Chapter 69. Mikhail (2)
BZZZZZZ!
The sound of wings, resembling a malfunctioning electric fan, approached the house where Marbas and his kin were staying. Inside, Insect, who had been concealed in the shadows, spotted the approaching fly and pulled back the curtains.
Creeeeak!
The rusty window opened with a metallic screech. Bathed in the bright moonlight, the fly entered the house through the window.
"Brrrrp."
Insect stroked the fly and carefully removed the seedling from it. He then presented the seedling to Marbas.
When Marbas received the seedling, the corners of his mouth twitched. He could no longer be described as indifferent. Trying to suppress the delight threatening to escape, he covered his mouth with his hand.
"The time is almost ripe."
"Brrrrp, brrrrp, brrrrp."
Having lost his connection to Kafka, Insect reported what had happened to Marbas.
"Kafka's death was inevitable. That child was merely another stepping stone for the protagonist's awakening."
Marbas's grin stretched almost to his ears. Eventually, even covering his mouth was no longer enough to conceal his delight.
Marbas removed his hand, leaned back against the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. His breathing grew increasingly heavy. He was so excited that he couldn't calm himself down.
"I can't wait. I simply can't wait. I want to witness the most brilliant tragedy among countless tragedies."
He had already witnessed so many tragedies that he had grown bored of them. Ordinary tragedies could no longer inspire him.
That was why Marbas was smiling. The performance that was about to begin would be entertaining enough to rival the Black Death. To make it happen, he had been willing to sacrifice even his own subordinate.
"All the puppets are ready. The script that will guide the protagonist and the unfolding events is ready. Even the stage and the audience who will enjoy the performance are prepared!"
Flap!
Marbas rose from the sofa and raised his arms, causing his long coat to flutter.
The faint moonlight illuminated him. His eyes were so wide that they looked ready to pop out, and his mouth curved into a cheerful crescent. He resembled someone intoxicated by drugs and desperately pursuing the greatest possible pleasure.
"The moment Cell's death is confirmed, begin the tribute performance dedicated to that child!"
Whoosh!
At Marbas's command, his kin immediately scattered.
Meanwhile, at the very same time Marbas was issuing his orders,
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Immediately after Kafka's death, Michael and Mikhail had begun fighting at close range.
Mikhail altered his genes in an attempt to beat Michael into a bloody mess in an instant. His arms became harder than steel and as massive as boulders. He swung them down like hammers, seemingly capable of crushing anything in their path.
However, Mikhail's attacks couldn't reach Michael.
The fists that slammed into empty space left deep dents in the hard asphalt, proving how powerful they were. But Michael easily dodged them, darting around with quick movements like a rat.
Every time Michael moved, the surrounding area suffered more damage. The asphalt was filled with holes, the bumpers of nearby cars were crushed, and pieces of cement crumbled from the walls. Mikhail's destructive power was undeniable, but that was all he had.
"Is this all you gained in exchange for abandoning your original strength...?"
Michael felt deeply troubled as he looked at his former companion, who had become a demon.
Fwoooosh!
Trying to shake off his troubled feelings, Michael reignited the white flames that had gone out. The flames burning fiercely along Durandal's blade resembled baby birds waiting to be fed.
Holding Durandal properly, Michael guided the sword toward Mikhail's fist as it came charging at him like a bull, moving as smoothly as flowing water.
CLANG!
Durandal, wrapped in White Flame, collided with Mikhail's fist. The fist was as thick and sturdy as though an iron ball had been embedded inside it. Sparks flew from the point of contact, just as they would when two pieces of metal scraped against each other.
GRRRRIND!
Michael concentrated the aura he had gathered and increased Durandal's hardness. The sword, now sharpened to an extraordinary degree, gradually dug into Mikhail's steel-like fist as though it intended to carve it apart.
HISSSSS!
That wasn't all. The demonic energy Mikhail had used to alter his genes attracted the White Flame. Having discovered its prey, the flames traveled along the blade and seeped into the flesh Durandal had cut.
"G... ghk."
Mikhail let out a faint groan as the wound was burned by the white fire. If he allowed the White Flame to continue invading his body, he would be reduced to ashes in no time.
Mikhail stabbed his fingers into his mangled arm.
Gurgle, gurgle.
Something could be heard flowing into it. When he withdrew his fingers, thick veins repeatedly rose and sank beneath the skin of his arm. His muscle tissue contracted and relaxed over and over, almost like a pump.
Whooooosh.
It took less than five seconds for the White Flame that had entered the wound to be forced back out. Feeling much more comfortable, Mikhail prepared to stab his fingers into his arm once again.
Splatter!
Suddenly, a large lump of rotten flesh slid from Mikhail's chin and fell to the ground. His body was screaming that it could no longer withstand the excessive amount of power he was using.
"Is that skin condition a side effect?"
Having noticed the problem, Michael added a comment.
"..."
Mikhail didn't answer because Michael was right. It was indeed a side effect. As his name suggested, Cell possessed the power to manipulate cells. His main abilities involved mutating and combining them.
Side effects were unavoidable when incompatible things were forcibly fused and transformed. Marbas might have been able to handle such a process, but Mikhail's body was originally human and had merely undergone demonization. All he could do was extend his life by continuously injecting new genes into himself. Furthermore, the effort required to force the White Flame out of his body had exhausted him, causing his cells to break down even more rapidly.
Rustle.
Realizing he couldn't continue like this, Mikhail took a piece of Kafka's shell, which he had collected earlier, from inside his clothes. He stabbed his middle finger into the shell, causing it to flash with a reddish light reminiscent of an Exploding Bug.
BOOOOM!
An explosion erupted at the point where the two had collided, scattering fragments of asphalt in every direction. Thick smoke obstructed both of their vision.
Whoosh!
Michael pushed off the ground and leaped out of the smoke, tilting the wrist holding Durandal's hilt backward. With the blade drawn back, he prepared himself for Mikhail's next attack.
However, Mikhail didn't attack. Instead, he calmly observed the situation.
He's strong. Far stronger. Than the other. Kin.
