Chapter 260: Interlude Pestilence

Chapter 260: Interlude Pestilence

“You’re seriously stealing eels? That’s got to be a new low point,” Jim groaned as he leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on a nearby crate.

“Because glass eels are valuable in the Asian Markets, and without new glass eels to develop into adults, Europe’s eel population will rapidly decrease until the buggers go extinct. Should be funny to see everyone’s faces.”

Utgardloki looked far different in the real world than he did in the boss’ communication space. He looked average there, IRL, he was a true giant who had to clock in at around 150kg. However, he wasn’t fat, exactly, he had a sumo wrestler’s physique that belied his [Class] that was some kind of Evolution of [Illusionist]. And Jim firmly believed that his body was no illusion, they’d bumped into each other a few times and the appearance had matched what Jim had felt.

He was also a far cry from the analytical chief intel officer of their group he normally presented himself as. Less scheming, more deciding what to do based on what would garner the most entertaining response.

“And I’m here ... why exactly?” Jim asked. As the person currently holding the title of “Aspirant”, specifically, the [Aspirant for the Mantle of Conquest], he was one of the heaviest hitters of their group. And now, he was here babysitting a geek’s money-making operation, stealing fucking eels.

“Because this is seriously illegal, there are literal task forces to stop illegal glass eel fishing. And if the cops show up, I figured you can go to work. We’re above the limit the boss set as a minimum for high-Level intervention.”

“Those damn minimums,” Jim grumbled. When those had been introduced, he’d become completely convinced that the big guy had well and truly lost his marbles.

Sure, he also thought that the divinely imposed limit of “only self-defense until ten years after the [System’s] arrival” was the dumbest invention since feminism. But he wasn’t willing to argue that point with a literal deity.

However, the boss was an entirely different story, especially when he was taking things to an insane level. He’d already been careful, trying to parse out where the limits were supposed to lie based on a direction a couple of sentences long.

And then R’lyeh had happened. No, no one knew who’d been responsible for that mess, or even if it had been one of their lot who was responsible for the whole thing in the first place, but it had still shaken up the boss real good.

He’d tried to set up rules following the incident to prevent any of their preparations in case of a raid from turning from “precautions” into “ambushes”. Mostly limits on how many monsters could be summoned and some guidelines as to how high a Level the guards could be relative to the value of the asset or assets being guarded.

It wasn’t a bad idea overall, it would help with making sure their resources were properly allocated and no area was overlooked, Jim had to admit that, but ... at this point, he’d be more comfortable with a crack addict as a superior than that guy. He could only imagine what Death’s apartment must look like. Chances were, it was either a rubber cell, or contained a dozen different conspiracy boards that were connected by so many strings that it looked like a spider’s web.

Still, in a few more Levels he’d almost certainly become the [Horseman of Death] and that would definitely cement his role as their leader, but right now, the man in the pale mask was just looking like a loon.

Sure, he was desperately trying to avoid damaging his ticket into paradise, but his methods were literally insane.

“I know you think they’re stupid, but he does have a point,” Utgard pointed out, “We’re dealing with literally divine rules here, who knows what they are? Let’s just be careful, let humanity self-destruct, and then be done with it. And until then, you can explore whatever area you got assigned to, it isn’t like we don’t have the money to enjoy ourselves. Half our profits go into the war chest, the other half is freely useable. Hell, we could buy half the town with the profits from just this project.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re so sick of my company that you’re literally paying me to get the fuck out?” Jim growled, rising to his feet and striding out of the cramped office, snatching the wad of euros that Utgard had held out on the way.

“For money from a ‘low point’, it sure spends well, doesn’t it?” Utgard muttered as Jim left.

“I heard that,” Jim shot back, trailing his hand along the wall on his way out. The trail he left behind might be invisible to the naked eye, but it would give even that twerp the runs when he left the office. Fuck that guy! His physique didn’t matter in the slightest nowadays, and he was a useless little schemer, not someone who should be mouthing off to a Horseman! This chapter's initial release occurred on the n0vell--Bjjn site.

But Jim did have to admit that once he got outside, this was a nice place. Where the hell was he, anyway?

A quick check of his phone revealed that he was in France, west coast, in a little town called Lorient.

French cuisine was good and all, but the portions were always so tiny that even a flea would still be hungry after eating one. The waitstaff better not give him any lip about ordering multiple portions.

But he’d barely started eating his way through waterfront cafes when the sounds of battle reached his ears. Aw, come on.

He rose to his feet, but before he ran towards the site of the commotion, he tossed a few bills on the table. The food here smelled divine and he wanted to be able to come back here later.

When he arrived back at the warehouse, things were exactly what he expected them to be.

The cops were here ... because of fucking eels.

And Utgard was only holding them off by messing with their senses, making it too dangerous for them to start shooting for fear of hitting each other, not taking them down. Smug, lazy, useless little shit.

The doctor just stayed where he was, glaring at him. Waiting for reinforcements, no doubt.

Around them, the cops were settling at a safe distance, watching the proceedings.

Fucking cowards, come on, you were already dumb enough to pick a fight with someone of his caliber, just come a little bit closer and fucking die!

But they weren’t the problem, the healer erasing all his attacks was.

Jim charged, wind at his back to speed him up, while blasts of wind and water peppered the man. The wounds healed in moments, though. Right, healer.

This time around, Jim managed to grab the doctor’s arm, then began to pummel his face, spike-shod fist hammering into his head over and over again. And doing functionally nothing. His opponent’s head rocked back with every hit, but not a single scratch appeared. What was his head made of?

Jim tried to grab the doctor’s head, but before he managed to get a good grip, a knee slammed into his privates. And again. He fell backwards and the ground surged up to his knees, trapping him.

And then the doctor was on top of him, earth-armored fists crashing into his nose, eyes, ears, his temple. Not to mention that that little shit was taking any chance possible to step on his balls. What the fuck was wrong with that guy?

Really, what was wrong with this fight? They were two of the strongest people on the planet, the incarnation of plague and pestilence against a doctor capable of sweeping cities clear of sickness in seconds, yet here they were, brawling in the dirt like children. Their Aspects were good, but not good enough.

The problem, though, was that the doctor was healing so much more quickly.

Jim finally decided to change into another form, using a cooldown [Skill] called [Plagueborn Avatar]. A puddle of the highest-density plage-vectors in existence. Rats, fleas, raw sewage, and just plain bacterial sludge surged up to meet the fucker, but before he could do more than pull his feet out of the ground, his body began to burn as though he’d been bathed in acid. Was the healing aura tearing him apart in this form?

He dropped the transformation less than two seconds after triggering it. A huge waste by any measure, but it might just have gotten him far enough.

If that asshole’s head was somehow invulnerable, then he’d need another target. One hand grasped the doctor’s chin, the other locked the top of his skull in an iron grip, and then he twisted.

Whatever insane toughness his opponent’s head might have possessed, it didn’t extend to his internals. The doctor’s neck snapped with a sound like dry wood breaking.

And just to make sure, a blade of wind and water tore into his neck below where the invulnerability began, decapitating the corpse with ease now that he wasn’t moving.

“Fucking finally,” Jim growled as he rose back to his feet, dropping the severed head as he conjured another plague to unleash upon these fools. And then promptly collapsed back onto his knees, mouth open in a soundless cry of agony, his most sensitive body part in agony. He glanced down to see the headless corpse still there, but head was gone. Incidentally, so was the lab coat.

A fist hammered into the side of his face, flinging him to the ground.

Jim barely managed to turn his head to see the doctor standing there, with an entirely new body. Had that fucker literally regrown everything from the head down?

He was also only wearing his lab coat, for some reason. What the he- ...

Another wist encased in a wrecking ball of solid rock hammered into his temple, fully throwing him into the ground. And then, the ground flowed over his face, trapping him.

He tried phasing, but his skin began to instantly burn where it was dipping into the rock. Mana. Just how much had seeped into his prison?

This really wasn’t good.

Jim focussed on the distant part of his mind eternally stuck in their meeting place, and used it to yell for help. No one had a particularly good sense of what was going on in there unless they were focussing on it, but surely, a cry for help would at least get their attention.

Urgh, this was humiliating! But it was either that, or suffocate here, face trapped in rock by a fucking doctor of all people. Or, you know, try phasing his head through mana-filled rock and frying his brain in the process.

“I’ll deal with this.”

The response was almost bored, but the person speaking was the big boss himself. The fourth horseman, rider of death, bringer of oblivion. Oh, these people were fucked.