Chapter 143: The Job(P2)

Under the threat of certain death or perhaps, a generous amount of pain, I am caught unawares as the mountain of a man Sator closes the gap between us like he didn't weigh a ton.

His fist looms over me and I just have enough time to put my hands up before something pushes me back and far like a rag doll.

Groaning in pain, my body having scratched the rough gravel ground I gasp and peer my eyes open to find Anselm lying on me.

More interestingly, ahead, quite a distance ahead, Sator stares at the fist he used to throw us both this far. It's covered in Ice.

"Arggh!" Anselm screams in pain. 

"Argg!"

Getting up I take a closer look at the man grunting and writhing in my lap. He's hand, his left arm seems to have been torn off.

"What the fuck!" I yell, as he starts to get off of me, "Anselm, you're supposed to be invulnerable!"

"Not…the problem right now." He says through grit teeth, looking ahead at Sator who's punching out the ice from his fists.

Still staring at the wound, I figure there's got to be some kind of invulnerability still in play. He isn't bleeding out, in fact, it's just and odd tear in his arm. A painful odd tear.

Just before I was set to have my lights punched out, he must have stepped in and tried to catch Sator's fist. That seems to have worked out terribly though.

Red, the stout mean dagger wielding female leader of the trio steps forward. "Good, seems like this shouldn't be all that hard a job."

"The Mayor must have been worried over nothing." Quen says, nocking his bow with a single arrow.

"Still, they managed to survive my Haymaker, be careful."

Cautionary words out of a brute? Well, isn't this some bullshit.

"Anselm, get ready. These guys are...something else." I mutter to my now wounded spirit companion. 

Strange things are happening these days.

"The Mayor never worries over nothing." It's Red who speaks, twirling her daggers, "The smug one from earlier still has an army of the cities guards under his control now, he's turned many of them into strange creatures so watch out."

Her partners both mutter an affirmative and I simply shake my head.

Such disrespect, being underestimated so much that they don't even bother whispering.

"Quen, cover fire, Sator and I are going to need those creatures chopped up so we can kill the two here properly."

Wow.

"Got it." Quen nods and pulls back on his string. And the moment he lets go, the other two jump to action.

Fucking hell.

Snapping my fingers, I give the only command needed for the ghouls. All twenty of them disperse in wild patterns, converging on the approaching two.

Anselm sets off, still gritting in pain but his mace held up and ready to mete out some frozen justice to the brute.

"Anselm, no!" I yell over the growling's of my minions, "Get the archer, kill him, and do it fast."

He's reluctant at first, but the boiling heat of battle doesn't leave much space for arguments.

To be sure to win any battle your attack range has got to be sufficient. And any skilled archer can pick off your men like target practice if you let his comrades distract you.

But, Quen is no ordinary archer it seems. The single arrow he fire whistles through the air, I'm unable to do anything but watch in marvel and annoyance as the wood begins to split mid-air, seemingly multiplying in endless fashion as it falls. 

No longer a single arrow, but a horde of rapid moving shrapnel, all of it set to descend on my army of zombies.

Fuck!

I realize just how skilled and dangerous these men are as I feel tens of my zombies be cut down. But at the same time, I'm puzzled as to their strength.

No magic is being performed, no mana is being molded or set out as attack, and yet. With simple tools, a dagger, a gauntlet and a bow and arrow. They've begun to humble me.

Biting the side of my cheek I order my zombies to charge, the ghouls are getting cut down. Red, her daggers seem to slice through everything it encounters like a hot knife through butter.

Her nimble acrobatics are more than a match for the sporadic movements of the Ghouls. 

I've never had to fight humans.

I suddenly realize, watching her vault over a Ghoul and slice it in two.

Perlman aside, I've never been challenged by the humans of this world. The Cultists have been my only true opponents. To think that my specialty would be killing the tough-nut Cultists and my weakness my gaping ignorance of how humans in this world fight.

So much more left to learn.

But for now, these guys have to die. Raising a finger and pointing at the giant brute, Sator, I yell out to all my undead, "Latch onto him! Hold him down!"

I may be caught off guard but I am still more than prepared to execute them all. As ordered, my horde redirects their focus, tripping on their legs they launch themselves at the man.

To his credit, he punches in more than a few skulls and throws several zombies out into the air to be free of them, but soon it's no use. No matter his strength the weight of so many bodies is bound to weigh him down.

However, Red, their captain is not so easily distracted. Rather than help relieve her partner of the bodies piling over him, she chooses to take the opportunity.

A clear, unperturbed line towards me. 

Daggers drawn and…and glowing, she makes a beeline to slice my head off. Her eyes underneath her cloak clear and purposed, she's ready, she's prepared to sacrifice him to kill me.

And she knows she can. And worse is, I believe she can. I doubt my bone shield will be capable of resisting her glowing daggers. Fear rises in my chest as for the first time since Carbina, since the Bull General, the Bull Gamma, I fear for my life.

Her feet carry her across the distance far faster than Sator, the man now buried in zombies closed in. And I know I only can only activate one spell.

With fractions of a second left I'm left to decide what to do. Believe in the strength of my bone shields and get rid of the one of the three headaches with Corpse Ignition or go on the offensive to push Red back.

The choice is obvious.

"Corpse Igni-"