Mardock Scramble

“She knows nothing about weapons, Oeufcoque. You shouldn’t allow yourself to be used by such a person,” Boiled said.

Oeufcoque pulled himself up in Balot’s palm. “So, after sending your hit men you’re going to interfere directly, are you? You’re no different from these assassins yourself, Boiled. Forever absorbed in your own private vendetta.”

“Come back to me, Oeufcoque. You deserve to be utilized more effectively,” said Boiled.

Balot glared at Boiled.

Boiled wasn’t even looking at Balot.

“Effectively, you say! Have you forgotten what you did with me?” Oeufcoque was shouting now. A voice steeped in anger, one that Balot had never heard before.

“It’s all the same, Oeufcoque. That little girl’s hand, my hand—we’re all looking for exactly the same thing.” Boiled’s eyes were so dark he could have been asleep.

Oeufcoque shouted, “No! This girl’s different!”

Hearing his words Balot suddenly felt extremely sad.

Oeufcoque whispered to her. “You have to run away, Balot. In this sort of situation, discretion is the better part of valor…”

Balot stared straight ahead at Boiled.

–No. I’m going to stay and fight. I don’t want to run away.

“It’s no use, this guy is…”

–This person is a threat to me. I need to fight him.

Boiled slipped his hand inside his jacket.

“Boiled, wait…”

Balot reflexively wrapped Oeufcoque around her fingers and snarced him.

“Balot!”

–Please. Try and understand my feelings.

The man standing in front of Balot’s eyes had once terrified her so completely that she had lost all hope of living.

Now, standing in front of this man—and despite Oeufcoque’s words—she simply couldn’t run away.

She knew that if she fled now, she’d never be able to stand up for herself again.

But that didn’t necessarily mean that she had made the right decision.

Pinned down by the sheer force of Balot’s will, Oeufcoque turned. At the same time Boiled pulled out his gun. A six-round revolver—and a palm-sized artillery gun.

It fired, savagely.

Balot fired into the round’s trajectory.

There was a vibrant display in midair, and Balot’s bullet disintegrated as it hit her opponent’s, but her bullet did succeed in deflecting the shell’s path.

An instant later the bullet slammed into the wall behind her, echoing oppressively through the parking lot. The bullet seemed powerful enough to cut straight through the wall.

Boiled fired again.

Balot saw the angle of the muzzle the second before the shot went off and jumped sideways to dodge the bullet.

A crevice opened in the wall behind her, and the air swirled around from the scorching trail of heat that the bullet left in its wake.

Balot fired back at him, frantically, as she ran.

Boiled didn’t budge but fired again, unconcerned.

He was different from any opponent she’d faced before. Every single shot of his was careful, potentially instantly fatal. The pressure was tsunami.

One false move and every molecule of her could be wiped off the face of this earth.

In order to try and escape the unbearable oppression bearing down on her, Balot ran in the direction that made it hardest for her opponent to follow, and she fired back at him as she ran, desperately trying to distract him, but there was no change in Boiled’s rhythm as he continued firing, apparently unconcerned by anything.

Something was wrong.

Carefully watching her opponent, Balot slipped behind a pillar. Another bullet came at her, slamming into the pillar with such impact that she had to suppress the reflex to jump and run screaming.

And that was when Boiled’s gun ran out of bullets.

Balot leapt out from behind the pillar and fired as many shots as she could at him.

But Oeufcoque could no longer contain the shock from the recoil inside himself, and both Balot’s hands throbbed in pain.

Boiled was coolly reloading his revolver, and he showed no inclination to move even as her volley flew at him.

Rather, it was her bullets that moved.

Their trajectories strayed, and they hit the rubble behind Boiled in a trail of sparks.

Overcome with surprise, Balot stopped firing.

Boiled looked at Balot’s face. “So, no one told you anything about me?” He spoke, flicking his gun sideways. With a vigorous click the chamber slotted back into place in his revolver. “I’m a product of the forbidden arts, just like you—another monster.” Boiled’s expression was now twisted in a curious sneer. Like a smile that peered out at the world from the bottom of the abyss.

Cold sweat drenched Balot’s body. Her knees trembled, and her gun shook.

Boiled’s arm came up. The giant gun barrel was, once again, trained casually on Balot.

Her stomach lurched.

Before she even had time to think Balot found herself flying for cover behind another pillar.

The pillar was hit by a blow that shook it to the core.

Balot engaged her abilities. Her last chance, her last resort.

A car engine revved up in the corner of the parking lot.

Snarced by Balot, the car sped toward Boiled, tires screeching.

Even then, Boiled made no move.

For the first time ever, the fear of battle weighed heavily on Balot’s shoulders. Still entrenched behind the pillar, gasping for air, she plunged the car toward Boiled with all her might.

Without warning Boiled disappeared abruptly from Balot’s spatial perception.

The car sped over the rubble, flew through the air, and smashed into the side of the container.

Reflexively Balot emerged from behind the pillar to survey the results.

She felt Boiled’s presence with every nerve ending in her body. She understood immediately what had happened. She just couldn’t believe it.

Boiled was on the ceiling.

Balot looked up in astonishment, and Boiled was standing there, looking down at her.

Even the hem of his coat was upside down, fluttering gently in the breeze.

Silently Boiled started walking across the ceiling. Avoiding the pipes and electric cables. And pointing his gun at Balot.

“Run away…” Oeufcoque’s distressed voice.

Snapping out of it, Balot twisted her body out of the way.

Or so she thought, but all of a sudden she felt an impact from behind. She was instantly winded.

Balot pitched forward, tumbling, and felt a bullet slam into her breastbone. The impact wasn’t fully absorbed by her outfit, and she could feel and hear her bones creak under the pressure as her internal organs were compacted.

Balot’s body was flung into the air and only stopped when she collided with the wall a few meters away. A bucketful of saliva spilled from her lips, coating her thighs.

She had just barely managed to avoid dropping her gun.