Loss of Control

Sighing silently, Cyril took out the Jacob's Wallet he carried with him, hoping to use this mystical item to disarm the people ambushing them in the room.

This was based on his experience from the last time he used it; when the people around him had no money on them, it seemed to prioritize targeting weapons.

Perhaps it was because weapons were more valuable than clothing...

In battles between low-sequence Beyonders, weapons were crucial.

Holding the attitude of taking money if there was any, and weapons if there wasn't, Cyril reached his hand into the Jacob's Wallet.

He soon touched something: a charm that looked somewhat familiar.

After a brief moment of recollection, he realized this was the Paralysis charm that Owen had previously used on the Blood Axe Gang thugs who tried to rob them.

Uh... (⊙o⊙)

He tilted his head to glance at Owen, whose eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the light yet; this unlucky wallet seemed to have stolen from his own teammate.

After a brief silence, he put the charm away and reached back into the wallet to fumble around again.

Then, he pulled out a pistol with the safety already disengaged—the very same pistol that had been in Owen's hand.

(⊙_⊙;)

Wait, does this thing specifically target allies?

He paused, then looked up at the quiet room with the door closed in front of him... Could it be that the people inside had neither money nor weapons on them?

Strangely, he felt this guess seemed quite reasonable. At this hour, normal people should be sleeping; the other party had likely just discovered their infiltration and hadn't had time to grab their weapons yet.

Thinking of this, he stepped forward and reached out to open the door.

Behind the door was an old man standing at the threshold, dozing off. His face was deeply wrinkled, his half-gray hair was somewhat messy, and he was wearing loose pajamas, looking as if he had just crawled out of bed.

Seeming to sense danger, his expression struggled, looking like he was about to wake up from his deep slumber at any moment.

Cyril immediately picked up the charm he had taken from Owen and whispered the activation incantation:

"Paralysis!"

As the blue-black square charm turned to ash, a strange, ghostly green ripple manifested out of thin air and landed on the old man, who was struggling to wake from his slumber.

In an instant, every wrinkle on the old man's face froze, like a video player that had been hit with the pause button.

Cyril took out the dagger that had been in Xio's possession earlier and swung it straight at the old man's neck.

Clang!

A sound like metal striking metal rang out; the dagger in Cyril's hand was stuck firmly against the man's skin, not even drawing blood.

He raised an eyebrow, feeling a slight ache in his teeth, and then saw fine, silver-glistening granulation tissue wriggling at the small patch of skin sliced open beneath the dagger.

It wasn't a mystical item, but some kind of flesh magic.

As the thought crossed his mind, he pulled out the stuck dagger with force and stabbed it directly into the man's eye socket.

This was the most obvious weak point he could think of while the man was under the influence of this bizarre flesh magic.

Squish!

The iron-black dagger sank into the eye socket without much resistance, and he even gave it a twist for good measure.

Stimulated by the excruciating pain, the old man broke free from the paralysis effect caused by the charm. His remaining eye glared at him viciously, and instead of retreating, he lunged forward while muttering indistinct words.

Cyril pointed expressionlessly at the man's feet.

"Trip!"

The old man's feet suddenly slipped, and unable to maintain his balance, he fell straight forward.

While sidestepping the slipping, falling old man, Cyril took the opportunity to follow up with a "Freeze," targeting the old man's lips as they parted to speak.

A frosty, bluish ray shattered between his teeth, bringing an instant drop in temperature and filling his entire mouth with ice.

Bang!

The old man fell to the ground with a flushed face, one hand covering his eye and the other clawing at his mouth, struggling to spit out the ice so he could speak.

"Mmph... Mmph..."

At the doorway of the room, Owen, who had just recovered from the brief blindness caused by the Flash and had rushed over to provide support, stood there in a daze.

Wasn't he complaining to himself just this afternoon about how the various strange abilities of a Trickmaster were too weak?

Was this the so-called Beyonder ability that had no practical use and was more like a performance for magic tricks than for defeating enemies?

Could it be that Backlund University was secretly running a special major for training bounty hunters and adventurers?

Cyril glanced at Owen, who was spacing out at the door, and said in a low voice, "Don't just stand there, go find things, and be ready to retreat at any time."

"Oh, right."

Owen nodded subconsciously, then stepped over the old man struggling in pain on the floor and walked into the room.

Cyril crouched down on the spot and pressed his hand onto the old man's exposed skin.

The next second, the sound of sizzling electricity rang out, followed by the smell of scorched flesh in the air.

"Mmph... Mmph!"

The old man, his mouth stuffed with ice, let out a pained whimper from his throat. His body struggled violently, and it looked as if he were about to bite the ice block lodged in his mouth into pieces.

Cyril retracted his hand, feeling a bit awkward. The intensity of his cantrip was still too low; this bit of electricity wasn't enough to paralyze or knock out a Beyonder, but instead, it felt a bit like torture.

While pondering, Cyril changed his position and reached out to press his hand against the man's head, silver-white electricity flickering beneath his palm.

"Mmph! Ugh..."

The old man's struggling slowed, and the whimpering sound from his throat seemed to take on a sobbing tone.

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

After silently complaining to himself, Cyril stood up and followed up with a few more Freeze spells on the old man, letting the frost completely seal his head. This was intended to prevent him from calling for help while simultaneously attempting to suffocate him.

It wasn't that he was a sadist who enjoyed torture; it was just that the flesh magic on the man's body made him nearly impervious to blades and guns. Without wanting to cause too much of a commotion, this slightly torturous method was the only one he could think of.

"You..."

Owen, who had been rummaging through cabinets behind him, happened to see this scene. He opened his mouth, but stopped himself.

He really wanted to ask if this was a bit perverted, but considering their partnership and the fact that the old man was an enemy, he held it back and silently accelerated his search for valuables.

Cyril raised his hand and cast a few more Freeze spells on the old man, forcing his entire body into a state of hypothermia and locking him in rigidity.

Confirming that the man's struggles were ineffective, he stood up and walked toward the safe that Owen had unearthed.

Because of this, he failed to notice the changes occurring on the old man's body. The flesh on him had come alive, resembling thumb-thick worms, twisting and tearing wantonly.

On the other side, Cyril curiously examined the lock on the safe before pressing his hand against it.

With a click, the safe lock opened easily without a key, revealing neatly arranged gold pounds, gold bars, and a statue of a deity hanging upside down on a cross.

The moment he saw the statue, Cyril recognized its identity:

"True Creator!"

Owen looked at him in confusion: "What?"

"Leave the statue, take the rest, and let's get out of here quickly."

After speaking, he hesitated for a moment, but ultimately didn't dare to touch the statue of the True Creator with his hands, choosing instead to use his Object Manipulation ability to make the statue jump out of the safe on its own.

Clatter!

It landed on the floor with a crisp sound. Upon hearing it, a sense of panic rose inexplicably in Cyril's heart, as if something uncontrollable was about to happen.

Crack, crack~

The sound of ice shattering came from behind. Cyril and Owen turned around simultaneously to see that the old man, who had been struggling in pain on the floor, was now covered in granulation tissue and protruding tumors.

He no longer looked human, appearing more like a monster filled with distortion and flesh, with shadows seemingly flowing within him.

Between the writhing flesh, one slit after another tore open, growing pale, crimson-tinged fangs that resembled sets of lips.

These "lips" opened and closed, emitting noisy, chaotic sounds filled with pain, madness, and other negative emotions.

The moment the sounds entered his ears, Cyril once again saw the veil of shadows covering everything around him, and saw the eyes behind the veil looking down upon everything.

"Damn it!"

Without time to think, Cyril raised his hand and snapped his fingers, creating an explosive sound in the room along with a blinding white Flash that stung the eyes.

He needed to create a commotion so the Black Wolf Gang would think an outside enemy had invaded, forcing them to help him contain this suddenly out-of-control Beyonder.

After doing this, he grabbed the pained-looking Owen and pressed his hand directly onto the floor beneath them.

A flash of ghostly blue light passed, and the two of them dropped directly from the third floor to the second.

Below them happened to be an empty lounge, and the sudden appearance of Cyril and Owen did not alert anyone.