The Exorcist Doctor

Chapter 154 - Guests Bite Back // So Do Our Protagonists

Halfway through her late-night dinner, the clasp around Vivi’s ankle rattled.

Her gaze dropped instantly to the disconnected bloodshackle, worry rising to her throat for a second, but then she caught herself worrying and pushed it back down. Even if a Hunter-Host pair were disconnected from each other, the bloodshackles would still occasionally shake and rattle depending on how intense the physical activity the other was engaged in—so there was no need to worry about Jin. He’d accepted her detach request, so he could deal with whatever Myrmur he was fighting by himself.

You wanna fight alone? she thought, taking another angry bite. Then fight alone and bleed alone, stupid—

The restaurant’s front doors were bashed open hard enough to slam into the walls.

Every customer flinched. Every servant froze. Four people stumped in as a sudden, ragged burst: one fat man, one fat lady, and two equally fat children, all dressed in worker’s overalls and grimy from head to toe. Their mouths hung open in starving gasps, and they looked downright animalistic for how hard they were panting.

For half a second, the entire restaurant only stared at the new arrivals.

Then the family lurched forward, spread out, and began grabbing food from every table by the handful, shoving rich cuts of meat and sugared fruits and half-finished pastries into their mouths. One of the children snatched an entire roast from a platter and bit into it bone and all. The father went to the bar and upended a soup tureen into his throat. The restaurant broke into panic now. Masked patrons shrieked and pushed back from their tables in fear of being approached by the manics, and several waiters immediately raced out through the back door, likely going to fetch the Three-Faces so they could keep the peace.

But it’d be a while before any of the shadowy gangsters could get here, and the fat wife eventually turned towards Vivi’s table. She waddled over with horrifying speed for someone her size, snatched up a few plates, and started shoveling the remains of the expensive dinner without even sitting down.

For Vivi’s part, she was too startled to protest. Too startled to move. Her chair scraped softly back on instinct, but that was all she did.

… Until she saw the umbilical cord trailing away from the woman’s back.

Her gaze snapped toward the others. The husband. The children. She saw the same thing: all four of them had cords trailing behind them and going out through the front doors. The fat wife, too, paused mid-bite as well when she looked down and saw Vivi’s bloodshackle.

The two of them stared at each other.

They’re all Myrmur Hos—

“Exorcist!” the wife screeched.

There was no hesitation after that. Vivi barely had time to yelp before the wife seized the entire table with both hands, lifted it, and slammed it down at her.

It was instinct again—certainly not grace—that saved her. She threw herself sideways off the chair, rolled hard across the floor, and felt the edge of the overturned table smash into the tiles where her legs had been a breath earlier. Plates exploded and cutlery skidded. Something hot splashed across her shoulder, but while more customers fled or took cover around her, she didn’t have the same option. Now the entire restaurant knew she was an Exorcist, and Exorcists didn’t run from Myrmur Hosts.

What do I do, what do I do, what do I—

“What are you doing?” the fat husband turned, screeching at his wife. “If you attack her, she’ll kill us! Let’s go alrea—”

“She’s a Host, not a Hunter!” The wife shrieked back, jabbing a greasy finger at Vivi. “If we let her walk, she’ll kill us anyways! Exorcist Hosts aren’t that strong, right? Kill her first!”

Then the wife grabbed two nearby tables at once and swung them at Vivi like giant wooden sawblades. Vivi ducked the first by sheer terror, then jerked back as the second whirled past so close she felt the air slap her face. The wife lost grip of the tables and sent them shattering against a pillar, splinters flying everywhere. Somewhere behind her, the husband started picking up chairs as well, hurling them with frantic strength while barking at his children to move, move, move.

Move!

The nearest pillar was a carved wooden column rising to the second floor balcony, so she ran before the first chairs could reach her and jumped, running straight up the pillar with her setae mutation. She slipped once, but then she threw her hand up, gripped the railings, and threw herself over onto the balcony.

Her rifle came off her back in the same motion. By the time her boots thumped on the balcony, she already had a round chambered with her rifle pointed down, breathless.

“D-don’t move!” she shouted. “If you move, if you… if your hurt anyone, I’ll shoot!”

The couple didn’t listen. They were either too insane or desperate or sick—or all three—because the husband snatched up a stack of plates and flung them up. The wife followed by hurling a chair, then another. They shattered against the railings beside her and behind her, spraying splinters and ceramic shards in all directions.

Her light chitin armor wasn’t that tough. She yelped and ducked away, running along the railings of the second floor and dodging every projectile thrown her way. The entire balcony shook with each impact. More wood splintered. More guests fled. Down below, the husband pointed up at her with his face beet-red with anger and panic.

“Get her!”

Vivi didn’t know what he meant.

Then two pairs of hands hit her from behind, shoving her over the failings before her.

What?

She whirled mid-fall, seeing the two fat children who’d climbed up to the second floor while she was distracted with their parents.

… Oh, Saintess.

Time seemed to slow as she fell. Below her, the husband and wife were already waiting for her in the center of the circle bar, wielding large filleting knives they snatched from one of the butcher’s displays by the bar. They looked up at her with open mouths and murderous panic, ready to hack her apart the moment she landed—so once more, by instinct and instinct alone, she whirled mid-air and brought her rifle down towards them.

This was the moment. This had to be the moment. Her finger found the trigger, and with a single pull, she could get herself out of this stupid fight…

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

But she wavered.

Her hands trembled as she looked the couple in the face.

… I really am weak, aren’t I?

Can’t even kill to save myself.

I’m—

Outnumbered.

It was a simple fact for Jin to accept.

He threw himself sideways behind a stack of wine barrels just as one of the Blight-Class Myrmurs ripped a lid off a cask and hurled the splintered shrapnel across the room. The jagged pieces hit the wood where his head had been a breath earlier and punched deep enough to rattle the whole rack. Before the tremor even died, though, a second Myrmur snapped off another length of shattered barrel and launched it too. He barely managed to jerk his gauntlet up and slam a wave of mudblood into the air, smashing the projectile out of the air.

Wretch-Class Myrmurs were violent enough, but Blight-Class Myrmurs were violent and smart. The difference mattered. These four bugs had enough raw strength and speed to prove difficult in a straight melee, but they would rather play it safe and just chuck things at him from afar.

A simple strategy, but an effective one.

He shoved off the barrels and sprinted for the next line of cover while, behind him, the first rack finally gave up and collapsed, casks rolling, wine sloshing, and wood splitting across the floor. Only two of the Myrmurs were actually throwing barrels at him, though. He risked a glance between the barrel as he ran and saw the other two were still hunched over leaking puddles of wine, lapping greedily at the red. He had no idea what they were doing, but they weren’t paying attention to him like the throwing Myrmurs were.

That was an opportunity.

As he ducked another volley of wood, he fired a thick surge of mudblood at the ground beneath him, then shot up and hardened the stream of blood into a thin bridge that arced over the entire facility. The throwing Myrmurs reacted too slowly to him running up it, vaulting over them, before leaping at the backs of the two drinking Myrmurs with his gauntlet reared back.

Conserve my blood and just smash their heads in!

But as he crashed down towards them, he saw the faintly glowing clusters of bulbs growing across their backs.

They almost looked like… lantern fruits.

His eyes widened as the bulbs suddenly popped, and toxic mist exploded outwards in a hot, greenish cloud that engulfed the space around them. He twisted mid-air and fired mudblood sharply to the side, using the recoil to hurl himself out. Unfortunately, that meant crashing into another barrel shoulder-first before falling onto one knee, coughing blood as wine sprayed across his mask and sleeves.

Shit.

That was… a trap.

The air was thicker now. Filthier. The toxic haze released by those bulbs hung low over the floor, but it was starting to curl between and around the barrels. Even through his mask, breathing suddenly felt like sucking at a rag soaked in venom. Each inhale scratched his throat and each exhale burned it just as much.

Worse, his body was starting to feel heavy. That was the effect of the bloodshackle detachment. The toxicity in his bloodstream was starting to build up because he wasn’t draining any of it to a Host, which meant it wouldn’t be long before his body started collapsing.

What are these Myrmurs, anyways?

***

[Identification Complete]

[Name: Milkweed Bug]

[Grade: E-Rank Blight-Class]

[Passive Mutation: Blighteating Bulbs]

[Brief Description: The milkweed bug can consume any toxic substances and store them as bulbs on their backs, which will amplify their physical attributes up to twenty percent. The stored toxicity will be slowly detoxified over time]

[Swarmblood Art: Toxin Burst]

[Brief Description: The milkweed bug can concentrate bioarcanic essence into their stored toxin bulbs, detonating them into toxic mist that lingers for a while]

[Swarmblood Aura: ~2,800]

[Strength: ~10, Speed: ~6, Toughness: ~10, Dexterity: ~8, Perception: ~4]

***

A quick glance at their statuses made him scowl. Even though all bugs in Bharncair possessed some form of toxic blood or toxic chitin or even toxic internal organs one way or another—which was why all Exorcists used Wasp Classes to begin with, since they were classes with in-built toxin resistance—the wasp was the only type of bug that could generate a significant amount of toxicity using their own resources, that being their own blood. Every other type of bug only possessed either relatively small amounts of inherent toxicity or required external resources to build up their toxicity, like the milkweed bugs needing to consume toxin externally before they could expel toxin themselves.

Therefore, it stood to reason he shouldn’t have to worry too much about any toxic mist being released from a Myrmur, given the Wasp Class had the highest inherent toxin resistance of all the classes… but that only applied to a one-on-one with a single Myrmur.

There were four of them, and they were all Blight-Classes.

The throwers were on him again. He ran, practically sliding through puddles of wine and splintered wood as wrecked barrels came spinning through the air one after another, breaking open against the barrels beside him.

He fired back out of desperation. Mudblood roared from his gauntlet toward the throwers, but now that the two drinkers had revealed their hand, the throwers had no need to hold back either. Both of them pounced at his mudblood and snapped it up before they could harden into inert mud, using his attack to strengthen themselves—and one of the throwers kept dashing forward with the momentum, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

Its claws were arcing at him.

He jerked his gauntlet up to block, too little, too late. The gauntlet took the brunt of the impact, but it still broke something in his arm with a loud crack, and pain burst white across his vision and he was sent flying back into yet another stack of barrels. Wine sprayed behind him in a fresh stream, and he choked on a cough as he fell onto his stomach.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. The two drinking Myrmurs were still releasing toxic mist from their backs, while the two throwers, sensing his weakness, were now advancing steadily towards him.

… It’s over for me.

There were three options for him. One: break for the door and make a run for it. It’d be difficult with four bugs between him and open space, but it’d be a good try. Two: overload his gauntlet and try for one last room-wide wave. It was risky on a good day, but he had very little choice here. Three: survive long enough for…

Oh.

Right.

She’s not here to heal me with her Art.

He forced himself to stand as he dragged another breath through his mask. If this was where it had to end, then he’d at least take one or two down with him. His gauntlet trembled as he began pushing more toxic blood into it, more and more and more—

Then the ceiling collapsed.

All of them snapped their heads up to see Maeve descending from the sky, riding her opened umbrella down.

—Dead.

Vivi couldn’t pull the trigger, but she didn’t have to. A second before she was about to land and be skewered by the Hosts’ filleting knives, the wall to the far side of the restaurant exploded inward, and through it came three giant flowers on vine-thick stems.

Familiar flowers.

The first flower smashed into the husband and sent him cartwheeling across the ground, knife flying from his hand. The second slammed the wife hard enough to crack her through the bar and scatter bottles everywhere. The third pried its petal jaw open and caught Vivi, cushioning her fall and lowering her to the ground with absurd gentleness.

These are…

As she staggered away from the two Myrmur Hosts, still clutching her rifle, all three flowers retracted towards the hole in the wall—and in trudged a drunken doctor, leaning against his cane on one hand and trying to adjust his top hat with the other hand.

Gael burped.

“.. It’s my turn to say what the fuck happened here.”