Chapter 23:

4:32 pm.

The shell bursts out of the tank's turret. Her eyes 'looks' at her.

Chika quickly looks around, wracking her brain as she does, finding anyway to escape. Her artificial leg can't move. It lost power as it tried to bear the weight of a shooting car. Chika looks at her side, her artificial arm isn't there anymore. Leaving only a slot of where it was once attached to. The other car that was shooting at her was most likely the reason.

The shell was getting closer, just a few more feet away. The memories of her beloved flows. The day she lost her. The hope that was given to her. She's on the cusp, just a bit more. What would she give? What would she cut away? A warmth that she so desperately desire. All she needs is that book and she'll be with her again. All she needs is that book and she'll be reborn once more. All she needs is that book, and she'll be whole again.

And so, she asked:

"How will you change the world, Chika Hakozaki?"

The answer was obvious.

There is no clear indication when a person uses it. A pain somewhere in the body? No pain. A bit of strain somewhere? No strain. There is no sign, no tell; it just simply happens. No chanting for the ancients. No sacrifice to be made. No cutting. No bleeding. No shooting to the head. No aura around their body.

It just happens.

As though the person that has it, simply has it.

It's as if it was a part of their body. Like an extra limb. No, rather than a limb, it's like the beating of a heart. Like the blood moving through your veins. A natural course of cause and effect.

Talent to truest sense of the word.

But such a thing, such talent, such ability, requires a price. Nothing is free after all. What did Chika give? What did Chika do? She remembers it vividly. How her senses tingled. How her eyes went wide. How her nose itched. How her skin crawled. How her heart almost sank. How her throat gulped. How her tongue licked. The hope that was given to her afterwards. How her ears heard the chime. The joy of success. The excitement that her labor is almost done.

She only needs that book.

Chika 'looks' at the Tome of the World, as words from a language of long before slips out of her lips.

"—!"

The color on the fairy's face changed.

4:33 pm.

"MMMGH!"

"Hold on, Iffy! Keep her steady!"

"Ma'am!" the Operator holds her down.

IF flails from the pain as Compa sews her wounds tight. She doesn't have anesthesia on hand. She already gave her some paracetamol, but it was not enough to block out the excruciating pain of having a needle piercing her skin over and over again.

Compa pierces her skin again, pushing the needle through one skin and out the other. IF can feel the rough way she's being stitched. As every fiber of

*GUHI!* *GUHI!* *GUHI!*

The truck shakes once again from above.

"Driver!" Compa shouts at the driver.

"I'm trying! Focus on sewing up the Commander!" the Driver retorts as he tries to keep the truck steady.

"We'll be out of the village any second! There's going to be rough roads ahead so better hurry nurse!"

"Got it!" Compa responds without breaking concentration.

"Hey, come over here!" he shouts at the Combatant.

"You have a plan!?" the Combatant runs over to him.

*GUHI!* *GUHI!* *GUHI!* *GUHI!*

The truck tilts from side to side again. The Driver reacts, turning the front wheels towards where the truck is titling to. Causing the MRAP to catch its weight and tilting it back down. However, this causes the truck to swerve towards the building on the side.

"Dammit!" the Driver course corrected, suddenly turning the truck to the other side.

"That crafty son of a bitch wants us to crash!" the Driver cursed.

"Try and distract it above!" the Driver demanded to his Combatant comrade.

"You want me to shoot at it!? That thing will fuck me before I pull the trigger!"

"Then don't get yourself fucked. Listen, when we exit the village, there's going to be nothing but road. We just need to shake it off"

"Are you serious!?"

"Yes, I'm serious! Now get your ass moving!"

The Combatant crouches on the turret's platform. He pulls out his GT40. He puts a hand on the lever of the hatch above. He breathes in, and then breathes out, before twisting the lever and pushing the hatch op—!

*GUUHIIIII!* *GUHIIIII!*

*SCREEEEEECH!*

"FUCK!" both the driver and the combatant curses.

He only just lifted the hatch a few centimeters, and its long fingers already shot through the gap. The Combatant instantly pulled down the hatch, but unable to close it fully. Because of the sudden shift in weight, the MRAP swerved.

The driver turns the steering wheel to the right. The sudden shift in balance causes the MRAP to tilt to the left. He then turns the wheel to left, causing the truck to drive towards where it's tilted, shifting the weight back towards the right.

*GUHIII!* *GUHIIII!*

*CLANG!* *CLANG!*

"Fuck! FUCK!" the Combatant tries to close the hatch as hard as he can, but its long nails seem to be made of something harder than steel clamping it apart.

With just its fingers, it grips the hatch and pulls it open. The combatant, holding the hatch with one arm and crouching down, is lifted up off the platform. He immediately drops his handgun and grabs onto the handle with his other hand. He makes himself as heavy as possible, using his back to pull the hatch.

"Dammit Driver! He's trying to get in!"

"I can tell! Fuck! Hey! We need your help over here!" the driver calls out to the operator.

"Shit! But—!"

His Commander is squirming underneath him, her eyes tearing up from the pain of being stitched together. His comrade is trying to prevent that thing from getting in. They both need him, they need him, they need him, they need him, they need him.

"Ah… Ah…!"

But what can he do? He's just an informant. An ordinary citizen before the war broke out. An ordinary meteorologist before they came. An ordinary husband before the shot heard around the world. The panic, them, the color red, cries, tears, heartache, the sinking feeling, the resolve out of fear. His revenge. His revenge for what? His wife? His daughter? That's right. He was angry. He was angry. He was angry.

He was angry at his powerlessness, that's why he volunteered. He was angry at his helplessness, that's why he stepped up. He was angry at the cruel world that changed, that's he followed her.

What a load of bullshit.

"Aha...!"

He can't do anything.

It's hopeless now.

In just a few more moments, that thing will break through the hatch and mangle everybody in the truck.

His Commander of a girl, the once ruthless commander, is now a broken piece of a bloody mess about to die any second.

"Ahahahahahahahahahaha!"

And who else does this team of suicidal freaks have left?

A nurse and 2 jockeys that's full of themselves that they can't even fight off one of them.

Look, one of them already died before they even got into the truck.

There's no hope left now.

What a load of bullshit his confidence was. He just delayed the inevitable. He thought his participation could have changed something. He thought it would end tomorrow. The next hour. The next second even. After all, inaction changes nothing. He believed in those goody-two-shoes words like a kid believing in a fairy tale.

It didn't matter anyway. Whatever he had done, it didn't matter. His anger? It didn't matter. Look where he is now? Trapped inside a steel coffin about to get eaten by those things.

Then why not just kill himself first?

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"What the—!? Hey—!"

*BANG!*