The monster turned around and decided to knock me down with a ramming strike of its arm, literally swatting me aside. I dove under it and, pushing off the monster's bent leg, struck again from above with my hands locked together. There was a dull clang and a direct blow to the chest. Something seemed to crunch. Damn it—what rotten luck!
This time I flew all the way into the wall, though at least the flight was shorter—not as far to get back into hand-to-hand combat. Still, I really shouldn't be exposing myself to blows like that. The protection of my suit is, in truth, mostly nominal, and there's no real defense against something that hits like a crowbar swung by a truck. A couple more strikes like that and I'll be a flat pancake. And judging by the stiffness in my movements, my ribs are already seriously damaged.
I slowly haul myself upright along the wall and turn, trying to bring my pistol to bear on him. No chance. He's already begun shielding himself with his arm, clearly afraid for his eyes. Shooting the rest of his body is pointless anyway—he's completely covered in body armor.
So, after emptying a full magazine at his head—the few exposed parts—and his partially uncovered arm, achieving absolutely nothing, I resort to the most effective course of action available.
I go back into close combat.
What else could I do? The mercenaries were retreating in a coordinated group. Jill and the blonde were keeping a low profile, trying not to draw attention. The group commander was out of action, and Four Eyes was in no hurry to intervene—apparently reasoning that she couldn't do anything to the monster, and that the people around didn't pose a threat to me yet.
At least, that's what I'm hoping for.
This time, though, I had a different objective.
Darting toward the mutant—Look who's talking!—I dodged its attempts to kick or crush me underfoot and slashed at the seam where the bulletproof vest joined, using what remained of my knife. No, this won't deal any serious damage by itself. I could hack at even ordinary zombies like this for five minutes without meaningful results. But two or three more strikes like that, and I can tear away the upper part of the vest—the fastenings are already compromised.
I shift left, circling the carcass, and repeat the strike. Good. Now I just need to tear off the shoulder sections.
I jump and, pushing off the monster's leg, manage to slash its left shoulder—but a tentacle bursts from its wrist, coils around me, and hurls me straight through a second-floor window of the nearest building.
"Rest in peace, unexpected helper," I hear the black man's voice.
"Not a chance, you damn African American!" I snarl, vaulting back out the window.
Tch. Something's wrong with my left leg. It isn't responding properly, and there's a noticeable delay. Did I sprain it? Tear something? I'm even glad I don't feel any pain; otherwise, I'd probably be howling in agony.
Meanwhile, the skinny girl with the black ponytail—the last of their group—starts throwing grenades at the monster. Yeah. Sure. The explosions do little more than shake it and make it angrier.
Oh, no, that's not entirely true. The left side of the breastplate has shifted slightly. Looks like the final strap on that side finally gave up the ghost.
Now the right side. The magazine I emptied while limping toward the target did nothing, even though I put almost every bullet straight into its heart. I'm honestly pleased with my accuracy—but the shots were ignored, just like the fire from the special forces' heavier calibers.
Tch. What a bastard. It didn't even bother protecting its body, only covering its head with one arm when another grenade was thrown at him—apparently, before that, they were probably afraid of blowing up their volunteer assistant.
Nemesis takes a step forward, and I seize the moment. My body feels better—clearly, some of the damage has already healed. I rush in, strike him just below the knee, forcing his massive frame to lean on it, then jump onto his extended leg. Pushing off, dodging his snapping tentacles, I deliver the strongest kick I can to his jaw.
He doesn't have lips, so I'm hoping his teeth will end up lodged in his throat.
No such luck.
His teeth withstand the impact of my leg, and—for once!—I don't break anything from the blow. Still, I'm airborne again, completely forgetting that dodging in midair is more wishful thinking than reality. TSo when that bastard grabbed me by the head and slams me down onto his knee back-first, grinding my spine.
All I can do is curse under my breath.
No, there was no pain, as always—but the position alone is humiliating. Still, that one's on me. Deal with it!
And just to make things perfect, the monster steps on me.
You'll regret that!
No longer caring about secrecy, my mask slips aside anyway—though there's a chance my hood still hides what I'm about to do. I wrap my arms around his leg, preventing him from lifting it and holding him in place, and sink my fangs into his ankle.
Hmm. Strange.
I don't feel any particular difference compared to a Licker. It doesn't taste like the G-virus to me. I'm no expert, of course—but given that the taste of blood is one of the few sensations I can still experience, I'd expect something… distinct.
(End of Chapter)
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