Once again narrowly slipping past the swinging pipe, I strike Birkin's arm with the shovel. The wooden handle creaks ominously, clearly at its limit, as I step forward, sliding my improvised weapon up along the monster's limb—and with the sharpened edge, I stab straight into that "third eye." The way Birkin roared was something else entirely!
With a mighty blow, he literally sent me flying, once again hurling me through a wall and into some building. I shouldn't have gotten that close to him— even acceleration didn't save me. I barely managed to take a step and a half back.
I get up off the floor of the room, which turns out to be someone's kitchen, and with the crunch of bones settling back into place, I try to figure out what's bothering me. No, the fact that only the shovel's handle remains while the "blade" has gone to its well-deserved death is entirely expected. So I keep thinking.
And then it hits me—there isn't a single external fracture. Even during my fight with the silver Hunter, who ranks far lower on the danger scale than my current opponents, I'd suffered plenty of such injuries. But now… bruises cover my body, that's obvious. My clothes are shredded to rags by that same pipe. Yet there isn't a single scratch on my skin. And I can't chalk that up to regeneration—they weren't there even before it kicked in.
Struck by a strange thought, I walk over to a table where a knife and a neatly peeled apple lie in plain view. The fruit goes straight into the trash—my body doesn't tolerate that kind of thing. The knife, however (I'd rather not dull my own blades on myself if I turn out to be right), I grab and, with a sharp motion, drive straight toward my heart.
I stare in disbelief at the bent blade and the complete lack of a wound on my chest. So it wasn't for nothing that I devoured that Hunter down to the last scrap. The virus he'd been pumped full of clearly interacted with mine, bringing me closer—in terms of sheer toughness—to Birkin. Or, to put it another way, to a pure G-virus carrier.
And that is wonderful.
Round two: pipe versus shovel (handle).
I burst back outside, slamming into the first large body I see. Why waste time deliberating? Everyone here who's a big guy is an enemy anyway. The Tyrant, who at that very moment was crushing another mercenary's head, howled as he took the blow to the spine from behind. Without stopping, I reinforce the effect, hammering T-103's back again and again with the shovel, which is splintering into flying shards with each strike.
At some point, there was nothing left of the shovel at all. Tossing aside a palm-sized fragment, I was just about to continue turning the Tyrant into a cutlet when Nemesis's tentacle finally reached me. Only then did I realize just how much I had accelerated—leaping away from the tentacle and slipping out of acceleration at the same time.
In that very instant, it was as if someone had flipped a switch. The Tyrant, who had been barely moving before, snapped around and lunged toward me. And a jet of flame was racing toward his back.
Damn it—those mercenaries have a flamethrower!
T-103's outfit endured the flames with honor, as did he himself. I, accelerating again, hopped backward once more—this time pushing off much harder. Then, springing again, already from the second floor of the building behind me, I crashed into Birkin at full speed. I'd picked up so much speed that when I slammed into the monster's back, I actually managed to knock him down—and even rode along his back across the asphalt, which was reduced to something resembling mush afterward.
Now that was an opening!
I open my jaws and sink my teeth just below the monster's neck—only to spit out broken teeth with a hiss a moment later. What kind of hide does he have?! I start savagely raking him with my claws, striking sparks from the creature's body! I accelerate harder and harder, knowing time is against me. I can't keep him on the ground—at all. We're incomparable in size and strength. All I have is speed, and that's exactly what I'm using now.
Meanwhile, the Tyrant was approaching with heavy steps, while Nemesis was finishing off his business with the mercenaries, who were shouting something—probably over comms with the corporation. I didn't care. The main thing was to get even a single drop of blood from the monster beneath me, who was already pushing himself up on his arms.
"Yeah! Reinforcements are here!" someone among the mercenaries shouted loudly and clearly. Reinforcements? What reinforcements?
Only then did I notice the helicopter hovering above us. But something was off—there didn't seem to be anyone inside. Red outlines marked only the pilot's seat and one other person. There was no container with a monster aboard, either. What did that mean?
I was so absorbed in processing this new development that I missed the moment Birkin got to his feet and the Tyrant closed in on us. I did manage to see T-103's mighty blow coming and shifted to the left—still positioned on the other monster's back.
It wasn't hard to guess who took that hit instead of me.
(End of Chapter)
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