Black Canary felt despair. In a moment of distraction, pain shot through her injured side, her legs gave out, and she fell onto the stairs, tumbling down them.
The jujitsu she had once learned saved her life. Black Canary had not broken her neck from rolling down the stairs, but she was still battered bloody, and the head that had struck the steps sank into an even deeper dizziness.
After taking several heavy blows in succession, Black Canary could no longer get up. She curled up in a corner of the stairwell, using the last of her strength to press down on the wound in her abdomen.
She saw Schiller lift one foot as if to descend the stairs, but then a clamor came from the other end of the hallway, and Schiller turned to look.
Suddenly, as though something had stolen his soul, he walked straight toward the sound. Blood dripped from the Marlin Mask all along the way, intertwining with the footsteps of his leather shoes. In the empty corridor, it echoed with the horror of a cruel order amid chaos—but to Black Canary, it sounded like the most beautiful notes.
She immediately lowered her head to inspect her wound. The Marlin Mask's spike was long; getting stabbed by it was roughly equivalent to being stabbed with a kitchen knife. Fortunately, it was only equivalent to being stabbed once.
That meant that, as long as she had not been stabbed right into the eye socket like the corpse of that strong man earlier, it would not be fatal anytime soon.
Black Canary sat where she was, catching her breath and recovering her strength, when she suddenly heard footsteps coming from downstairs.
She turned her head warily and saw a head of bewitching red hair.
"Natasha?"
"It's me. Are