NOVEL NEXT Chapter 100: Divine Intervention
With the force from his foot, he pushed upward and leaped through the following barrier. Upon looking forward, he immediately ducked at the same time; a streak of wind flew by. The force scattered through the surroundings. However, Quagmire did not bother and immediately stood up in an upright position.
With a firm, wide step from his right foot, he exerted enough effort and brought the left foot forward, which was now farther than the right foot. Now with continuous exertion and effort, his speed gradually sped up into a pace that was enough to outrun the ghouls behind him.
With each step he took, a gradual increase of breath followed closely. He made sure to breathe in a timely manner so that he would be able to offset the fatigue with enough and in-time oxygen. Even so, he could not help it as fatigue started creeping through every fiber of his very being.
It was in times like this that he would really appreciate a companion; it was only during these hardships that he could truly appreciate the presence of Habagat. Even though it was dangerous, his mind focused on some other mundane things as autopilot set in. Repeating the same actions all over again and again, it was his body's self-defense mechanism to prevent mental anguish and tiredness, which could depreciate his fighting ability.
Fortunately, even though his senses were dulled, his instincts remained the same. His eyes flickered as his mind started to go into overdrive; he turned his head and his gaze changed, and in a single decisive moment, he let himself free.
With a turn of his foot, he lunged deep into the ground, and in time, dozens of silhouettes flew past from where he had been earlier. Not letting his enemies recover and giving them another chance for another shot, he rolled to his side and brought his hands to his sides and pushed himself up.
He bent his knees and pushed down with the force of a bite of a predator. As he got up, he pulled his left leg and dashed forward. Overhead, he glanced from left to right so that he could see what he was fighting; perhaps it was a few ghouls, but looking over it, he saw that there were dozens of arrows, and gathering that much force was a bit tough to do.
Which was the reason for his initial doubt. He had been expecting something else. After all, he had already seen that these slimy undead abominations possessed intelligence, but similar to that of a rising civilization. Which meant he still had the advantage over them until they developed something much more sophisticated.
True to his thoughts, when his gaze landed on the culprit, he was not even surprised; in fact, with a twist of his lips, he was frowning, and with a curling of his forehead and eyebrows, he was more annoyed than anything else.
His eyes constricted, and his heartbeat rapidly rose; sweat started to form. Beyond him were two fat men, and looking overhead, after the fat men, he could count there were more of them—about dozens if not more. Numerous emotions flooded him: anger, annoyance, despair, glee, and most importantly, rage.
It was as if there were coals that were burning inside of him, and the heart was pumping more and more oxygen into them, as the fire sought to devour everything. His earlier calmness seemed to ever disappear; he did not understand what was happening, but it was happening. He was confused and lost.
Yet, as if set in stone, his eyes dilated, and a bright light shone upon him; it was entirely visible to him, yet could not be seen by outsiders. Instantaneously, every conflicting emotion disappeared all at once, and his eyes returned their focus, with the last vestiges of the shimmering light disappearing before him.
He returned to his normal self, unable to explain what was happening, but duty seemed ever to call him back to the present. He did not understand what had just transpired or why his rage had filled him up in the first place.
Fortunately, as if the heavens gave him an answer, a quiet notification popped up beside him. Upon seeing the notification, it dawned on him of the numerous possibilities of what could have happened, but now he was sure. There was only one thing, and that was divine intervention.
It all fitted into place: this screwed-up world and the abnormalities that were transpiring. It only meant one thing—there was something else, and the thing did not want him. It had waited until his most vulnerable moment to influence him. Most likely it was, but then again, he could only confirm it once he got out of this place and actually read the notification.
His eyes darted forward, and beyond them he could see the fat men, and with all their self-defense limbs, holding numerous bows. It was the only explanation of how they could fire so much. It was not an army but rather one army, a siege artillery. The thought of it was terrifying, but he had technology on his side.
If he played it right, then there would be no problem, and he would pass it uneventfully. He brought his hand with his pistol forward, placed his finger on the trigger, but then he hesitated; a sudden radical idea came forward before him.
Upon thinking of it, his lips curled into a twisted smile, and a silent chuckle. Thus, with that, he brought back his pistol into his holster, fully loaded for emergency backup, and brought out numerous improvised explosive devices.
With absolute trust in his instincts and flexibility honed over the past few weeks, he would take the risk so that he would not be surrounded by these scornful fat men. He smirked and smiled, and with a glance of his surroundings, trying to eliminate every variable that could heighten his risk.
Once confirmed and of the lowest possible risk, he brought his foot forward and dashed at an increasing pace, brought by newfound confidence and fate.