"We have to climb up the staircase."
"Right." Mangé replied.
"We'll do it slow and steady." I proffered, my voice still a bit low.
"Let's go then."
The very moment Mangé uttered those words, my mind lost spatial focus, but I spared no second, walking upward — toward the direction of the staircase with burgeoning cautiousness, and I eventually began climbing it.
Each step I took felt like I was shedding off the protective shells that made me, me.
"Stel…"
Each step I took made the cool air pierce through my skin, sending deadly chills down my nasal pathways.
"Stel."
As the air slid down my lungs, it effectively chilled them. But as the chill spread from my lungs throughout my entire body, it still did little to calm the feeling that wrapped around my spine.
"Stella."
I was betraying my instinct. Going where it warned me not to.
And by the time my mind and my gaze snapped back into place, the brain-damaging smell that was somehow worse than the smell of the backlands' streets had faded, and I stood on top of the highest step of the staircase.
"Stel!" Mangé's voice suddenly spiked, causing an abrupt halt to my almost absorbed state.
The half trance-like Immersed State.
My gaze snapped, and I drew in a long, refreshing inhale before letting it out. Then I turned toward the direction of the almost loud yell.
Mangé stood on one of the steps below me, his widened eyes carrying something that felt like a crossbreed between horror and apprehension.
And behind him, the executives stared up at me — or maybe behind me — their faces all drained of color.
"What is it?" I asked. "What is with the looks on your faces?"
"It seems… we miscalculated, Stel. I.. I failed to consider the fact that the mole might have been lying to us." Mangé's voice was barely audible, cracking and stuttering as he spoke.
Who the hell is 'we'?
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Mangé immediately shook his head and crouched while pointing his wavering pistol toward me, like he had designated me as his target.
And his executives did the same. The ones with pistols, that is. But the ones without pistols just entered battle stances. Their horrified faces focused on me. Or rather…
"There are Orned executives above you." Mangé declared.
Huh?
My eyes widened. And slowly, I turned my neck upward.
My heart almost jumped out of my chest. It banged against my ribs, sending an adrenaline-fueled sensation surging throughout my body.
That sensation killed the feeling that wrapped around my spine, and then the sensation travelled within my stomach, spreading its roots and its wings inside my body.
The result of the magnificent but terrifying sensation was the numerous goosebumps that sprouted all over my skin.
All five senses bore witness to the sight of the disgusting things that surrounded the metal stair rails that encircled the upper room of the building.
The weight of their numerous gazes pressed down on me.
Those four-eyed bastards.
—"A bunch of Ruffies."—
A thick voice reverberated, echoing across the entire building. It felt as if the voice was padded by numerous other voices that synchronized to form one single voice.
The voice of a spiff.
So they know how to speak the central human language.
The source of the voice was surrounded by numerous other spiffs.
That was a problem.
It was always hard to differentiate between those things. They all looked the same.
Four large, narrowed yellowish eyeballs that seemed glued to the front of their faces.
Two eyes right, and two eyes left.
Round-shaped heads like footballs, resting on a neckless body. The absence of a nose, and the presence of a mouth, where said nose was supposed to be.
Then, on their dark yellowish heads, small, tiny pores rested. They called those pores their ears.
All their long, red colored saliva-coated tongues were stretched out, like dogs in heat. Those tongues were longer than an average man's arm.
The only way I could even think of differentiating between them was by comparing their different sizes.
Some were large, some were small, some were tiny, and the rest were about the same size as me.
As different as their sizes were, there was one thing they all had in common at that moment — apart from their physical features.
And that was the sheer menace that they radiated.
My lips widened, and a menacing smirk painted my scowling face as my own gaze intensely scanned them all.
"The disgusting shits finally came out, huh?" I uttered. Any and every tension that had previously built up within my heart completely melted, replaced by an overwhelming confidence that very much resembled bravado at that moment.
How funny. They're all dressed in black jackets. The things think they're humans.
Once again, that deep voice rumbled.
—"Are you the human they refer to as 'Hawk Eyes'? The so-called leader of those Cyclo rats?"—
It asked.
For a brief moment, I couldn't tell which of them was speaking. I could only hear. But then I gave up trying to search, and instead looked down at Mangé, who stared up at them, wavering pistol still raised. An annoyed frown on his face.
They think I'm their leader.
I turned to look up at them once more.
"Which one of you is speaking?" I asked. My voice was smeared by the brewing annoyance, which was further portrayed by my wrinkled forehead and my clenched fists.
A long, very long and thick, saliva-dripping blue tongue stretched out from amongst the other outstretched tongues.
My eyes widened.
I see.
—"I am."—
It responded.
The one speaking was larger than the rest of them. Its eyeballs were thicker too, with blue veins swimming inside the pupil-less thing.
So it's a blue-blooded spiff. A rank 7.
"I am not 'Hawk Eyes'..." I responded.
Shitty nickname.
"In fact, I am not telling you my name. I will only state my purpose. Ah, you may not properly understand this, but 'purpose' means the reason I'm here, which you might already know."
—"And that is?"—
"To kill every last one of you."
Let the chaos begin.