Rion watched through the scope as the bullet tore through the air, slicing a clean path toward its target. The miniature giant staggered back with the force of the impact, his gargantuan form collapsing like a felled tree. The ground beneath him shook as he crashed onto the street below with a thunderous impact.
He didn't move. His breath was steady, his heartbeat unhurried, as he kept his scope trained on the downed giant, watching for any sign of movement, any twitch or shudder that might indicate life. His time in the Mercenary Legion had taught him that even the most seemingly final of blows could be deceptive.
The chaos of the city continued around him, people shouting, cars screeching to a halt, the distant wail of sirens but Rion remained perfectly still, his focus unbroken. His world had narrowed to the stillness of the rooftop, the feel of the cold metal against his cheek, and the prone figure of Simke far below.
A minute passed, then another. The tension in his muscles slowly eased as the giant's form finally began to shimmer and shrink. Within moments, the hulking figure of Simke had reverted to his human form, lying lifeless on the cold concrete.
Whether it was due to his body running out of origin energy or the finality of death, it no longer mattered. The sight was oddly serene, almost peaceful, like watching a violent storm suddenly calm into a gentle rain.
Bounty Complete.....
He took a deep breath, the icy air filling his lungs, and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Another job well done.
With practiced efficiency, he deactivated his Resonance ability, feeling the world around him snap back to its normal pace. His enhanced senses dulled to their usual state as the [Enhanced Perception] technique he was using faded away. It was like watching a 480p film suddenly switch to 360p; the world was still there, but the edges were softer, less defined.
The adrenaline in his veins was replaced by a cool, steady calm as he began to disassemble his electromagnetic rifle, his hands moving with mechanical precision.
He laid the rifle's pieces out in front of him, each component fitting perfectly into its designated slot in the large case by his side. As he worked, he couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship of the weapon he had painstakingly assembled over the past few months.
The gun's sleek, matte black body which gleamed under the dim light of the rooftop, was made from a composite material he had painstakingly sourced from various suppliers and surplus stores. Its barrel was slightly longer than standard, housing a series of intricately wound magnetic coils visible through precision-cut vents along its sides.
These vents not only added to the rifle's menacing appearance but also served to dissipate the immense heat buildup generated by repeated firings. As for the grip, it was ergonomic, molded to fit the contours of his hand perfectly, ensuring a steady aim even in high-pressure situations. He had spent countless hours adjusting it, shaving off a millimeter here, adding a grip pad there, until it was perfect.
Despite its piecemeal construction, the weapon had a certain rugged elegance to it, with clean lines and a compact design optimized for his sniping needs.
However, by his standards, the gun was still considered wholly incomplete. The magnetic coils for instance needed frequent recalibration as the weapon was frequently subject to powerful recoil forces. Just as the coils of pushed each bullet that was fired forward, an equal and opposite force pushed those same coils back.
If he didn't take time to recalibrate the coils, the weapon's alignment would be off, compromising accuracy and power.
The firing rate also left much to be desired. He had focused on maximum power and maximum penetration needed to channel a lot of energy when designing the weapon while lowering the priority of dealing with the incredible amount of heat it generated.
This meant that his rifle fired once every three seconds or so, which was unfortunate given that the makeshift energy core he currently used to power the rifle was barely sufficient for 5 full power shots, even under enhancement from his ability.
As he carefully packed the rifle into the large case by his side, he couldn't help but reflect on the progress he had made in the almost four months since he had moved to the Northern District. Every day, he worked on practicing his origin techniques and doing assignments. Life in the Mercenary Legion was harsh and unforgiving, and only those who were constantly improving stood a chance of surviving.
Whenever he wasn't on a job, Rion dedicated himself to refining his various blueprints and creations. In addition to the design for the magnetic rifle, he constantly brainstormed new ideas. His personal database was filled with sketches and notes, detailing everything from advanced targeting systems to automated repair drones.
The foremost idea that had been on his mind ever since he began the design for the magnetic handguns was to upgrade from magnetic weapons to the more stable electromagnetic version. The concept had tantalized him for months, but the execution had always seemed just out of reach.
Among the numerous issues that hindered the feasibility of an electromagnetic system, the most prominent ones were the severe lack of supply for high-displacement metals and a reliable power source that could handle the increased demands.
His breakthrough came when an assignment led him to a vendor in the bustling markets of the Northern District who dealt in surplus military tech. After several visits and some shrewd bargaining, Rion managed to acquire a bunch of restricted tech, including a set of high-grade magnetic coils and a compact energy core from decommissioned military equipment. By reverse engineering the core, he was able to create and improve the blueprint for a reliable power source which he named the Nova Core.
It was a partial solution, but it was enough to scrap the designs of the magnetic rifle and transition to the electromagnetic version. The work was painstaking, requiring countless hours of trial and error, but the result was worth it. The electromagnetic coils provided more stability and power, and the Nova Core offered a more reliable power source.
He inspected the gun closely, noting the inevitable wear and tear. Despite its imperfections, the power of this weapon was unrivaled, at least for now. While it could not be considered invincible, in terms of theoretical application, its capabilities were undeniably potent and significantly advanced.
As he packed the final pieces into the large case, and locked it securely, he looked out over the cityscape. Different from the Western District, the Northern District was a sprawling maze of towering buildings and dark alleys, a place where danger lurked around every corner and opportunity was always just a step away. It was a harsh, unforgiving place, but it was also the perfect hunting ground for someone like him.
Some time ago, he had taken the time and completed the four missions remaining for him to level up to the Operative-Level. This increase in level gave him the advantage of getting better assignments and most importantly high-value bounties, like the one he had just completed.
He definitely wasn't planning to keep a low profile and hide his ability in the Mercenary Legion. His original goal for joining was to show his strength and fast track his advancement to the upper echelon of this world. He had no intention of staying at the bottom for long.
Expelling the winter cold out of his lungs with a breath, he adjusted his gear and slung the case on his shoulder, the weight a familiar comfort against his back. Then, he made his way down from his perch, moving with the silent grace of a predator.
As he descended the fire escape, his thoughts drifted back to the mission. Simke in his blue devil form was supposed to be a formidable target. The original plan was to tail him for some time and snipe him from afar while his guard was down, taking advantage of his overconfidence and lack of awareness.
But luck was on his side today. He had arrived at a moment when he was already distracted, engaged in a bar brawl. The chaos and confusion had provided the perfect cover for his attack, turning a potentially dangerous mission into a textbook takedown.
Reaching the street, he melted into the crowd, blending in with the throng of people running away from the scene. He moved with practiced ease, slipping between the panicked citizens, his gaze never lingering for too long on any one face.
As he left, he couldn't help but discreetly take one last look at the body. The death of Simke by his hands was a sobering reminder of the risks and rewards that came with this line of work, and why he had to become stronger as fast as possible.
He was aware that there would always be someone stronger, someone faster, someone more powerful. But for now, he was the one with the upper hand. And he intended to keep it that way.
* * *
Rion's journey back to his residence was uneventful, the urban sprawl of the Northern District familiar under his feet. He took a series of winding paths, doubling back a few times to ensure he wasn't being followed, a habit ingrained from his dealings with Cobra. Even the most seasoned tracker could be thrown off by a sudden change in direction or a quick detour through a crowded marketplace.
The bustling markets and underground tech circles of the Northern District offered a wealth of opportunities, each one more tempting than the last. While the resources available here were limited, the sheer variety and novelty of the goods on offer tickled a resourceful mind like his in all the right ways.
He often found inspiration in the diversity and novelty of this place. Being a maze of towering buildings and dark alleys, the Northern District was a place where danger lurked around every corner.
But it was also very realistic. Fairness and opportunities were only guaranteed if one had the ability, making this a place where the strong thrived and the weak were left behind. One could not expect the strong or capable to have no special privileges at all.
The city was alive with the buzz of activity, people bustling about their business, neon lights flickering in the sun. It was the 15th day of the second month, a time when hopes were renewed and resolutions were fresh. Yet for him, it was just another day in his relentless pursuit of power and survival.
The streets of Pinecrest, with their chaotic blend of modern skyscrapers and dilapidated alleyways, pulsed with energy. Vendors shouted from their stalls, hawking everything from street food to bootleg electronics, their voices blending into a cacophony that filled the air.
The scent of grilled meat and spices mingled with the acrid smell of exhaust fumes, creating a heady, almost intoxicating mix. Rion breathed it all in, feeling the pulse of the city around him, a living, breathing entity that never slept.
He continued down the street, his head down as he walked. To any passerby, he appeared to be a depressed musician who was carrying a guitar case and wandering around. The deception was deliberate, a simple yet effective way to avoid drawing unwanted attention. People tended to ignore those who appeared down on their luck, giving them a wide berth and rarely sparing them a second glance.
Eventually, he reached a quieter part of the district, where the buildings were lower and the crowds thinner. The sounds of the city were muted here, the neon lights replaced by the dim glow of street lamps.
As he rounded a corner, his residence came into view, the repurposed auto shop that he now called home. The exterior still bore the marks of its previous life: faded signage and rusted metal, blending seamlessly with the other run-down buildings in the area.
He approached the door, checking his surroundings one last time before slipping inside.