Chapter 8, Seven Paces
“I knew it.”
The sky had not even begun to darken. It was barely past four in the afternoon when a man in a black coat entered Freya’s view.
He had already killed her once.
There was no chance she would forget his face.
This was undoubtedly the watcher.
If he wanted to “eat” her that badly, he was unlikely to arrive at one exact time. He had probably been wandering around the neighborhood for hours.
Still, he looked slightly different from the creature Freya remembered.
His eyes were not red or slit like an animal’s. He did not seem completely deranged either.
At first glance, he looked like an ordinary man troubled by something urgent. He walked quickly away from Freya’s apartment.
A short while later, however, he circled back from another direction.
Then he left again.
He repeated the same route over and over.
The man still possessed some self-control, but not much.
He reminded Freya of an addict who knew the drug was destroying him but could not stop taking it.
The watcher probably understood that eating another person was wrong.
He was simply too hungry to resist.
Cold sweat covered his forehead.
He tried desperately to keep his eyes forward, yet his gaze repeatedly drifted toward Freya’s apartment without him seeming to notice.
There was only one thing Freya did not understand.
If the man wanted to eat someone, why had he chosen her?
That question would not stop her from carrying out her plan.
After the watcher left and returned for the third time, Freya stepped out of the corner where she had been waiting.
She walked directly toward him.
It was now a little after five.
Freya lived in a poor and neglected district, but plenty of people were still on the street at this hour.
She even spotted Scar’s two bleach-blond punks.
As she passed them, one gave her a whistle.
“Hey, little Freya. Get out of school early today?”
Freya ignored them.
Her eyes remained fixed on the watcher.
When only seven or eight paces separated them, she drew her weapon without warning.
Freya gripped the Loco 191 in her right hand.
She aimed.
Then she fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sharp reports echoed along the street.
For the first second, none of the pedestrians understood what they were hearing.
Everyone simply froze.
The watcher did the same.
He had been walking down the street like an ordinary man when a complete stranger suddenly pulled out a gun and opened fire.
Who could have expected that?
Who could react in time?
Only after the third shot did the other pedestrians begin screaming and running away from Freya.
Scar’s two punks remained rooted in place.
They knew what Freya was normally like.
Their eyes looked ready to fall from their sockets.
“What?”
“What the hell is happening?”
The shy little girl who barely dared to raise her voice and looked ready to cry whenever someone frightened her was now shooting a man in broad daylight.
Neither of them could believe what they were seeing.
The watcher had also been caught completely off guard.
Even so, instinct took control at the last possible moment.
He raised both hands to shield his forehead.
Two of Freya’s three shots struck his chest.
The third hit his crossed hands in front of his head.
She had aimed all three bullets at his skull, but two had drifted slightly off target.
Freya had only trained for a month.
This level of accuracy was already impressive.
At least none of her shots had missed him entirely.
She showed no disappointment.
Her expression remained calm as she fired again.
Bang! Bang!
The watcher had no idea why she was attacking him.
His instincts did not care.
He charged at the person threatening his life.
There had been a saying in Freya’s previous world.
Beyond seven paces, the gun was faster. Within seven paces, it was both faster and more accurate.
That was mostly true, but it did not tell the whole story.
A determined attacker could cross seven paces with frightening speed, sometimes reaching an armed officer before the weapon was fully drawn.
This man was a supernatural practitioner.
His body was far stronger and faster than that of an ordinary person.
Freya had one advantage.
She had attacked first, so she did not need to draw or aim again.
All she had to do was keep pulling the trigger.
Even so, the watcher reached her in the time it took to fire two more rounds.
One bullet struck his hands again.
The other missed, passing close enough to tear across his scalp.
The Loco 191 was accurate and produced little recoil, but its stopping power was limited.
With both hands crossed over each other, the watcher had enough flesh and bone in the way to keep the bullets from reaching his head.
A pale blur flashed through the air.
The watcher’s white tail tore through the back of his black coat.
He kept both hands raised to protect his head and attacked with the tail instead.
Its target was Freya’s gun hand.
The sharpened bone spike punched through her palm.
Just like during the first simulation, the creature’s instincts drove it to attack the greatest threat first.
That threat was the hand holding the weapon.
Freya sucked in a sharp breath.
Even though she had expected it, the pain was unbearable.
The tail moved too quickly for her eyes to follow.
But she had never intended to dodge it.
Before the watcher struck, Freya’s left hand had already closed around her second weapon.
The revolver.
The more powerful gun.
As the bone spike pierced her right hand, Freya raised the revolver without hesitation.
Bang!
The blast was louder and more violent than the shots from the Loco 191.
At this distance, Freya did not need to aim.
Even then, the shot landed slightly off center.
The bullet tore through the watcher’s neck and exited through his cheek.
His tail immediately began pulling free.
Freya released the Loco 191.
Then she closed her mangled right hand around the skeletal tail.
It was like grabbing the edge of a knife with her bare hand.
The tail ripped through her flesh as the creature tried to withdraw it.
Freya did not let go.
She did not need to stop him completely.
Slowing him for even a fraction of a second was enough.
The barrel of her revolver pressed beneath his chin.
Freya clenched her teeth against the pain.
“This time… I won’t miss.”
Bang!
The revolver round punched straight through the watcher’s skull.
Hot blood carrying the metallic smell of iron sprayed through the air.
Some of it struck Freya’s cheeks.
Even her delicate face looked frightening when covered in blood.
The watcher’s body began to collapse.
Freya did not stop.
She fired four more times, aiming every shot at his head.
Only when the revolver clicked empty did she lower it.
She needed to be certain he was dead.
If she left him half alive and he suddenly got back up, everything she had done would be wasted.
Once it was over, the strength left Freya’s legs.
She dropped to the street with her knees folded beside her.
“It hurts…”
She took several ragged breaths before pulling out the medical supplies she had prepared.
Freya wrapped her injured hand and applied basic emergency treatment.
First aid was another skill she had learned during her month with the Special Affairs Division.
While treating the wound, she glanced around.
Scar’s two punks had not fled yet.
Freya was barely able to move and had almost no strength left to fight.
Any healthy adult could probably knock her down in her current condition.
The two young men should have been more than capable of overpowering her.
But when Freya looked at them, both appeared close to wetting themselves.
One of them actually had.
A dark stain spread across the front of his trousers.
Neither man had any intention of approaching the blood-covered lunatic who had just emptied two guns into someone’s head.
They turned and scrambled away.
“I want to go home!”
“Holy hell! Somebody help!”
Freya ignored them.
She wound several more layers of bandage around her bloodied right hand.
The treatment was crude, but it should keep her alive for the moment.
Then she searched the watcher’s body.
It did not take long to find a black envelope inside his coat.
Obsidian’s contact instructions.
Moving her right hand sent fresh waves of pain through her arm, so Freya had to open the envelope one-handed.
It took several attempts.
At last, she unfolded the note inside.
[13 Yellowfin Street]
[The Broken Axe Tavern]
[Order a Frosted Tangerine]
Freya collected both guns.
Gritting her teeth against the constant pain in her right hand, she quickly left the street.