An awful, grinding crunch and tearing sound split the air.
Stone shattered rapidly under the monstrous strength of those fungal tendrils and their corrosive slime. The small clocktower was wrenched clean off the main building, torn away as if it were made of foam.
Under the horrified, speechless gaze of the onlookers, that "main mycelium" snapped like a whip and hurled the heavy half of the clocktower straight toward the Greenwood District's only police station.
Boom——!!!
Shards of masonry and smoke erupted skyward, mingling with the shriek of the monster and the screams of the crowd.
The upper half of the police station was smashed to pieces. Windows exploded. Walls collapsed. The officers and civilians inside who hadn't managed to evacuate in time—no one could even begin to estimate the casualties.
"No!!!"
Someone's voice cracked into a raw, throat-ripping scream.
"Call for help! We need backup! Where is S.H.I.E.L.D.?! Where are the Avengers?!"
The police chief's voice howled in desperation over the squad car radio channel, drowned in the roar of collapsing concrete and chaotic background noise.
Just as despair was beginning to swallow everything, a familiar blue figure crashed through a knot of civilians whose minds had been scrambled by the noise and who were lashing out wildly at anyone near them.
He barreled through and reached the edge of the park.
"Hang in there!"
Captain America, Steve Rogers.
He raised his star-spangled shield high as he charged into the zone, where the air was thick with corrosive fumes and clouds of hallucinogenic particles.
But the all-pervasive sound hammered at him like solid steel needles, stabbing straight into his brain.
Even with a will far beyond that of an ordinary person, he was hit with a sudden wave of vertigo. His stomach churned violently; his vision swam, blooming with phantom images.
He clenched his teeth so hard his gums nearly bled, forcing himself to ride out the nerve-rending discomfort. Shield held firm in front of him, he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Almost at the same moment—
Whoosh—!
A silver-gleaming alloy arrow sliced through the air, slamming into one of the thick fungal tendrils that was just about to sweep across the outdoor patio of a nearby café.
The arrowhead buried itself deep into the rubbery mycelium, but the damage was minimal.
The next second—
Vmmm——!!!
A blinding, high-frequency flash burst from the tail of the arrow, along with a piercing, pure electronic whine that cut even sharper than the monster's own shriek.
The intense flash carved across the park like a silent bolt of lightning.
The powerful shockwave and sound burst exploded outward in an instant, forming a direct counterattack against the creature's noise.
The struck main tendril recoiled like a startled giant python, jerking back violently. Its attack was successfully interrupted.
In a corner of the café's terrace, a few customers who had been paralyzed with fear used that brief opening to scramble away, stumbling and crawling as the panicked but efficient staff herded them toward the interior safety passage.
On the rooftop of a taller apartment building in the distance, Clint Barton—Hawkeye—was half-crouched at the edge, his compound bow already drawn again.
There was blood at the corner of his mouth—forcing himself to endure the noise long enough to fire earlier had shaken his organs and left his ears ringing nonstop.
But his eyes were still razor sharp, locked unblinking on that gigantic, twisted fungal mass.
"Cap! The monster's core sound source is in the dense cluster of holes at the center of the cap! Physical attacks barely do anything to the tendrils! The spore gas it's releasing messes with emotions, causes hallucinations, and erodes reason! Watch it—there's corrosive effect too!"
Clint's voice crackled through the team comms, mixed with static and interference.
Steve swept his shield to knock aside flying debris and dead branches.
He stared at the enormous, horrifying cap that was constantly spewing shrieks and pale-green spore mist, and at the network of tendrils beneath it—countless giant worms boring into the ground, ravenously drawing in nourishment.
A wave of helplessness washed over him.
Conventional weapons were useless. Attacking the tendrils was like scratching an itch through a boot. The noise and psychic interference were tearing apart the combat effectiveness—and sanity—of anyone who tried to get close…
(End of Chapter)
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