Loss of Control

With a silent sigh, Cyril took out Jacob's Wallet, which he carried with him, hoping to use the Mystical Item to disarm whoever was lying in wait for them in the room.

That was what he'd learned from using it last time. When the people nearby had no money on them, it seemed to prioritize their weapons.

Perhaps it was because weapons were worth more than clothes and the like...

And in battles between Low Sequence Beyonders, weapons were crucial.

With the attitude of taking money if they had it and weapons if they didn't, Cyril reached into Jacob's Wallet.

He soon felt something. It was a talisman that looked somewhat familiar.

After a moment's thought, he remembered. It was the Paralysis talisman Owen had used earlier on the Blood Axe Gang thugs who'd tried to rob them.

Huh? ⊙o⊙

He glanced sideways at Owen, whose eyes still hadn't fully adjusted to the light. It seemed this unlucky wallet had stolen from his own teammate.

After a brief silence, he pocketed the talisman, then reached into the wallet again to feel around.

This time, he pulled out a pistol with its safety already off—the one in Owen's hand.

⊙_⊙

Wait, did this thing only steal from allies?

After a pause, he looked up at the quiet room with its door closed... Could it be that the people inside had no money or weapons on them?

For some reason, the idea seemed quite reasonable. At this hour, normal people should be asleep, and their target had probably only just noticed the intrusion and hadn't had time to grab a weapon.

With that thought, he stepped forward and opened the door.

An old man stood dozing just behind it. His face was deeply lined, and his half-gray hair was somewhat disheveled. He wore a loose-fitting nightshirt and looked as if he'd just crawled out of bed.

As if sensing danger, his expression twisted with effort, and he looked as though he might wake from his Slumber at any moment.

Cyril took the talisman Owen had given him and quietly recited the activation incantation:

"Paralysis!"

As the bluish-black, square talisman crumbled to ash, a strange, deep-green ripple appeared out of nowhere and fell upon the old man, who was struggling to wake from his Slumber.

In an instant, every wrinkle on the old man's face froze, as if someone had pressed pause on a video player.

Cyril took the dagger Xio had been holding earlier and swung it straight at the old man's neck.

Clang!

The sound of metal striking metal rang out. Cyril's dagger had lodged in the man's skin, without drawing so much as a drop of blood.

He raised his brows with a wince, then saw tiny, silvery buds of flesh wriggling where the dagger had cut the skin.

It wasn't a Mystical Item, but some kind of Flesh Magic.

As the thought crossed his mind, he yanked the trapped dagger free, then thrust it straight into the man's eye socket.

That was the most obvious weak spot he could think of beneath this strange Flesh Magic.

Squish!

The iron-black dagger slid into the man's eye socket with little resistance. Cyril even twisted it around once.

The pain broke the old man free of the talisman's Paralysis. He glared viciously at Cyril with his one remaining eye, advancing instead of retreating as he murmured something unintelligible.

Cyril expressionlessly pointed at his feet.

"Trip!"

The old man's feet suddenly slipped, and he could no longer keep his balance. He pitched straight forward.

Cyril sidestepped the old man as he slipped and fell, then casually cast another Freeze, aiming at the man's lips as they moved, trying to speak.

A pale-blue ray of frost shattered between his teeth, bringing an instant chill and filling his entire mouth with ice.

Thud!

The old man fell to the ground, his face flushed red. One hand covered his eye while the other clawed at his mouth, trying to spit out the ice and speak.

"Mm... mm..."

At the doorway of the room beside them, Owen had just recovered from the brief blindness caused by the flash and rushed over to help. He stared at the scene, dazed.

Hadn't he been complaining to Cyril that afternoon about how weak and strange the Trickmaster's abilities were?

Was this what he meant by abilities with no practical use, more suited to performing tricks than defeating enemies?

Did Backlund University secretly have a special program for training Bounty Hunters and adventurers?

Cyril glanced at Owen, who was still standing blankly in the doorway, and said in a low voice, "Stop staring. Look for things, and be ready to leave at any moment."

"Oh, right."

Owen nodded reflexively, then stepped over the old man struggling on the floor and went into the room.

Cyril crouched beside the old man and pressed a hand against his exposed skin.

The next second, electricity crackled, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

"Mm... mm!"

The old man's throat emitted a pained whimper. His body thrashed violently, and it looked as though he was about to bite through the ice blocking his mouth.

Cyril withdrew his hand awkwardly. The Trickmaster's power was still too weak. This much electricity wasn't enough to paralyze a Beyonder or make him pass out; it just seemed to torture him.

After a moment's thought, Cyril shifted position, pressed a hand against the man's head, and sent silver-white currents dancing beneath his palm.

"Mm! Mmm..."

The old man's movements slowed, and his whimpering seemed to take on a sobbing note.

This... makes me look like I'm torturing an old man.

After grumbling to himself, Cyril stood up and cast Freeze several more times, completely encasing the old man's head in ice. This would stop him from calling for help and, hopefully, suffocate him.

It wasn't that he was a sadist who enjoyed torturing people. The Flesh Magic on the man's body seemed to make him impervious to blades and bullets. Without making too much noise, this was the only method Cyril could think of, even if it was a little cruel.

"You..."

Owen, rummaging through the room behind him, happened to see what was happening. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.

He wanted to say that Cyril was being a little creepy, but considering they were partners and the old man was their enemy, he held his tongue and quietly searched for valuables even faster.

Cyril raised his hand and cast Freeze a few more times, leaving the old man's entire body chilled and rigid.

Once he was sure the man could no longer struggle, he got up and walked over to the safe Owen had found.

As a result, he failed to notice the changes in the old man. The flesh on his body had come alive, twisting and tearing wildly like worms as thick as thumbs.

Meanwhile, Cyril curiously examined the lock on the safe, then pressed a hand against it.

With a click, the safe opened easily without a key, revealing neatly arranged gold pounds, gold bars, and an idol hanging upside down on a cross.

The moment he saw the idol, Cyril recognized who it represented:

"The True Creator!"

Owen looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Leave the idol. Take everything else, and let's get out of here."

After speaking, he hesitated. In the end, he still didn't dare touch the True Creator's idol with his bare hands, so he used Object Manipulation to make it jump out of the safe by itself.

Clack!

The idol hit the floor with a crisp sound. At the noise, a sudden, inexplicable panic rose in Cyril's heart, as if something uncontrollable was about to happen.

Crack, crack—

The sound of ice breaking came from behind them. Cyril and Owen turned around at the same time and saw that the old man, who had been lying on the ground struggling in pain, was now covered in buds of flesh and bulging tumors.

He was no longer human. He looked more like a monster pieced together from twisted flesh, with shadows flowing beneath the surface.

Slits kept tearing open amid the writhing flesh, revealing rows of pale fangs tinged with red, each resembling a mouth.

The "mouths" opened and closed, making a cacophony of sounds filled with pain, madness, and other negative emotions.

The instant he heard them, Cyril saw a shadowy curtain spread over everything around him once more. Beyond it, he saw an eye looking down upon all things.

"Damn it!"

With no time to think, Cyril snapped his fingers, creating an explosive bang and a blinding white flash in the room.

He wanted to make enough noise for the Black Wolf Gang to think they were under attack, so they would help hold off this suddenly out-of-control Beyonder.

Once he'd done that, he grabbed the pained-looking Owen beside him and pressed his hand against the floor.

A flash of deep-blue light passed by, and the two of them dropped straight from the third floor to the second.

There happened to be an empty lounge below. Cyril and Owen's sudden appearance didn't attract anyone's attention.