Chapter 46: A Wig
To My readers, I would like to redirect you to a translated/edited fic by someone, from what I've seen so far, is a way better writer than me; 'My Diary system in Marvel' by 'TheWandaShip'
I don't know if it's because I'm on my man-period or if the editor is adding some voodoo witchcraft to the story, but that shit had me in tears the first few chaps, lol.
Enough of me being a b*tch; It would be a pity to waste a chap on these few words soooooooooooooo...
...here's a chapter free of charge... wait no i take it back, gimme power stones!!!
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With disheveled hair and dressed in white, the apparition looked like it had stepped straight out of a horror movie—a spectral figure that suddenly appeared and nearly sent Felix into cardiac arrest.
But years of training as a "professional" kicked in, and instinct took over. Felix's hand shot to his sidearm, his fingers curling around the familiar grip of his pistol. He barely had time to register the bloody kitchen knife being raised again before he squeezed the trigger. The gun roared to life, the muzzle flashing as bullets exploded from the barrel.
Yet, what happened next defied all logic.
The woman in white swayed to the side with an unsettling grace, her movements so fluid and unearthly that they seemed to mock the laws of physics. The bullets, meant to end her life, whizzed past her, harmlessly embedding themselves into the wall behind her, each leaving a perfectly round crater as evidence of Felix's increasingly desperate shots.
Felix's breath caught in his throat. His mind raced, but his body moved on autopilot. He dropped into a crouch, steadying his aim and firing again. The pistol barked with each pull of the trigger, the confined space amplifying the sound until it became deafening. Muzzle flashes lit the room in staccato bursts, illuminating the surreal nightmare unfolding before him.
But the woman's movements continued to defy reason. She twisted and turned, her white dress flowing around her like petals of a ghostly flower, dodging the bullets with an agility that seemed to belong to another realm. As she jumped, her dress flared out, creating a momentary vision of eerie beauty in the midst of the chaos, a haunting juxtaposition of grace and terror.
Felix's pistol was a standard-issue "Storm Falcon," known for its power and reliability. The magazine held only eight rounds—a limitation that was becoming painfully clear. In his training, Felix had shown extraordinary talent, hitting moving targets at fifteen meters with unerring accuracy. In the world of ordinary men, he was a sharpshooter, a weapon unto himself.
But here, in this dimly lit apartment, facing this unnatural adversary, all his skills seemed worthless. At a distance of less than two meters, he emptied the entire magazine, each shot meticulously aimed. Yet, the only casualties were the walls and the kitchen dishes, which shattered into fragments under the onslaught. The woman's white dress remained untouched, not even a single thread disturbed.
As Felix watched in horror, the woman leaped gracefully across the floor, landing on all fours in a posture that sent chills down his spine. She moved with the fluidity of a predatory animal, her limbs twisting in ways that no human's should. Her disheveled black hair hung down, obscuring much of her face, but Felix caught a glimpse of her features as she crept closer.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
Her face was ghastly pale, almost corpse-like, with dark shadows clinging to the contours of her cheeks. Most of her features were hidden beneath the curtain of tangled hair, but the corners of her mouth were unmistakably visible—cracked and stretched into a wide, unnatural grin that spoke of madness and malevolence. It was the kind of smile that belonged in nightmares, not in the waking world.
With no time to reload, Felix discarded his empty pistol, the weapon clattering uselessly to the floor. His hand found the hilt of his combat knife—a blade designed for close quarters, honed to a lethal edge. He had trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat, particularly with knives, but nothing in his training had prepared him for this.
Before he could process his next move, something unexpected happened.
The ceiling above him cracked with a thunderous boom, as if struck by an enormous, unseen force. Fragments of reinforced concrete rained down, narrowly missing Felix as they smashed into the floor with a deafening crash. The woman in white, caught off guard, was buried under the debris, a muffled rumbling accompanying her fall.
Then, amidst the dust and falling rubble, a dark figure descended from the ceiling, landing with the grace and precision of a predator. Felix's eyes widened as the figure straightened up, stepping into the dim light.
Batman had arrived.
...
When Charlie realized his senior had no intention of joining him at the dinner he had so kindly "invited" him to, he was momentarily baffled. But being quick on the uptake, Charlie adjusted to the situation with ease. He wasn't one to dwell on minor inconveniences.
The senior had generously offered to cover the entire meal, but what might have been going through his mind was just how much money Charlie could manage to eat.
Not that it mattered—money was of no concern.
Charlie was quite pleased when he realized the meal was entirely on the house, so he promptly called the waiter over to ask if the food could be packed to go. After receiving an affirmative answer, Charlie abandoned the idea of dining in. Instead, he pulled up the menu and sorted the items by price, from highest to lowest. He then ordered a portion of every extravagant dish he could find, most of which he couldn't even pronounce, and had them all packed to take home.
Returning to his apartment with a bounty of gourmet food, Charlie set up a folding table next to his gaming rig. He arranged the dishes within easy reach, ready to enjoy them while indulging in his favorite pastime. He played for a while, pausing occasionally to take a bite of something delicious, washing it down with a sip of his favorite drink.
Dining alone in that upscale restaurant would have felt strange, especially in an environment where others were enjoying intimate, candlelit dinners or showing off their wealth with lavish orders. It was an unfriendly place for someone eating solo, even animal rights activists might shed a tear at the sight of a lone diner in such a setting.
No, it was much better to be back in his room, eating, drinking, and playing games.
In hindsight, Charlie was glad he had decided to come home early. If he had been even a few seconds late in launching his game, his senior might have ended up as a headless corpse.
Charlie had blasted through the ceiling with a gel bomb, making a dramatic, Batman-style entrance. Despite the sheer power of the reinforced concrete crashing down, the woman in white appeared unfazed. She quickly rolled back to her feet, her movements as unnatural as ever, and sprang into action, brandishing the kitchen knife as she lunged at Batman.
The bloody blade sliced through the air with a vicious hiss, but Batman caught it with his armored forearms. The gloves were made of stab-resistant composite fibers and reinforced with alloy plates at the wrists. The knife's blade curled against the unyielding material.
Charlie soon realized that when fighting the woman in white up close, the attack warning symbol above her head, which usually appeared before an enemy launched an attack, lingered for only a fraction of the time it normally would. He surmised that this was due to her incredible speed, leaving the player with a much shorter window to react.
To survive, the player had to quickly assess whether the incoming attack could be blocked or if it needed to be dodged.
When a blue symbol appeared above the enemy's head, it indicated that a counterattack could be triggered with a right-click.
When a yellow symbol appeared, it required more finesse. The player had to use the arrow keys in combination with a right-click to block the knife, then release the button once the enemy's strength was depleted, triggering a counter-move.
But when a red symbol appeared, it signaled an unblockable attack. The player had no choice but to move Batman out of harm's way with a well-timed dodge or roll.
The control scheme was reminiscent of the Arkham series Batman games. Charlie, having mastered those mechanics during his flawless Arkham run, quickly found his rhythm.
Felix, meanwhile, was left dumbfounded. The figures before him—one in white, the other in black—were both extraordinary in their own right. The woman in white possessed an almost supernatural agility, while the man in black had honed his combat skills to near perfection, engaging in a fierce duel that defied belief.
From an outsider's perspective, it looked like a battle between Sadako and Dracula—two mythical beings locked in a surreal and deadly dance.
Charlie saw his moment and executed a flawless counterattack. Batman sidestepped, crossing his arms to trap the woman's knife between the three blades on his arm guard. With a swift, powerful twist, the kitchen knife shattered into several pieces.
Disarmed, the woman in white didn't hesitate. She hurled the hilt aside and lunged at Batman with open hands, her fingers clawing the air. But Batman was quicker. He stepped aside and pressed a small propeller to her lower abdomen in one fluid motion.
The propeller ignited, a burst of transparent flame erupting from its tiny nozzles. The sheer force of the propulsion sent the woman in white hurtling across the kitchen. She crashed into the entrance door with a resounding bang, knocking it off its hinges and tumbling into the hallway, door panel and all.
As she fell, something dislodged from her and landed on the floor with a soft thud.
Felix, still reeling from the events that had just unfolded, stared at the object in disbelief.
It looked suspiciously like… a wig?
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