Under the cover of night, the sound of gunfire and clashing blades echoed through the outskirts of Rome. The noise moved from the residential areas to the coast and finally to the harbor, where flashes of gunfire and steel lit up the rooftops of the warehouses.
The battle ceased as Christopher dropped from the sky onto the quay outside the harbor warehouse. Behind him lay only the vast sea. This area, isolated and deserted, was one of the battlegrounds used by the Curtained World to settle disputes among mages and other factions.
Panting and clearly fatigued from the relentless chase, Christopher still maintained his stance, his guard never faltering.
At that moment, several groups of paladins appeared. They positioned themselves on the rooftops, in the alleys beside the warehouse, and along the quay, blocking any escape routes. Each paladin wielded blessed blades, swords, spears, or guns, loyal soldiers of the Archbishop's command.
"Give up, Grand Paladin. There's nowhere left to run," one of the men said, the leader of the hunting party.
This particular paladin, though not extraordinary in skill, had connections with the Archbishop and saw himself as the next Grand Paladin.
Christopher remained silent, glancing at his wristwatch. Only ten seconds remained until the appointed three-hour mark.
Suddenly, a faint hum of engines filled the air, quieter than a typical aircraft. Then, 10 meters above Christopher's head, a VTOL craft shimmered into view, its cloaking field deactivating. The door slid open, revealing a muscular man in shades, wielding a massive, rotating light autocannon. The barrel spun faster and faster.
"What... No!" the lead paladin shouted.
Without a word, the man unleashed the full fury of the autocannon. Flames spat from the barrel as a hail of bullets rained down on the paladins below.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The deafening reaper roar of the .76 LAC (Light Auto Cannon) filled the air, followed by the grotesque sound of bodies exploding and warehouses crumbling. The once-quiet harbor was now a warzone.
Each .76 LAC round packed explosive power, and it did its job—transforming the area into a battlefield of pockmarked craters and wreckage. The paladins were reduced to unrecognizable, bloody remnants of what had once been human beings.
The scene before Christopher resembled a war-torn hellscape. "God... this is so cool... I need one of these bad boys," he muttered, awestruck by the sheer destruction.
In the distance, police sirens wailed, accompanied by the shouts of more paladins rushing toward the harbor, drawn by the gunfire and explosions.
The VTOL descended, hovering low enough for Christopher to jump aboard. The muscular man extended his hand toward him.
"Come with me if you want to live," he said in a cold, emotionless voice.
Without hesitation, Christopher grabbed his hand and climbed into the VTOL. The door shut tight, the aircraft re-engaged its cloaking field, and they soared into the night sky.
Several shots rang out. The first four were stopped by the car's bulletproof glass, but on the fifth shot, the glass shattered.
At that moment, the man's gun clicked empty. He tossed it aside and continued sprinting after the car. The bodyguard, panicking, slammed his foot down on the accelerator, trying to outrun the man. But the man's speed was far beyond anything human.
The bodyguard, a seasoned member of the Curtained World, initially thought the muscular man was a mage or some sort of supernatural being. But no... there was no trace of mana. All he sensed from the man was a cold, calculating, unwavering determination... like a machine with a single purpose: to destroy its target.
The muscular man nearly caught up with the speeding car. He leaped forward and grabbed onto the rear bumper, his iron grip denting it with each handhold.
"Just f*cking drop dead already!" the bodyguard cursed, desperately swerving the car left and right, trying to shake the man off.
It worked... partially. The man fell to the road, but he didn't let go. His hand clenched the bumper tightly, and his body was dragged along the pavement.
Screeeeeeech!
His face grated against the asphalt, but instead of the sound of flesh tearing and blood spilling, there was only the screech of metal scraping against the road.
Undeterred, the man slowly began to climb up from the bumper. To stabilize himself, he punched through the rear of the car, his hand tearing through the metal as he used it to pull his body up.
By now, he was almost at the rear window, showing no signs of pain or hesitation.
"Shit!" the bodyguard cursed as he fired several shots at the man. The bullets struck his head, but instead of killing him, there was the sharp clang of metal.
Both the archbishop and the bodyguard now had a clear view of the man's face. Half of it was gone... no, not gone, but stripped of its synthetic skin, muscle, and blood. What remained wasn't bone, but the human-like skull made out of adamantine, with cold, electronic eyes locked unflinchingly on the archbishop.
"What... the hell... are you?" the bodyguard gasped, horrified by the man's true nature.
The man remained silent and undeterred, still inching closer to the archbishop, his iron grip advancing steadily toward his target. His hand swiped past the archbishop's neck, but the archbishop quickly dodged, and the hand pierced through the couch seat.
Seeing this, the bodyguard immediately swerved the car toward a nearby tree.
Crash!
The impact forced the man off the car, his leg crushed between the vehicle's left side and the tree. The car engine stopped, but the plan worked—they were safe, for the moment.
The bodyguard let out a triumphant smile. But... the muscular man pushed the car away, freeing his mangled leg. Though blood-soaked, the tattered cloth revealed that his leg, too, was made of adamantine, leaking synthetic blood.
"Shit!" The bodyguard tried to move, but the door was jammed and wouldn't open due to the crash.