Chapter 214 Drowning Sorrows in Alcohol
"Quentin! Let's fight! Come on!"
Summer swayed with his words slurred. However, his voice was strangely eager.
His mechanical arm shot out, the grinding of metal against bone a jarring counterpoint to his drunken enthusiasm.
She looked like a demon god unleashed, having barely-contained power. His steps were unsteady, and despite his thin frame, his aura was terrifying.
A shiver ran down Quentin's spine. "Summer, easy there. Let's... let's talk about this when you're sober, eh?"
"Why wait?" Summer's eyes gleamed with a strange, almost predatory light.
He launched himself at Quentin, a blur of motion like a dragon bursting from the depths.
Bang!
Quentin barely raised his bat in time. The impact drove him down, his knees nearly buckling.
'Freak!'
He thought, his arms shaking. This wasn't the Summer he knew, the one he'd sparred with countless times. This... this was something else entirely.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Summer's blows rained down, each one a hammer blow. Quentin could barely deflect them, clumsy and desperate.
'This is insane!' he thought, his heart sinking.
To him, the biggest threat tonight wasn't some legendary assassin... it was this kid!
The fact was both terrifying and humiliating. Quentin, the seasoned veteran, outmatched by a drunk teenager.
Elbert, meanwhile, watched with detached amusement. He hadn't expected this either. Two cans of beer, and Summer transformed into... this.
His thoughts drifted to Gary, that enigmatic, playful figure. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter – all products of Gary's training, and his... modifications.
'Is this intentional? Did Gary engineer them with these hidden triggers?'
'The alcohol is like a key, unlocking some hidden potential within Summer.'
'If even he's like this, what about the others? What "keys" do they possess?'
Thinking for a while, Elbert chuckled.
'Gary, you sly dog.' He cursed inside.
"Elbert," Robert's voice cut through his thoughts, urgent. "Quentin won't last much longer."
'Right. The fight.' Elbert snapped into reality.
He turned his attention back to Invictus.
The master assassin, still oblivious to the fate of his comrades, was lost in his own little world of smoke and mirrors.
He'd attempted several more attacks, each one easily deflected. Elbert's stillness, his apparent vulnerability, was nothing but an illusion. Every move Invictus made brought him closer to a swift and brutal end.
"Scatter Garden Burial!" Invictus roared, his voice echoing.
This was his signature move, designed to sow chaos and fear. The hallucinogenic mist amplified those emotions, turning the illusions into a waking nightmare.
But Elbert didn't flinch. He saw through the charade, his gaze locking onto Invictus' true position in the mist.
He waited until the last possible moment before moving.
One hand shot out, lightning fast, intercepting Invictus' katana.
Crack!
Steel shattering echoed through the night. Invictus stared in disbelief as his prized blade crumpled in Elbert's grip.
Before he could react, Elbert tore his mask, revealing the gas mask beneath, a necessary precaution against his own toxic brew.
In one swift motion, he snatched the vaporizer from Invictus' belt, crushed it, and shoved the shattered remnants into the assassin's open mouth.
Invictus choked, staggering back, his eyes wide with terror.
The drug took effect almost instantly.
He screamed loudly, as the hallucinogens flooded his system. He tried to run, but his movements were uncoordinated, his steps faltering. He slammed into an invisible wall, collapsing to the ground in a fit of hysterical laughter.
"Mother! Sorry, I can’t keep my word!" Quentin's high-pitched voice cut through the night. "I... I can't bring her a daughter-in-law this year! I'm going to die in this godforsaken place!"
He was running in circles with Summer chasing him, his cries for his mother echoing through the trees.
Elbert couldn't help but laugh.
He appeared before Summer in a flash. "Summer, fight me."
"Elbert?" Summer blinked, his eyes unfocused.
"Hit me," He said calmly. "With everything you've got."
"Okay!" Summer punched wildly.
Quentin, finally catching his breath, collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving.
"Paul Three, watch out!" he gasped, his voice hoarse. "He's... he's different now!"
However, Elbert didn't move. He simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back, as Summer's fist connected with his chest.
Boom!
A cloud of dust erupted, obscuring them from view.
Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding. If Paul Three died here, killed by someone he saw as a brother...
"Summer, again," Elbert's voice, calm and clear, cut through the dust. "Harder."
Quentin's eyes flew open.
Paul Three stood there, unharmed, his posture unchanged.
"Okay!" Summer hiccuped, drawing back for another punch. This one was even stronger, the air around his fist crackling with energy.
Quentin felt a cold sweat break out on his skin.
'That punch... if it hits...' he worried.
Boom!
The impact was deafening.
However, Elbert didn't budge.
"2,600 kilograms of force," Robert reported, fascinated. "Physical enhancement at approximately 2500 percent. Without the mechanical arm, he'd be A7 level. Now? At least B4."
Elbert nodded slowly. Summer's strength was terrifying, amplified to monstrous levels by the alcohol. Moreover, this wasn't even his limit.
Quentin, meanwhile, was speechless.
'Paul Three is testing Summer? Letting him attack freely?'
'He is a monster! They are all monsters!'
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Summer, drunk on two cans of beer, had effortlessly overpowered him. And Paul Three? Paul Three shrugged off his attacks like they were nothing.
Despair washed over him, cold and heavy. He was outmatched and outclassed. Paul Three was a mountain he could never hope to climb.
He crawled over to the remnants of the campfire, popping open another beer.
No words were necessary. Tonight, he drank to forget.
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