Rat Knights

In that life-or-death moment, Formaggio secretly calculated his chances of survival.

He was practically standing right next to the drain, in front of those restless rats.

The rats only need one leap to carry the delicious creamy little man back to the sewer; the whole process might take less than a second.

From the moment Mista pulls the trigger and the bullet leaves the barrel, to the "Bullet Knights" discovering that Formaggio has suddenly shrunk and temporarily adjusting the trajectory, and finally riding the bullet, whose speed has greatly decreased after turning, as it comes head-on, the whole process takes about 1 to 2 seconds.

Theoretically speaking, he did have time to escape.

However, this method has too many variables:

Formaggio needs to gamble that Mista will aim for the head to kill him, rather than anticipating that he will shrink and aiming for the ground in advance.

He also needed to gamble that the rats would be unable to resist jumping out to hunt as soon as he shrank, that the rats would turn back to the sewers as soon as they picked up the "food", and that the rats would be gentle and mild, instead of biting his head off with one bite.

The endless variables combined to turn this escape into a complete gamble.

The odds of winning this bet were even slimmer than winning the lottery, and the stakes were Formaggio's life.

But Formaggio had no other choice.

Rather than giving up thinking in the face of death like a weakling, it's better to gamble your life for a glimmer of hope.

This is his basic quality as a Stand User.

Fortunately, Formaggio won his gamble.

Just before the fourth bullet spun almost 90 degrees in the air and changed direction, he successfully used his sugar-coated body as bait to lure a hungry rat out of that seemingly hopeless situation.

In just a brief moment, it was like a scene from a horror movie.

A shadow suddenly darted out from the pitch-black abyss cave, instantly dragging the humans who were lingering at the entrance into the darkness.

However, Formaggio actually becomes safe after falling into darkness:

"Mista indeed has no sensory abilities."

"He can determine direction by observing ants on the ground, and then have his stand-in patrol in mid-air to find my location with the naked eye."

"But it's pitch black in these sewers. Neither Mista nor Sex Pistols, who can only lock onto targets with their naked eyes, could possibly fight in such a dark environment."

"Without that precise 'guided' capability, the Sex Pistols can no longer chase me down with bullets."

Formaggio thought this calmly.

Judging from his calm, relieved, and even slightly relieved expression, probably no one would believe that he was being eaten by a rat.

The sharp rat teeth were deeply embedded in his shoulder, piercing through Formaggio.

The rat sprinted through the dark, narrow drainpipe, its two massive teeth, firmly embedded in Formaggio's shoulders, trembling violently between his flesh and bones.

Chisel, winnow, grind, roll

His shoulder quickly rotted into a blurry patch of mud.

The rat's filthy saliva and overflowing blood mingled together, and the stench alone was enough to suffocate anyone.

In the darkness, the footsteps of the rats were as rapid and alarming as the beat of a drum, and their frantic squeals, stimulated by the smell of sugar and blood, were even more terrifying.

But Formaggio is still enduring, still bearing it.

Because he knew the gamble wasn't completely over yet, and he wasn't entirely safe.

But the danger didn't come from Mista, who had lost his target and couldn't pursue him, but from the rats that had just saved his life.

The rats carried him, this "cream stick," into the drainpipe, but the drainpipe was too narrow.

He can't grow much bigger here, otherwise he'll be squeezed into mincemeat by that narrow pipe.

So Formaggio could only wait patiently, or rather, pray:

He had to pray that the rats would be patient enough to lead him back to the spacious sewers, instead of stopping to feast in this narrow drainpipe.

And so, Formaggio endured the excruciating pain of flesh tearing and bones shattering, gambling with his last breath.

They survived, tenaciously and luckily.

The rats didn't crowd into the narrow drainpipe to eat. Instead, they carried their delicious and tempting food, skillfully made their way around two bends, and in just a few seconds, they ran back to the main sewer connected to the drainpipe.

Upon reaching the main sewer, a strong, disgusting, and unpleasant stench immediately hits you.

The awful smell, a mixture of fermented waste and excrement, made people dizzy and nauseous.

But now, Formaggio seems to have been reborn, taking several deep breaths of the thick, cloying air without any disgust.

Because no matter what the food tastes like, at least the space is much more spacious.

As the main sewer system for treating urban sewage, the ceiling here is as high as a person and the floor is as wide as two meters.

On one side of the ground, there was a ditch flowing with a large amount of foul-smelling sewage, while on the other side was a narrow platform specially built with cement for inspection and maintenance personnel to walk on.

Although rats are dirty, they certainly don't like eating feces.

So luckily, Formaggio was carried by the rat to a relatively clean, narrow concrete path, and didn't experience the terrible feeling of jumping into a cesspool.

"We're safe now."

Formaggio breathed a long sigh of relief.

And the mice, having finally managed to bring the food back to their "restaurant," began to get even more excited and impatient.

The rat that had caught Formaggio seemed to have no intention of sharing the food with its companion. It had just landed safely with Formaggio when it suddenly opened its blood-red mouth, trying to swallow the food whole.

"Sorry, you're no longer useful."

Formaggio said goodbye to his savior in his heart:

"Little Feet, let me turn back!"

The instant the rat opened its mouth and swallowed, Formaggio's body suddenly swelled to more than ten times its original size.

He instantly returned to his original form.

The rat that had been firmly biting Formaggio's shoulder had become so horribly horrified after the food in its mouth suddenly swelled dozens of times.

The headless rat carcass was thus flung away.

Formaggio leaned against the sewer wall and slumped to the ground.

The other rats seemed completely unconcerned about their companion's bizarre death.

They huddled close to Formaggio, salivating and grinding their teeth as they inhaled the aroma of the cream, which had become dozens of times richer after its enlargement.

These tiny mice couldn't understand why their food was getting bigger. They would just greedily look around at the food, and hesitate because they were afraid of the size of the enlarged Formaggio.

Formaggio, of course, had no interest in these rats who wanted to eat candy but were powerless to kill.

Once he was completely safe, he immediately focused on analyzing the current situation.

The first thing to check is naturally one's own physical condition:

He was shot in the knee, and later had half of his shoulder bitten off, rendering one of his arms useless.

For Stand User, such damage is actually not that severe.

After all, he still has one leg to walk on and one arm to use, so he can continue fighting.

Unfortunately, the situation is different now—he wants to fight, but the enemy isn't going to be so foolish as to stick with him.

"Damn it. Why did it have to be my knee that got hurt?!"

"Now I walk with a limp, and if Mista is determined to escape, there's no way I can stop him!"

Formaggio realized that he had lost the ability to stop the enemy.

He couldn't help but feel regret for his negligence and helplessness at the deteriorating situation:

Mista's bullets had actually been significantly reduced in power.

If he could hide a little longer, maybe just a dozen or so more seconds, Mista would definitely shrink further, until he was almost no threat to him.

But not only did Formaggio fail to hide, he was also unfortunately shot twice in the knee by Mista, who took advantage of his remaining time when he still had the ability to kill.

"Mista must have shrunk to the point of being no longer a threat."

"But all I could do was sit in the sewer with my injured leg, watching helplessly as the target I was responsible for escaped!"

"Damn it! Damn it!"

Formaggio gritted his teeth, but in his heart he hated himself.

But no matter how much he blames himself or how unwilling he is, it can't change the fact that he is now unable to walk due to his leg injury.

Even his escape requires the help of rats. In such a sorry state, how can he possibly crawl back to the ground and catch up with his enemies?

"Wait... a mouse?"

Formaggio suddenly realized something.

He was, after all, a strong warrior, not a cowardly incompetent fool.

Those negative emotions only lasted for two seconds before Formaggio, who had just been brought back to safety, immediately thought of a way to return to the battlefield.

So he lowered his head and tried to observe the mice that were still drooling over him and the ice cream in the darkness.

"By the way, rats must have a really strong nose, right?"

"Since you guys want ice cream so much, you'll definitely be unable to resist following the smell, right?"

Formaggio suddenly began talking to himself as he looked at the restless swarm of rats.

As he spoke, he staggered to his feet and looked toward the underground culvert in front of him, which was flowing with foul-smelling sewage.

The next second, to the mice's puzzled gaze, Formaggio suddenly leaped forward:

"Little Feet, shrink me!"

As his body rose into the air, Formaggio transformed himself into a tiny creature once again.

He jumped into the thick, greasy, murky "chocolate river" and let the rushing water wash over his body.

When he immediately turned around and went ashore...

His body was covered in thick soup, juicy and full of flavor, and the ice cream covering him had been replaced with something else entirely.

Upon smelling the odor and seeing the sight, the rats that had been drooling over Formaggio immediately stopped drooling.

You've already ground down my teeth, and this is what you're feeding me?

These frenzied predators instantly entered a state of sagehood, finding nothing of interest even if Formaggio were standing right in front of them without any attempt to hide.

"Ha ha."

Formaggio laughed to himself.

Without any hesitation, he grabbed the fur from the back of a mouse and straddled it with the swagger of a knight conquering a wild horse.

"Hurry up, little mice, don't let me down!"

"I don't have any food here for you. If you want food..."

"Go back to the ground and get it!"