Buzz—
Zoya's figure instantly transformed into a raging hurricane entwined with incandescent flames!
"Raging Flame Charge": Slightly increases speed, slightly decreases spirit. You will be like an out-of-control, burning oil tanker, desperately wanting to incinerate everything in your path, causing immense damage, but at the same time, you will also suffer powerful recoil damage.
Her speed, carrying the scent of scorching wind and death, slammed viciously into the group of bald men attempting to escape!
Bang! Bang! Bang! Crack!
Dull thuds, the crisp sound of breaking bones, and painful groans exploded instantly!
The burly men were sent flying like bowling pins struck head-on by a high-speed train, without any power to resist.
Their bodies twisted and deformed in mid-air, still engulfed in unextinguished flames, before crashing heavily against the distant wall.
They died on the spot.
For a moment, it was as if a rain of burning bodies fell inside the bar.
Screams and the thud of heavy objects hitting the ground rose and fell, mixing with the crackling of burning flames, like a symphony from hell.
Instant clear-out!
Zoya's figure abruptly stopped at the end of her charge, the incandescent flames slowly receded, but the violent heat waves around her still distorted the air.
She panted slightly, her amber eyes sweeping over the messy, fire-lit bar, as if surveying her heroic achievements.
As far as her gaze reached, there were no standing "invaders" left, only burning, wailing, and fear.
This feeling of satisfaction even made Zoya ignore the bruises and pain from the impact on her body.
Just then, the corner of her eye caught a glimpse of a figure in the corner of the bar, scrambling to escape through the back door—it was the bald man with the gold chain who had been the most aggressive earlier, trying to touch her face.
One of his legs seemed to have been scorched by the heat wave, making his movements stumble.
Zoya casually picked up a glass of leftover vodka from the bar counter.
"Heh." A contemptuous sneer.
She didn't even look directly at the fleeing figure.
She simply spat casually into the hard liquor in the glass.
"Pfft."
The moment the saliva fell into the liquor—
"Boom!"
The liquid in the glass seemed to have been hit by an incendiary bomb, suddenly bursting into flames!
An orange-red fireball, emitting a strong alcoholic scent, furiously churned in the glass!
Zoya flicked her wrist, her movement as casual as flicking away a cigarette butt.
That burning fireball, like a precisely guided flame projectile, cut a scorching trajectory, accompanied by a piercing whoosh, accurately catching up to the bald man with the gold chain who was about to reach the back door handle!
"Ivan's Precision": This is the most important skill on the battlefield. You will inherit the proudest technique from the sniper Ivan, his ability to kill enemy generals with a single shot from a hundred meters away. Your shooting and throwing will become extremely accurate, as if his spirit in heaven is calibrating for you.
"Ah—!!!"
The fireball accurately struck him on the back!
It instantly burst open!
The burning liquor, like a persistent disease, instantly set his entire back ablaze!
He screamed, and with a desperate wail, crashed through the back door and rolled into the cold snow outside.
His shrill cries echoed in the cold wind for a long time.
After all this, the violent flames in Zoya's eyes seemed to subside slightly.
Inside the bar, apart from the crackling of burning flames and sporadic painful groans, there was a deathly silence.
Just then, Zoya's gaze inadvertently swept towards the darkest, most secluded corner of the bar—
The owner, Lev, was curled up there.
This old man, usually loud-voiced and pot-bellied, was now like a terrified mouse, clutching his head tightly.
His body trembled violently like a sieve.
His cloudy eyes peered through his fingers, looking at Zoya with utter terror, at the bar that looked as if it had been bombed, burning everywhere, at the charred human figures writhing and wailing in pain on the floor...
The immense fear almost suffocated him, and tears and snot uncontrollably smeared his deeply wrinkled face.
The moment Zoya's gaze met his terrified and desperate eyes—
"Boom!"
It was as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her from head to toe!
The last flickering spark of frantic flame in Zoya's eyes instantly extinguished!
The alcoholic hallucinations, the overlapping battlefield illusions, the enraged murderous intent… receded as quickly as a tide.
The cold reality, with its bone-chilling coldness, pierced fiercely into her heart!
What did she see?
Not defeated enemies, but thugs burned beyond recognition by her.
Not protected civilians, but Lev, the owner, terrified to the point of incontinence.
Not a fortress to conquer, but her own livelihood, set ablaze by her own hands, almost reduced to ashes.
A tremendous wave of guilt instantly swept over Zoya!
The feeling was heavier than any enemy bullet, almost making her lose her footing.
She staggered, steadying herself against the charred, cracked edge of the bar counter.
Her knuckles turned white again from gripping tightly, but this time not from anger, but from remorse so deep she wished the ground would swallow her.
"Lev… Lev… I…" Zoya's voice was dry and hoarse, carrying an unprecedented confusion and… vulnerability.
"Don't… don't come closer!" Lev recoiled sharply like a startled marmot, his voice trembling with fear and a sob, "The money! I'll give you all the money! Take it! Take it all! Please! Spare me! Spare my bar!"
He practically scrambled on all fours behind the counter, trembling as he pulled open the simple, smoke-stained cash box.
Without looking, he grabbed all the rubles inside and haphazardly threw them towards Zoya!
Banknotes and coins scattered across the floor, some drifting into the still-smoking embers.
Zoya looked at the money scattered on the floor, then at Lev's face, completely distorted by fear.
She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out.
Any explanation, at this moment, seemed pale and ridiculous.
She didn't pick up the money.
Instead, she silently took out a few rubles from her own pocket.
It was all the savings she had.
She carefully placed those precious banknotes in the only relatively intact corner of the bar counter.
Her movements were so light, as if afraid of startling someone.
Then, she cast a deep gaze at Lev, who was still trembling in the corner, raised her hand, and absorbed all the surrounding flames. Her injuries caused by "Raging Flame Charge" also healed completely.
She lingered no longer, turned, and stumbled silently through the charred tables and chairs, avoiding the moaning bodies on the ground, stepping over the scattered coins and broken glass, pushing open the crumbling bar door, and disappearing into the biting cold Siberian night outside.
...
On the street corner, a dim streetlamp swayed in the cold wind, casting Zoya's elongated, solitary shadow.
She leaned against the cold iron railing, as if all her strength had been drained.
Her fingers trembled as she fumbled in her pocket for a half-empty, crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes, pulling one out.
With a light snap of her fingers, a flame stubbornly flickered in the cold wind, lighting the cigarette.
She took a deep drag, and the pungent smoke filled her lungs.
White smoke slowly exhaled from her pale lips, quickly dispersed by the cold wind.
She was slightly hunched, her head bowed, her overly long white hair falling disheveled, obscuring her expression at that moment.
The light of the streetlamp outlined her desolate and lost silhouette, like a white wolf abandoned in the wind and snow, covered in wounds but with no one to take her in, licking her wounds alone, enduring boundless loneliness and self-reproach.
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[email protected]/SolyuraMT
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