Chapter 261: Bad timing

Zlatan’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area.

Something was interfering with his abilities.

He could feel it in the way his power responded, or rather, in the way it failed to respond. Every attempt to establish control over his surroundings met with an invisible resistance, as though something were disrupting the very foundation of his abilities.

Frequencies.

His abilities were built around them.

Everything he did, from influencing emotional responses to disrupting the mental processes of those around him, depended on manipulating the signals his targets received and processed.

The human brain was an intricate network of neurons, communicating through electrical impulses and chemical messengers. Different regions worked together to regulate emotions, interpret sensory information, and determine how the body responded to external stimuli.

Under ordinary circumstances, sound and other rhythmic stimuli could influence attention, arousal, and emotional responses.

Any pattern makes someone feel any emotions. However, the brain did not simply respond to one frequency like a switch. Its reactions depended on numerous factors, including intensity, timing, context, and the individual’s neurological state.

Zlatan’s power bypassed those ordinary limitations.

He could manipulate the signals his targets perceived, amplifying emotional reactions until fear became overwhelming or suppressing the responses that allowed them to resist him.

A person already feeling anxious might experience that anxiety intensified to a point when it gets debilitating, while someone struggling to maintain their composure could suddenly find their emotions dulled, their thoughts disconnected from their instincts.

He could turn the mind against itself.

But now, someone had found a way to interfere with the frequencies he used.

The interference wasn’t eliminating his abilities entirely. It was disrupting his control, introducing enough instability to weaken his influence and prevent him from maintaining its effects.

Which meant someone understood the underlying principle behind his power.

Someone had studied him and figured out how he worked. Which was impressive, truly, as he only showed himself to the public a small amount of times.

Zlatan’s lips parted in a faint smile.

"But who," he murmured, amused, "realized that much about it?"

The remaining men were still attempting to recover. Some struggled to their knees, while others crawled away from the immediate area, desperate to put distance between themselves and the man standing before them.

Zlatan glanced at them.

Then he clapped his hands.

’If only it were as effective.’

The sudden impact seemed to travel through the air, and the men immediately collapsed again.

One fell face-first onto the concrete. Another reached for a nearby wall before his legs gave way beneath him. Within seconds, the entire group was down, their attempts to stand abruptly interrupted.

For a moment, Zlatan observed them with mild satisfaction.

Then his expression soured.

It wasn’t enough to actually counter him, anyway.

"What a shame, really."

He lowered his hands and sighed lightly, looking around.

His visor flickered as it processed every area far from him. Figures appeared across his display, each marked by a small indicator.

Zlatan examined them one by one and none seemed involved in what just happened.

It couldn’t have been someone too far away, in either case... or the effect would’ve been even weaker.

Then a new marker caught his attention, and he stopped.

The figure was positioned near a damaged pillar, standing close enough to a collection of improvised equipment that the connection was difficult to overlook. Even through the limited information available to him, Zlatan could identify several unusual components arranged around the structure.

Metal pieces.

Wiring.

A crude assembly of resonating elements.

It wasn’t sophisticated technology. Whoever had constructed it had apparently worked with whatever materials were available.

But the arrangement was clever.

By exploiting resonance and interference, the device could potentially disrupt the particular signals Zlatan relied upon. It wouldn’t need to overpower his abilities completely. It only needed to introduce enough opposing interference to make his control unstable.

A crude countermeasure.

And, unfortunately for its creator, a temporary one.

Zlatan’s smile gradually widened.

’So it’s you.’

A peculiar sensation spread through him, something resembling happiness. It was a twisted sort of satisfaction, born from the realization that someone had actually managed to challenge him in a way that he found exciting.

Even from such a distance, his abilities should’ve still left an impact, but this person seemed to be mostly unaffected.

He tilted his head, studying the figure beside the pillar.

His gaze shifted toward the improvised device.

"Really smart... he may even be the reason why the other one is here.in the first place."

Then his expression changed.

Because there was one significant flaw in the plan.

The device needed to remain operational.

And its creator needed to remain close enough to maintain it.

Zlatan’s smile turned predatory.

"Unfortunately for you..."

He bent his knees slightly.

"...you picked the wrong timing for your little experiment."

He launched himself forward.

CRASH!

The impact shook the surrounding structure.

Zlatan slammed into the pillar with tremendous force, sending cracks racing across its surface. Concrete broke apart, and fragments scattered through the air as the damaged structure gave way beneath the assault.

The improvised device disappeared beneath the falling debris.

Its faint vibration abruptly stopped.

The interference vanished.

For one brief moment, everything seemed unnaturally quiet.

Then Zlatan reached through the settling dust and seized the person beside the shattered pillar by the jaw.

His fingers tightened around his face, forcing them to look directly at him.

"There you are," he whispered. "Squirrel."

***

"Damn it, my head..."

Blake pressed his fingers against his temple as he continued moving through the deserted passageway.

The pain had been getting worse for several minutes.

At first, he had assumed it was a side effect of the stress and exhaustion. The entire situation had been chaotic, and he had spent far too long trying to keep track of everything happening around him.

But this was different.

The closer he got to the location Tania had mentioned, the more difficult it became to think clearly. His head throbbed with every step, and an unpleasant pressure seemed to settle behind his eyes.

He slowed down, trying to steady his breathing.

Something was wrong.

He knew it.

His visor was still functioning, but he couldn’t read it properly. Information appeared and disappeared before he could properly process it, and several indicators kept flickering.

Blake frowned.

"What’s going on with you?"

He tapped the side of his visor, hoping to clear the malfunction.

Nothing changed.

Then a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Blake, go back."

He immediately recognized Myles.

Blake stopped walking.

"Myles?"

"Don’t go any farther," Myles said. His voice came through the communication channel with an urgency that Blake rarely heard from him. "If you can’t handle it, turn around. Tania was rash in her decision."

Blake’s jaw tightened.

’That is isn’t at all...’

Tania had insisted that he went, despite the increasingly obvious signs that something was wrong. He understood why she had made that decision. They were running out of time, and Alfred was somewhere ahead of them.

’It isn’t her fault. Damn it, it’s because of me and my damn body.’

Blake looked around, and he couldn’t see Alfred.

He couldn’t even be certain that the route ahead was clear.

Yet he couldn’t shake the thought that turning around now would mean abandoning him.

"What about Alfred?" Blake asked.

There was a brief pause.

Then Myles answered.

"Zlatan is on his way. Go back."

Blake’s stomach tightened.

That changed everything.

If Zlatan was approaching, continuing toward the destination might mean walking directly into him. Whatever interference was affecting Blake’s mind, he couldn’t afford to be a burden.

He clenched his fists.

"Damn it..."

He wanted to argue and go himself, to insist that there had to be another way. But he was meant to be a support from the start. He wasn’t strong enough to do this.

His head throbbed again, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment.

He was barely keeping himself together.

Finally, he turned around.

"Fine," he muttered. "I’m going back."

He started running.

His footsteps echoed through the open space as he hurried toward the route he had taken earlier. He kept his eyes on the visor, watching for obstacles and checking whether the system had stabilized.

For several seconds, everything seemed manageable.

***

"You are not worth keeping alive."

***

Blake stopped.

His foot remained suspended above the ground for a fraction of a second before settling against the concrete.

He stared straight ahead.

What?

The words had been unmistakable.

They hadn’t sounded like Myles. They hadn’t come through his communications channel, either. Instead, they seemed to have appeared directly inside his mind, carrying an unnatural certainty that made his skin crawl.

Blake swallowed.

"Who said that?"

No response.

He glanced around, searching the empty passageway for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

His pulse quickened.

He knew he should keep moving, but the words had left him momentarily disoriented. He couldn’t determine whether they had been a genuine transmission, an intrusive thought, or another symptom of whatever was affecting his head.

Then his visor flashed.

[ !WARNING ! ]

[ SYSTEM SHUTDOWN IMMINENT ]

[ 3... 2... 1... ]

Blake’s eyes widened.

"What?!"

The display flickered violently.

For one terrifying instant, every indicator disappeared, leaving him staring at his own reflection in the darkened visor.

Then the system rebooted.

Blake stumbled backward, his breathing suddenly ragged.

"No, no, no..."

He immediately resumed running, faster than before.

He couldn’t stay exposed without Spoon backing him up.

Without it, he’d lose a crucial advantage.

And if other soldiers, Alfred or just anyone else was really on his way, that advantage could be the only thing keeping him alive.

Blake forced himself to run harder.

His head continued to throb, but he ignored it. Every instinct told him to get away from the interference, to find somewhere safe before the system failed again.

Fortunately, he was making progress.

He was finally about to reach the end of it. Ahead stood the last building he needed to pass before reaching a more open route.

He could see it, really, he was almost there.

Blake drew a shaky breath and pushed himself forward.

Just a little farther.

Then—

CRASH!

The sudden noise made him flinch, and he instinctively looked up.

’What was that? Wait, is that...’

A window on the upper floor of the final building shattered outward, sending fragments scattering into the air.

Something had come through it.

For a split second, Blake couldn’t make out what he was seeing. His visor attempted to track the object, but the display flickered again, struggling to process its trajectory.

Whatever it was, it was falling fast, far too fast for him to dodge properly.

Blake’s eyes widened as the object dropped toward the ground.

His communication system crackled.

"Blake, MOVE AWAY!"

Myles’s voice exploded through his visor.

Blake reacted immediately.

He stumbled backward, taking several hurried steps in an attempt to escape the object’s projected path. His shoes scraped against the concrete as he struggled to regain his balance.

But his reaction had come too late.

The falling object changed angle as it descended, leaving him with almost no room to move.

Blake looked up.

For one suspended instant, he saw the unmistakable outline of an explosive hurtling directly toward him.

His mind went blank.

The explosive slammed directly into Blake’s head.