Alice's expression visibly darkened as she finished her explanation. It was clear that it unsettled her—and honestly, I hadn't been expecting anything like that either. On top of it, she shared an odd detail: casting Buffs seemed to drain a lot more mana than using Debuffs.
According to her, even after casting a single Buff that nearly emptied her magical energy, she could still use her Debuff at least three more times. The difference in cost made it obvious how demanding that type of magic was for her.
The real problem, though, was whether her Debuff would work the way we hoped. And let's be honest—while I had gotten much better at controlling both of my bodies compared to when we started, keeping full control over them during combat was still nearly impossible.
Fighting while trying to coordinate two presences at once required more than just focus—it demanded total concentration. At the very least, one of my bodies needed to be in relative safety so I could focus more on the other and maintain some level of efficiency in battle.
Ethan was still holding onto the centipede, but I knew he couldn't keep that up for long. I had to come up with something—and fast. Luckily, Oliver had already said he'd keep the creature's attention on him and Ethan. That meant my only job now was to find a weak spot. Fortunately, I already had an idea where that might be.
But the real issue was something else: the centipede was insanely faster than it looked. The moment it burst from the wall, its stinger struck me before I could even register the motion. There was no time to react. That alone made one thing clear—its reaction speed was way beyond ours, maybe to a degree we couldn't even track with our current senses.
In any case, Alice mentioned she could only use her Debuff around three times. And if I remembered right, she never guaranteed it would cause paralysis—she only said there was a chance.
In other words, the outcome was uncertain—at best, a lucky shot. Betting everything on something that might not even work... honestly, it was the kind of risk I'd normally avoid at all costs.
With that thought, I glanced over at Ethan and Oliver. Ethan was still struggling, pulling at the centipede's tail with all the strength he could muster, while Oliver kept firing precise arrows, forcing the creature to split its attention between them.
The sight made me let out a quiet sigh—a reflex born from the tension. Deep down, I knew: there was no way I could just leave them behind. Not after what they did for me just moments ago, when I froze up and they still stood by my side without hesitation.
Besides, it's not like we were completely out of options. Holding on to that hope and keeping my control over Noa steady, I turned to Alice and spoke firmly, but with urgency: "Do you think you can hit the centipede with your Debuff three times in a row?" I asked: "If the effect stacks like we think, it might be enough to trigger paralysis"
Honestly, I had no solid proof that what I was suggesting would actually work. Everything was still too new, way too experimental for us to be sure about anything.
And the worst part? The timing—this was definitely the worst possible moment to test anything. If my plan failed, we'd be left without any immediate options. We'd have to find another way to kill that thing—and fast.
Even though there was still uncertainty in her eyes, Alice nodded firmly, like she was trying to silence any lingering doubts. Her voice carried a mix of hesitation and courage as she replied, slightly trembling, but determined: "I'll try!"
I gave her a silent nod in return, my gaze drifting back one last time to Oliver and Ethan, still doing everything they could to keep the centipede distracted. The tension was obvious in their movements, but they stayed strong, like they knew exactly what they were doing.
Then, I turned to Alice and locked eyes with her for a moment, trying to make sure she was ready, too.
"I'll sneak through the shadows and wait for the right moment" I whispered, keeping my voice low so the centipede wouldn't catch on: "When I give the signal, hit it with the Debuffs. Noa will tell you the exact moment"
Alice nodded at my words, even though—under normal circumstances—she might have questioned how I'd be able to communicate with Noa while being so far away, especially given the situation we were in.
But maybe that detail slipped past her in the heat of the moment—and for that, I was silently thankful. The urgency of it all didn't give me much room to explain.
With a swift leap, I pushed myself upward, grabbing onto the pipes lining the train's ceiling. The centipede, its body slithering through the corridor's shadows, was dangerously close to reaching the pipes.
Given its massive size—probably between 16 and 20 feet long—and the corridor's height, which was around 20 to 21 feet, its grotesque head almost touched the ceiling. The sound of its legs echoed around us, and the sense of urgency only kept growing.
In other words, if I got too close, the centipede would probably sense me. And what made things worse was another factor—my mana. The display read: 45/130, and I knew I was nearly at my limit, if not already in the red zone.
Still, this short break since the centipede showed up had been enough for me to recover a bit of mana. Not much, but just enough to activate the skills I needed. With that in mind, I didn't waste a second and triggered [Silent Steps]. Instantly, the sensation of blending into my surroundings washed over me.
It felt like the raindrops, once indifferent to my existence, now became an extension of my body. The wind, once a distant murmur, turned into something insignificant—just another part of me, as though I'd become invisible to the world.
The line between myself and the environment blurred, making it hard to tell where one ended and the other began. And yet, I could feel it clearly—a strange sensation, as if something inside me was slowly being drained away.
The mana loss, although subtle, became increasingly noticeable as the levels dropped. It felt as though, the less mana I had, the more that sense of emptiness amplified, like my body's way of warning me about how much was left in my reserves.
Anyway, my next move was to draw the dagger from its sheath. I felt a brief moment of relief when I realized I had been lucky enough to keep it there after the fight with the giant rats.
The moment Ethan pushed me out of the way to save me from the centipede, in any other situation, my dagger could've been thrown far, lost in the shadows, or dropped somewhere out of reach. But luckily, it stayed right where I left it.
As I drew it from the sheath, my gaze lingered for a second on the blade. Its metallic shine still reflected the light perfectly, despite a few small red stains scattered across its surface. There weren't many, but they were obvious—reminders of past battles.
I gripped the dagger's hilt tightly, feeling the familiar weight as I activated [Precise Strike]. Instantly, the blade took on a reddish hue, as if the very essence of battle had been absorbed into it.
At the same time, I felt the unique sensation of mana concentrating at the exact point of the blade, as if every molecule of power was being channeled for a single, deadly purpose.
In the next instant, a wave of weakness spread through my body, as though all the energy was being drained from me. I didn't need to be a genius to understand what was happening. That drain was a clear warning that my mana reserves were about to be completely depleted. Passing out at that moment would've been the least of my worries.
In most stories, when someone runs out of mana, it's like they're sealing their own death. Although I wasn't sure exactly how this would play out in real life, the exhaustion that was overtaking me was so intense that I imagined that if I didn't fall, I simply wouldn't be able to take another step. It felt like I was about to collapse under the weight of my own body.
Putting that aside, I crawled along the pipes, cautiously getting closer to the centipede until I was at a safe distance. My eyes were fixed on the creature, analyzing its every movement with precision as I waited for the perfect moment to act.
Ethan, on the other hand, continued to hold the centipede back with surprising strength, slowly dragging it backwards. Honestly, what kind of strength was that? I can't imagine he was capable of such a thing before everything that happened. The only explanation I could come up with was that some kind of ability of his was causing this sudden burst of power.
Oliver, meanwhile, kept firing his arrows. Each one was launched with precision, hitting specific spots on the centipede's body. However, all of them bounced off as soon as they made contact, the creature's body seemingly made of metal, or something equally impenetrable.
As I watched closely, something caught my attention: the centipede's tail suddenly lifted, and with Ethan firmly holding on, both of them were pulled into the air, leaving the ground behind.
"Damn it! Ethan, let go now!" Oliver yelled, his eyes locked on the centipede.
But it was already too late. With Ethan being lifted by the tail, the centipede slammed him hard against the concrete ground. The impact was brutal, a muffled crash echoing through the area, followed by a cloud of dust that briefly obscured the scene. The sound of the collision reverberated, and the earth trembled under the force, as Ethan was completely at the mercy of the centipede's crushing strength.
"Ethan!!" Oliver shouted, his voice trembling with desperation, his face contorted in deep concern.
Honestly, I was pretty worried too. I mean, he had saved me not long ago, and although we weren't friends, not even acquaintances, I always saw him as someone I owed my life to. The options we had ran through my mind in the blink of an eye.
Honestly, I didn't think Ethan would die from that blow. At least, I hoped his armor wasn't just for decoration. And considering all the strength he had shown while holding the centipede back, I really believed he'd have enough to survive this.
Truthfully, I didn't think he'd come out of that attack without serious injuries. To give you an idea, the centipede's impact was similar to a car slamming into a wall, with enough force to raise a small cloud of dust and create a dull thud, but still noticeable.
However, contrary to what I expected, the voice that followed didn't sound like someone seriously injured. On the contrary, it was almost calm, as if the pain were just a fleeting detail: "I'm fine!" said the voice, surprisingly calm. "Honestly, that hurt way less than I thought it would"
And in the next instant, when the dust was still hanging in the air, Ethan appeared. He stood firm, his feet planted into the ground, muscles tense from the battle's weight.
His arms were raised in an X, fighting with all his might to hold back the massive centipede tail, which hung threateningly above him.
The impact had been brutal, but against all odds, Ethan wasn't hurt. Somehow, he had absorbed the blow, using his own body as a shield.
Everyone was momentarily stunned, even the centipede. It was the exact moment I had been waiting for. Taking control of Noa's body, I shouted, pointing at the centipede: "Alice! Now!"
Upon hearing my words, Alice gave a small jump, and her face lit up with genuine surprise. Her eyes sparkled for a moment before she, almost in disbelief, replied with a shaky voice: "Ah! Y-Yes!"
In the next instant, Alice extended her hand towards the centipede, and a soft yellow light began to glow from her fingers. Like a wave, this light expanded, wrapping around the creature's body with increasing intensity.
I watched closely as the centipede's movements slowed. Once fierce and agile, its jaws, which had been snapping open and shut at a menacing speed, now moved more slowly, as if an invisible force was restraining it.
Alice repeated the gesture, and the yellow light burst forth again, this time more powerfully. The centipede, now, was moving in a much slower, dragged-out pace, its movements growing heavier by the second. When the light came for the third time, a golden glow that seemed to suffocate the air, the centipede's movements came to a near halt.
At the same time, a small, visibly intense lightning bolt coursed through the entire length of the centipede's body. Its movements ceased abruptly, not of its own will, but because each attempt to move triggered a new lightning strike, hitting it with force.
This phenomenon caused the centipede's jaws to go wild, shaking erratically, though slowly, producing a high-pitched, painful sound, almost like a lament. With every electric snap, the centipede seemed to suffer, immobilized by the force of the shocks running through it.