1

Now that Cynthia had finished expressing her frustration like a child who had been put in the naughty corner, she could turn her attention to more important matters. For example, on how the hell she could get out of here.

"Help me find a way out. Please," Cynthia said.

"All right, though... I don't even know where to start."

That makes two of us, man. That makes two of us.

Actually, she wasn't looking forward to going back to that mess. In the middle of the black sea and those alien monstrosities that, somehow, she was convinced weren't Lunar Remnants; maybe they had something to do with the fucking portals.

But that was what her job was all about. Doing what the rest wouldn't or couldn't do.

Facing a nightmare for the sake of others, for the sake of the whole world. Not that Cynthia expected that her contribution to the battle would prove indispensable. It didn't have to be that way, she didn't think she was some kind of heroine, nor did she feel she had something to prove.

It was enough for her to be just another body in the middle of the battle. Someone else fighting... and falling, if necessary.

It was as simple as that.

She had to be there. Because she had chosen this life.

And no one was going to choose for her.

"You know," said Cyntha, as she looked around, "I've been thinking that, since this... space," she didn't want to say nonsense like alternate dimension, but that was precisely the first thing that came to her mind, "is like a copy of the city, maybe this way we'll find our way out. Looking for something that doesn't fit."

"What do you mean?"

"No fucking idea." And she laughed half-heartedly.

Perhaps there was a hint of hysteria in her voice, but only a hint. Not too much. It wasn't surprising, either. No matter how huge and open this space was, it was still a damn prison, anyone would feel a little hysterical. And even claustrophobic, even if it seemed to make no sense.

Cynthia stopped her search abruptly. Perhaps she'd been too distracted, so she'd been about to bump into something that she'd swear had appeared out of nowhere...

No, no swear.

It had appeared out of nowhere. Now that she could look at it properly, it was obvious.

Her heart constricted.

With excitement.

Name: Cynthia [Last name]

Player System

Level: 1

Health Bar: 100/100

Strength: 10

Stamina: 10

Dexterity: 10

Agility: 10

Speed: 10

Spirit: 10

Luck: 10

Health: 1

"What's wrong?" Ryan had realized something was up, but he sounded worried, and he was dead wrong about that. This was nothing to worry about, quite the contrary.

Cynthia smiled. This would put her in the same world as Sylvester.

Skills

She tapped that word, and a very short list appeared. There was only one skill.

[Boreas, the north wind] [Level: I].

[The ability to shoot gusts of wind through your revolvers. Just that, for the time being]

So after all, it had been a precursor to receiving the same power as Sylvester, or at least the potential to attain it, to reach the same heights. Her smile grew wider and wider. She was beside herself with joy.

She had never asked Sylvester how he had gotten his powers since she had never believed that getting them herself was even a remote possibility. So she didn't know if this was a normal way to develop it, if there was anything normal about something so out of this world, or rules.

It didn't matter. That was the least of it.

What mattered was that she was now at the starting line.

"Cynthia?" Ryan insisted again, pulling her out of her thoughts, out of her reverie.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, don't worry."

"Really?"

"Yes. In fact, I'm better than ever."

2

The black sea slowly slid into the tank, his only protection. Not only from the broken windows, but also from behind, and it was no wonder since he had propelled himself here with his energy shot, that is, using [Die Hard Buster]. So the back was nothing but a gaping hole, the only thing left hanging back there was burnt, and twisted like the wings of a bat.

But that was actually the least of his problems, unlike on the outside.

What really worried Sylvester was the fact that he wasn't alone.

He had come too far to tell himself that it was his imagination and forget about it. It was real. He knew it was real.

Sylvester was in no hurry to discover what further horrors awaited him in the bowels of this beast, but what he wished for didn't matter in the slightest, it never had.

He took a deep breath and stepped on the pedal.

He intended to use the tank, not the wings (which he had already made disappear) until he had no choice but to abandon it. Either to escape the black sea or because it would finally break down.

After that, well, he'd just keep improvising. He could hardly call this madness a plan. It depended on too many assumptions.

As a living thing, it was only natural that he could do more damage to it from the inside. But the question was how, and he had realized even before he had passed through the monster's gaping throat that things like it having a heart were just that: assumptions.

Maybe it didn't have a fucking heart, or lungs. Maybe it didn't need oxygen to live.

It wasn't just another enemy. It was a creature from another planet or dimension, a life form completely unlike any he had seen in his short but long life.

Sylvester got a little farther along and heard what he was pretty sure wasn't the beating of his own heart running amok. So the creature did have a heart. Well, even a small needle was almost certainly the end of you if it got stuck in your heart. He would reach the heart and rip it to shreds with his sword and with his powers. He would leave nothing behind.

A heavy impact. The roof of the tank shook. Sylvester frowned. Whatever the things were that prowled in this fetid darkness, where only the tank's headlights provided some illumination, they had found him.

They were already here.

Sylvester didn't take his foot off the gas. There was no need to make things easier for those creatures and he was still nowhere near his target. Well, actually he had no idea if he was near or far, from the way the heartbeat reverberated through the body of that tentacled monster there was no way to intuit which direction the sound was coming from.

Improvise and hope for the best, again.

Not that he was exactly guilty of optimism, though.

Another loud crash. Now it was right there, on the hood of the car, one of the many things that had been following him. And it was... Jesus!

The creatures of the deep sea had always unsettled him.

After all, the sea was the closest thing to a different world he had known as a child.

A bottomless darkness filled with living things that were simply different.

The gills, the scales, the tentacles. Their strange shapes. Different, like aliens, he remembered thinking more than once.

He had left that childish fear behind him long ago.

But as if this was his personal hell, the creature clinging with its nails to the hood of the tank was a cross between a fish and a man.

It should be drowning since it was out of the water ( he could see the gills on its neck, opening and closing in rhythm with its breathing), but apparently the creature hadn't gotten the message.

"Get out of the way, you bastard!"

He couldn't afford to stop or even slow down, it was too dangerous, but with that thing in the way now he could see even less. Fuck.

Another hard impact.

Another one of those creatures landed. Behind? The sound had come from behind? The monster was crawling around the back, getting closer to his seat? Getting its teeth close to his neck? He could hear the beating of the huge heart of the gigantic beast he was inside. He could also hear... water falling. Yes, behind, behind!

It was really, really too late for these foolish thoughts, but he wished he had left the defeat of this monster in the hands of Heather and her preparations. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't even seen those so-called altars she'd been talking about in action, whatever, if he wanted something done right he'd have to do it himself. Ah, whatever!

He felt the cold breath of the second fish-man on the back of his neck.

And then he struck him dead, the katana piercing first the headrest of the seat and then his damned head. Without even looking back once.

The blood and more that spilled onto the seat as a result splashed onto him as well.

It felt like the guts of a fish.

A shudder shook his back. God, how disgusting!

The first of the fish men was still climbing over the hood. His nails were black and thin, they didn't seem able to provide him with enough grip no matter how much force he applied, but he was still there, so what did he know?

It was a wonder he hadn't crashed already, with that thing blocking his view the whole time.

The fish man opened his mouth, howling.

And out of the mouth came, writhing, a tentacle shooting toward his head. Sylvester dealt with it smoothly. He cut it off in mid-air. He had fired a single tentacle, and it wouldn't have been difficult if it had been a dozen either. For someone like him, even an enemy that had come as close as this one was too far away to hope to hit him with a projectile.

The fish-man screamed.

Since he'd maimed him, it was only natural... or should be. But there was no pain there. Nor anger, but rather irritation and some disbelief, in the same way he would feel if a fly attacked him.

Or perhaps better said, if the food on his plate, already prepared, turned against him.

The third (yes, the third) was more subtle. The first notice he got of his arrival was a cold hand closing over his ankle. His heart almost stopped. It wasn't a metaphor or an exaggeration. It skipped several beats and for a small eternity he thought it would never start again. But it did start and Sylvester, like a statue being breathed with life, moved his heavy neck down.

Only a third of the third fish man had arrived.

That small percentage of his body had emerged from the black water beside his seat, and that was how it had caught him completely by surprise.

That bastard bit his ankle.

A second later it cut off his head, but fuck, it had bitten him!

Vroooooooooooooooooooooooooooom.

A sound that reminded him of a chainsaw. In any case, it was the sound of the tank being transformed into a convertible slowly but surely.

As if that wasn't enough, that fish man finally lunged into the tank for him with his arms wide open and his mouth too, still gushing blood from the tentacle stump. He was on top of him, and now Sylvester really couldn't see shit, but he didn't care either, he stopped thinking about it as soon as he felt the monster on top of him. It was as if his entire body was being transformed into a statue of ice. Wet and cold.

He was going to crash, but he was so cold he didn't care.

It can't be alive, Sylvester thought as he wrestled with the creature at close quarters. It either refused to go down so easily or he wasn't using all the strength he could under the circumstances. In any case, there it was still, trying to claw and bite and rip its throat out. Such a cold creature cannot be alive.

He only managed to shake it off the moment he finally crashed.

He saw the fish man fly away.

He saw pieces of wood flying away as well. The vehicle hit a wall. Fortunately it stayed there, not going through it, continuing to skid out of control. Where the hell was he? This looked like the lower decks of a wooden ship.

A classic, ripped straight from the pages of an old pirate story.

"Mother of God, what the fuck is going on here?"

The Defense of Kaleidoscope (4): END