Chapter 174: The Invader of Raging Fire: Full Throttle

Honestly speaking, Sylvia Goldberg was bored. And she was disappointed, too. Delay tactics followed by more delay tactics. She'd noticed it from No Name's bizarre movements, and from the fact that Uomi Kei still hadn't appeared even by the time Sylvia herself dove in.

(There must have been some kind of accident, but still...)

Megumi Natsume—a rival whose game skills weren't even worth mentioning, but who was terrifyingly formidable in certain respects—her uncharacteristic heel play was, in hindsight, surely just a performance to buy time. It's not that Sylvia had any complaints about that. After all, part of why she'd taken this job in the first place was her desire for a rematch with Kei. The biggest factor weighing down Sylvia's heart with disappointment lay with the player she was currently facing.

Objectively speaking, Sylvia Goldberg is the strongest. This isn't a competition of on-paper specs; it's the unvarnished truth, proven by the fact that she's crushed every powerful opponent in actual combat with contemptuous ease. And while there have certainly been players who've given Sylvia a hard fight—Kei chief among them, though you could count them on both hands—none among them had ever challenged her using Cursed Prison. To Metius, Cursed Prison is not only an irreconcilable arch-nemesis but, more than anything, Metius's greatest rival. Precisely because Sylvia pilots Metius more skillfully and powerfully than anyone, she cannot permit herself to pull punches against Cursed Prison. Choosing that character is a declaration of all-out war against Sylvia, against Metius.

But tragically, in Galaxia Heroes: Chaos, Cursed Prison's performance against Metius can only be described as disadvantageous. And against a Metius controlled by Sylvia, that matchup disparity becomes nearly absolute. It is possible to shift that matchup if certain conditions are met—but at the very least, among the countless Cursed Prison users Sylvia has faced, not one has ever satisfied them.

(That Ms. Jane Doe, the nameless someone, seemed reasonably competent... so I had my hopes up...)

As for that Mr. John Doe, who she'd thought just might have something—apparently he was nothing but empty bluff. Well then, how should she dispose of him? And what kind of idea would Kei come up with to challenge her...?

Her expectations for a villain worthy of opposing her had already been relegated to the depths of her heart. As a pro gamer, her thoughts were already beginning to drift toward the next match. And that's when Sylvia noticed it. The fleeing NPCs—among them, police officers who'd been brutalized. Their helmets, different from the others, told the story of who they were and what had been taken from them.

Sylvia: "Oh my, finished changing?"

No Face: "Kept you waiting."

Police bikes—predominantly white. Judging by the front cowls incorporated into the armor-like design wrapped around him, he'd absorbed about five of them. Shoulders, legs, arms... Aside from the tires affixed all over his body, Cursed Prison now looked almost like a knight in pure white armor, advancing slowly but surely toward her. At the sight, Sylvia let out an inward sigh of admiration.

In previous Galaxia Heroes titles, the coliseum-style battlefields had often prevented characters from fully expressing their charm. Clockfire, for instance, was reduced to a character who just scattered bombs around. Cursed Prison could only absorb three types of external modules. But this game had stripped away those restrictions, offering a reality as if you'd truly stepped into the world of the comics.

Sylvia: "Well then, shall we begin?"

No Face: "Yeah. There's just one thing I want to say."

Sylvia: "?"

No Face: "What was it again... Right, right."

Cursed Prison is sealed within its armored prison, never showing even a single patch of skin. But Sylvia—Metius—could see it clearly: behind that visor, a fearless grin.

No Face: "Kick. Your. Ass."

In other words: I’m going to beat the crap out of you.

Sylvia: "Bring it!"

She kicks off the earth and charges. Running along walls, stomping on air, mixing in spins and backsteps to accelerate. And then, a kick to his wide-open back—

Sylvia: "Huh?"

He caught her leg.

I caught her leg. Half of it was a gamble, relying on instinct, but it seems this time the goddess of RNG decided to help me out.

No Face: "WELCOOOOOOME!!"

If Metius is an attack type specializing in speed, then Cursed Prison is an attack type specializing in power. Normally, he'd also possess extraordinary toughness, but because this is a fighting game, they couldn't make his HP limitless. The result is a character with "high firepower but difficult handling, and thus ultimately weak." But conversely, that means at least his power is faithfully adapted from the source material. Now a high-mobility Cursed Prison, having absorbed five police bikes, I put my foot-mounted tires into reverse rotation relative to each other—just like in the first round with my default equipment—to execute a super-pivot turn, rotating my entire body. The flying kick meant to smash me from behind: I catch its ankle from the side.

And then, maintaining the super-pivot turn at full output, the mufflers extending from my back like wings roar with a beast-like bellow, spewing smoke. Right now, the goddess of RNG and the god of physics engines are lending me their aid. What's America's number one got on that? High-mobility Cursed Prison is both the fastest and the slowest mode. After all, even with some parts omitted, the weight of five motorcycles is attached to my body—I can't even run using my legs. I can walk with heavy, plodding steps as if dumbbells were strapped to my feet, but normally, fighting in this state is impossible. However, this mode, equipped with five bikes' worth of engines, can produce astonishing speed when executing simple movements that require little precision. For example, if I concentrate all energy into spinning my leg tires...

No Face: "Become a staaaaaaaaar!!"

I can even pull off a giant swing that might rip the head off a normal person. Metius's body is hurled with tremendous force, smashing through the front door of a building and hurtling inside like a shooting star. Though, this time, rather than moving by her own will, it's due to a greater power—so in that sense, she's probably different from the usual Metius.

No Face: "Fufufu, kukukukuku..."

Good, good, very good. In baseball terms, a slugger who cranks out home runs. In soccer terms, a fantasista who racks up hat tricks with ease. In horse racing terms, a legendary thoroughbred that crosses the finish line alone, three lengths ahead. That kind of pro gamer—I, right now, just hurled her with everything I've got. Wait right there. I'm coming to check if you're still making that pathetic face.

No Face: "Fuhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!! Whoa—"

Sylvia: "Geh!?"

I charged into the building in high spirits, but the instant I did, I locked eyes with Metius bursting out of the dust cloud. To add some context here: due to my arms being all cluttered up with stuff, I'm currently "driving" in a posture with both arms spread wide. And it seems she didn't expect me to come barreling in at such an outrageous speed—she tried to dodge by slipping past my side to avoid a direct hit. And I, with no intention of letting her escape, adjusted the position of my arms—

No Face: "Failed hug! Uwahahahahahahahaha!"

Sylvia: "Fuguh!?"

The result: both of us maintaining the acceleration of our high-speed approach, me clotheslining Metius. And my tension isn't about to let that opening slip. I slip the tires, forcibly reversing my body on the spot like an ice skater. And then—perhaps because the energy of that ferocious collision exploded against her neck—Metius spins through the air as if doing a reverse somersault. I slam a shoulder tackle into her. My shoulder is currently equipped with a police bike tire. Do I even need to explain what happens when a human body touches that thing, spinning with a furious roar? If you don't get it, don't worry—I'll give you a live demonstration.

No Face: "Haahahahahaha! Rejoice! How about a romantic wall pin?!"

Bursting out of the building, me and Metius—pushed along by me—crash into the wall of the building opposite. The building wall, Metius, and the spinning tire... A rather violent sandwich, but don't hold back—eat up until your HP hits zero. Metius's HP is getting chewed away. Naturally, I don't think I can shave it all the way to zero, but as long as I can chip it, I'll chip it to the absolute limit.

Sylvia: "Get... off me!"

Metius's kick sinks into my gut, forcibly breaking the killer sandwich apart via the filling. From there, Metius uses three consecutive jumps to close the distance she herself had created, slamming an accelerated roundhouse kick into my medulla oblongata. But too soft. I'm no longer considering this a fight against a human. I'm treating it as a fight against a human-sized monster!

No Face: "Shoulder-Wheel Drive!"

Sylvia: "Ugh, that's creepy!"

How rude. I'm merely... yes, merely twisting my body into a pose like a bridge using only one side, aligning the tires on my left shoulder and left foot into a straight line to improvise a motorcycle. This form is a highly rational tactic, you see—positioning to evade the roundhouse kick and converting the wake-up into an attack. Even if it does look exactly like a pervert racing along in a Nirvana pose. By deliberately collapsing the Nirvana pose with a backbend, I replicate a drift like a motorcycle and use centrifugal force to forcibly right my body. She can't move right now after that counter roundhouse kick at me—those few seconds and frames until she lands are a huge opening. Time to meet your maker. Switching from left-side driving to a beast-like four-legged sprint, I roar my engines like a howling animal and explode forward. I crash head-on into Metius the instant she lands with a front tackle. Metius doesn't have the STR to stop this tackle, and once I've seized such a blatant advantage, even a Cursed Prison user can land a combo...!

No Face: "This is for Round 1! This is for the fire truck you used as stock! And this...! Is for the barbecueeeee!!"

A kick accelerated by the tires, gouging the ground. A punch turned into a lethal weapon by spinning my whole body like a tornado, using acceleration and centrifugal force. A tackle that corners her against the wall and drags both rubble and victim along. Cursed Prison's combos are all big, slow, and high in firepower. As if wanting to scream "Why are you talking about barbecue now!?", Metius is sent flying down the main street as the combo ends. I might've overworked the engines a bit—heat is radiating from my entire body, distorting the air like a heat haze.

No Face: "Come on, America's Number One! I'll crush you!"

As if responding to my emotions, the engines all over my body roar, and the mufflers spew flame-mixed smoke. Metius was blown over ten meters away, so I can't see what kind of face she's making as she gets up. But instinctively, I feel like she's smiling.

He should be coming soon, but... Author’s Note: A pervert who drives wildly in a Nirvana pose... there’s no way such a protagonist exists, ha ha ha.

For high-mobility Cursed Prison, imagine a Roaring Invader-san painted white, and you’ll get the idea.