The nightclub collapsed into pure disorder.
Francis disposed of the other bouncers first, along with anyone brave enough to push through him, before inching forward toward the other targets.
Every movent he made forced the crowd to panic more, cutting off escape paths and turning exits into pressure points. The more they tried to flee, the more they trapped each other.
Just as he predicted, it beca a stampede.
The music kept playing because the DJ forgot to stop it in his rush to get out, the track still looping with an upbeat, fast-paced rhythm—bright synths and heavy bass that sounded almost cheerful, completely out of place thanks to all the corpses.
’Hmm... the music in this world isn’t too bad.’
If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would have been far more afraid. What kind of person notices sothing like that in the middle of a massacre?
That’s right. The kind that was already broken inside.
His attention returned to the crowd. At this point, more people would die from being trampled than from him.
Unfortunately for them, he simply didn’t have ti to waste.
Crack!
Crack!
He struck again and again, always aiming for the back of the head for an instant kill.
However, human biology was far from uniform. Not everyone went down instantly.
So managed to stay conscious for a few seconds longer than expected, reacting in different ways.
A few broke into tears, others instinctively reached for the back of their heads as if trying to confirm what had just happened before collapsing.
From ti to ti, a body would convulse uncontrollably on the ground, making the scene even more unsettling.
Those reactions only deepened the panic in the remaining survivors, feeding their fear and breaking what little control they still had left.
"HURRY THE FUCK UP!"
"MOVE! MOVE!"
The pressure at the front grew worse, forcing those behind to push harder. Soon they were climbing over each other—so even punching, grabbing, and throwing others aside just to get away.
Even couples forgot about each other when their lives were on the line.
Another crack echoed, signaling another young life cut short.
"DON’T PUSH —PLEASE, DON’T PUSH !"
"I can’t get out—there’s too many people!"
"LET THROUGH! I’M NOT DYING HERE!"
Bodies folded across the dance floor. The strobes kept firing — red, white, blue — painting the massacre in stuttering fras.
The crowd thinned.
Then thinned again.
Within minutes the dance floor beca a horror set— overturned tables, shattered glass, abandoned heels, drinks still fizzing beside the dead bodies of the people who’d ordered them.
A handful of survivors pressed themselves into corners and gaps, making themselves small, making themselves nothing.
Francis counted the corpses quietly.
At twenty five, he stopped.
He moved efficiently through the aftermath, retrieving the livers and destroying the other organs.
’Four minutes, fifty seconds.’ he muttered to himself.
That was the ti he allotted to himself. Pushing further now would only increase the risk.
When he left the area, everyone sighed in relief. But the trauma they just experienced would stay with them much longer.
Francis moved along the sewer and checked the street level through gutters and small openings.
Above him, military trucks, ambulances, and fire engines rushed in from different directions, spreading across the area.
Things were working according to his plan, so he began the next phase. He searched for a structure with a good vantage point, one that would give him a clear overview of the current situation.
’That place should work.’
His attention turned toward a tall telephone tower mounted on top of a ten-story building.
Although there were a lot of helicopters in the area, he could easily climb it using its ventilation system.
But just as he started to move, he noticed a familiar vehicle arriving. It was the sa van with the radar mounted on top, and an idea ca to his mind.
He focused on it as it began rotating. Then the sa tingling sensation hit him again. Instead of panicking, he waited for a reaction.
"It’s there!" An agent shouted, pointing in his direction.
The agents raised their guns and threw an object in his direction. It rolled toward the gutter.
Francis dove down just in ti as a blinding flash erupted where he had been monts earlier. He slithered deeper into the gutter, but heat rushed in after him, spreading through the narrow space.
He sped up, trying to outrun it, yet the burning sensation still caught up, licking across his scales as the temperature rose.
’So they’re using flathrowers.’
Frankly, he was impressed by their actions, because it was one of the few thods that could actually pose a threat to him.
That was if his IQ was below 70
He had already accounted for it. In fact, being discovered here worked in his favor. Now the elite unit would almost certainly converge on this area.
So he headed deeper into the sewer system and paused when the tingling sensation faded. That ant he was no longer within the scanner’s range.
Other beasts would have continued running away, but for him, this was the perfect opportunity to sidetrack the enemy and head in the opposite direction.
He began estimating his position from mory. From ti to ti, he erged onto the street to double-check. After a few more turns, he reached the alley earlier.
The customized cars were gone, but a group of DF agents was scattered around the area.
’There’s around fifteen of them... but no Special Categories.’
Before attacking, he checked his energy levels. Earlier, he noticed that his skills and talents consud less energy.
Now, he also discovered that his recovery speed improved whenever he wasn’t actively using any skill or talent, and it beca more noticeable after he surpassed 500 human livers.
This revelation made his theory more convincing. Hidden stats were growing over ti. It was a welco reward, as it ant he could sustain prolonged guerrilla tactics without shutting down.
However, it didn’t an he could afford to be careless. If he t an opponent strong enough to corner him, the situation would shift against him.
From a distance away, a person wearing slightly different clothing from the rest grabbed his comms.
The radio crackled.
(All units near point two, reposition to the sewer entrance on Luke Street. Command wants a periter established before the special category team moves in.)
The voice on the other line continued feeding information.
"Roger that." The Agent lowered his earpiece and looked around at the others scattered across the alley.
Fourteen n and won in tactical gear, flashlights still cutting across the dark pavent, still half-focused on the gutters and drains like sothing was going to co crawling out.
"You heard it," he said, loud enough to carry. "Pack it up. We’re moving."
"Moving?" A guy with mustache pulled his flashlight away from a storm drain. "We just got here, Captain."
"And now Command wants us sowhere else, Rodriguez. We’ve got reports they’ve already triangulated the beast’s location, and it’s quite far from here. This area’s been cleared—possible exit points have already been secured."
"Can I stay here?" Rodriguez stood up. "I just want to go ho and spend ti with my daughters. I’m retiring soon, so I don’t want to risk anything now."
User Comments
0 comments from readers