Yoren had no idea how things had spiraled so quickly. One moment, everyone was peacefully mining Originium, and the next, they were in a full-scale street brawl.
The way it unfolded was almost theatrical—like those sudden gang fights in Young and Dangerous films. The infected seemed to materialize from the shadows, as if they were actors waiting for their cue. Yoren half-expected a grizzled director to step out with a rolled-up script, shouting, "Cut! Back to one!"
But this wasn't a movie.
The weapons clashing around him were real. The enemies weren't stuntmen—they were infected, fighting with genuine intent to kill.
He'd imagined scenes like this before. A chaotic battle, himself as the protagonist, dodging blades and fists, turning the tide at the last moment.
But now that it was happening, reality crushed those fantasies. He wasn't some legendary hero—he was terrified. His legs felt like lead.
But cowering in a corner wouldn't change a thing.
Yoren grabbed a stone and hurled it at one of the infected—a man in a headscarf.
"I'm gonna kick your ass!"
The stone never reached its mark.
With an effortless motion, the man snatched it mid-air, then crushed it to dust in his palm.
His gaze locked onto Yoren, eyes full of cold amusement. "You look like a ridiculous clown."
Yoren forced a smirk. "And you look like a loser."
Something in his tone must have struck a nerve, because the man's expression darkened. His fingers twitched, a telltale sign of impending violence.
Just as he was about to charge, Vina surged forward like a storm, her warhammer slicing through the air in a brutal arc.
Vina had already sized him up. His speed was impressive—stealth-based, most likely an Originium ability. But raw power meant nothing if you couldn't land a hit.
She didn't aim to end him in one strike. Instead, she adjusted her approach, prioritizing precision over brute force. A single solid hit would be enough.
Because of his fixation on Yoren, the headscarfed man reacted a fraction too late. His eyes widened as Vina closed the distance, faster than he had anticipated.
Instinct took over—he threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding the hammer's crushing blow. But even though the weapon didn't land directly, the sheer force of the swing sent a shockwave through the air. The man was flung off his feet, bricks exploding from the ground where he had stood.
Guigui ran out of the building, her voice panicked. "Yoren! What's happening?!"
"Stay back!" Yoren shouted immediately.
She froze, startled by his tone. "But—"
"Just stay put! Find a place to hide and use your backpack to protect yourself!"
Yoren knew Guigui had incredible defensive capabilities, but that didn't mean she was a fighter. She could survive a battlefield, but she wasn't built for combat.
If she tried to protect others, she might put herself in unnecessary danger.
Vina exuded pure, unfiltered bloodlust. It was the first time Yoren had seen her fight without holding back. Even as an observer, he could feel her overwhelming presence.
Her eyes were locked onto her opponent.
"So, you're just a bluffing coward who doesn't even have the guts to face me, the King of Advance."
The man clenched his headscarf, his composure cracking. "So that's it… You're the King of Advance from Victoria. No wonder so many infected have fallen to you."
Vina didn't flinch. "I've killed plenty. To me, there's no difference between infected and uninfected. Enemies are enemies. I don't show mercy."
The situation was dire for the Glasgow gang. But Vina had faced worse.
She didn't care why these infected had attacked. Their scattered words told her enough—this wasn't about resources. It was about ideology.
Which meant words were useless.
She roared, the force of her voice sending snow cascading from rooftops. Then, like a lion on the hunt, she charged.
The warhammer spun in a deadly cyclone. The infected man dodged frantically, unable to go on the offensive. Every time he landed, destruction followed—walls crumbled, roofs collapsed, entire buildings were reduced to ruins.
Several infected rushed to help, but Vina barely spared them a glance. They were swatted aside, their bodies crumpling against debris. No one dared step forward again.
The headscarfed man shouted to his allies. "Forget her! Handle the others—I'll deal with her myself!"
He danced across the battlefield, narrowly evading Vina's swings. But Yoren could see the truth.
Vina hadn't landed a single direct hit.
She was exerting too much energy. If this dragged on, she'd tire first.
That couldn't happen.
Yoren smirked. "I'll throw you, Rem!"
The infected barely dodged another hammer strike before something flew at him from behind. He instinctively raised his arm—only for a rock to shatter against his forearm.
Yoren had repositioned himself, launching an unrelenting barrage of debris. Stones, wooden planks, even a chisel—anything within reach became a projectile.
"Damn you, Rem! Damn you, Rem! Damn you, Rem!"
The onslaught pelted the infected's feet, annoying him more than harming him. He leapt back, clearing Vina's strike—only for a kettle to sail through the air.
The infected reacted on instinct. He swung his arm, smashing it apart.
"Bang!"
The kettle burst, ice-cold water splashing across his face.
"Shit!"
His body stiffened. He couldn't immediately tell what had hit him, and the uncertainty forced him to pause and wipe his face.
That moment of hesitation cost him.
The second before his fingers touched his cheek, Vina was still to his left.
The next instant, she had vanished from sight.
A murderous presence loomed above him. His eyes darted up, too late.
"Goodbye, self-righteous bastard."
Vina descended, hammer raised high, bringing it down with the force of a collapsing mountain.
Yoren barely registered the impact before a shockwave blasted him off his feet. He tumbled backward, landing hard on the frozen ground.
It was over.
Right?
Rubbing his sore backside, Yoren scrambled to his feet—only to freeze at the sight before him.
The infected man lay sprawled on the ground.
But he was still alive.
Because standing in front of him was something massive.
A towering figure, over three meters tall, loomed over the battlefield. Heavy iron plates covered its shoulders and chest, thick clothing wrapped its massive frame, and an enormous metal helmet obscured its face.
At the last moment, this hulking behemoth had stepped in and absorbed Vina's full-strength attack.
Vina's hammer pressed hard against the stranger's weapon—a monstrous, jagged blade.
No.
Not a blade.
A chainsaw.
Yoren's breath caught in his throat.
His pupils shrank as he recognized the weapon.
"No way… Is that—?!"
The hulking figure with a chainsaw loomed in front of the turbaned man like an immovable mountain.
If Yoren had to describe his feelings at that moment, it would be something like this:
Imagine a kid named Xiao Ming. Back in middle school, he was relentlessly bullied by the class's resident brute—a fat kid with a mean streak. The experience left him with a lifelong trauma. Then one day, Xiao Ming died.
No, really. He actually died.
But fate played a cruel trick on him. After a series of unspeakable events, he was reincarnated—with all his past memories intact. Determined to live a perfect life this time around, he opened his newborn eyes, ready for a fresh start.
And there, in the crib beside him, was the same fat kid.
Just as his tiny fists clenched in existential horror, his parents cheerfully took the hands of the fat kid's parents and said:
"These two children were born on the same day. It must be fate! Let's raise them together, send them to the same kindergarten, same elementary school, middle school, and let them grow up as best friends."
As Xiao Ming's father spoke, the fat kid in the crib turned to him with a smug little smirk.
A smirk that said:
Heh. Caught you again.
That was exactly how Yoren felt staring up at the massive figure in front of him.
Except, unlike Xiao Ming, Yoren hadn't died—yet.
If his instincts were right, then this giant wasn't just any infected brute.
It was him.
The man who would one day slaughter all his beloved operators in the Cheshire riots.
Big Bob.
Damn it. Why was Big Bob here three years before those events were supposed to take place?!
Yoren forced himself to stay calm.
If this was really the Big Bob, then no one here might be able to take him down. However, there was still a chance this was just some random oversized infected, bloated from years of Oripathy.
If it wasn't truly him, then ACE, Vina, and the others could take him down together.
At that moment, the turbaned man sitting on the ground wiped the sweat from his forehead, still shaken from the explosion that had knocked him off his feet. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
"Bob, thank goodness you arrived just in time."
Yoren felt his stomach drop.
No. No, no, no.
Big Bob hefted his chainsaw with ease, his voice deep and unshaken beneath his helmet.
"I ran into a Filin woman on the way here. Delayed me a little."
The turbaned man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Who could possibly slow you down? Did you deal with her?"
"No. She ran."
Vina, who had landed on a nearby rooftop, narrowed her eyes.
A Filin woman who had stalled Big Bob?
Indra.
Damn it. Indra must have engaged him to buy time—but even she couldn't stop him.
Vina clenched her teeth. She had to keep Big Bob occupied. If he joined the battle raging on the other side, everyone was dead.
She pulled out her communicator and tossed it to Yoren.
"Yoren! Call ACE. Tell him if they don't get here soon, we're all dead."
Without another word, she launched herself at Big Bob again, war hammer swinging.
Yoren fumbled with the communicator, quickly switching to ACE's channel the way Kate had taught him.
"ACE! When are you coming back?! We can't hold on much longer! ACE! ACE, do you hear me?!"
The only response was static.
"Damn it!"
On the battlefield, Kate caught sight of Big Bob towering over Vina's position.
She brought her axe down, splitting an enemy open, then roared, "Boss is in danger! Finish this fight—NOW!"
"KILL!"
The Glasgow gang, hardened by years of life-or-death struggles, erupted into a frenzy.
Their initial panic had worn off. Now, they were pissed.
They had been peacefully mining Originium when a bunch of ruffians had ambushed them. Now that the surprise had worn off, it was time to show these bastards why they ran the streets.
Morale surged. The gangsters bared their teeth, unleashing their most unhinged fighting styles.
Some flexed, their muscles bulging as they tore through enemies with brute force.
Some chugged liquor mid-battle and started swinging wildly like drunken masters.
Some clamped knives between their teeth, dual-wielding weapons like maniacs.
The worst of them all simply shook their heads violently while screaming nonsense, throwing their opponents into absolute confusion.
It was as if everyone had been hoarding SP, and now, at the last moment, they had all activated their ultimate abilities.
Meanwhile, Vina and Big Bob clashed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Unlike the turbaned man, Bob didn't dodge. He took every one of Vina's hammer strikes head-on. The sound of metal colliding with unyielding flesh echoed through the streets.
Vina pulled back, panting. Bob barely budged.
With one powerful swing, he cleaved through a nearby wall.
Vina twisted mid-air, bending at an angle that defied physics, landing behind Bob and swinging her hammer at his knee joint.
CLANG!
Her attack hit—but Bob didn't even flinch.
Instead, he reversed his chainsaw in a single, brutal motion, stabbing it into the ground behind him—right where she had been aiming.
"Close," he muttered.
Across the battlefield, Yoren watched with wide eyes. "Damn, that was so close!"
Sparks flew as Vina struggled against the force of the chainsaw. Before she could react, Bob pivoted and drove a boot straight into her stomach.
BANG!
She flew ten meters through the air, crashing hard into the ground.
And yet, she got back up immediately, ignoring the blood dripping down her arms.
She charged him again.
On the other side, the battle was shifting.
The Glasgow gang, now fully riled up, had turned the tide. The infected forces were breaking under the assault.
And then, at the end of the street—
A group of familiar figures appeared.
ACE and the [Death] squad had finally arrived.
Battered and bloody, but victorious.
Yoren's heart leapt.
It was time for a counterattack.
Big Bob might have been unstoppable one-on-one, but this was a team fight.
With the infected forces crumbling, all of them could pile onto Big Bob together. No matter how tough he was, even he couldn't take on everyone at once.
Yoren waved frantically. "ACE! You're finally back! We've been waiting forever!"
ACE, still running, raised a hand.
"Yoren!"
"ACE!"
"RUN!"
Yoren blinked. "Huh?"
Then he noticed the expressions on the Death Squad members' faces.
Wide-eyed. Fear-stricken.
As if something horrifying was chasing them.
Yoren narrowed his gaze, looking past them—
And saw a single, slender figure emerge at the end of the street.
Just one person.
And yet, his blood ran cold.