To ensure a one-hit kill, Byrne did not choose the low-power setting. He went straight to the maximum power. Fortunately, he was prepared; he only stumbled a few times and wasn't knocked down by the Blackfire's recoil.
However, Byrne's strongest strike failed to achieve the desired result. Before the dark red psychic afterglow had even dissipated, the bloody hole in the owner's forehead began to wriggle frantically. Murky green slime churned like boiling lava. Severed blood vessels and shattered bone fragments reconstructed themselves within the slime, and the exploded wound healed rapidly.
This time, however, the healing process was significantly slower. Faint dark red psychic sparks remained around the edges of the hole. Like embers left after a fire, they continued to sear his flesh.
"Ugh... Ahhh!"
The owner let out a roar of agony. His murky eyeballs were bloodshot with rage, and the fleshy limbs on his shoulders lashed out wildly. This was the most severe injury he had sustained since receiving the Grandfather's blessing. It wasn't just a physical "headshot"; the psychic energy that had invaded his body was burning not just his flesh, but his soul.
Tch, even that didn't kill him.
Byrne cursed inwardly. Taking advantage of the opponent's recovery time, he immediately turned and ran toward the door. Before entering the shop, he had already decided that if he encountered an unbeatable enemy, he would not fight to the death. Since a maximum-power shot couldn't kill the target and his two companions had yet to arrive, he wasn't stupid enough to stay and trade blows.
But when Byrne reached the entrance and pulled back the curtain, he froze. The passage leading to the storefront was blocked by a thick mass of fleshy growths. The growth was blood-red, its surface covered in tiny pustules, pulsating with a regular rhythm as if it were breathing.
No wonder Renee and the others hadn't arrived; they were blocked by this thing.
Without time to think, Byrne raised his gun and fired another full-power psychic ray. Upon contact, the ray pierced into the rot-tumor like a red-hot iron.
Sizzle!
In an instant, white steam mixed with a heavy stench of rot rose up, forcing Byrne to stagger back a few steps. Where the ray struck, the flesh of the tumor dissolved frantically, turning into puddles of dark red viscous liquid that flowed slowly down its surface.
However, Byrne's strike didn't cause the tumor to collapse in the slightest. The flowing flesh seemed to possess a self-awareness, reconsolidating as it flowed to fill the wound caused by the ray, though the repaired area was slightly lighter in color.
Dammit, this thing is tougher than the monster's skull.
Crack! Crack!
The sound of grinding bones reached his ears. Even without looking back, Byrne guessed the owner had mostly recovered.
Now, the hole in the owner's forehead was completely healed. He turned around, his blood-red eyes staring straight at Byrne, a cackling laugh escaping his throat.
"Give up, kid. Stop your futile struggling. Your attacks are nothing more than an itch to me."
The owner's voice sounded like rusting metal plates scraping together, each word carrying a heavy scent of decay. Before he finished speaking, his burly body lunged forward, his speed significantly faster than before. The two fleshy limbs on his shoulders whistled through the air, pincering toward Byrne from both sides.
The claws at the ends of the limbs glinted with a dark green light. The slime dripping from them corroded the brick floor instantly, creating small pits that emitted white smoke.
Byrne's pupils shrank. He kicked off the ground and rolled across the floor to the side. The sharp claws grazed his back and slammed heavily into the spot where he had just stood. The massive force smashed a large crater into the floor.
As Byrne rolled away, he snatched a large wrench from nearby and swung it with all his might at the owner's knee. A dull thud echoed upon impact. But the strike did no damage; instead, the wrench bounced off the owner's knee and clattered into the corner.
"Useless! Useless!"
The owner laughed maniacally, spinning his body and swinging a thick leg in a powerful sweep. Byrne didn't have time to stand up, so he curled into a ball, shielding his head with his arms.
Thump!
Byrne felt a massive force hit him. He was sent flying like a kite with a broken string, slamming heavily into a metal rack. Various tools on the rack scattered everywhere. Byrne felt a sweetness in his throat—a mouthful of blood nearly sprayed out, but he forced himself to swallow it back down.
Leaning against the pile of scattered tools, he slowly pushed himself up.
No, I can't just sit here and wait for death. I have to find a way to survive.
Think, brain, think!
While his mind raced, his eyes swept over the surroundings. After a moment, his gaze locked onto something behind the owner—a high-pressure acetylene cylinder used for welding that had rolled near the man's feet.
The owner stopped and mocked, "Kid, why aren't you running? Have you finally understood?"
Leaning against the metal rack, Byrne endured the sharp pain in his chest. He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and chuckled. "Heh... I was just wondering if a monster covered in rot like you would be afraid of fire."
The owner froze for a moment, then burst into an even more deranged laugh. "The Grandfather's blessing makes me fearless of mortal flames!"
"Is that so? Then let's find out."
Before the words faded, Byrne moved. He grabbed a grease-stained rag with his left hand and threw it at the owner's face while pulling the trigger of the Blackfire with his right. He didn't aim at the owner, but at the acetylene cylinder at the man's feet.
Facing the flying rag, the owner snorted and spat a glob of dark green liquid, dissolving the cloth instantly. Almost at the same time, Byrne's bullet struck the gas cylinder.
Orange-red flames erupted instantly, completely engulfing the nearby owner.
However, the owner was not as fearless of mortal fire as he had claimed. But the fire didn't kill him either; it burned for only a short while before dying out.
The moment the flames vanished, a strange smell mixing scorched flesh and rot hit the air. The owner's figure emerged from the rising black smoke. His dark green skin was charred and cracked, with unburnt fragments of clothing still hanging in places, revealing writhing flesh that was healing frantically underneath.
Now, the flesh on the owner's chest was turned outward, and dark bones could be seen shifting within the slime. After being burned, his crimson eyes were locked onto Byrne with absolute brutality and madness.
"You wretched brat... I'm going to eat you!"
As he spoke, the skin on the owner's chest wriggled, and over a dozen long, thin fleshy tendrils reached out, sweeping toward Byrne.