Chapter 69 - Cooperation

A sharp glint appeared in Vern's eyes as he arrived at the only logical conclusion, Someone's trying to sneak up on me. A surprise attack?

It couldn't have happened at a worse time. Five of those spirals were on their way to decimate the station, one wall at a time.

He had to pick his battles. Either he could nullify this assassination by changing positions while keeping the station perfectly secure, or he could go on the offensive and risk losing some of the essential structures.

Latter seemed like the better option. An intelligent human is far more dangerous than predictable attacks. This realization settled it. After a short deliberation, he figured out how to approach his offense.

Closing his eyes, he emptied his perception, and the grayscale view of the station's stability floating in his mind fizzled away, giving way to complete darkness. For offense, he only had one option—

Complexity.

'Instability' might have been another keyword that could work well, but he hadn't practiced with it beforehand. This wasn't a situation where he could risk trying out new concepts, so he stuck to his tried and tested methods.

The sight of complexity was interesting. Because of the sophisticated encoding devices in his line of sight that burned too bright, the roof above him was almost as dark as every other wall in the room.

But he didn't have the time to tease out and comprehend every little nuance of the Observation right now. He had an assassin to deal with.

And deal he would. There was no room for mercy or pity. Not here, not right now. Even a little compassion in this situation could spell everyone's doom.

Less than a second passed before his perception stopped changing, and he focused above himself, a little to the left. There, he envisioned a shift in the balance and a large flaw in the structure.

He couldn't sense the shuffle of the steps anymore, but he was sure the assassin would be right there according to his walking speed. Ensuring he had envisioned all the details correctly, he gripped his revolver tight and decreed to himself, Instability Inducement.

A rectangular seam appeared in the balance of the roof, and the seam grew larger and larger until—

CRASH!

A torrent of dust and debris came crashing down, but he stood his ground and stared at the plummeting wreckage with an unwavering gaze. The moment a white cloth entered his sight, he steadied his shoulder, extended his arm straight forward, and—

BANGG

Crimson blood spurted out of the falling body, dying his Vision red, but everything was happening too fast. So, to be entirely certain, he resolved to be liberal with the bullets and pulled the trigger—

BANGG

The revolver's chamber rotated once more—

BANG

But this was where Balance demanded he stop. Overcommitting would do more harm than good. If the station was destroyed beyond repair because he wasted time shooting a corpse, then that would be utterly stupid.

So, he chose not to inspect the aftermath of his ruthless assault and moved away from the body. He didn't have the time to contemplate murder right now anyway.

With a single thought, he wiped his perception clean of Instability and Observed Stability once again. This time, the population of grays was instant. He didn't even need to manually assign the shades for the floor above—it just remembered.

However, a solemn expression overtook his face as he surveyed the current state of affairs. It's only been a dozen seconds, how the hell—

WHIRRRRRR

The whole building shook, and the foundation quivered violently, sending shivers through the concrete and steel. Overhead, timbers groaned, a cacophony of snaps and cracks heralding their demise.

The grayscale view of the whole building had turned a shade darker, while some of its structures were well on their way to turning entirely pitch black.

Simultaneously, two of the drills lit up his physical sight, radiating with their ghastly golden glow, wreckage trailing behind them. Anything they touched turned to ashes in no time.

Fuck me.

This wasn't done. He had to stop this. Right now.

Taking a deep breath, he anchored himself in the moment and focused on all the vital points that were in bad shape. If not entirely stable, he could at least stop them from causing cascading changes that could bring down the whole station.

The first order of action was stabilizing that tanker in the engine room. If given even another few seconds, the last spiral from the batch would spark a disastrous explosion in there.

Without a moment's delay, he channeled pulses of Stability Inducement toward the tanker, reinforcing the structure where a disastrous puncture was imminent.

Fortunately, it took to his efforts and soon turned stable enough for him to focus elsewhere.

Next, he surmised it was better to patch up the vital points rather than prevent the third drill from destroying some medium-priority structures.

Right, he nodded to himself, making one snap decision after another.

With methodical precision, he turned his thoughts to the building's skeleton, infusing the beams and pillars teetering on the verge of collapse with pulses of stability.

Soon, he found himself cycling between six or seven key points. Some were in pretty bad condition, losing their brilliance even though he stabilized them consistently.

Gravity and tension were a bitch for damaged key points, deteriorating their condition almost as fast as he fixed them. But he did have the upper hand. He would just need to keep this up for a while.

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Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he pushed his mind to its limits, ensuring nothing went wrong. Then, suddenly, he heard something—

Crunch

Crackle

That pile of debris, which was supposed to house the victim of his murder…shifted. He snapped towards it involuntarily, his brows furrowed. He somehow kept up those pulses of stability, but his mind was already wandering elsewhere.

What is this? He couldn't wrap his head around this situation. How can someone survive that?

The blood pooling around the wreckage was enough to fill half a man. There was no way someone should be alive after losing that much blood. But logic wasn't prevailing.

THUD

The slab of concrete was thrown away with an intense force as a figure sat up in the rubble.

"Mother…" came a whisper, and regardless of his conjectures, the figure slowly stood up, blood flowing out of its shin, intestines, and…neck. That should've ended him, no?

But then, Vern noticed something peculiar. The figure was tightly clutching a small vial to their mouth, gulping down its contents with intense fervor.

Suddenly, it happened. A disturbingly familiar scene unfolded before him, reminiscent of an experience he had encountered under vastly different circumstances.

Last time, it was a devotee on stage, surrounded by hundreds of onlookers, weeping and singing hymns in praise of Mother Asea while drinking what they claimed were her tears. The macabre spectacle of limbs regrowing had etched itself indelibly in his memory. He was sure this was the same.

The figure's body, just seconds ago riddled with see-through holes, began a rapid transformation. Red tissues swarmed the gaps, weaving and fusing in a chaotic dance. Skin stitched itself together right before Vern's eyes, sealing the wounds. Blood flow slowed to a stop, and the figure's ghostly pallor blossomed into a healthy, flushed glow.

Fuck! Vern cursed as he stared at this hellish sight and contemplated its implications. Even more unfortunate was the fact that he could do nothing but stand here as his foe recovered himself to full health.

He didn't have the luxury to divert his attention too much. A single slip-up and a huge explosion would be the outcome. He just had to hold on for a while longer until that spiral ran itself dry.

For now, he couldn't even shoot the fucking ghoul. He would mess up his stability cycle, and something would come crashing and burning down by the time he would reload his revolver and aim it at the man.

Not that it would have done much, either, with his poor aim and this guy's healing capabilities.

"AH, MOTHER ASEA! Your sorrow won't be wasted! I shall preserve your decree! DIE, HEATHEN!" exclaimed the assassin as he sprinted towards Vern, throwing the vial to the side, completely empty.

Fucking lunatics, one and all.

Vern couldn't deal with this guy, at least not while keeping the building stabilized. So he chose the only sensible approach—call for backup. "Ambrose! I could use some help right about now," he shouted.

A blue light flared from another room, followed by Ambrose's voice, "Another one of these rat-arsed bastards? How the hell are they hiding from my rhythm so effectively? They are nothing like regular humans, man."

Almost immediately, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the same room. Over it, Ambrose yelled, "You've got to come up with something, Vern. I am all out of ideas. These rat-fucks are too resilient. Every time I think I've taken him down, the cunt gets right back up."

And then, another blue flash later, Ambrose stood in front of the assassin, thrusting his cane into the man's head.

CLANG

But a golden dagger appeared in the assassin's hand out of nowhere as he deflected Ambrose's thrust and backed away, joining the other zealot. He walked over from the other room, the hole in his chest healing rapidly.

"In the name of MOTHER ASEA!"

"In the name of MOTHER ASEA!" shouted both in unison, their eyes bloodshot and faces contorted.

"I told you, didn't I, newbie? These cunts are undying fucks. Think of something, I'll keep 'em busy."

Well, that was a lot of responsibility to offload to a 'newbie.' But what other choice did he have? As if he didn't have enough problems already.

His dimming Thought Space was the worst of them. Having a Thought space exponentially increased his maximum Representation capacity, but sending those pulses of Stability so frequently was squeezing him dry.

Then there were all these unstable fulcrums—Huh?

But just then, the rapidly spreading instability in the wall of the tanker began to slow, and that could only mean one thing—the spiral drilling it was on its last legs!

One second.

Two seconds.

The third—

And it was over. Phew… Vern exhaled sharply, relieved. He still continued stabilizing a few other vital points, but they were getting better, too, and didn't demand as much concentration.

Now, with a moment to think, he could focus on the problem at hand. I have my gun, umbrella, and the stability or instability inducement. How could he leverage these tools to permanently deal with those men?

For starters, Vern tried to Observe the white-robed figures directly. If he could cause some grave instability within their bodies, dealing with them should be a walk in the park.

.

.

.

However, his efforts hit an unexpected roadblock—it was a complete failure. Huh?

The resistance he encountered was astonishing. It had been easier to try and Observe the golden spirals than these people. And he soon had a conjecture why this was the case.

Because he was trying to Observe an Observer.

An Observer transcends objective reality, embodying a unique, subjective representation of the world. They weren't like humans in the way he perceived them to be. It made sense then—since Vern didn't fully understand them, he couldn't effectively Observe them.

That was to say, it would be nigh-impossible for him to directly manipulate an Observer. But this would have to go both ways, meaning he would be safe from being turned into a golden spiral or something along those lines as long as they didn't understand his viewpoint.

Anyways, what else? He looked around him in search of ideas. If he couldn't harm them directly, he would have to find indirect ways to do so. Burst a pipe in front of them? Collapse the roof? Or maybe… a spark of inspiration flickered in his mind.

"Ambrose, lend me your ear for a second."

The cane wielder glanced back with an incredulous look. Vern met his gaze, his expression grave and unwavering.

TAP

Ambrose drove his cane into the thigh of a zealot and, in a flash of blue, appeared next to Vern, facing the opposite direction, "This better be good, newbie. I can appreciate humor, but don't mistake that for a free pass to order me around."

Vern sighed inwardly. It was hard for him to even move without fucking something up, humor was the furthest thing from his mind.

So, in a tone devoid of emotion, he replied, "It's serious. Do you think you can redirect those spiral drills in a particular direction? You did something along those lines back when Esther was inside the shield, right?."

"Esther? Who?"

Why was that the first thing that came to his mind in this situation? Vern gestured towards the red-haired beauty who was lying in a fetal position, and a look of realization dawned upon Ambrose.

"You really think I am that stupid, huh? Do you think I didn't try? Uh…I mean, I tried with the big one. It was—too big. Oh fuck, you're right. These small ones, I might—" he stammered a little before he tapped his cane, and a blue aura rose around him, "Well, you handle the rat-fucks, okay? I need some time to set up the disruption field."

Vern nodded, a hint of smirk on his face as he left a few final words for Ambrose, "Let me know when you're ready. I will try to get them to stand under that biggest hole right there."

Ambrose nodded, followed by a tap of his cane.

That was acknowledgment enough. Vern took a deep breath and gave up on stabilizing the building. Most drills had already done the damage, and his efforts with stabilizing damaged key points had already reached the limits of their effectiveness.

On top of that, he would need everything in his arsenal to fend off these zealots.

Without hesitation, he dashed towards Cera. still engaged in his peculiar tap dance, Ambrose shot him a perplexed look but didn't stop.

Why Cera? Well, because she possessed a better weapon. His revolver was out of bullets. So why reload when you can upgrade?

Luckily, the vapor blaster was still in her hands, so he didn't have to touch her inappropriately to look for it. Snatching it out of her hands, he switched it to concussive shots since they had the highest rate of fire.

'Preserve their souls! Let them unite with the Mother!' The white-robed zealots’ chant echoed as they charged toward Ambrose.

'Preserve them!' they bellowed in unison.

As the cries for preservation filled the air, Vern felt a surge of adrenaline mixed with a twinge of nerves. Clutching the vapor blaster, he knew it was his moment.

Now's the chance to balance the scale—no more sitting by the sidelines.