"Get down," a soldier shouted.
And as they looked at the sky, the mood shifted.
It took Konrad only a second to identify the incoming danger, and—
That they were all screwed.
He had only seen ballistic missiles in a spy movie before. And that was back in another life, but it was still impossible to miss. Impossible, like for that thing to miss them, too.
Get down?! Who were they kidding?
The missile was taller than the building, coming in fast.
And it pointed straight at them.
Get down, when it would leave a ten-foot-deep crater in their place?
Nobody would even find their body parts after the impact.
They'd scatter in a half-mile radius, taking most of the hotel with them.
Well, if he could believe those movies, that is. But somehow, he didn't doubt this one detail.
Crap. His life was already flashing in front of his eyes—
But that meant he was still alive.
This wasn't over yet.
Konrad had already saved his people with magic before. Sure, in another world and on a very different battlefield, but there was no harm in trying the same trick here.
In fact, not trying was the only guaranteed death sentence.
He had to forget about the panicking soldiers or his unsuccessful search for now.
Focus on the present, exploiting the adrenaline flooding his brain.
Almost as if Gabrielle slowed this moment down for him.
How long would the missile take to hit the ground? Three seconds? Two?
Fuck. He had already wasted one.
But if his compressed air wall could stop a cavalry charge, why not a missile, too?
He had the essence. His mana pool was full. And he had already cast that spell once.
If he sped it up and simplified it—
Cut every corner, gut out the usual safety runes—
If? No. He was already doing it.
Earth had the same air as Kasserlane. He wasn't about to cheap out on his essence, either.
Why even bother setting a mana limit?
There was no point in setting time variables, either.
He expected the wall to collapse upon impact, but that was fine.
Well, no, actually, the shape wasn't fine. A simple wall wouldn't do.
He had to create like an ice-cream cone, open towards the sky.
Even if he somehow stopped that missile but didn't redirect the blast, they'd still be dead.
And so all that remained was to pour all his mana into this shell of a syntax, cutting the casting down to a second. That had to be the highest essence throughput he had ever pulled off.
It made him wonder if that alone could kill him?!
Because, well. If that quick transfer with Midori-kun felt like it would burn their arms—
This was like all his organs bursting, or someone ripping them out of his body one by one.
And that was before the actual impact.
It rattled his bones and every window in the courtyard.
The cone held, somehow, and the missile stopped dead about twenty feet above his head—
But then came the explosion.
Those windows?
Not a single one remained intact. They have all shattered alongside his eardrums.
And even though his barrier held and redirected most of the force, the pressure was still insane.
It was a miracle that by the time it finally collapsed, the missile's remains had lost their momentum. The molten debris would rain down on them like a harmless afterthought.
But Konrad—
He was at the end of his rope. His knees lost out to gravity.
And as he fell to the ground, he realized again that he wasn't alone.
"Medic," Captain Bandera shouted, though his voice was so muffled, he might as well have whispered it. "What the fuck happened?! Everyone all right?!"
They were. His underlings would report in one by one, confused but unharmed.
"He's bleeding," the Brit guy stated the obvious, dropping to his knees by Konrad's side. He had a satchel with a red cross on it, fumbling as he ripped it open. "Did a shrapnel get him?"
No. It was the backlash of his spell.
Not that he had any strength to explain. Or any hope they would understand.
It has been some time.
His first attempt at invisibility came to mind when he almost collapsed.
But that was like three mana points, and this was a thousand.
Somehow, he found it funny that he could survive a missile but not his irresponsibility.
Wait. Was he actually dying?
There was a saying that laughter was the best medicine, but not in his case, no.
He was stupid enough to let out a chuckle, but even more blood bubbled up with it.
"What the fuck do I even do with this?" the soldier panicked, dropping his bandages.
Yeah, good luck with that.
Konrad was cold, even as the burning embers were still raining down on him.
A note to self: those safety runes exist for a reason.
But, well. A ballistic missile was much faster than those horsemen earlier.
Even with this reckless casting, he was cutting it close.
"It's internal bleeding," Captain Bandera claimed. "Kid, are you in pain?"
He had that typical Slavic accent, which again, he found hilarious for some reason.
Was that a good sign? Like, the fact that he was in such high spirits.
He couldn't have died while having fun, right?
"What was his name again?" one of the soldiers asked, standing from one leg to the other.
Even that seemed funny. They almost died in a missile strike, and their biggest worry was the fake name he had told them. Wait, no, he used his real one. Ah, rookie mistake.
Or did he even introduce himself?!
And his guitar. He brought it along, and if he broke it again—
"We're losing him," the Captain urged his men. "Try putting pressure there. And morphin?"
Were they actually losing him, though?
Their reactions started to worry him, too, as everything felt cold and so funny—
And dark. Kinda lonely, though he could almost hear an angelic voice scolding him.
'Oh boy, I take my eyes off you for a second, and this happens.'
The sentence reverberated in his mind.
Wait. But then that voice had to be the opposite of angelic.
Lilith? With telepathy? Or him hallucinating on death's doorstep?
'It might be both,' the thought echoed, tinged with worry, despite all the cheerfulness she was forcing into it. 'Well, excuse me. Of course, I'm worried when you've got mana poisoning.'
Was that even a thing?
What's more important—was it something he could survive?
"Kid. Talk to me," a less familiar voice demanded. "Where's the fucking medic?!"
"Can't hear shit from this air-raid siren," someone else complained.
Konrad couldn't, either. Not even that siren.
His ears must have been bleeding, too, and every heartbeat sent a wave of pain through him.
It was no longer funny.
'Good,' Lily thought. 'You're coming to your senses. That means the poisoning wasn't terminal. But you're about to feel the real pain, then—'
Huh? What the hell was he feeling until now?!
'It'll be much worse in a few moments, so,' the invading thoughts have trailed off, heavy with her worries. 'Guess the best I can do is to put you in a coma. Those soldiers will take care of you.'
And before he could protest, he lost consciousness.