Chapter 180: The Struggle of Evil
Cursed Prison: Extra Custom. A rare form seen only at the end of a long battle, where the entire body is armed with firearms and the jet engine is charged to achieve an output even greater than the high-mobility type—which itself harnesses the power of five motorcycles—resulting in a very crude but massive surge of power.
No Face: "Well, with no agility to speak of, I guess this was inevitable."
This Extra Custom, however, had been beaten to a pulp by the shooting star, who showed not even a hint of fatigue, and now cut a truly pitiful figure. To be fair, I did land a tackle using my own body as a high-mass projectile via the jet boost, and I also hit Metius with a rocket launcher I... liberated free of charge from a soldier NPC, but... Toward the end there, didn’t Metius parry a rocket warhead?
No Face: "So... the HP ratio is about two to five..."
Looking at the numbers alone, it's almost the same ratio as Round 3. Unfortunately, my damage output hasn't increased. The chance of a comeback is agonizingly slim.
No Face: "I tried hiding for now... but it's only a matter of time before she finds me..."
My gauge is already full. Metius’s gauge is full too. We were both watching for the right moment to unleash our supers, but my HP was steadily chipped away in the process.
No Face: "Should I just go for the Cube...? Nah, what's the point of chickening out now?"
Sylvia: "Good. I don't dislike that kind of fighting spirit."
No Face: "That's the Vorpal Soul for ya... wait."
I'd snuck into one of the office buildings and was catching my breath in the tenth-floor cafe space, using a table as a chair, when a paper cup of freshly brewed coffee was handed to me from the side.
Sylvia: "Yo."
No Face: "Right on—ORYAAA!"
Sylvia: "You splashed the coffee on me without a second's hesitation!?"
No Face: "You dodged it just fine!"
Holy shit, that scared the crap outta me! What is this, a horror movie!? How the hell did she pinpoint my location!? Creepy! SO creepy!!
Anyway, on a different note, there are two types of people in this world: those who freeze up when a zombie suddenly appears and attacks, and those who move on reflex.
For the record, I'm the type who unloads a shotgun blast and follows up with a kick without a second thought. When you've been a manslayer in Bakumatsu, a knight in the post-apocalypse, and a gunman on a deserted island, countering ambushes becomes almost automatic.
Sylvia: "Now, let me give you your last rites!"
No Face: "Sorry, but I've got a reputation for not knowing when to quit!"
That is, excluding efficiency through death-warping and event skipping. The real grinding starts when you actively start getting yourself killed. A first-class worker can even guide a fired bullet straight to their own forehead. I haven't reached those heights yet, though. At best, I can roughly predict the trajectory from the muzzle flash and deliberately take a hit to a vital spot.
The spilled coffee—the pitch-black liquid freed from the L-size paper cup that gave it shape—dances in the air...
No Face: "Reactive Prison Break!!"
It's not some new super move. It just has a hitbox even if it deals no damage. And for that reason alone, the scattering scrap metal is worth as much as a rocket launcher. The Extra Custom armor bursts apart like reactive armor. At Metius, who chose a backstep to avoid the scalding coffee, the shattered fighter jet plating tears through the black curtain in a surprise attack.
Sylvia: "Whoa there! You've got some nasty habits... eek!?"
No Face: "My habits are violent! I just end up doing this kinda stuff on reflex!"
I thrust my hand into the curtain of coffee and grab Metius’s face on the other side. I've crossed rivers of magma and poison swamps, ready to take the damage. Compared to that, sticking my hand into hot coffee is lukewarm! Besides, it's a game, so it's not actually scorching hot. Don't be fooled by the realistic graphics. In this world, you can spin a Russian roulette gun with all six chambers loaded six times and not die.
No Face: "Let me give a little lecture to Ms. Champion, who's about to main this game from now on."
Sylvia: "J-Japanese submission hold!?"
It's more pro wrestling, but whatever.
No Face: "I don't know whether this is a feature or a bug... but right now, in this moment, I'm going to exploit the hell out of it!"
My left arm locks around the hero's neck. My right arm hooks Metius’s thigh. Holding on with the grip of death, I put my entire soul into a kick that launches us through the window.
No Face: "This game has fall damage set to zero, so you could probably skydive from the stratosphere without a parachute and be fine..."
But if that's the case, a question remains. I mean, right? If fall damage is zero, then throw damage should logically be zero too. And if direct interference from a playable character does cause damage, well, that raises other questions.
That's why I sacrificed the hips of over a dozen NPCs and Katzo’s Amdrava to test and debug this. And now, I've got a hidden ace up my sleeve. The window glass shatters, and Prison Breaker and Metius leap out at the height of the tenth floor.
No Face: "Under normal circumstances, fall damage is zero! But the car I stomped on after a no-rope bungee jump off a building exploded spectacularly! And the NPC I grabbed and took down with me took massive damage!"
The fact derived from this is: "The physics engine is running, even if the damage is zero."
No Face: "For example, like THIS! If I hit a pro wrestling move from a super high altitude...!"
Sylvia: "Wait, no, you don't mean—!"
Did having half the HP bar left make Sylvia drop her guard? It's useless trying to escape now. Prison Breaker's specs surpass Metius in every way. Prison Breaker is not so fragile that a bit of feeble flailing could kill him!!
No Face: "Pseudo-Ult!"
I step twice in the air to gain height and adjust my posture. Now, I’ll let you know what it feels like to be an eyedrop falling from the second floor. The physics engine is working. Just falling won't deal damage. But even if there's no damage, the energy generated by the fall certainly exists. Take this! A massive damage attack that costs absolutely zero gauge!!
No Face: "Impact Conversion!!"
Gravity entangles the crimson and the azure. An inescapable providence for wingless humans. A colorless arm that drags Metius down to hell. With Metius firmly clutched, my body plummets toward the ground at a terrifying speed. Two humans who jumped from a height easily exceeding several dozen meters are instantly exiled from the sky, and the earth receives these fools with cold indifference.
Collision.
The ground shatters. The asphalt, centered around the two soles that landed on a single point, cracks spread like a spider's web. A numbness, as if all sensation in the body has vanished, travels from heel to knee, knee to hip, and along the spine, sending a tremendous shock through the middle of Metius's body.
No Face: "... ..."
Sylvia: "... ..."
Landing lag binds my whole body. Recoil stun binds Metius's whole body. The one who recovers first... is Metius. Metius’s HP is at ten percent. My all-out aerial assassination technique was, ultimately, one step short of bringing down the shooting star.
No Face: "...This move... to shave fifty percent, you have to jump from at least the twelfth floor or higher, in terms of buildings."
I never expected to pull this off at the last minute, nor did I think I could ever pull it off against Sylvia Goldberg in the first place. If only I'd been hiding on the twelfth floor... If only I'd climbed just two more floors...!!
Sylvia: "Any last words?"
If I had to compare this feeling... is it like having your head set on the guillotine? Or standing at the edge of a cliff with a hand on your back? I see. Then, what I should say is...
No Face: "Hmm... ah, yeah... well, if I had to say..."
Sylvia: "... ...?"
Come on, you still haven't noticed, even when I'm being this blatant? Fine, guess I'll reveal the trick.
No Face: "Exactly five seconds ago was the 'thirty-second mark'."
Sylvia: "—!!"
The hero's eyes widen. Looking up, there, amidst the glittering rain of glass, the forms of jet-black metal fragments are raining down at ferocious speed.
No Face: "I'm not dying for free! If you don't know where we are, I'll tell you... This is...!!"
The armor dresses itself upon me. The calamity star that once ravaged the world is imprisoned once more within the cursed prison. But with its existence switched, the stiffness of the armored fiend is gone. I pour all my strength into destroying a transport truck that, at first glance, looks like nothing more than an ice cream vending vehicle. I said Impact Conversion was my hidden ace, right? Well, this is more like my secret savings. My unused starting equipment. My final desperate struggle!
No Face: "My starting position!!"
Sylvia: "—You bastard!!"
No Face: "Ah, yeah. 'Last words,' was it?"
A gatling gun. A shotgun. A modified truck engine. A leap. A somersault. A flying kick. The black armor clad in scrap pulls the trigger. The shooting star clad in light paints the sky azure. The meteor falling to earth kicks away the rain of lead rising to the heavens. Light and impact overflow from within me.
No Face: "Barbecue beats suuuushiiii!!!"
Sylvia: "Why do you keep saying that!?"
A massive explosion.