Gunmage
Chapter 153: A human, a mage, a monster

Chapter 153: Chapter 153: A human, a mage, a monster

Lugh moved, both of him, honing in on a single target.

His original body surged ahead, faster, lugging the large longsword behind him like it weighed nothing.

Three beastkin immediately converged in front. The others flanked him, executing a pincer movement with predatory precision, their formation like a net closing in.

Lugh didn’t stop running.

His second body slowed, raised the revolver, and pulled the trigger.

The gun barked once, spitting smoke and fire, a bullet lodged into the knee of an assailant on the right flank, shattering the joint with a sickening crunch beneath cloth and sinew.

Without losing momentum, his original body swerved to the right, immediately capitalizing on the opening.

The him that had fired tensed its legs, muscles bulging under pressure, and shot off with all its inhumane beastkin speed and strength.

A small shockwave erupted, marble cracked and blasted into pale dust underfoot.

For a split second, his figure became a blur, visible only to the most trained eyes.

By now, he was already within arm’s reach of both enemies.

He swung, he swiped.

Steel met throat. Claws met windpipe.

The movements were too fast, too fluid, for anyone to react in time. What remained was a baptism of blood.

But the response was swift.

Lugh’s beastkin clone, which had overshot its deceased target by dozens of meters, spun around mid-run, only to find five enraged beastkin charging toward him.

His original body was faring no better.

Sparks rained like fireflies as the bloody clash continued.

A sidestep, a well-timed angle, a horizontal slash transitioned smoothly into a thrust. Every inch of motion mattered; every breath drawn could be the last.

He was holding them back... for now. But he didn’t think he could do it forever.

A gash bloomed across his shoulder, painting his white robes crimson.

And for the first time—it was his blood.

He had to do something.

Should he use magic?

His four eyes flicked around the room. Locking with eyes of fear. Eyes of disbelief. Eyes calculating.

The assassins had long since been dealt with, reduced to nothing under the combined wrath of the Church and royal guards.

Now, everyone was watching him.

He’d made up his mind.

His beastkin self, now surrounded and reeling from being attacked from five angles, was in a far worse state.

With no weapon but the revolver, and enemies closing in to prevent its use, he was forced into hand-to-hand combat.

It was a miracle he was still alive.

Without hesitation, he sprang backward, legs flexing like coiled springs.

Dozens of meters in a single bound.

The beastkin surged forward to give him no room.

Lugh holstered the revolver in one smooth motion, steadied his stance, and delivered a crushing jab forward.

The foremost beastkin mirrored him, their fists colliding mid-air.

The impact warped the air itself—the sharp crack of compressed force echoed across the hall. Both fighters were blown backward, but only one screamed.

The beastkin yelled in pain at the jagged fracture warping his arm.

Lugh simply regarded his own injured fist with cold indifference.

He tensed his calves, poured a generous dose of wind magic beneath his feet—and shot into the air like a rocket.

Simultaneously, his original body erupted in a reckless barrage of lethal blows.

He was all edges and violence, tearing into the enemy even as he tore into himself.

He forced them back, briefly.

Then came the swoosh.

They noticed far too late.

His airborne clone, which had been condensing raw mana into its fists, plummeted.

It dropped like a meteor.

BOOM!

The beastkin directly below didn’t scream, he simply ceased to exist.

A fine red mist hung in the air where a body had once been.

Chandeliers shook on their golden chains.

A miniature shockwave erupted outward. The marble floor cratered under the force, jagged shards of stone exploding in all directions like shrapnel.

Then everything froze.

The shards stopped mid-air, suspended by an unseen will.

"Force Control?"

"Unbelievable... He’s at the realm of Crown!"

Lugh resisted the urge to sneer.

The shards shot outward like bullets, homing in on all of the beastkin.

One enemy smashed a large chunk aimed for his skull.

The impact caused a thunderous bang, sending up a dust cloud that blinded him.

The last thing he saw was the glint of a blade.

A clean, perfect slice and his world ended in two uneven halves.

Another beastkin was too busy dodging the stone fragments to notice the barrel aimed at his head.

Bang!

The high-caliber bullet cratered his skull. His body turning limp as he collapsed onto the floor.

Now, finally, the assailants realized the dread of the moment.

They had been fighting him in their own specialty all this time, physical combat.

It had completely slipped their minds.

He was a human.

He was a mage.

"Retreat!"

A beastkin gave the order. His voice was choked with dread. His subordinates were already demoralized. The command was followed without hesitation.

Lugh walked up to himself and handed Lyra’s blade to his beastly counterpart.

The surviving attackers scattered like shadows. He knew neither Selaphiel, nor the Church, nor the royal guards would let them escape.

None of them would see the sunrise.

But one target still burned in his vision. The one who gave the order to retreat.

His second body tensed. Eyes focused.

Reading the future projections, Lugh calculated every possible path. The windows.

Swish!

He hurled the blade with inhuman strength.

It traveled in a dead-straight line.

Then impact.

The blade pinned the enemy to the stone wall like an insect on a display board.

He writhed.

No one stopped. No one turned to help.

They all ran.

Not that it mattered.

The screech of howling winds had already begun to stir the night.

"Well, that was tough"

Lugh muttered. He rolled his neck and cast a sharp eye over the wounds along his body. They stung terribly.

He could barely resist the urge to heal himself with Emrys’ arts. But too many eyes were watching.

Too many eyes...

He raised his head.

And was met by a sea of silent stares.