NNN
Epicurus maintained composure, but his instincts raged like a wild animal.
It was as he feared. Its going to be a 2 versus one.
Epicurus looked at Mr. N and saw Solomon behind him, then looked up at the medics stuck on the wall. Smiling, he broke eye contact like a guilty child, wiping his face.
"It's nice to see you again."
Mr. N tilted his head and put his hands in his pockets, staring him down without saying a single word.
"What," Mr. N finally asked, voice low and almost curious, "do you think is the most efficient method of human-meat consumption?"
The question hung in the air.
His pupils reflected the light of words in front of him.
Words that appeared in front of him?
Epicurus blinked. The moment he opened his eyes, he was in a completely different dimension.
G fucking G, kid.
He smelled burning flesh as his stomach twisted. He looked up and saw himself being sacrificed, a giant stone tablet crushing his chest in the middle of a grassy plane.
Epicurus turned around to avoid looking. As he turned, he saw his dead brother.
He closed his eyes as his heart jumped out of his chest.
His emotions flared. He cracked a wide, nervous smile.
He's never felt this disrespected in his entire life.
But this was what Mr. N wanted.
It was highly likely Solomon could inject Osprey, revive him.
And that would make it a 3 versus 1. A fight not worth fighting.
Epicurus bit his lip as he inhaled a special gas from the handle of his sword.
The burn hit instantly, scouring through his veins. The visions snapped apart, his mind clearing in a violent rush, leaving him cold, razor-sharp, and hyperfocused.
Mr. N looked disappointed, grabbing for his weapon as a sweat droplet trickled down his face."He came prepared?"
Epicurus turned his back, walking away. Swearing to himself as his eyes burned crimson.
He walked away, trying to keep his composure. He raised his hand as if saying goodbye.
Mr. N smiled as a drip of sweat ran down his face."Solomon, we just escaped the jaws of an absolute beast."
Solomon calmed his breathing, looking at the corpses of Roy and Petera, alongside the pathetic state Vera and Kage were left in. Still unable to move, they were nervously shaking on the floor as if their nervous systems had been wrecked.
Solomon commented, "That's the Elite Guard Rank 6 for the President? I am a goldfish in comparis—"
Mr. N cut him off."Don't compare yourself. It's only natural the President's Elite Guard are more powerful than ours. More resources, more time, more experience. But leave that to me."
Mr. N rolled his eyes, looking at Osprey's body. He removed an earring forcibly out of his own ear, then forcibly clipped it onto Osprey's earlobe.
"For now, let's save what we can."
As Mr. N glanced over at Vera and Kage,"Get up and help us."
They nodded.
Solomon quickly and effectively cut Osprey out of the concrete as he wheeled him onto the stretcher himself.
Ten broken ribs, three shattered clean through.
Spine, fracture-dislocation through T6–T7 with a complete cord transection. No motor, no sensory below the mid-chest. He's functionally paralyzed from the chest down.
The spike went clean through the abdomen, traversed the diaphragm, grazed the pericardium, and stopped in the pelvic brim, missing the heart by millimeters.
Left humerus crushed, comminuted fracture. Left, right, intravenous, membranous ventricle, he kept going, voice steady, unflinching. He spoke as if reading from a manual.
For minutes, he went on, enumerating what was left of a body that shouldn't still be breathing. Each word colder than the last.
As Solomon continued for another two minutes explaining all of Osprey's injuries,
Mr. N sighed. "Is this the fucking morgue?"
Solomon sighed himself."Third-degree burns over nearly half his back where the blast hit, deep tissue damage underneath. Multiple soft-tissue, degloving injuries where concrete took the skin off. Estimated blood loss, catastrophic."
Solomon shrugged."By any textbook, he should be a corpse. But it's an Osprey, so he's still alive. We're going to need a lot of skin grafts though."
Mr. N mumbled, "This is God's stick."
"Indeed," Solomon whispered.
Mr. N couldn't believe it. In some twisted, sick way, it felt like Mori had taken revenge on him. After all the years he had cared for him in that wheelchair, Mori had decided to kill his right-hand man for it.
Solomon looked at the battlefield, then looked up at the black birds circling. This made sense now. No wonder the buildings were all destroyed. Everything in this area was displaced. Only a battle between two Upper Elite Guards could cause this.
Mr. N whispered, speaking to himself,"It's not your fault… everything is just falling apart… it's whatever."
Solomon pushed the stretcher, walking and thinking about his next course of action. His lieutenants were obedient, they did not speak. His two nurses were awestruck, being in the presence of Mr. N.
Maeve helped her friend and helped Vera clean up from what happened earlier.She was silent, stoic, and effective.
It was out of character. Maeve, the short brunette, was usually talkative, but he didn't question it. His other lieutenant, his fighter Karla, was naturally silent. Her black hair was tied in a bun. She walked with discipline, not getting in anyone's way, simply pushing the stretcher with Kage passed out, while Maeve pushed hers with Vera, who was still trembling.
Their eyes were dark. It was rather odd, but he tried not to think about it.
The more he tried not to think about it, however, the worse it got.
"Have you ever been to Jerusalem, Solomon?"
Mr. N asked a question.
Solomon, however, didn't hear it.
"Doesn't Maeve have green eyes? Why are her pupils black?"
Then Solomon started to sweat.
His heart sank deep into his gut.
The wheels of the stretcher squealed on the pavement, every sound too loud, too sharp.
To his left, Mr. N walked beside him, calm as ever.
But then
down the street, maybe fifty meters ahead
Solomon froze.
There he was.
Mr. N.
Same stride.
Same coat.
Same face.
Same gait.