‘The Hydra’s Sting’

Devon and Mr. Grant went toppling through the blasted open doorway into the inner cabin of the first-class lounge. 

As he watched the two stagger out of sight, Henry just reacted. The longer he stayed in the lounge, the more likely his muscles would truly seize and he would be paralyzed, so with a loose grip on his gun, he leaped over a few rows of chairs burned with acid and jumped into the inner Cabin right after Devon and Mr. Grant. 

Henry still remembered his Sub-Quest and knew he had a better chance of a successful kill when he could actually see his target. 

As Henry leaped past him, the Warlock finally gained control of his limbs again. He didn't care about Henry or even any of the slightly paralyzed gang members in the lounge. His eyes sought out the source of the 'push' that locked his muscles in place. 

At the other end of the First Class lounge, Angus Dionisio stood proudly. He had successfully heaved the door off his body and looked like he was struggling against the paralytic effect of the gas in the lounge but he was smug.

"A Vyker!" The Warlock said almost in surprised annoyance. 

He felt slightly incompetent because how could he have missed such obvious mutated magical energy even if it had been buried under a detached door?

'Vyker' are people (usually humans) who have been subjected to an Occult ritual to mutate them and grant them enhanced physical and sometimes magical abilities. The strength and potential of a Vyker depends on the materials used in his or her Awakening. 'Awakening' being the term used to describe the process of a Vyker's 'creation'.

Of course, for such power and potential, there is a drawback or a boon depending on the Vyker's outlook; Once created, a Vyker is tied to their creator. The only use they can make of their abilities is to serve their master's or mistress' wishes.

"Well, Vyker…" 

"The name's Angus. Angus Dionisio," Angus interrupted to say. 

"I don't care. Just tell me, what Witch do you serve? Or is it a Wizard that has sent you after my Master's possession?" The Warlock asked clutching the chest under his arm even tighter. 

"I want that chest for myself but I see no reason why that should be of any concern of yours," Angus said calmly as he raised his gun, "You should die now."

He fired but the Warlock had recast his Shield spell and stopped the bullets before retaliating with a crackling flash of magical tendrils. 

Angus reacted with impressive speed and an almost heightened sense of perception as he rolled away before the tendrils were even fired and took cover behind some chairs. 

*Bang!* 

The Warlock remained in place and blasted a chair into Angus but the Gang leader leaped to safety behind another cover before then rising to fire a few more shots. All of which again failed to break past the Warlock's shield. 

"It's insanity to do the same thing over and over hoping for a different result, Vyker," the Warlock said, "What do you hope to achieve with your harmless shots?"

"Put down your shield and find out," Angus said. 

The Warlock felt the wave of mental force slam into him and attempt to force his nerves to obey, and he laughed,

"You caught me by surprise once. Now that I am aware of your ability, it will have no effect on me."

As he spoke, the Warlock's hand crackled with Magical energy that was rising to a powerful crescendo that put all his other attacks so far to shame but as he readied himself to fire, his muscles began to seize. With every ticking second, his nerves seemed to be getting disconnected from his brain. The magical crackling around his hand began to fizzle and for the second time that day, his shield began to falter. 

"What- What is this?" He asked, "Your ability- It can't— It shouldn't work on me. Not while I am aware… Not while my mental defenses are up."

"That is most likely true," Angus said as he stepped out of his cover, "But I assume your shield was doing more than keeping out bullets. It was also keeping out the awful, odorless, paralytic gas your comrade set off. 

You were so focused on me, that you ignored everything else. The next time you put up your shield, you basically trapped yourself with it."

The Warlock's arm slumped to his side as the paralysis set in. Veins budged in his neck as he tried to amass some sort of magical surge to force his limbs to obey him. 

"It's like I said," Angus said while successfully staving off his own Paralysis, "You should die now."

Angus fired his gun. 

Being so close to his paralyzed target, he did not miss and his bullet pierced through the Warlock's unprotected forehead, splattering brain matter against the wall behind. 

The Chest the Warlock held under his arm fell to the ground first before his body followed soon after with a louder *Thud*. 

•••

"Arrgh!" Mr. Grant groaned as he was knocked to the floor of the inner cabin. 

The impact Devon made with his body had indeed cracked his ribs but he ignored the pain, tightened his grip on his sword, and swung in a wide arch. 

Devon's eyes widened and he leaped away but even as he moved to avoid the potentially deadly cut, the Half-Orc cocked his shotgun and pointed it. 

Mr. Grant closed the distance between them and swung his sword, changing the direction of the shotgun's muzzle right before the shot was fired with a bang causing heavy pellets to dent the inner cabin wall. 

Mr. Grant moved the blade of his sword across Devon's shotgun and cut a deep gash across the Half-Orc's arm, drawing blood. 

Even as Devon howled in pain and the manic glow in his red eyes began to dim, Mr. Grant did not look happy. The strength he had put behind his sword slash should have cut completely through his victim's arm and not leave a 'simple' two-inch deep gash.

'God damned thick skin!' Mr. Grant thought but continued on the offensive. 

He took advantage of Devon's moment of pain and smacked his shotgun out of his grip before moving in to make an even deeper cut at his target's neck. 

Devon's eyes widened. His muscles bulged again and he raised his forearm but even he knew that would not help him against a steel sword. 

However, right before Mr. Grant made contact, his trained instincts alerted him and he picked up the very slightest hint of the sound of a gun being cocked. 

His eyes widened and he leaped away from Devon right before a revolver bullet pierced through the spot his head had been only a second ago. As he slid to safety, Mr. Grant's still widened eyes looked over to see Henry, annoyed by his missed shot, point his gun again and prepare to fire. 

With the slightest bit of thought, Mr. Grant hooked his leg into a metal stool by his side and heaved it at Henry. 

Henry's eyes widened as the stool sailed over. It moved at a speed he had no time to react to and he was far too slow to even outrun it even if he had managed to react. 

*Bam!*

The stool struck Henry in the chest cracking his sternum and knocked him back with a force that hit his already fractured skull against the wall for the second time that day. 

[You have lost 3 Hit points]

[Hit Points: 13/20]

Still, as his head stung and his chest ached, Henry blinked and remained conscious which was fortunate because a second later, he saw Mr. Grant dashing over to swing his sword in a vertical arch. 

Henry leaped to the side but not nearly fast enough to completely avoid getting slashed. 

[You have lost 5 Hit Points]

[Hit Points: 8/20]

"Ngh," Gritting his teeth, Henry fought against the sting of the cut and instead raised his gun to fire another shot.

Calmly, Mr. Grant smacked Henry's gun hand to the side sending the weapon out of his grip, and then swung his sword at his neck. 

Henry managed to react quickly enough to grab Mr. Grant's wrist but even as he pushed with all his strength, Mr. Grant still had the upper hand and the sword's steel blade inched ever closer to his neck. 

Henry considered a low blow but his stance was so shaky that, if he moved his leg in that moment, he would lose his balance and the little resistance he had managed to summon would be instantly lost. 

[You have 6 Unallocated Stat Points]

Henry frowned as the message rang in his head. 

'What does that matter?' He asked. 

[Stat Points are useful to increase your Physical abilities through allocation. 

Would you like to allocate manually or would you like the System to allocate them for you based on current need?]

"Do whatever you want!" Henry yelled out causing Mr. Grant to frown at him, confused about who he was talking to. 

[Stat Points allocated based on need]

[+6 to Strength]

[Strength 5 ——> 11]

Henry felt a surge of strength. He could feel his muscles become denser and suddenly, he wasn't getting pushed back anymore! 

Mr. Grant already looked confused about who Henry was talking to but his confusion only got worse when he felt his push getting repelled by strength he didn't think his opponent had. 

With a grunt of effort, Henry used every bit of his increased strength to push Mr. Grant's sword aside before adjusting his stance so he could raise his leg and kick him in the stomach. He followed that up with a blow that stunned the uniformed man. 

As Mr. Grant blinked and began to regain his bearings…

"Rarrrr!"

… a loud yell cut across the inner cabin as Devon charged over and slammed into the man. He continued pushing until he slammed Mr. Grant into the wall and then he slammed into him again and again with multiple grunts, always disrupting his opponent from mustering any sort of offense. 

Why Devon didn't just pick up his Shotgun and end it all with one shot, Henry had no idea but he noticed that, as he was getting slammed away by an angry charging Half-Orc, Mr. Grant's hold on his strange gun finally loosened and it fell to the ground a few inches away. 

Henry picked it up immediately and a chill crawled all over his arm carrying with it a tingle. A connection. 

A strange energy surged within him, filling the gun and lighting up its acidic green glow. 

[You have acquired a Magical Weapon. 'The Hydra's Sting' responds to you…]

The message was longer and far more detailed but Henry could hardly be bothered to read it all. Not at the moment at least. 

He just pointed the gun's muzzle at Mr. Grant and readied to pull the trigger.