Case 8 Section 7: Cause words will always hurt me

Sadly, he didn't have any massive martial arts know-how to supplement this technique. Instead, he only had quick feet, agile reflexes, a calculating mind, and a robust body.

'I gotta find a teacher in the future. Can't believe past me never even bothered…what a damn disgrace.' Despite all the words used to aggrandize his features, Vere himself seemed to tend to humbleness. As was the case with anyone with good qualities—the more he had, the more his flaws were glaringly obvious.

It's like buying a cake from a fancy bakery. The way he saw it, he wouldn't levy the same heavy criticisms at a smaller, less well-off bakery. The food fit the mantle, whether it was apropos of the actual quality of the food itself. A run-down bakery with decent food was much better than an elegant bakery with decent food—the quality was the same, but that sleek bakery had a lot more money and materials than the other. Of course, the fancy bakery would look worse!

Of course, there were extenuating circumstances. It wasn't a surefire rule, not ironclad in the slightest. He could only judge with his current understanding and try his best to improve his conjectures with any new information he gained in the future.

It was the only way he could atone for the human crime of condescension—indirect or otherwise. It was best to meet people as they came, no second doubt about it.

Vere accepted the trade-off blow, offering his revolver's durability to smash a right hook into Logan's face. A foot moved in tandem with his forward lean, stamping down on Logan's foot as black thought energy funneled down to his leg—following his focus.

Crack! The bones gave way under the intense pressure of the detective's faintly muddy boots. The revolver dropped as a barrage of pummeling blows rocked his sternum and ended with a gloved fist embedded in his navel.

Logan felt his organs crush as shock plowed through his nerve system. Blood rushed upwards, downwards…sidewards…every possible direction under the B-Side sun.

His eyes widened as blood splattered out of his mouth and onto his beard. Vere added to the unfolding scene with a pistol whip, the side of the barrel poking into his cheek and pressing into his eye.

"Ouch! Hey, that looks like it hurts! Maybe you should put that heavy weapon down, yeah? Take a little rest…." Vere taunted, conspiratory thought power aiding his charisma that sought to drive the man even further insane.

Logan was fuming! If he could move his arm just to slam his red blade into this asshole's ribs, he would only be partially satisfied!

Unfortunately, as his muscles twitched and struggled to bring that sword into play, he felt as if static was discharging along his left uppermost limb. His hand shook and clenched onto the handle, unable to control the arm as it flailed about ungainly!

All Vere had to do was take a step back, and he wouldn't be battered by that weapon at all. Which, with a toss of the revolver over his shoulder, he did.

The backs of his feet—his booted heels—were aflutter as they ably juggled the firearm as he advanced. How he did such an act was…so bizarre…it looked impossible.

Years upon years of past experience made it possible. Unknown to Vere, he had held a gun ever since he was a child whose arm wouldn't break immediately upon firing it.

That didn't mean that his arm never broke from recoil. Honestly, the demons watching him question quite often how he never died. He was self-taught, after all. The only guidance he had in his past was a pile of bodies…

Vere sidled up to the man with precise agility as he bent Logan's sword arm, forcing his movements to stop. A kick sent the revolver back to his face as he grasped it with his left hand, burrowing into Logan's face once again as his right arm forced its captive to point his arm in the westward direction.

A knee slammed into his crotch, seriously fucking up both Logan's physical and mental health. The knee rammed again, seeking to crush the man into a bloody pile of floor meat.

'Go Vere go! Crush his balls! Rip his foreskin! I'll roast his penis and feed it to…uh…a grill! Yeah!' Othello sent another mental message as she cheered on the sides. She mimicked the man's flailing derisively with slapstick timing, perfectly echoing the movements as Vere broke his arm, knocked away his sword, and flipped over the Suspect.

Hand shuffling the firearm and fixed on the back of the jarred Logan's head, he pushed him to the ground. A wet, pulpy sounding of flesh smacking against textile similar to concrete sounded as he bashed his head into the mall's flooring repeatedly.

The conspiracy board materialized out of Conspiracy thought power, the [Linked] details emitting a half mustard, half sanguine glow.

[Press!] Vere began speaking as he ruthlessly bashed Logan's head in!

"So…you! With a group of people, you helped them conceal the body. You probably aided in the murder, helping obscure the details with your keen eye. I doubt you'd be alone, so my suspects are probably the other police officers around this mall."

Slam. Wham. Squish…Vere calmly recounted his thoughts as he spoke. He didn't hesitate, and his voice didn't even fluctuate.

>Detail: (Killed by blunt force trauma after resisting a group attack) Lv 2 is used. The Suspect is startled by your accuracy and can't keep composure…your strikes will hurt a lot more. Bravo!

"So let's reveal the Details of your friends, shall we? One of your pals is meek—a coward turned murderer. He restrained the victim with the red straw, and after seeing your little friend over there…I'm convinced it was a Cognitive Ability.

Now your other pal, well, that's a veritable superhero of a man! Lean, compact muscles, ah? I'm sure he's got that kind of body that makes both men and women swoon. And with all the power of his body, he slammed this brick," Vere withdrew the evidence in his pocket as blue mist composed of Mystic thought power covered it in a hazy sheen.

>Press x2 combo. Irrefutable evidence has been displayed!

"And either directly killed or left that man to bleed out. Now, police officer…go apologize to that man, okay? Return to The Great Tapestry." The man's struggles faded as light black thought energy coiled around his clenched, clawed hand.

One final smash was the end of Logan. With a sickening thumb, his face flesh folded while reddened liquid pooled underneath his body. He weakly pressed his hands across the ground—somehow moving while his brain matter spilled down onto his clothing.

He stumbled, misstepped.

As he staggered, he fell on his back, unable to move any further. He was dead.

>Suspect neutralized. The Case continues.

'Thanks for the reminder, my SAD friend. Try to cheer up every now and then, okay?' He laughed at his terrible joke and wiped his hands on his trench coat. Red splotches obscured his features in spread patterns while he wiped away some of the smeared blood on his face.

With his hands in his pockets, he loomed over the comparatively short Othello.

"You enjoying the show, fangirl?"

"Mm, yeah, I am! It was worth risking my soul's stability on this, no doubt about it!" She beamed and positively bloomed underneath Vere's gaze.

He thought it was cute. Just a little cute.

"Then come on," he said, beckoning as his hand slid out of his pockets and waved her over. "We…have a date with some piggies."

"Our poor wolf~! I'm sure he wouldn't mind eating his killers…too bad he didn't leave a ghost!" As she jested, she brought her hand to her nose and pantomimed, squeezing it. Then, as she caught herself, moments before her fingers could come in contact with her nasal structure, she panicked and looked up at Vere.

His back was facing her, turned and striding forwards.

'Whew, he didn't see that.' She thought.

'I totally saw that.' He thought.