Rag was distraught after he released the woman from his hands. The hostage quickly gathered her things and hurried behind the young Don's back for protection.
'U-Unbelievable. This is not what the informant told us about,' Rag thought, biting his lip hard. According to his intel, the target should have been completely unprepared. How had this child managed to set up a perimeter of traps in a place like this?
'This is making me nuts!'
Hermes Archnemesis was known as a brat unblessed by talent or magic—an incompetent leader of his generation whom the Mafia Council of Donnas considered a taboo ruler. That was why Rag couldn't believe his eyes. Despite the reputation, the child in front of him had put them in their place. The "lions" of District 5 were trapped in a cage by a mere rat. It was a humiliating defeat, yet Rag knew they still had a trump card.
"Oh, thank you very much, child," the old lady said, attempting to touch his back in gratitude.
Hermes reflexively slapped her hands away before she could make contact. "Please don't touch me. I don't like being touched by strangers. I mean no disrespect, so please keep your distance. By the way, you're free to go, milady," Hermes explained earnestly, leaving her stunned.
The old lady bit her lower lip and followed his request.
"Hold it. Before you leave, let me ask you a question. Are you perhaps living in the village?" Hermes asked gravely.
"Yes, I am," she replied, tilting her head.
"Do you know how you can enter the next district?" Hermes quizzed, looking for a quick escape route.
The old lady pursed her lips, contemplating her answer. "Yes, I live in the Fourth District, child," she simpered, pointing toward her home.
"Good." Hermes heaved a sigh of relief. "You may go. Please call for help as fast as you can. I'll catch up with you."
The old lady's eyes turned sharp. "A'ight, sir. I will," she replied with a smile.
As Hermes turned to face the thugs, the old lady pulled a knife from her bag and cast a spell. The blade turned a slick, oily black. Her eyes transformed—the sclera turning void-black while her pupils glowed bright yellow. Hermes' life should have ended then, but she spared him. She recalled the orders of the woman she dearly loved—a beautiful lady in a scarlet dress: 'Capture him alive. Do not kill the last descendant of the Archnemesis.'
"I guess I'll play along," she murmured, her eyes returning to normal. "Let's see what this kid can do next."
"Hmm?" Hermes noticed her holding something. "What the hell are you doing? Don't waste time. Save yourself! Call for help!"
"Y-yes, child! I'm going!" she cried, hiding the weapon and leaving without looking back.
"Now then, maggots." Hermes folded his arms with newfound confidence. "The hostage is gone. Who wants to go first?"
Rag and his men gasped. 'Why didn't the underboss help us?!' Rag worried.
Suddenly, fifteen men in expensive black suits appeared in the narrow street. Their leader, a man with a red mohawk named Alfred, recognized Rag and waved.
"Hey sir, what's up? Camping or playing? Why are you dressed like that?" Alfred asked, blowing a cloud of smoke.
"Alfred! Capture that child now! Before he triggers the traps!" Rag screamed.
Alfred laughed, pulling a .45 caliber pistol. "This kid? Why does the boss want a mere child?"
'An opening,' Hermes thought.
In a blur, Hermes used the Villanueva style—a specialized Filipino Kali move. He chopped Alfred's neck, disarmed him, and sent him reeling with a hard kick. He fired a warning shot into the air.
Bang!
The newcomers froze, hands flying up.
"Silly men, what a bunch of noobs," Hermes commented, slicking his hair back. "Do you really think I'm just an ordinary child without a plan? You must be jokin', lad."
"Shit, he's dangerous!" Rag muttered.
"Now..." Hermes checked the pistol's magazine. "Eight rounds. Not bad. Heavy, though. Hey, Alfred, hand over your magazines. All of them."
"I don't have money—"
"I don't want your money! I want your magazines! Now, or I'll kill you!" Hermes bickered, pressing the barrel to Alfred's forehead.
'Man, I'm becoming a criminal in this world. Fuck this development,' Hermes sighed internally.
"Only four mags? What a shame. You make your mother disappointed, Alfred. But never mind, it's enough to wipe you from the map." Hermes stuffed the mags into his pockets.
"Please! I have a wife! Spare me!" Alfred begged.
'Lies, you're single, asshole,' Rag thought.
"Hey, Rag," Hermes turned his gaze. "Order them to disarm. Slow and steady. If I notice anything odd, you'll meet God today. I don't want to commit a crime, but everyone has a first time, right?"
Rag gulped and followed the command without a second thought. Hermes let out a villainous giggle, feeling a strange sense of relief in the situation.
'So this is the villain's life, huh. I love it. I've never felt this sense of comfort ordering around the bad guys,' Hermes smugged internally.
He had done his part in this forced quest. Now, he was just waiting for the status report. 'How long should I wait before the Newspaper shows itself? I already finished the quest and saved the old lady's life, so this should end now.'
The dice of luck had rolled in his favor—until the bald guy sneezed.
As the thug's head jerked forward, it hit the "magical" string, inadvertently pulling it down. Rag and the others ducked, bracing for an arrow to pierce their bodies, but nothing happened. Silence filled the alley. They blinked, looking up slowly, and then turned their glares toward the young Don.
'So, the traps are... fake?' Rag grimaced, his face turning a dark shade of crimson.
'Fuck my life,' Hermes thought, his lower lip trembling as cold sweat poured down his neck.
Hermes gave them a strained smile and sent his silent regards. He began to shuffle toward a small hole in the warehouse wall nearby.
"It was a bluff?" Rag concluded, the realization finally sinking in. "Why you—!"
"If these traps are fake, then this string... wait a minute, it's just an ordinary string for a kite!" The blonde man roared, pulling out his own gun. "I don't care what happens to me, I'll fuckin' kill you!"
"Now that you mention it, this place is a previous firing range and weapon warehouse," the bald guy added, pulling a pistol from his waistband. "It's no surprise there are old props around. You're going down, pal!"
Alfred lunged to reclaim his weapon, and Hermes realized he couldn't take them all at once. He had no choice but to run. He sprinted toward the hole in the wall and jumped through just as the first bullets whistled past.
"Follow the fuckin' bastard! Surround the area, ASAP!" Rag ordered. "Alfred, block the other side. Capture him alive, but I don't care if you torture him to death!"
Hermes saw two men closing in behind him. The .45 caliber was powerful but heavy, and the former owner of this body had zero combat training. He had to learn on the fly. He gripped the handle with his right hand, using his left as a steadying guide, and locked onto the targets.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The fifth bullet clipped the second thug's leg. In a fit of agony, the man accidentally discharged his weapon upward, severing the chain of a massive shipping container overhead.
The two assailants barely had time to scream before several heavy sacks of cement rained down, crushing them instantly. Hermes squeezed his eyes shut to avoid seeing the bloody end. He quickly swapped his magazine, even though he had two rounds left.
Three men rushed from the right and four from the left. Hermes kept moving, dodging a hail of gunfire. He slid down a slope, using the dust from the fallen cement sacks as a makeshift screen. Once he found a solid corner, he counterattacked.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The bullets missed, and his arms were starting to stiffen from the recoil. His legs trembled with exhaustion, but the adrenaline kept him upright. He found a new hiding spot, reloaded, and waited. When a group appeared, he shot the lead man in the foot. The target overreacted in pain, accidentally shooting his two comrades in the head. The remaining bandits, confused by the friendly fire, mistook their partner for the target and gunned him down without remorse.
Hermes didn't stay to watch. He targeted a large crate suspended above another group.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The chain snapped, and the crate collapsed. The thugs managed to scramble away with only minor injuries, but it bought Hermes time. He saw Rag entering the fray and fired four quick shots to keep him pinned before rushing into the next warehouse section.
He aimed at the wooden support of a massive industrial weighing scale.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The wood splintered, and the heavy iron scale rolled down, wedging itself perfectly against the door. Rag's group was blocked. Hermes couldn't help but strike a 'guts' pose while reloading. 'Damn, I'm so good at this sport,' he thought.
As he reached the next room, a sudden rain of bullets shattered the windows behind him. He dove for cover behind a heavy door.
"Y' fuckin' bastard! Are you still alive?" Alfred's voice boomed as he reloaded a rifle. "I'm thankful this place is an abandoned armory. I found a crate of my favorite guns. I hope y' don't mind if I use one on you!"
Hermes peeked through a hole in the door. "Sir Alfred, you really are a stubborn creature. It's bad manners for an adult to use a rifle against a simple young man like me. I hope you don't fly like a vulture; that's not good for our culture."
"Are you speaking in riddles now?" Alfred snarled, firing five more rounds. "C'mon, show yourself!"
Hermes heard the sound of approaching trouble from the other side. He was completely surrounded, with no place to hide except the second floor. He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow down.
"Stump G," Hermes grimaced, recalling the developer's name with venom. "After I get out of this, you're a dead man, you son of a bitch!"
Hermes stood up and fired twice at the man sprinting toward his front.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
He managed to hit the man's shoulder, but the thug survived the hit and prepared a counterattack. Rag, hearing the exchange, roared orders for suppressing fire. Hermes retaliated, aiming his stolen .45 at Alfred's crew before ducking back into the shadows of the doorway.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He emptied the magazine toward Rag's position, quickly slapped a fresh one into the mag well, and racked the slide.
Alfred, thinking he saw an opening, decided to breach the door alone. He didn't realize that Hermes was watching his shadow approach through a narrow crack in the wood. Hermes locked his eyes on the entrance, waiting for the perfect moment.
The door flew open with a heavy kick. Alfred burst in, only to freeze when he saw the barrel of a pistol leveled directly at his chest.
"Fuck, spare me!" Alfred's face turned blue as he screamed.
"Take this, motherfucker," Hermes growled, pulling the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The impact sent Alfred flying backward. One bullet shattered his right leg, the second tore into his shoulder, and the last punctured his stomach. His body was thrown back by the raw power of the pistol, thudding onto the floor in a heap of blood and groans.
"Ouch, my shoulder," Hermes muttered, wincing at the recoil. "Damn it... only one magazine left."
He moved to Alfred's side and pressed the hot barrel against the man's temple. Rag and the rest of the crew swarmed the room a moment later, weapons raised.
"Stop! In the name of God, stop already!" Hermes shouted. "Drop your weapons! If you value your comrade, don't move!" He fired a warning shot into the ceiling. Bang!
The thugs hesitated. Everyone except Rag lowered their weapons.
"Oh ho, don't move any closer, Rag," Hermes warned, firing a second shot near Rag's boots. "What do you want, kid?" Rag asked, trying to stabilize the situation.
"I want you guys to leave me alone. That's all I wanted today," Hermes answered.
"No fucking way," Rag snapped. "If we let you escape, we're in deeper shit than you think. Do you know how much money is on the line? A hundred thousand Luzers!"
"Then do you want big shit or deep shit? Because I don't give a shit about you pricks," Hermes shot back. "And why were you pestering that old lady earlier?"
Rag went silent, then sneered. "Y-y-you fucking piece of shit. You dare insult a member of a well-known family? As expected of the renowned leader of a stupid clan... Hermes Archnemesis."
Hermes stiffened. His finger nearly jerked on the trigger. 'What? How do they know my name?' He hadn't introduced himself. He was supposed to be a nobody in this district.
"You're lucky we have to endure this humiliating situation," Rag continued, his face grave. "If we weren't devoted to our leader, we would have shot you already. Your profile says you're the same pathetic brat as always."
Hermes's veins appeared on his forehead. He ground his boot into the face of his hostage. "Oi... you're not allowed to insult my name. And you definitely have no right to talk like you know me."
"We have every right," Rag demanded, pointing at Alfred. "Fight like a man, Hermes. Hand over the hostage!"
"Oi, do you really think I'm stupid enough to hand over my only leverage? You guys are bugging my life too much," Hermes bickered, his heart racing. 'They have a profile on me? They know I'm an Archnemesis?' "I didn't even want to fight you. I was forced into this. I have a mission to clear!"
Rag and his crew were bewildered. 'Is this a psychological war? Maybe he's messing with us!' Rag thought. But to his eyes, the young Don was just a weak man hiding behind a facade.
"Hermes Archnemesis, surrender now! We know you're just bluffing!"
Hermes wiped a hand down his face. "Man, please believe it, Rag. I'm not a liar. I'll kill this man for real if you keep pressuring me. Just leave me alone! Why are you so interested in capturing me anyway?"
"Shut up! You don't have to know!" Rag pointed his gun. "According to your profile, you're supposed to be weak. You don't kill on your own—you use your men to do the dirty work. You don't have the guts to do it yourself!"
Hermes sighed. Then, without warning, he shot Alfred's shoulder again. The force of the bullet sent the man tumbling back, unconscious.
"Do you still think I'm bluffing? Do you think I'm still keeping this a 'friendly' conversation?" Hermes smirked.
Rag turned pale. The eyes of his target were terrifying.
"Sorry," a familiar voice caught their attention. "This play should end now."
Behind him, the old lady placed her hand on Hermes's shoulder.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Hermes yelled, spinning around.
But her feminine voice had turned into a deep, chilling tone. She smiled. "Child, you really are a fool."
Her hand gripped his shoulder tight. Suddenly, a massive surge of blue electricity erupted. Hermes's body trembled in agony as he was violently electrified. He knelt down, his voice echoing in the warehouse, unable to release himself from the mage's grasp.
In the logic of this Otome game world, characters were defined by their biological heritage. The population was split into two: the Magicless and the Mages. While history books claimed mages were descendants of ancient witches and warlocks, science whispered a darker truth—they were the genetic lineage of the previous Ratican Empire, engineered a thousand years ago as biological weapons to subjugate other races.
"S-s-s-shit," Hermes hissed. His jaw locked as high-voltage blue electricity arced across his skin. "I... I.. I totally... forgot about this!"
Hermes was paralyzed by more than just the current; he was gripped by a sudden, bone-chilling realization. In this world, street gangs were supposed to be magicless. They were the bottom-feeders, the ones without the bloodline or the resources for sorcery. If this group had a mage among them—especially one of this caliber—then they weren't just "maggots" or "noobs" from the street.
'These guys... they aren't an ordinary gang,' Hermes thought, his mind racing through the terror. 'They're part of a professional Mafia family. I've stepped into something much deeper than a simple kidnapping.'
The agony was absolute. He had focused so much on the physical thugs that he had forgotten the fundamental rule of the true underworld: every real Mafia family maintained a force of mages as their primary enforcers.
"Oh ho, you're good. You can still talk, huh?" the old lady sneered, her eyes glittering with electrical discharge. "It is just Tier 3 magic, yet you can still move your mouth."
Hermes clenched his teeth so hard blood began to drip from his gums. With tears of pure pain streaming down his face, he forced his arm upward, leveling his gun.
"Fuck you!"
Three bullets erupted from the barrel, but they were instantly deflected by a shimmering violet barrier.
"I won't... let... you... catch me alive!"
Before she could renew her fortification spell, Hermes lunged forward with the last of his strength, slamming his forehead into her face. The brutal headbutt caught her off guard, breaking her concentration and the electrical flow. As she stumbled back, clutching her face, Hermes scrambled for a discarded rifle on the floor.
He aimed and pulled the trigger. Click. Empty.
The old lady recovered, her face contorting with rage. She increased the output of her magic to fifty percent—a lethal dose that should have charred his internal organs. But to her horror, it did nothing. Hermes stood his ground, eyes glowing with a dark, predatory intensity as he slammed a new magazine home.
'W-what?' she gasped. 'Why isn't he falling?'
"Fuck you, bitch!" Hermes roared.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"[Obice!]" she screamed.
The Tier 3 barrier manifested just in time, but the resulting blast created a massive shockwave that cracked the floor. Smoke engulfed the area, blinding the thugs—but not Hermes. When the air finally cleared, the young Don had vanished into the labyrinth of the Fourth District.
"Why didn't he collapse?!" the woman roared, her veins bulging. "I used Tier 3 magic! Why wasn't he hurt? Why was he so fast?! Find him! Find Hermes Archnemesis at all cost!"
As the chaos settled, a single, torn piece of the anonymous Newspaper fluttered onto the blood-stained floor. It contained the data Hermes had failed to read—a revelation that was currently rewriting his very biology.
Virus Achievements:
[Unlocked: Evil Slime Ancient Armor]
Description: The last powerful armor of the Ratican Empire. A God-tier forbidden item thought extinct for a millennium. This "Emperor's Pet" transforms into a parasitic armor that consumes everything in its path.
Abilities: Wield and customize weapons at will; absolute biological restoration (revival from stabbings, severe damage, or death).
The Price: Consumes the host's sanity.
[Insanity Level: Normal]
[Warning: If handled incorrectly, the host will lose control as the insanity level rises.]
Requirements Met:
[1. Soul of the Emperor / Descendant of the Emperor / Son of an Evil God.]
[2. Possesses the characteristics of all Seven Deadly Sins.]
[3. User is scared to death and physically weak]
[4. Magicless and considered an "unfortunate worthless individual."]
[5. Possesses wisdom and knowledge of the present and past world.]
[6. User must be from ANOTHER WORLD.]