Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XXXII: A Murderer’s Conclusion

Every part of her body ached. Her head throbbed. Her heart pulsated as she still sought for the chance to misdirect this opponent of hers who's too invincible for her luck. 

 Gripping her almost disabled left arm, she was still hiding behind a pillar. She heaved, and she felt in her worst. She couldn't find any careless opening on him. On this day, this man, this master murderer, was bent on not letting even her minutest opportunity to survive slip past his hands.

 Noumenon closed her eyes for a moment. Her fate—as it has always been—is entirely contingent on her honest and desperate efforts.

 She might really die tonight. But as the stubborn and persistent soul that she is, she won't concede without trying to see for herself if her resolve is as weak as her body. And it seems not to be the case.

 She looked at her feet and curled her toes. These were weary, but these could still make her run.

 She looked at the gun in her possession. She was holding on to it for quite a while already, yet she couldn't even bring herself to make good use of it.

 She spoke some bold words, but it appeared that those will remain the same—merely words. 

 She gritted her teeth. She has underestimated herself fair enough. It was time to try again to strike.

 Cross, on the other hand, began to grow irritated of their match. She was still hiding from him, but he couldn’t really blame her since she was only exercising caution. If he was in her shoes, he’d probably do the same. In this way, she’s able to agitate his concentration.

 In all the angles of this bout however, he clearly has the advantage. If one were to make an analogy for this, it would be like an elephant versus an ant. That’s how huge the disparity in their strengths is. It’s a piece of cake for him to uproot all the pillars and uncover her meager defense. On the contrary, that is only if he won’t compromise the structure of the Dunong residence. Indeed, he is a cutthroat, but he doesn’t lack decency. It would be disrespectful to the person who’s letting him stay here, and it wouldn’t benefit him if he destroyed the doctor’s house. So, he thought of something else.

 The vigilante charged towards his opponent. This time—he’ll make sure—she won’t be able to get away.

 Surprisingly, nonetheless, it looked like he didn’t need to shovel her out of where she was shielding herself since she had come right out to meet him! His eyes widened.

 What is this woman thinking? He wondered. He deemed this to be her suicide, for this initiative of hers could only result in futility. There could be nothing good for her to take him head on.

 At the very least, that was what only he thought. Noumenon’s plan is another story.

 As she had anticipated, Cross pulled her to him using his powerful invisible force. Again, she temporarily had no control over her body being made to fly to its misery. And that is why she’ll have to utilize a change of recourse. She drew the gun from her back—both hands on it—and pointed this to the man before her. 

 Previously, she found it repulsive to even look at such a weapon that robs lives. She didn’t even want to touch it, but who was she kidding? It’s not her first time to hold a gun and she—as her returned memory served her—had already shot someone. There’s no good place for her to act coy anymore, especially not here. If she was guilty of planting a bullet to someone before, then this should be nothing fresh. She thought of making good use of that experience.

  Bang! Went the first shot. It was very loud to her ears and the recoil unnerved her. 

 Bang! Then, a second—she would never be fond of its sound.

 Bang! Another.

 Bang! And another.

 There were four bullets launched directly to his face, yet as the master murderer himself who’s been in situations far worse than death, these didn’t even alarm him a bit. He grinned.

 “Gah!” Noumenon shrieked since suddenly, she felt that she was flung backwards. 

 Cross didn’t even need to dodge because none of the shots she released were going to hit him anyway. She simply has terrible aim. The way he saw it, a gun will never suit her.

 She was once again on the floor, yet this time, she secured the weapon. She was still holding it; she still refused to let go of what will give her a chance to qualify for his aid. 

 He stared at her as he slowly approached. This scene greatly resembled their encounter nights ago.

 "You're 'Cross,' right? The 'Master Murderer'."

 He remained quiet. There was no reaction from his pale face. After all, he’s a stone—hard and cold. He didn’t respond and only looked at her impassively. Then, he observed how she brought her left hand in front of her and stared for a while at the silver ring on her forefinger. Shortly after, she took it off.

 "Please. I need your help. I want to kill my father."

 Ever since, he didn’t really pity her. He isn’t the kind of person who sympathizes with the distress of others. If anything, he could relate to her resolve. Similar to her, he is also after his father’s life. This coincidence was more than enough to stimulate his interest since he saw in her a copy of the version of himself who struggles to take the life of a certain wretched man. Yet again, this didn’t automatically equate that he’d be welcoming of her. If she won’t be able to survive tonight, then she shouldn’t even have asked him for help in the first place.

 “Is that it?” he jested. “Is this the limit to your conviction?”

 His words fueled her anger, and she looked up to counter him with infuriated eyes. She wouldn’t have pushed herself this far if that was the case.