Perhaps, then, it took something more than a man to kill it. “Evil doesn’t die like a man does,” the preacher who’d given him a lift to Haddonfield had said, which Loomis had silently agreed with. In his defence, after a quarter-century of exposure to the evil that was Michael Myers, he’d been almost convinced it couldn’t be killed. Loomis’ focus had been on the body, so he couldn’t say with certainty, either. The sheriff reddened (though whether out of embarrassment or anger, the doctor wasn’t sure) as he protested feebly, “All right, but-where did he go? I looked away for a second, and-” “I consider us both very lucky he didn’t decide to take offense to your attempt to hold him at gunpoint.” “Michael Myers did all of that-and that man weathered everything Michael could do to him before literally handing him his head,” Loomis finished. From there, he created six bodies on his way to Haddonfield, and not an hour ago, tore his way through your police station-and all its armed officers-without any apparent difficulties. An explosion that destroyed a hospital operating room and most of the connecting corridor ‘only’ put him in a coma for ten years-until last night, when he got up and began killing again with no sign of atrophy or ill effect. “But Michael Myers survived six bullets and a two-storey fall, only to get up and kill ten more people. “He’s absolutely dangerous,” the doctor countered. “You don’t think a guy who tore another man’s head off is dangerous?” “ I’m more relieved that he left,” Loomis said dryly. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved-but that just makes me more worried about where the guy who did this went.” I know every line of every scar, by now-run the fingerprints and dental records if you like, but yes, I’m sure.” “Waiting for the day when he would wake, and begin again. “I spent ten years watching him in that hospital bed,” Loomis answered. And the burn scars on his own face reminded him every day of exactly how hard it was to kill. After a quarter-century of experience with it, including direct confrontations, he knew that there were no second chances with Michael Myers. He felt badly for pulling his gun on those teenagers dressed as Michael, but he would not apologise for his reaction. “You’re sure, this time?” Sheriff Meeker asked testily. And while there wasn’t really anything of value from a magus’ perspective, the cult’s base of operations was a mental hospital-medical supplies and petty cash ( especially including from the cultists’ own wallets, as a justified “evil IDIOT tax”) were things that they could find a use for. Of course, she also made a point of ransacking the place for supplies while she was at it- personal satisfaction might account for a lot in this enterprise, but there was no reason not to profit off it as best they could, given their expenditures. As such, she took distinct pleasure in tearing down the kludged-together workings the cult had managed to establish, with prejudice. There was no point to any of this-and that possibly irked Rin most of all. If the “prosperity of the tribe” that the blood sacrifice of a family was supposed to ensure actually mattered, this “Cult of Thorn” should’ve performed it annually-otherwise, the ritual had failed ages ago. !Īfter all, according to Frid, it was regulated by an annual stellar phenomenon, and yet years went by without the ritual being performed more than once, as much as a decade. There are no rules in place to stop them, aside from needing the time to build up the energy to do it-they could’ve accomplished anything, ANYTHING! And this is what they chose to do with it: a nonsensical ritual that they half-assed as it was. Because it meant that for all that this world had next to zero mana to work with, the limitations on using it were defined likewise. But it was more than that which roused her ire.įrid -san had described it as “Hollywood magic,” which he defined as, “It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, so long as it does what the plot requires it to.” And Rin could certainly acknowledge that as being the operating principle here-but that just made it worse. These people blundered about, and appeared to have stumbled on something which not only worked by accident, like Shirou, but which should not work at all. Completely by accident of circumstances, but he could do it. No, that wasn’t sufficient insult to them, because Shirou was a savant, of sorts, and actually could pull miracles of magecraft out of his ass. “These people make Emiya -kun look like a genius.
#NIDHOGG EX ACCURACY PROFESSIONAL#
Never mind the human cost-Rin could not remember the last time she felt so thoroughly outraged on a professional level.
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