Episode 53 - The Last Four Gang Lords 2



Athunga stared down at the Robe of Sanguine Dark — half-soaked in yellow liquid, lying crumpled on the ground — and the veins in his eyes stood out red.
"I will not forgive you... you above all others...!"
"Heheh... hfhfhf... coming out with lines like that now... and you call yourself a necromancer?"
"Grr... keeping your body intact for research purposes — I don't particularly care about that anymore!"
Athunga had made up his mind. He was going to kill him.
He immediately spread those hands — each as large as Kaftin's entire torso — and closed them around him, hoisting him up with both arms.
The weight was slightly surprising — like two or three grown men pressed together — but that was nothing the overwhelming strength of this Death Brute body couldn't lift and swing around at will.
"Now then... shall I squeeze you? Or hurl you...!"
"Interesting... so the idea is to get me away from the precious relic first."
"......!"
Kaftin read the reason for being lifted in an instant, and a smirk crossed his face.
Just as Athunga's teeth clenched and he moved to throw him —
"...Fox Finger!"
Crack. Kaftin drove his hands and feet hard against the Death Brute's index and little fingers, bending them violently backward until they snapped.
"Wh-what is this little—?!"
"Up we go."
He slipped free before Athunga could close the grip again, and in the same instant a different fist came crashing down and sent him flying.
However solid the man's body might be — a punch loaded with the full force of nearly a hundred and twenty kilograms of Death Brute mass should get through.
He immediately reached down to recover the urine-soaked Robe of Sanguine Dark —
"What—?!"
"Figured that would be the priority."
Kaftin walked out from the collapsed wall of a nearby shopfront — somehow, in the moment he was sent flying, he had managed to take the Robe with him.
"You... you little...!"
"Heheh... so you still want this thing that badly? Even soaked in my piss?"
"Of course I do...! That is our school's legacy — our pride...! Stop desecrating the garment any further!"
"Oh, that's interesting... so you're saying as long as it means I get to drag your face through the dirt, there's nothing I won't do...?"
"Grrrr...!!"
Kaftin gave the robe a few sharp flicks to shake off what he could, still wearing that smirk.
"And by the way — you just punched me."
"What of it...! I'm about to hit you a great deal more...!"
"Hfhm... so, that muscular corpse you're wearing — what circle of magic did it take to make?"
"......?!"
Athunga flinched, and immediately focused on the fist that had just struck Kaftin, trying to regain control of it — but sure enough, it wouldn't move the way he intended.
"I-impossible...?!"
"I thought you'd know this already... I have absolute immunity to all magic below the sixth circle."
"...Kgh...!"
"Which means you're someone I can just walk up to and beat without any particular effort."
A perfect counter-matchup.
The Death Brute body he had prepared specifically to close that gap — it was now unmistakably clear that even it was useless against the man's monstrous magic resistance.
Which left only —
"You think that means I'm going to give up...!!"
"Of course not. Someone like you — right up until the moment of death, you'd never give up. You'd keep finding new approaches..."
"You know too much...!"
He immediately snapped the fingers of his still-functioning hand — and right on cue, zombies that had been hiding throughout the surrounding buildings burst out and swung their weapons at Kaftin.
"Ha, going all out I see... I told you. Below the sixth circle—"
Shhhk.
A sword stroke grazed his cheek, and Kaftin's eyes changed.
He had half expected it, and sure enough.
"You've really done your homework... I didn't think you'd go so far as to arm every single zombie with real weapons...!"
"Hfhfhf... this is a contest, Kaftiiin! Whether you beat me to death — or whether my zombies carve you into pieces first...! Which comes first...!"
He forced mana into it and wrested back partial control of one of the Death Brute's hands that had been seized up.
The Death Brute was bait and armor. Its primary function was to restrict Kaftin's movement.
The main offensive force was the zombie army — every one of them armed with real weapons coated in hemorrhagic poison.
"Groooogh...!"
"...Indeed...! Now this is entertaining...! You've put together a genuinely good plan...!"
Kaftin gritted his teeth as he watched Athunga charge in from the front.
In a certain sense, this assault was even more troublesome than Veilslayer's.
Veilslayer and his assassins had used overwhelming speed to press their attack without ever letting a single blow land, pushing Kaftin to his limits.
But that in turn meant the moment that speed failed them, they died helplessly against him.
Athunga's assault was a different matter entirely.
The enemy was an undead army that would not stop unless completely destroyed.
The sheer numbers alone were a problem — and planted directly in front of him was Athunga in his undead armor, massive and designed to suppress Kaftin's movement.
"Unfortunate..."
"What's unfortunate?! You're not seriously thinking I'll accept a surrender now?!"
"That's not it..."
Getting struck by the weapons the zombies were swinging, Kaftin sighed — a sound of genuine regret.
"What's there to be so smug about—!"
"I've confirmed it. My master's techniques... no — the Torture Martial Arts can't surpass you. Not at this point in time, at least."
"What...?!"
Kaftin shook his head, and Athunga's brow twitched.
That statement implied there was something else besides the Torture Martial Arts.
"Hmph! If you're going to transform into that monster, just do it already! It won't change much even then, but still...!"
"No... not yet. I told you, didn't I? You're my natural prey. There's no need to go that far."
"What...?!"
Was he being looked down upon right to the very end?
Indignant, Athunga slowly raised both arms.
"However hard your body may be...! However much regeneration you may have...! Withstanding the impact of this weight will not be simple...!"
He brought both heavy arms slamming down with full force — and in the same instant, Kaftin's left arm vanished.
With a sharp crack, his left fist drove straight into the center of the Death Brute's solar plexus — between chest and abdomen.
"Kghk...?!"
"......"
Like an invisible spear piercing the same point two, three times in rapid succession — a horrifying sensation tore through the Death Brute's heavy muscular armor and slammed into Athunga's own abdomen.
"Ngh...?! Wh-what did you just do...!!"
"What, first time? It's an Aura Skill."
"......! You... you're an Aura user...!"
"Yes. Well — not to the level of your Night Fist Lord or Phantom Fang Lord. But I can just about manage an imitation."
An imitation?
He might indeed be far from the Master level — but even so, the command of Aura was no ordinary thing.
In particular, this strange method of Aura Fist use was something he had never seen or heard of anywhere.
The closest comparison might be the Aura users said to be spread throughout the eastern continental nations.
"Kgh... you, what exactly... just how far does it go with you...! Magic immunity, monstrous strength, a body that transforms...! And now — now it's an Aura Skill too...?!"
"Didn't I mention? I am a supreme genius whose name will be carved into history — on an entirely different level from vermin like you."
"......!"
"The quality and breadth of my talent is simply different from yours. Understood...?"
Athunga ground his teeth against Kaftin's preening self-satisfaction.
Whatever he was dealing with here, it was disorienting — but at minimum, the man was human.
No. He had to be human.
"Don't let up the attack! No matter what he is...!"
"Hmph."
Kaftin pointedly shrugged the Robe of Sanguine Dark back on — and Athunga's teeth ground together.
"You little—! Take that off this instant! Don't you understand you have neither the right nor the qualification to wear it?!"
"Heh... what do I care. All I know is that this robe happens to be an excellent piece of clothing that stops half-hearted lumps of iron with no Aura coating from getting through."
"Kgh...!"
To avoid taking any further cuts from the hemorrhagic poison-coated weapons, he had cunningly turned the Robe of Sanguine Dark — which he couldn't even properly activate — into a shield.
And all this after he had just urinated all over it with complete satisfaction!
"Y-you! That robe is already fouled with your own urine! And you still put it on...! Have you no concept of hygiene whatsoever! You savage animal!"
"Heheh...! What do I care. It's my urine — so I'll take responsibility and wear it. Makes sense, doesn't it?"
"Grrrrr...!!"
Meanwhile, inside the Robe of Sanguine Dark, the vampire Seakloy was furious.
How dare you! How dare you treat me like this...! I will never forgive this! Never! This creature in particular — I will make sure he dies miserably!
But the matchup was making it abundantly clear that Athunga was in an extremely unfavorable position.
At this rate, Athunga — the one she had shared a good relationship with — would be slaughtered at the hands of this beast.
Whatever she could do to assist, she needed to do it now.
Damn it! There has to be a way...! Even if I can't kill him, I could weaken him somehow... Ah!
There was a way.
Right now, he was wearing her.
And the Robe of Sanguine Dark was, in essence, Seakloy's own body.
If I harden myself and lock his movements... oh.
The trump card — hardening the Robe of Sanguine Dark to freeze him in place like a plaster mannequin.
But to use it, the Robe first needed to absorb blood to activate.
Can't be helped... I absolutely do not want to taste this beast's blood...!
Conveniently, small wounds from the hemorrhagic poison were spread across his body, refusing to close and bleeding steadily.
Seakloy immediately formed absorption needles from the inner lining and began drawing that blood up.
Hfhfhf... brace yourself, Kaftin! The price for desecrating me will be...! Will be...! Will....
The blood.
Unlike any human blood she had ever tasted — a uniquely complex flavor.
Seakloy felt her own body, the Robe of Sanguine Dark, pulse and respond.
Th-this is... this is... no! I can't drink any more! I mustn't... but this taste...!
The needles multiplied. Before long, needles had buried themselves into every wound across Kaftin's body and were greedily drawing the blood upward.
"Kgh...?!"
A considerable volume drawn in a single instant — Kaftin reeled from sudden dizziness and staggered — and right on cue, the zombies and Athunga closed in together, sending him crashing through the wall of a second-floor shopfront several meters away.
"DIE—!!"
"......!!"
Watching him fly away without resistance, Athunga felt the tide turning and smiled.
But there was something he had missed.
Swoooosh—!
Across the surface of the Robe of Sanguine Dark, red veins were appearing, beginning to glow.
"What the... why am I suddenly dizzy... hm?"
Kaftin shook off the rubble irritably and pushed himself upright — and only then noticed the change in the garment and looked down.
"Don't tell me..."
That's right. That's exactly what you'd better not tell yourself, you damned animal!
"......!!"
The irritated voice reverberating through his skull made Kaftin's expression sour.
So this robe really was an ego suit after all.
Damn it! Damn it all! I did NOT want to drink blood from someone like you!
"Then why did you go ahead and drink it. Stop it right now. I'm dizzy."
He snapped it out and moved to tear the robe off — but the Robe of Sanguine Dark clung to his body, tightening and pulling inward.
Shut up! It's your blood's fault for being too good! What are you even made of! Every single mouthful changes flavor in real time — like a rainbow! And this power I can feel underneath it — the life force...!
"Damn it...! Stop drinking, I said! Want me to tear you to shreds?!"
Hfhahahahaha...! This is the price for desecrating me! I've been sealed away and starving, and that strange curse on your body kept me from drinking properly before — I am in a state of extreme hunger right now...!
"Useless rotten garment...!"
He grabbed at the fabric from every direction and thrashed trying to rip it free — but it was no use. The robe pressed closer and clung tighter with every attempt.
At the same time, the red veins grew thicker and began to glow brighter.
Good... at this rate I'll just keep draining you until you're completely dried out...!
"I'll tear you apart...!"
—To be continued—