Chapter 12: I Am Ryan Rus
Mong felt as if an invisible iron fist had slammed into his chest, all twenty-seven of his ribs snapping at once.
“Psychic energy?!” Mong blinked in surprise.
But he quickly regained his composure, gritting his teeth as he swung his dagger, caked in rotting blood.
A sizzling stream of bloody fluid sprayed from the blade, lashing toward the cold-faced man.
Yet the man’s figure vanished from his spot—the blood missed, splattering against a nearby pipe.
The metal pipe instantly corroded into a cluster of small pits, steaming with white vapor.
The man’s form suddenly reappeared behind Mong.
Mong bit his tongue, filling his mouth with blood.
He spun around violently and spat the blood straight at the man.
The mechanical hand atop the man’s head formed a palm.
In an instant, an invisible wall materialized before him, blocking the corrosive spray.
“Where did the Lower Nest produce a psychic as strong as you?” Mong asked in a low voice.
But the man said nothing—only his hat tilted again toward Mong.
Mong rolled aside just as a half-meter-wide crack split open in the ground beside him.
As if struck by an invisible sledgehammer.
Mong’s eyes filled with blood—he realized the opponent’s power was overwhelming.
He spat a drop of blood onto his lips, moistening them.
“Defile my blood, flies dance.”
“Itch unendurable—feed the maggots with blood.”
Mong whispered a few short incantations; bubbles rose from the blood pooling on the ground, tiny maggots writhing within.
“Wait—Mong, stop!”
Malkiet’s voice rang out as he stepped between the cold-faced man and Mong.
“We mean no harm!” Malkiet told the man before him.
Zhou Yun studied the tall, hooded man, then glanced at Mong, gripping his bloodied dagger tightly.
No way, bro—you call that no harm?
I was just standing here doing nothing, and this guy with the dagger charged me like he was on emergency alert.
What? Does my handsome face scare you?
Do you have a problem with my lion’s face, radiating justice?
And whose good guy’s blood is corrosive?
Zhou Yun glanced at the blood bubbling on the ground—if it touched skin, it’d peel off at least a layer.
These two are definitely cultists.
“I’m Malkiet, this is my brother Mong—we’re scavengers. Yes, scavengers.”
Noticing the deep distrust in Zhou Yun’s eyes, the tall hooded man calling himself Malkiet hurried to explain:
“We came here looking for valuables. Mong must’ve mistaken you for a patrol member from one of the gangs—that’s why he attacked you.”
“I apologize on his behalf.”
“Brother,” Mong looked up, clearly displeased.
But Malkiet shook his head sharply at him.
So he thought I was a gang member, Zhou Yun thought, studying the two with suspicion.
He recalled the Emperor Tarot card drawn by the winged figure in the white light.
But better to avoid trouble—he waved his hand, signaling the matter was dropped.
Though the device on his head granted him powerful abilities, it drained immense energy.
If they fought, who knew what Nurgle sorcery these hooded men might pull out?
“Sir, you appear to be a psychic?” Malkiet called out as Zhou Yun turned to leave.
Zhou Yun glanced at Malkiet but gave no answer.
He had no desire to waste time on them—not just because of the danger,
but Sector Eight was once a major Upper Nest district, vast and labyrinthine in structure,
and patrols from multiple gangs still roamed the area—finding PDF’s base would be no easy task.
He didn’t want to waste time.
“No, I mean no harm.”
Malkiet chuckled softly, speaking in a gentle tone:
“Perhaps we’re both unwelcome here.”
“Why not work together?”
He patted Mong’s back. “You saw—we brothers’ blood is corrosive. I have similar abilities. We used them to corrode a hole through the ground and came down here.”
“And you? How do you do it? Your psychic power lets you teleport instantly.”
Malkiet paused, pointing to the ground:
“We found a PDF outpost below—covered in tons of rubble, impossible to enter.”
“But your teleportation ability—perhaps you could take us inside?”
“...” Zhou Yun stopped, turning to Malkiet. “You said PDF outpost?”
“Of course—we can cooperate—”
Before Malkiet finished, Zhou Yun shook his head and turned away again.
“Wait.”
Malkiet tried to call him back once more:
“I trust tradition, inevitability, and familial love more than lies, tricks, and deception.”
“I didn’t lie. I can show you the exact location of that PDF outpost.”
Zhou Yun frowned slightly.
These two were clearly cultists,
but cultists differed—those who worshipped the Lord of Change loved lies and deception,
while followers of the Benevolent Father sometimes displayed sincerity, simplicity, and familial trust.
Though still dangerous, the Benevolent Father’s followers were far less likely to lie than those of the Lord of Change.
With his hat’s teleportation and Omni-Ring, even if danger arose, he could escape easily.
And then—
Zhou Yun remembered the Emperor Tarot card’s omen: a cooperation requiring patience and communication.
The Emperor Tarot card was said to be linked to the Emperor’s own will.
“Emperor, you’re the one making me cooperate with heretics—don’t blame me.”
Zhou Yun muttered under his breath.
“I’ll help you enter the PDF outpost.”
He glanced back at the two, wary. “Lead the way.”
“I’m glad we can trust each other,” Malkiet said softly. “Believe me—everything we do benefits everyone.”
“I don’t care what you plan to do. I assume you’re not interested in the weapons in the PDF warehouse.”
Zhou Yun shook his head at Malkiet.
“You take what you want. I take the weapons. Simple.”
"You take what you want, I take the weapon, that's all there is to it."
Malkiet smiled warmly, his kindness unnerving.
“As a symbol of mutual trust, may I know your name?”
“...Name?” Zhou Yun frowned.
“Yes, your name,” Malkiet smiled. “As partners, we should at least know each other’s names.”
"Yes, names," Margit smiled. "As partners, we should at least know each other's names."
“You can call me... Ryan Rus.”
(End of Chapter)
(End of Chapter)
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