Master of Lust-Chapter 306 - -

Chapter - 306

The cold wind on the roof of Warner Tower whipped Rick’s hair into his eyes, stinging his face. He stood on the edge of the helipad, the shattered remains of his platinum Rolex dangling from his wrist, watching the sleek, black VTOL aircraft bank away into the night sky. Its red taillights were fading stars, mocking him with every blink.

Beside him, Sharon was on her knees, gasping for air, her hands resting on her thighs. Nadia was curled into a fetal ball on the concrete, sobbing quietly, the disarmed bomb vest still strapped to her chest like a futuristic corset of shame.

Rick stared at the blue translucent box floating in his vision.

[System Notification: Main Quest ’The Tower of Babel’ - SEMI-COMPLETE.]

[Objective: Eliminate Marnus Warner - FAILED.]

"Failed," Rick muttered, the word tasting like ash and cheap champagne. "I don’t do ’failed’."

"He’s gone, Rick," Sharon wheezed, standing up shakily. "We survived. We got the laptop. We got the girl. That’s... that’s a win. Let it go."

"Let it go?" Rick turned to her, his eyes wild. "He tried to blow us up. He has a robot dog. He insulted my suit. And he’s flying away to drink more champagne while we stand here covered in soot and bird crap."

He looked back at the shrinking aircraft. "System," he snarled in his head. "I have 175,000 dollars and a boatload of XP. Tell me you have a ’Second Chance’ mechanic. Tell me you sell surface-to-air missiles. Tell me you have a giant, invisible hand that can swat that fly out of the sky."

[Ding!]

[System Notification: Shop Accessed.]

[Current Status: Combat Mode.]

[Inventory Check: Empty.]

[Available Funds: $175,000.]

[Recommendation: You cannot buy a missile. However...]

A new window popped up. It was a loot box. A literal, glowing, golden loot box with a question mark on it.

[Item: ’The Karmic Equalizer’ (One-Time Use)]

[Description: Causes a catastrophic mechanical failure in a fleeing enemy vehicle. Range: Visual Line of Sight.]

[Cost: $150,000.]

Rick didn’t hesitate. "Buy it. Buy it now."

[Transaction Complete. Item Activated.]

Rick pointed a finger at the distant VTOL, channeling all his rage, all his frustration, and every cent of his newfound wealth into the gesture.

"BANG," he whispered.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, the VTOL’s right engine engine—the one that had been damaged when Rick headbutted Marnus against the ramp—sputtered. It coughed a plume of black smoke. Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, the turbine disintegrated.

BOOM!

A fireball erupted from the right wing. The aircraft lurched violently, spinning out of control. It didn’t explode mid-air; it lost lift. It began to drop, spiraling down toward the lower tier of the roof—a massive, open-air terrace garden some fifty feet below.

"Holy shit!" Sharon yelled, grabbing Rick’s arm. "Did you do that?"

"I have very expensive fingers," Rick said, a savage grin splitting his face. "Come on!"

He didn’t wait. He sprinted for the edge of the helipad.

"Rick, wait! There’s a ladder!" Sharon screamed.

"Ladders are for people who don’t have a boss fight to finish!"

Rick leaped.

He fell 70-80 feet, the wind roaring in his ears. He activated Predator’s Focus just before impact, time slowing to a crawl as he spotted a large, decorative awning over the terrace bar. He aimed for it.

CRASH!

He smashed through the canvas awning, tumbled through a metal frame, bounced off a table, and landed in a roll on the expensive astroturf of the terrace.

He groaned, checking his limbs. Bruised. Battered. Alive.

"Ow," he muttered, "Guess these jumps are still too early for me."

A few seconds later, Sharon came sliding down a maintenance ladder nearby, looking furious and sensible. Nadia was nowhere to be seen; she was likely still on the roof, crying.

They soon made their way down the building. They ran down the night road towards the direction where the VTOL crashed.

They ran for about 3-4 minutes covering more than a kilometre before they arrived at the crash site.

The VTOL had crashed. It was a smoking, twisted wreck of carbon fiber and steel, plowed into a decorative fountain. Water and jet fuel were spraying everywhere. Fires burned in small, isolated pockets.

"Stay back," Sharon warned, drawing her SIG. "That thing could blow."

"Not before I get my refund," Rick said, marching toward the wreckage.

A panel on the side of the fuselage was kicked out from the inside. It flew across the terrace, clattering onto the stone tiles.

Marnus Warner emerged.

He was no longer the pristine, velvet-clad king of the city. His purple jacket was shredded, one sleeve entirely gone. His face was bleeding from a deep gash on his forehead. He was covered in soot, foam, and hydraulic fluid. He looked like a grape that had been stomped on.

But he was alive. And he was holding something.

It wasn’t a gun. It was a massive, double-barreled, shoulder-mounted energy weapon that looked like it had been ripped off a tank. It hummed with a menacing, violet light.

Behind him, stumbling from the wreckage, came two more Elite Guards—the pilot and co-pilot, both wearing armored flight suits and wielding submachine guns.

"YOU!" Marnus roared, his voice cracking with unhinged fury. "YOU INSUFFERABLE, IMPOSSIBLE PEASANT! THAT WAS A FORTY-MILLION-DOLLAR PROTOTYPE!"

"It had a safety rating of zero," Rick yelled back, picking up a heavy, cast-iron patio chair. "I did you a favor!"

Marnus leveled the massive cannon. "Die. Just... die."

[System Notification: Boss Battle Re-Initiated!]

[Boss: Marnus Warner (Enraged) & Flight Crew]

[Objective: Finish Him.]

Marnus pulled the trigger.

VWOOM!

A bolt of purple plasma, the size of a beach ball, erupted from the cannon. It didn’t travel at the speed of a bullet; it moved slower, like liquid fire.

Rick dove. The plasma bolt hit the spot where he had been standing. There was no explosion. The stone tiles simply vanished, vaporized into a crater of molten slag.

"Okay," Rick said, scrambling behind a marble planter. "That’s a new one."

"He has a plasma cannon!" Sharon shrieked from behind a statue of a cherub. "Where does he get these toys?!"

"Skymall for sociopaths!" Rick yelled.

The two flight crew guards opened fire with their SMGs, pinning them down. Bullets chipped away at the marble planter.

"Rick!" Sharon yelled. "I’m out! I have one mag left! We can’t win a firefight!"

"Then we don’t fight," Rick said. He checked his System Shop. He had $25,000 left. Enough for one more trick.

He scrolled frantically. Health Potion? No. Ammo? No. Invisibility Cloak (5 seconds)? Tempting.

His eyes landed on an item in the ’Consumables’ tab.

[Item: ’The Berserker’s Brew’]

[Description: A cocktail of adrenaline, pain-suppressants, and synthetic rage. Grants invulnerability to pain and +200% Strength for 60 seconds. Side effects include: Nausea, Hallucinations, and a really bad hangover.]

[Cost: $20,000.]

"Bottoms up," Rick muttered. He bought it.

A small, red vial materialized in his hand (the System really leaned into the video game tropes). He uncorked it and downed it in one gulp. It tasted like battery acid and chili peppers.

Whoosh.

The world turned red.

Literally. His vision tinted crimson. The pain in his ribs vanished. The exhaustion in his legs evaporated, replaced by a burning, screaming need to punch something until it stopped existing. His muscles swelled, straining against the fabric of his ruined suit.

"Sharon," Rick growled, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. "Cover me."

"Cover you? You’re going to—"

Rick didn’t wait. He stood up. He roared. It wasn’t a word. It was a challenge to the universe.

He grabbed the marble planter he was hiding behind—a solid stone block weighing easily four hundred pounds—and lifted it over his head.

The two guards stopped firing, staring in disbelief.

Rick hurled the planter. It flew through the air like a pebble, smashing into the first guard and crushing him instantly into the pavement.

"ONE!" Rick screamed.

He charged. He didn’t run; he thundered. The second guard fired his SMG. Rick didn’t dodge. He took the bullets. They hit his chest, his shoulder. He felt them impact like mosquito bites. The Berserker’s Brew laughed at physics.

He reached the second guard, grabbed his SMG by the barrel, and yanked. He ripped the gun out of the man’s hands, then swung it like a club, shattering the guard’s helmet and skull in one blow.

"TWO!"

Now it was just Marnus.

Marnus leveled the plasma cannon. "You freak! Stay back!"

VWOOM!

Another bolt of plasma. Rick didn’t dodge. He grabbed a nearby patio table—solid steel—and held it up like a shield. The plasma hit the table. The metal glowed white-hot, melting, slag dripping onto Rick’s hands. He didn’t feel the burn.

He kept walking.

Marnus backed up, terror finally piercing his arrogance. "Stay away! I’ll pay you! I’ll give you double! Triple!"

Rick threw the molten table aside. He was ten feet away.

"I don’t want your money, Marnus," Rick growled, closing the distance. "I want your face."

Marnus dropped the heavy cannon and fumbled for a pistol in his waistband. He fired wildly. Bang! Bang! Bang!

Rick swatted the bullets away—or at least, in his drug-fueled haze, he thought he did. In reality, he just walked through them.

He reached Marnus.

He grabbed the man by the lapels of his ruined purple jacket and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. Marnus dangled, his feet kicking, his eyes bulging.

"Please!" Marnus squealed. "I’m a visionary! I’m a job creator! You can’t kill me! I’m rich!"

"You’re a loot drop," Rick corrected.

Rick headbutted him.

CRACK.

Marnus’s nose shattered.

Rick headbutted him again.

CRUNCH.

Marnus’s teeth shattered.

"This," Rick grunted, slamming Marnus onto the ground, "is for the container."

He punched Marnus in the gut. Marnus folded.

"This," he punched him in the chest, cracking ribs, "is for the robot dog."

"And this," Rick said, standing over the broken billionaire, raising his foot, "is for making me run up ninety flights of stairs."

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