First mission (Part 2)

Larry's eyes burned from the intense focus required to complete the mountain of paperwork before him.

Undeterred Larry gripped his pen tighter as he filled out yet another form, the black ink bleeding slightly at the corners where his hand pressed too hard.

The stack of papers seemed endless, each document requiring careful attention to detail that made his head throb.

The office air grew stale as two hours crawled by, the monotonous scratch of pen against paper broken only by the occasional rustle of forms being shifted aside. The mounting paperwork served as a constant reminder of the gravity of their situation, each signature bringing them closer to the inevitable confrontation.

Several times during those two hours, Larry found his mind wandering to the task ahead, imagining various scenarios and strategies. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a physical force, making the simple act of filling out forms feel like an endurance test. His wrist ached from the repetitive motion, fingers cramping around the pen as he forced himself to maintain legible handwriting despite his fatigue.

When the final signature was complete, Larry's shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Training time loomed ahead, but his body felt like lead weights had been attached to every limb. The thought of physical exertion made his muscles protest in advance. The daylight sun cast long shadows through the office window, marking the passage of time with silent precision. The sound of footsteps in the hallway announced Hime's arrival before she appeared in the doorway, her presence filling the room with an air of authority that seemed to push against the walls.

"Rest for a bit, then come to the training area," Hime commanded, her stance making it clear this wasn't a suggestion. Her eyes scanned the completed paperwork with quick efficiency, noting Larry's obvious fatigue but showing no sympathy.

Larry's response came out weary and resigned. "Alright." He began organizing the completed forms into neat stacks, his movements slow and deliberate.

As Hime turned to leave, something clicked in Larry's mind - a detail that had been bothering him throughout the paperwork. The name had been repeating itself in his thoughts like an echo that wouldn't fade. "Wait," he called out, straightening in his chair despite his exhaustion.

Hime paused, turning back with an expression of mild annoyance. The late afternoon light caught her features, highlighting the slight frown that creased her brow. "What's wrong? Training is a must! Do you wanna remain a weakass?"

"Not that!" Larry's response came sharp with frustration, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. "I was wondering why he's called Stitch Zilant. I know 'Zilant' means snake, but 'Stitch' as a first name? It's odd." The question had been gnawing at him, instinct telling him the answer might reveal something crucial about their opponent.

A knowing look crossed Hime's features as she regarded him, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "You'll figure out for yourself when you see him in person." Her tone carried a hint of dark amusement, as if she were privy to some grim joke.

"That's not helpful," Larry pressed, leaning forward in his chair. The papers rustled beneath his hands as he shifted. "I need more info about the enemy." The lack of information made him feel like he was walking into battle blindfolded.

"Consider it as your first mission that you need to win without knowing anything," Hime replied with finality. "That's how Blond aka our previous master Bookman did things." Her words carried the weight of experience, though they offered little comfort.

The response sat uncomfortably in Larry's stomach, but he remained silent as Hime departed. Thirty minutes to rest before training seemed both too long and not nearly enough as he contemplated the mystery of their target's name. He spent those minutes trying to quiet his racing thoughts, knowing he needed to conserve energy for what lay ahead.

Time accelerated over the next two days, each hour ratcheting up the tension like a slowly tightening spring. Larry maintained his position at the scientist's house, watching as the man's composure gradually crumbled. The safe house was modest but secure, with thick curtains drawn across the windows and multiple exit routes carefully planned. Despite Larry's attempts at reassurance, he could see fear eating away at the scientist's nerves. The man jumped at every unexpected sound, his hands shaking as he went through his daily routines.

The daylight hours passed without incident, but as night descended, the darkness seemed to press against the windows with malevolent intent.

The first sign of trouble came from an unexpected direction - the chimney produced a series of odd scratching sounds that echoed through the quiet house. The noise stood out sharply against the background hum of the heating system and the distant sounds of night traffic. Larry approached cautiously, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor, years of training evident in his measured movements. Peering into the sooty darkness, he spotted a snake coiled within, its scales catching what little light reached the fireplace. The creature's presence seemed deliberate, almost staged, like the opening move in a deadly game.

"Do you have a pet snake?" Larry called back to the scientist, keeping his voice steady even as his instincts screamed warnings. His eyes never left the serpent as he waited for a response.

Terror instantly transformed the scientist's face, draining it of all color. His eyes widened with recognition and fear. "No, it's him! He's here!"

"It's just a snake," Larry began, turning to face the scientist. The words froze in his throat as his eyes registered the impossible sight before him. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees in an instant.

Where empty space had existed moments before, a figure now towered, seeming to have coalesced from the shadows themselves. His tattered cloak rippled in an unfelt wind, the fabric moving like living darkness. The man's skin held the pallor of a corpse, made more disturbing by the precise dark stitches that traced his lips in a grotesque parody of surgical precision. Each stitch looked like it had been placed with meticulous care, creating a pattern that spoke of both skill and madness. Wild jet-black hair framed a face dominated by piercing blue eyes that glowed with an inner light that spoke of something beyond human. Pointed ears jutted through the dark strands, confirming Larry's suspicion that they faced something not entirely of this world.

The cloak parted to reveal a torso that told stories of countless battles through its network of scars. Each mark seemed to have its own tale of violence and survival, creating a map of past conflicts across his pale skin. Yet more striking than these marks of violence was the massive serpent that wound around his form. Its scales gleamed like polished obsidian dusted with fresh snow, and its eyes matched its master's not just in their ethereal blue color but in their cold, calculating intelligence. This was no mere animal - it moved with purpose and awareness that suggested a shared consciousness with its master. Each subtle shift of the snake's coils mirrored its master's breathing, creating an unsettling harmony between man and beast.

"So that's why he's called Stitch Zilant," Larry muttered, glancing back toward the chimney. The original snake had vanished as if it had never existed, leaving him to wonder if it had been real or merely an illusion to announce their enemy's arrival. Larry lunged forward on instinct, but Stitch Zilant seemed to dissolve into the air itself, reforming with frightening speed near the scientist.

Larry activated his Joker power, attempting to turn the situation to his advantage, but found himself caught in a crushing grip. Stitch Zilant's hand moved with deliberate purpose, touching nearby objects that began to glow with an otherworldly light. The ordinary items of the safe house - lamps, books, even a coffee mug - transformed into spiritual beings that attacked with devastating force. Each one retained a ghostly echo of its original form while moving with deadly purpose.

Struggling to maintain his footing against this supernatural onslaught, Larry watched as Zilant advanced toward the scientist with predatory grace. Each step seemed to bend reality around him, the air growing thick with palpable menace. The spiritual beings continued their relentless attack, forcing Larry to divide his attention between defending himself and trying to protect the scientist.

"My power is Psychometry," Zilant announced, his voice carrying the chill of midwinter. The statement seemed to hang in the air, a declaration that made the very atmosphere heavy with supernatural energy.

Larry found himself backed into a corner, watching helplessly as Zilant raised his hand with elegant precision. The serpent moved in perfect synchronization, rearing back to strike. The moment stretched like elastic, time seeming to slow as Larry faced what appeared to be an impossible situation. The room felt charged with tension, every shadow seeming to pulse with malevolent energy.

Then salvation arrived in the form of Raxa, bursting onto the scene with perfect timing. His arrival shifted the balance of power, giving Larry the opening he needed. The familiar presence of his ally brought a surge of renewed energy. With restored determination, Larry activated Joker once more, this time successfully dispelling the spiritual beings that had kept him at bay. The ghostly forms dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind only the faintest trace of their supernatural presence.

Fury twisted Zilant's features, his stitched lips pulling tight against pale skin. "Don't get in my way," he snarled, his voice carrying echoes of ancient malice.

"That's my dialogue!" Raxa countered, the familiar phrase carrying extra weight in this tense moment. His arrival had changed the dynamics of the confrontation, giving them a fighting chance against their formidable opponent.

Working together, Larry and Raxa moved to flank their opponent, their movements coordinated through years of training and shared experience. Larry focused his attention on the snake, convinced it held the key to Zilant's deadly arsenal. But Zilant executed a perfect backflip, his fingers brushing against Larry's skin during the movement. The snake struck with lightning speed, but Raxa intercepted the attack, taking the bite meant for Larry. The sacrifice happened so quickly that Larry barely had time to register the movement before it was complete.

"Why did you do that?" Larry demanded, horror coloring his voice. His heart seemed to stop for a moment as he watched his friend take the hit meant for him. "The head of the gang can't just die off like that!"

Raxa's laugh, though strained, carried confidence that seemed to push back against the oppressive atmosphere. "Who said I'm dying? The scientist has the cure, you know. I'm not stupid if that's for one." Even in pain, he maintained his characteristic bravado.

Larry seized the opening to grab Zilant, but the snake had already turned its attention to the scientist. As its fangs gleamed in the darkness, Stitch Zilant's face split into a crescent-shaped smile, his stitched lips stretching into a grotesque mockery of mirth. The expression transformed his face into something barely human, each stitch pulling taught against his pale skin.

The snake's scales caught the dim light as it prepared to strike, its master's eerie laughter filling the space with a sound that seemed to come from beyond the grave itself. Each breath felt charged with potential energy, the air thick with the promise of violence to come.