After Ash had landed on the second floor, he caused temporary blindness from the dust that filled the room after he had crashed through the ceiling.
The dust was all over the place, making it hard to actually see or make out anything that was there, let alone what was happening.
When the dust finally settled, Ash stood with both his feet planted, striking a superhero pose as he waited for the people he had spotted earlier to realize he was there with them.
They didn't just look at Ash immediately. They were still caught off guard by the big hole in the ceiling. They glanced at each other, not needing to say a word, because their facial expressions spoke for them.
There were four of them—all grown men, maybe in their late forties or early fifties. These weren't just your average old men. They were actually ice cream men.
They wore the full attire of ice cream men: white, striped short-sleeved shirts, bow ties, long black pants, aprons with the logo of an ice cream cone, and, of course, those little ice cream hats.
Ash felt like he had been waiting forever for them to notice him. His hand was cramping from holding the pose, and he felt like his pants were about to rip open.
Still, he convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, they might finally notice him. But that seemed far-fetched, and he knew he shouldn't hold his breath. These ice cream men really looked stupid.
Just because they wore the friendly ice cream attire that everyone loved and adored didn't mean the people inside the clothes were friendly, lovable, or adored. They were the complete opposite.
They didn't seem normal. They moved like mindless zombies—and not just from the way they walked, bumping into each other, groaning, and then repeating the same thing again and again.
From the looks of it, they weren't even interested in what was standing in front of them, waiting patiently. All they cared about was the big hole that mesmerized them.
Ash was reaching the limit of his patience. His balance was failing, and his support hand was nearly useless. He was using all five fingers to maintain that pose with his legs spread wide apart.
"Seriously?" he complained.
His complaint seemed to fall on deaf ears—or maybe the ice cream men were simply ignoring him on purpose.
"Alright, that's it." Ash had finally had enough. "Hey bozos! Hi, hello! I'm the one who caused the big hole in the ceiling! I'm the person you're looking for!" He stood up and dusted off his hands.
The ice cream men looked at him as if they couldn't figure out who he was or what business he had with them. To show just how lost and confused they were, they looked at each other and groaned—maybe that was their way of communicating.
"Oh, hail precious innocent Mary… I'm here to kill you." Ash sighed and put his hand to his face.
For a second, the clueless ice cream men were still as clueless as ever. They just stared at Ash.
"Hmm?"
Then they laughed in his face, as though he were crazy.
Ash saw that they didn't take him seriously. He whipped out a weapon—or more like conjured it. It was a very long but slim whip, slithering like a crawling snake.
After he conjured the whip, the ice cream men looked at him, then at it, then at him again, then back at the whip. They repeated this unnecessary process more than four times.
Ash saw that revealing his whip hadn't scared them. Instead, they were mesmerized by it—and nothing else.
"I really didn't want to do this part of the trick." He rolled his eyes.
Unexpectedly, Ash cracked his whip—not twice, not many times, just once. It changed instantly. No longer a harmless black whip, it was now emanating with orange fire.
The ice cream men were shocked.
"Hmmm?"
They stretched their necks to get a better look.
"Uh-huh." Ash's face lit up with a smile.
Maybe now they realized that the kid they had mocked wasn't just a normal boy. Because he wasn't.
As soon as they understood, the ice cream men roared and charged at Ash.
"Now that's more like it." Ash began to swing his whip.
When the ice cream men roared, a disturbing sound came out of them. It was unclear what it was, but it sounded like thunder just before a heavy storm—except twisted, more like a burned-out roar than a booming one.
Not only that, but their faces changed. From normal old men selling ice cream, they transformed into monstrous forms. Their mouths opened unnaturally wide, and their teeth turned black, as though they had been chewing coal.
They came at him one by one, their grotesque fingers elongated. Their attacks were wild and chaotic, almost like they were playing tag in a royal rumble match.
Luckily, Ash managed to duck and avoid all of their attacks. It was clear they desperately wanted a piece of him.
"Woah! That was close," Ash said in relief, dodging one of their long fingers that nearly gouged his eyes.
He realized this was no longer fun and games. If he wanted to survive, he had to get serious.
Ash kicked all four ice cream men in the face at once with his sneaker, which had something sharp on its outsole. Whatever it was, it scratched them and caused real damage.
They staggered back, touching their faces and screeching in pain as if crying.
Ash put his foot back down and watched as their skin beneath the eyes turned black, oozing dark blood, and veins popped out like they were infected with something.
After that stunt, the ice cream men seemed to lose what was left of their minds. One of them, who looked older than the rest, pulled out butcher knives and handed them to each of the others.
Again they roared, but this time the sound was far more terrifying than before. Even thunder's roar didn't compare to what they unleashed.
Ash's chest thumped a little faster. "Oh-oh."
The four ice cream men charged at him all at once. They didn't want to give him another opening or chance to pull another trick.
The first stunt had scared them, so now they were relentless, swinging their butcher knives violently. Each swing cut through the air with a sharp sound, but Ash managed to dodge every strike.
To his surprise, they began exchanging knives in the middle of the fight.
"Wait a minute—are they really exchanging knives while trying to cut me? That's cool." Ash was impressed.
But even that wasn't enough. He was still able to follow their movements, even spotting which one was passing which knife.
"So that's how they're doing it." Ash saw an opening.
He dodged one more strike, lowering himself and ducking back. The opening he had been waiting for appeared. He pulled his whip close, jumped into the air, twirled, and spun it. The whip, now back to normal, formed circles. Smoke hissed from it before it burst into flames.
With that twirl, Ash struck all four ice cream men—one by one. Each whip cracked with its own sharp sound.
When he finished, Ash landed on the floor, this time maintaining the very same superhero pose he had struck when he first arrived.
He watched as the four ice cream men burned into ashes and melted away.
Behind them sat an old woman, tied to a chair, looking terrified.