The Linesman's body hit the ground with a dull thud, and all Marcus could do was stare at the corpse. He still couldn't believe the strength that flowed through his muscles when he decided to go on the offensive.
Though he tried to make what little sense he could of what happened, he still couldn't comprehend it. His limbs still pulsed with this unfamiliar and raw strength. It hadn't felt like adrenaline, but something even more natural than that.
Then came the sensation that felt like something within him was waiting to wake up.
Even more alarming was the sensation he was getting from being around blood. Warm droplets had splattered across his skin during his last attack, but now they clung to him, almost as though they were alive.
He could feel a strange sensation creeping over his arms, as if the blood was trying to burrow into his flesh, yet something inside of him was pushing it back. Rejecting the blood.
It was at this moment that the parchment appeared again, with different words burning themselves onto its surface.
[Blood Bane]—Consume the blood of the powerful and use their essence to fuel yours. A Predator should enjoy the blood of its prey.
Marcus blinked. Before he could digest the message, the letters shimmered and then began rearranging themselves: Blood is not suitable or useful for consumption. A predator feasts on those stronger than it.
Unable to properly understand what he was reading, Marcus could only stare at the parchment with an eyebrow raised.
"This… is the reason for the change in me?" Edged with uncertainty, he tried holding on to the parchment, and to his surprise, he could touch it.
Relief suddenly washed over him as the warmth from the parchment gave him confirmation that he wasn't hallucinating yet again.
For a brief moment, Marcus forgot where he was. The battlefield, the blood, and the noise all blurred out.
But then, the loud crack of guns firing reminded him. His eyes darted around in a hurry as he searched for the rifle he had dropped earlier. After retrieving the weapon, he started moving.
Can I really fight other enhanced humans without taking an MGP?
The question echoed in his mind with doubt trailing behind it. What had just transpired with the Linesman, the speed and strength he exploded with, all still felt surreal. And yet, Marcus buzzed with certainty, as if deep down, he knew the answer.
He moved.
Not rushed, nor hesitant, he simply went, cutting through the tall grass with a quiet grace that he couldn't possibly achieve before.
There was no weight of fear in his chest at the moment; instead, something new stirred inside him—a calm, sharp instinct.
Marcus felt as if he was hunting. And whoever he chose as his target… wouldn't walk away. He couldn't explain the feeling, but it flowed within him, making him more alert and alive than ever.
Even without the infrared scope, his vision cut through the darkness. Every detail was crisp, even the sound of boots shifting in the distance, the grunts of effort mid-swing, the clash of flesh on flesh—it was all too close, as if they were fighting right beside his ears.
From the get-go, he could tell that it was coming from the Iron Marshals who were still in battle against the bandits. And he was on his way to assist them.
One of them could be a spy also sent to kill me. I'll have to be careful around the Iron Marshals even after helping them.
His thoughts sent chills down his spine, not out of fear, but realization. Initially, he couldn't understand how a Linesman could get his hands on actual MGPs, not watered-down imitations, as reckless as he was. After all, he was tricked into believing that there was an antidote to reverse the effects of the drugs.
Marcus narrowed his eyes.
Knowing that there were several Iron Marshals on board, he couldn't help but assume that one or more of the Iron Marshals were responsible for giving the Linesman the drug.
By the time Marcus reached a reasonable distance, he paused and raised his rifle, taking his aim.
Bang!
Five consecutive shots that hit their targets on the head. Five bodies dropped to the ground, stunning the rest who were entangled in a fight. And then three more came and ended the remaining. In Marcus's sight, they were all moving slowly, hence his incredible marksmanship. Despite their state of enhancement.
The Iron Marshals were skeptical at first, still not certain of the person who had just come to their rescue. And they were already getting tired.
Even though their bodies have been trained and modified to accommodate MGPs, it wasn't something that they could sustain in the long term.
First, they heard rustles from the grass, and then when they saw a man in uniform walk out of the bush, they sighed in relief and their shoulders dropped.
It seems like they were all aware of my presence on the train.
Marcus was sure that they could discern his rank from his uniform, and the fact that none of them were surprised or apprehensive to see another Iron Marshal here meant two things to him.
Either they had been briefed about him before the journey commenced, warned of his presence as a precaution… or they were all under the same command—a command that wanted him dead.
Either way, he didn't feel like he could trust any of them. His expression remained neutral as he let the rifle hang casually at his side.
The other Iron Marshal gave Marcus a nod, silent and devoid of emotion. It was nothing more than an acknowledgment. They turned away and fell into a hushed conversation among themselves.
"We need a headcount," one of them said with a brisk tone despite the fatigue. "Find out how many are breathing and who needs immediate help."
The speaker was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered. Blood soaked the torn remains of his uniform, and a pair of bullet wounds wept slowly along his side. But he stood—Titan Draft was still pumping through his veins.
The others were in similar shape—clothes shredded, with limbs trembling from fatigue and spent energy. What little remained of their uniforms clung to their bodies. With Titan Draft still active in their bodies, they could still move around like they weren't injured.
"We need to patch what we can," another said as he pressed against a gash across his abdomen. "And check the cargo. See if anything's still worth saving."
As they began talking about what to do next, the ground trembled. A guttural roar tore through the silence and rose from beyond the stalks of grass. The sound was deep, an animalistic bellow that didn't belong to any creatures Marcus knew.
Nonetheless, this roar instilled fear into the hearts of everyone there.