This F-Rank Bubble Mage Is Too OP!-Chapter 88: The Alley (Part-2)

The world slowed down.

The cold brilliance of the moon spilled across the alleyway, illuminating every brick, every shadow, every blade pointed in his direction. A dozen D-Rank Hunters circled him, weapons drawn—modern firearms with mana attachments, spears laced with runes, jagged cleavers humming with elemental enchantments. All pointed at him. All hungry.

Such a shame to be called Hunters… River thought, his gaze sliding across each face, committing every one of them to memory.

Hunters—the supposed defenders of humanity, the shield between civilians and the abyss of monsters. Yet here they were, ready to murder one of their own in the dark of night. For ego. For greed. For scraps of treasure and a little more recognition in the guild reports.

He had seen worse in his past life. He had fought alongside the truly depraved. But still… this was rotten enough to boil his blood.

The world had not actually stopped, but River's perception shifted as it always did when danger peaked. He wasn't moving faster than them—he wasn't a speedster, nor did he possess the divine power to freeze time. No, this was his Mana Control at its peak, reacting instinctively. The threads of mana around him flared into sharp relief, every ripple in the air a detail his senses consumed.

Like a radar pulse, his awareness expanded outward, mapping the battlefield before snapping back to him with perfect clarity. Positions. Distances. Killing intent. Weaknesses. All of it presented to him like a map etched into his skull.

In that frozen heartbeat, River already knew how to end them. Every possible variation of their attacks, every escape route, every counter was already written. The only question that lingered was simple—should he kill them?

Freya's stunt had forced his hand, leaking his location, setting him up as prey. Perhaps leaving these bodies behind would send her a clearer message: he was not someone to toy with. Yet… bodies meant attention. Attention meant whispers. Whispers meant stronger hunters would come knocking.

Breaking their bones would be safer. Breaking their pride even better. But as his senses pressed against their killing intent, River frowned.

Scrawny, or whatever name he went by—stood just ahead, daggers gleaming, his twisted smile dripping with the promise of blood. The hunger in his eyes wasn't merely about loot. It was the lust of someone who wanted to see another Hunter bleed.

And he wasn't alone. Every single face River touched with his mana radar carried the same heat. Greed. Malice. Excitement. Not hesitation. Not doubt. They weren't here to test him. They weren't here to scare him off. They were here to kill him.

I hate that, River thought, his jaw tightening. If they want my life, then they've already chosen their fate.

The world continued to drag in slow motion, each breath like a drawn-out symphony of echoes. And in that stretched silence, River sighed.

"Seems like the choice was already made," he murmured.

His mana churned.

In a flash, power rippled out from him. Invisible threads of energy darted across the alley like lightning, thin and needle-sharp, racing until they stopped just short of each Hunter's face.

Mana threads.

In an instant, those threads bulged outward and condensed into shimmering spheres—dozens of fist-sized bubbles that floated inches from their targets. Each bubble pulsed faintly with unstable power, translucent shells swirling with compressed air and chaotic mana.

Bubble Bombs, a variation of his Bubble Creation ability.

The very first ability of his [Bubblecrafter] Skill. Considered useless. Mocked as little more than party tricks by the system itself. But River had already proven that "useless" was only a word people used when they lacked imagination.

Moisture Gathering stirred in the air, drawn to each floating orb like iron shavings to a magnet. In fractions of a second, droplets condensed across their surfaces, fusing into the shells, thickening them, strengthening them. The moisture sank inward, making each orb denser, deadlier.

Not enough.

River's Mana Control flexed again. Moisture Gathering surged a second time, then a third. The bubbles warped, their once fragile surfaces growing glassy and hard, no longer fragile spheres but liquid bombs ready to explode with violent precision.

It all happened faster than a blink. Faster than a thought. By the time River's perception began to ease back to the flow of reality, the bombs were already in place. His mana bar plummeted like a rock—150 down to 11 out of 170.

Mana Drain loomed, his body swaying under the sudden emptiness. Vision blurred. His balance faltered. He forced a breath through clenched teeth, grounding himself.

And then—

BOOM.

The world snapped back to normal, and explosions thundered through the alley.

Not the usual sound of his bubbles, but deep, concussive blasts that rattled windows and cracked stone. The shockwaves tore through the Hunters' defenses, shredding protective barriers, sending weapons clattering against walls.

Blood sprayed the moonlit alley in wide arcs as bodies fell like dolls, their heads obliterated in bursts of red mist and scattered bubbles. The rooftop Hunters collapsed first, their skulls erased into pulped ruin. The ones on the ground followed a heartbeat later, screams cut short as the glassy spheres detonated at point-blank range.

The sound of falling bodies was heavy, grotesque thuds echoing again and again. Metal clanged against cobblestone. A spear rolled, sparking against the wall. The alley reeked of blood and ruptured mana.

River staggered once, blinking as the dizziness slowly ebbed. He straightened, a faint smile curling on his lips as his vision cleared. Around him lay the corpses of nearly a dozen D-Rank Hunters, their heads gone, replaced with bubbling gore.

The only one left standing amid the carnage was Scrawny.

The scrawny teleporter stood frozen, his daggers trembling slightly in his grip. Blood splattered across his face, his armor, his hands—but none of it was his own. His wide eyes darted from corpse to corpse, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

River tilted his head. "Scrawny," he said, his voice almost casual, "close your mouth before something flies in."

"I… w-what d-did you do?" Scrawny stammered, his eyes darting in panic across the broken alleyway. Hunters lay sprawled on the ground, their lifeless bodies twisted in grotesque angles, blood steaming on the cold pavement.

It had all happened too fast—too sudden for him to process.

One moment, his allies were charging with Skills blazing, confident in their numbers. The next… bubbles. At least, they looked like bubbles—fragile, harmless, glimmering spheres. Yet when they touched flesh, they did not pop. They warped, expanded, and then—

Pop!

Heads burst open like overripe fruit, blood and brain matter dissolving inside those deceptively beautiful spheres. The grotesque image was seared into his mind.

Scrawny's heart pounded, his throat constricting as he struggled to breathe. He finally understood the monster in front of him.

River tilted his head, as if pondering something trivial. "It's called… Bubble Bombs. Third variation? No—wait. The fourth. Or maybe the fifth?" His tone was almost casual, like someone recalling an old recipe.

He frowned, scratching his cheek. "Doesn't matter. I never bothered naming all of them anyway. There are too many."

The way he spoke unsettled Scrawny even more. To River, this massacre wasn't a desperate act of survival—it was just another experiment, another small display of the infinite tricks he could pull with his strange magic.

River's smile turned thin, almost sharp. "All that matters is this—my imagination, my mana control… and the fact that as long as I have mana, I can make anything happen."

The words sent a chill down Scrawny's spine. He stumbled back a step, his knees trembling.

River shook his head slightly and began walking forward, his footsteps slow, deliberate. "Now then… you're not stupid enough to make me believe you came here just to grab my treasures." His gaze sharpened. "Someone gave you intel. Someone promised you more. Tell me what it was… and I might consider letting you live."

As his voice dropped, mana stirred. The air around River shimmered faintly, invisible threads of power weaving into his body, replenishing his strength. At the same time, unnoticed by Scrawny, another bubble formed around him—transparent, seamless, masked perfectly by River's Moisture Gathering.

Scrawny's panic snapped into anger. "F*ck you! I can escape whenever I want!"

He activated his Skill, his body became a blur, even using the energy flaring across his battlesuit. Mana surged—but instead of vanishing, his body slammed back to the exact same spot, repelled by something unseen. The impact rattled his bones, leaving him gasping.

"W-what…?!" His eyes widened in disbelief as he pressed his hand against empty air, feeling resistance where none should exist.

River finally smirked. "You can't escape my bubble."

The words echoed like a death sentence.

Scrawny's chest heaved as the reality sank in. The high-tech battlesuit and his Skill that once gave him confidence felt like a coffin now, trapping him with no way out. His mind screamed for options, for escape routes, for a miracle. But River's calm, unhurried steps drew closer, filling the air with suffocating pressure.

Every instinct told him—if he didn't find an answer soon, he'd end up like the others.

Popped.