The last song of the ancestors

Fadala couldn't contain his irritation. He'd let the enemy escape, gotten his suit dirty with paint and put the rest of us at risk. With his two pistols in hand, he scanned the area. He had reached a place with several rocks, where the river seemed to be deeper and less rocky than near the waterfall.

He tracked Chandu until the drops of blood disappeared into the ground. The killer had used a large rock as cover. With that camouflage, his opponent could be anywhere. Close enough to hit him full on. He took a deep, slow breath. He let all the air out of his lungs. He controlled the adrenaline coursing through his blood.

He was a member of the Ilê Apanyan, in that hunt, he was the hunter and not the prey. No wonder people whispered the nickname undertaker to these assassins for hire. When an Ilê Apanyan assassin marked his target, he would die. The more the victim tried to flee or resist, the more painful his death became.

Fadala knew how much failure in an assassination was a disgrace to his equals. It was a sin. Even though Chandu was not a target marked by the hands of God, he could not get away with it. It became a matter of pride for the hitman. He would silence his target before Akachi awoke from the Discharge Barrier.

He used his blood to bring me here. It's a place full of rocks, they could serve as cover. But the tracks end abruptly. He wants me to believe that he's right behind that rock, but I know he's not, it's a trap.

The gunman knew that the moment he fired, he would give away his location. He sharpened his ears. He looked up at a rocky wall that stretched far above where he was standing. A large stone was half loose. It needed a little push to collapse. He calculated the angle of the shot so as not to compromise himself. The echo could throw off his location at first, so he had to act quickly.

Bang, he shot the stone. It rolled down the slope. Before it reached the halfway point, it was cut in half by a concentrated high-pressure jet of water coming from the river. Fadala was impressed. This was a process identical to the hydrodemolition caused in the environment by water. But with greater acceleration, concentration and precision.

Chandu was in the river, he would have infinite ammunition for his water jet shots. What's more, he could change his position along the river. If he had Spin Bomb by his side, he would ask it to blow up sections of the river to force the enemy to leave. In its natural habitat, it wouldn't be able to kill the soldier.

Fadala calculated Chandu's position. He would use a ricochet ballistic technique. It would be unpredictable to calculate and dodge in time. The falangeta wouldn't even know what had hit him. The sniper closed his eyes. He mentalized the entire visible length of the perimeter. He divided it up like a rectangle.

He would shoot with triangulations, it would be like playing billiards. He established seven angular positions. They would be the basis for calculating how to hit the enemy. He would have seven chances to hit the target. Fadala prepared himself, aimed his pistols. A drop of sweat dripped from his forehead. He fired seven times at the rock wall.

The projectiles ricocheted and hit the river. The assassin looked to see if the water had changed color. He saw a dark liquid flowing out. He jumped up and fired several shots in the direction of the source of the liquid. He quickly reloaded his combs.

"Damn! It's paint."

A jet of water hit his shoulder. Fadala fell to the ground with his shoulder gushing blood. Chandu crawled out of the water. He had been hit in the chest. His skin was mucousy, his huge, almost glassy eyes were fixed on his opponent. His huge head was throbbing. Three pairs of arms had emerged from his abdomen, and his fingers were large octopus tentacles. With them, he grabbed Fadala's legs.

He tried to drag him into the river. The assassin kicked him in the head, but Chandu resisted. He grabbed Fadala's other leg. He feared for his life. He aimed his pistols at the enemy, but his knees were entangled in the falangeta's tentacles. The pain made him miss his shots. The half octopus man continued to pull his opponent into the river.

"Let go of me, you bastard."

"No, you'll suffocate in the water. You managed to hit me twice. I'm going to shove my tentacles into all your orifices. You'll feel pain like never before."

Half of Fadala's body was already in the river. He thought he would die there. His pistols were empty. In the water, he would be easy prey for his opponent. He refused to beg for his life or ask for help. He was too proud to do that. He would accept death if it came for him.

Unexpectedly, a dark thread appeared around Chandu's neck. He tried to escape it, but was unsuccessful. The metallic thread became even more entangled in his neck. It began to lacerate his slimy skin. Chandu despaired. He let go of Fadala and tried to pull the cerol out. His tentacular fingers were severed.

"No, what's that?"

"That's cerol!"

Spin Bomb was on the other side. In an ingenious way, she had thrown the string around Chandu's neck like a lasso. At the end, she tied a firework sword so that the force of the explosive would pull the string back. The cerol became more and more twisted. Blood began to gush from the soldier's neck like a fountain.

Spin Bomb jumped to the other shore and came at him. His body fell to one side and his head to the other. Fadala lay on his stomach. He straightened his tie. He stood up, straightening his sore knees.

"We killed Cthulhu! That was a vendetta."

"You should have acted sooner, you're our support member, Spin Bomb."

"Stop complaining. You were the only one who didn't kill anyone. Everyone else has already buried their enemy, just you. Now, seriously, if Akachi hadn't awakened from the Discharge Barrier, I wouldn't have come here to help you. Take care, you see."

"I've always relied on my abilities. Sometimes we depend on luck, chance or even fate to stay alive."

"Stop with your bar-room philosophies, come on, you baldy!"