"Wrong place, wrong time, friend," the man says, his voice unnervingly cheery. His face is youthful, almost like that of a teenager, but Adrian knows at a glance that he's anything but.
"I'm not looking for trouble, I'm just here to get my coat," Adrian replies, his voice steady as he grabs his coat from the counter.
"But you've already seen me, friend," the man says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "And we can't have that... oh no, no, no." The bartender's body falls to the floor with a dull thud, and the man takes a few slow, deliberate steps toward Adrian. Despite being shorter, his presence is overwhelming, menacing in a way that sends a chill down Adrian's spine. As the man closes the distance, his face comes dangerously close to Adrian's, the air between them thick with tension
"I'm sure we can just talk this out, no?" Adrian says, his face unfazed by the man in front of him.
"But you saw me, and I can't leave any witnesses. It was your own fault for coming down here, don't you think?" the man replies, laughing like a child, his tone playful as if he isn't taking this seriously.
Adrian seizes the moment while the man laughs, pressing his palm against the wooden counter. The wood shifts and morphs into spikes that shoot toward the man. He reacts quickly, dodging to the side, but one of the spikes pierces his forearm.
Looking down at the wound, the man grins—a sadistic smile. He lifts his arm and licks the blood, his face contorting into pure ecstasy.
Meanwhile, Adrian jumps behind the counter, grabs a bottle of whiskey, and downs the entire thing. He then alters its shape, molding the glass into a blade. Placing his palm on the counter again, he extracts a sphere of wood and shapes it into a handle, attaching it to the glass blade. The materials meld together seamlessly, as if welded.
"Matter manipulation… how fun. And your mastery over it is impressive," the man muses, extending his hand. "However, I am better."
Adrian's balance suddenly shifts as the glass sword is yanked from his grasp, shattering as it reaches the man's palm. The shards don't fall; instead, they hover around him, orbiting like moons around a planet.
"Hmm… strange. You were supposed to be pulled, not the sword," the man murmurs, his expression twisting in confusion. Then, realization dawns on him ""You're an RE type, aren't you?" the man grins. "Always tricky, you REs. But no matter—if I fill you with enough holes, you'll die eventually."
The man raises his hand, and the shards orbiting him begin to shift. They don't change form like Adrian's creations; instead, they press inward, compacting under an invisible force. What were once jagged fragments become razor-sharp slivers, dense and honed to lethal precision.
"Telekinesis?" Adrian mutters under his breath as he crouches behind the counter, his mind racing. His eyes scan the room until they land on a glass cabinet displaying a set of knives.
Without hesitation, he reaches out, his hand pressing through the glass as if it were liquid, reshaping it to form an opening. He grabs the knives and fuses them together, molding the blades into a pair of arm-mounted weapons that attach securely to his forearms—ensuring they can't be torn away from him.
Taking a deep breath, Adrian stands and leaps over the counter. As he moves, his hand brushes against the wooden surface, and the material shifts at his command, rising up in front of him to form a thick, ten-centimeter wooden barrier.
The man across from him reacts instantly, launching the razor-sharp shards he had compressed earlier. They tear through the wooden wall, splintering it apart in an instant—but Adrian is already gone.
For a brief moment, the man hesitates, scanning for his opponent. Then, he sees it—Adrian had used the concrete beneath him, morphing it into pillars that shot him into the air. Now, he's descending fast, one blade slashing toward the man's face while the other follows closely behind, ready to strike.
The man twists his body, narrowly avoiding the first slash, but the second blade finds its mark. It drives into his chest with brutal force, snapping a rib and piercing his lung before stopping just short of his heart.
A sharp gasp escapes his lips, but his expression remains eerily composed. Blood trickles from the wound as he raises a hand, his fingers twitching ever so slightly. With a flicker of unseen force, Adrian feels a violent pull on his blade—the man is using telekinesis to wrench it free.
But that only makes things worse. The man's control falters for a split second, the pain disrupting his focus. Instead of pulling the blade cleanly from his chest, the telekinetic force crushes it, shattering the weapon inside him.
The shards burst outward embedding deep into the man's flesh. His body convulses as the fragments rip through muscle and organs each sliver sinking in like a thousand tiny daggers. A choked ragged cough forces its way from his lips spraying blood onto the floor. He stumbles back his breaths turning weak and shallow.
A gut-wrenching cry escapes him the pain overwhelming. His eyes dim the light within them flickering out as his body collapses. But before he can slip too far Adrian is already moving.
In a swift motion he morphs the shards back into his arm blade pulling each piece free in an instant. Blood spills but he doesn't hesitate. Ripping off the man's shirt Adrian snatches a nearby bottle of alcohol and soaks the fabric before reshaping it into a long sturdy thread. With precision he forms the tip into a makeshift needle—a piece of his own arm blade sharpened to a fine point.
Gritting his teeth Adrian threads the wound together guiding the string with careful practiced control. His fingers work fast but his mind is even faster. To ensure nothing is missed he channels his mana into the man's body sending it outward like a pulse of echolocation. Every torn muscle every severed vessel—it all maps itself in his mind.
"Come on don't die on me" Adrian mutters frustration laced in his voice. "You're just a kid."
His hands remain steady as he stitches the weight of urgency pressing down on him. He can't afford to lose him. Not like this.