Follow me. I'll get you out."
The woman stared at his demonic, horned face. She stared at the spot where the other "demon" had just dissolved.
Then she ran.
Back into the house.
A moment later, she came out, dragging a small, terrified girl who looked just like her.
She ran to catch up to Zeke.
Smart.
The village was an inferno.
Twice more, Zeke used the "meat-shield" ruse.
Twice more, he lured a pair of rookies into an alley.
Twice more, [Memory Magic] claimed its due. A filing cabinet. A water cooler.
Two more black-particle dissolutions.
His small band of refugees grew to six.
There was only one path left: the main road at the village entrance.
Seven enemies left, he calculated. Plus wolves. And Schlack.
He guided his group through the smoke.
He saw them.
The standoff.
Liedao, the sword-sister. She was a wreck. She was leaning on her tachi to stay upright, her black combat suit scorched and soaked in blood. The wounds covering her body would have killed a normal person.
But her eyes... her eyes were still ice.
Across from her, two Reincarnators.
A skinny man in tattered clothes—he looked like he'd been through a war, but he was bizarrely unwounded.
Behind him stood the makeup woman.
At the riverbank, Liedao's brother, Yaoshi, was with the village elders, desperately bandaging the wounded. The younger villagers were holding a line, fighting off demon wolves.
They were all fighting for their lives.
The skinny man saw Zeke's group approach. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Bro! Thank God! Help me, this psycho woman has been trying to kill me, she chased me all the way from—"
His voice died.
He'd just seen the six villagers standing behind Zeke.
His face darkened. His relief turned to lead.