Jagger exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath leaving him in a controlled stream as he looked down at the dead monster sprawled across the pavement.

“Okay,” he muttered, voice rough, still edged with adrenaline. “That was actually pretty fucking cool.”

‘You could have used the Volatile Gutbomb, you know.’ Ophilia’s voice slipped into his mind, smooth and mocking, carrying that familiar note of detached amusement.

Jagger’s expression went completely blank.

He stared at the Skitterer’s corpse, then lowered his gaze to the two knives still clenched in his hands. Blood coated the blades in thick, uneven streaks, already beginning to darken. He processed her words in silence. One full second passed. Then another half.

“Piss off,” he said flatly, crouching beside the corpse.

The last wisps of white suppressant drifted lazily through the air around him, curling and thinning as the street sank back into a suffocating quiet. The chaos had ended, leaving behind only the aftermath.

Black blood pooled beneath the monster, thick and tar-like, spreading slowly as it seeped into the cracks of the pavement. It glistened under the dim light, viscous and wrong. One of its scythe-like arms twitched once, a final nerve spasm that sent a faint scrape across the ground, before falling completely still.

The faint metallic hiss of the extinguisher finally died out.

Jagger rolled his shoulder, the motion stiff. He winced as the bite wound pulled tight, the skin protesting. The pain had dulled into a heavy throb, but beneath it, he could feel something else. A slow, crawling sensation as the torn flesh began knitting itself back together under the smear of blood and shredded fabric.

The wound along his ribs burned far worse.

Blood still leaked from it, warm against his skin, slipping between his fingers as he pressed his palm against it. The pressure sent a sharp spike of pain through his side.

“Argh. Fuck that hurts,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw tightening as he felt Corrupted Surge fading from his system, its lingering strength draining away and leaving his body heavier, slower, more fragile.

His grip tightened slightly around the knives as he leaned back against the side of the bus. The metal was cold against his back, grounding. He let himself slide down until he was sitting on the pavement, legs bent, shoulders sagging as the tension finally bled out of him.

A breath left him, long and heavy.

For the first time since the fight ended, he allowed himself to relax, just for a moment.

Behind him, silence stretched.

Then it broke.

“Holy shit…” one of the men whispered, voice unsteady as he leaned forward from inside the bus, eyes wide and fixed on the monster’s corpse before shifting to Jagger. “You… you killed it.”

Jagger tilted his head back slightly and looked up.

Three men and one woman stood clustered near the bus, their faces pale, their bodies still trembling from the aftermath. Their eyes moved between him and the corpse like they couldn’t quite decide which one to fear more.

The broad-shouldered one, Jung, was the first to step out.

He moved slowly, cautiously, keeping close to the side of the bus as if it could still shield him. His posture was low, deliberate, almost comically careful, like someone trying to reenact a movie’s stealth scene. The others followed a step behind, hesitant but unwilling to stay back.

‘What are they doing? Don’t let them get too close.’ Ophilia’s voice cut in again, sharper this time, edged with something possessive.

Jagger ignored her.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he watched Jung inch closer.

“You know, it is dead,” Jagger said, voice dry. “You don’t have to sneak up on me.”

Jung froze for a brief second before straightening, clearing his throat as he tried to recover whatever dignity he had left.

“Sorry. Force of habit,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

He stopped a few feet away, then extended a hand.

“Bro… thank you. Seriously,” Jung said, his voice steadier now, though the exhaustion still showed. Up close, the signs were obvious. Sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His arms trembled faintly, adrenaline still burning through him. “We were… we were dead if you didn’t show up.”

Jagger looked at the offered hand.

Then at Jung’s face.

Then he looked down at himself.

Blood. Dirt. Torn clothes. The metallic smell clung to him, thick in the air. He glanced at the others. They looked no better. Just different shades of the same wreck.

He let out a quiet sigh before reaching out and taking Jung’s hand, using the grip to pull himself up onto his feet.

“Argh…” The motion pulled at his ribs again. “I’m Jagger.”

Jung’s grip was firm, but there was a tremor beneath it. Strength without control.

“I’m Jung-ho. This is Soo-min, Abdul, and Nico,” he said, gesturing toward the others.

Soo-min stepped forward slightly. Her long ponytail was messy, strands stuck to her damp skin. A small gash marked her forehead, already beginning to swell. Abdul stood tall and thin, a tire iron clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping it. Nico lingered just behind them, younger than the rest, bright pink hair stark against the grime, his gaze locked onto the corpse like he was trying to dissect it with his eyes.

Before Jagger could respond, Abdul and Nico both dipped their heads slightly.

“Thank you for saving us!” they said at the same time, their voices overlapping.

They blinked, glanced at each other, then broke into small, awkward smiles.

“Great minds think alike, I guess,” Abdul said, lifting a hand and slapping Nico’s in a quick high-five.

Soo-min didn’t join in. She only gave a small nod before stepping closer.

She extended her hand, bowing her head slightly. “Thank you for saving us,” she said, her voice soft, worn thin from stress.

Jagger took her hand. It was smaller than Jung’s. Lighter. A stark contrast.

“No problem.”

“You’re still bleeding, brother. Want some of this?” Abdul asked, already reaching into a small backpack on the ground. He pulled out a white box marked with a red cross. “It’s a basic med-kit. Got disinfectant and bandages. Might help a little.”

“I have my own ways of dealing with injuries,” Jagger replied, keeping his tone even as he tried to stand straighter. The attempt only earned him another sharp pull of pain from his ribs, forcing a faint wince across his face.

Soo-min noticed immediately.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped closer, her hand reaching out and gripping his forearm.

Her grip tightened, fingers pressing against the muscle as her gaze flicked to the tear in his shirt, to the blood still seeping through.

“You’re still bleeding,” she said quietly, more certain this time. “Whatever you’re doing… It’s not enough yet.”

Jagger gently pulled his arm back. Not harsh, just enough to break contact.

“It’s handled,” he said.

His voice was steady, but his body betrayed him. The wound along his ribs throbbed with every movement, the slow crawl of regeneration still far from complete.

Jung stepped in quickly, raising his hands slightly.

“Hey, hey. She’s just worried, man,” he said, glancing between them. He let out a breath and shook his head as he looked back at the corpse. “You literally just soloed that thing. I don’t even know what the hell that was.”

“Yeah,” Nico added, finally pulling his eyes away from the monster. “That thing moved like… like it knew how to fight.”

Abdul nodded. “We’ve seen a few of those things already. Not like that one, though. That one was… different.”

Jagger rolled his shoulder again, testing the bite wound. The pain had dulled further, tightening into something manageable.

“Brute threat-level,” he said.

“They are stronger. Faster. Worse.”

The group fell quiet.

“Brute… threat-level?” Jung repeated slowly, like he was trying to anchor the words to something real.

Jagger didn’t elaborate.

He turned away from them and walked toward the corpse.

The Skitterer lay twisted across the pavement, its limbs bent at unnatural angles. The black blood around it had begun to thicken, losing its fluidity, turning into something glossy and heavy. The white residue from the extinguisher clung to its body, mixing with the blood into a sickening paste that crusted along its joints and face.

Behind him, footsteps followed.

Light.

Soft.

Too close.

“Wait…” Soo-min’s voice came again, quieter this time.

She moved to his side.

Up close, she was different.

Her features were softer than the others. Not weak, but… unguarded in a way that stood out in the middle of all this. Strands of hair clung to her damp skin. Dirt smudged across her cheek beneath the cut on her forehead. Her clothes hung slightly loose on her frame, darkened by sweat and grime.

Her eyes stayed on him.

“You shouldn’t push yourself like that,” she said, her voice dropping, gentler now. “You’re strong, yeah… but even strong people need help.”

Her hand found his arm again.

This time, her grip lingered.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” she added softly, her thumb brushing lightly against his sleeve, just above where the blood had soaked through.

Jagger didn’t look at her.

“I know, but…”

‘She is touching you again.’

Ophilia’s voice cut through his mind like a shard of glass.

Jagger flinched, the reaction subtle but there.

“…I like working alone,” he finished, pulling his arm away. This time, it came off a little rougher than he intended. “Now, if you please.”

Soo-min flinched.

Her fingers curled slightly in the air before falling back to her side. Her expression barely changed, but something in her eyes tightened. Not anger.

Something quieter.

Disappointment.

Resignation.

She took a small step back, giving him space.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep