Chapter 122 Chapter 122 Crazy
In fact, in every respect, Vladimir is a fairly "normal" person.
Although he's clearly over forty, he can still act like a child in a high-pitched voice, spout nonsense as if he only has the intelligence of a five-year-old, and act recklessly like a minor. He's clearly an older man but maintains the behavior of a young girl all day long. But that's just "perverted."
In reality, Nabokov in his "Lolita" state behaved quite normally and ordinarily—making it impossible to tell that he had a severe case of schizophrenia.
In fact, there are many manifestations, such as Vladimir's thinking being quite fragmented, his difficulty in thinking about one thing for a long time, his inability to control his emotions, his frequent illogical speech, his considerable aggression and irritability, and a certain degree of delusional symptoms (which is also the reason why he was able to successfully play Lolita).
A closer examination reveals that Vladimir's daily behavior exhibits typical symptoms of schizophrenia.
A significant portion of the snacks and candies she usually eats are actually psychoactive substances.
No one noticed his mental problems, so naturally no one knew the conditions under which Nabokov's illness manifested, or how much damage he could cause.
Vladimir was enveloped in white light. The half-damaged iron castle unfolded once more and then immediately shrank back. The petite Vladimir disappeared, and a man stood in the same spot.
He was a tall, thin man with a very typical Russian appearance, with chestnut-colored curly hair and blue eyes typical of Russians, but his physique was surprisingly weak, lacking any sense of threat or strength.
The iron castle transformed into a formal suit on him, and combined with his slender figure and scholarly air, he seemed more suited to a library or campus than to a ruin.
If I had to describe his appearance with one word, it would be "exquisite".
Even with blood still dripping down his face, it didn't bring him dishevelment, but rather a unique kind of beauty.
Few people seem to remember that Nabokov was a literature professor before becoming a criminal.
Nabokov's facial injuries remained even after the transformation. However, now that he had returned to his original form, he no longer moved with the same caution as before. He casually pulled out a hemostatic spray, sprayed it on his face, and considered it done.
Asimov, who had just recovered from the shock of the ruptured barrel, saw this scene: "It's back to normal."
“Yes, are we going to let ‘Lolita’ continue to wear that wound?” Nabokov looked up. “It’s temporarily treated, so… it’s time to deal with you, you annoying pile of scrap metal.”
Nabokov grabbed the pendant around his neck and ripped it off with a jerk. The silver cross was dull from oxidation, making it clear at a glance that it hadn't been used in a long time.
Nabokov picked up the cross and placed it in front of his forehead, whispering a few words to it before using his supernatural ability on it.
The cross began to deform under the light, and Nabokov changed his posture accordingly, switching from holding it with one hand to holding it with both hands.
Asimov instinctively made a defensive movement.
As the light faded, what appeared in Nabokov's hand, dressed in a formal suit, was an old SVD sniper rifle.
Asimov, who had been on guard, frowned, somewhat puzzled: "SVD? It's a very common model and hasn't been modified. Why do you think you can break through my armor with this?"
To be honest, the SVD is not as effective as the missiles Nabokov previously presented; its attack power is only average for its type.
However, on the current battlefield, that level of attack power is simply not enough.
Nabokov didn't reply, but instead took a fully loaded magazine from his waist and loaded it into his SVD.
Asimov frowned again as he watched Nabokov's actions.
Is it special ammunition again?
Having seemingly relaxed after completing the preliminary preparations, Nabokov took the initiative to strike up a conversation with Asimov.
“You know what? From the very beginning of my awakening, everyone said that my ability was ‘lacking in aggression,’ and even I initially thought so myself…”
Nabokov raised the SVD and aimed it at Asimov in a straightforward manner.
“Until one time I changed my mind, and that was when I was using this SVD—so you can understand it as me using this gun out of nostalgia.”
Nabokov pulled the trigger, and the bullet flew straight toward Asimov, only to be engulfed in a white flash the moment it left the barrel.
Although Asimov was puzzled, he still cautiously chose to defend.
Then, as Asimov watched the bullet deform, extreme shock appeared on his usually indifferent face.
"Human weapons can be simply divided into thermal weapons, biological and chemical weapons, energy weapons, atomic weapons, and kinetic energy weapons that have emerged to circumvent treaties. There is no superiority or inferiority among these weapons, but there are clear differences in their strengths and weaknesses."
Amidst the deafening crash and the tearing sound of steel, Nabokov seemed to be talking to himself.
"The initial velocity of the SVD bullet is approximately 830 meters per second. So, Mr. Asimov, can you defend yourself without taking damage from a solid steel cone weighing 2.8 tons that is flying towards you at 830 meters per second?"
With this question, Nabokov snapped out of his dazed state and looked calmly at Asimov in front of him.
Asimov clutched his missing right arm in a disheveled state. Instead of bright red blood, dark brown coolant flowed from the lacerated wound. Scattered on the ground were parts of what had once been Asimov's arm, deformed and discolored from the intense friction.
"It's obvious you can't defend against it."
Nabokov raised his gun again and aimed it at Asimov.
"More obviously, I am quite angry now, so what follows will not be the kind of minor skirmishes we've seen before."
"Lolita" alters reality, so the original physical values will also change, and the mass and volume will be completely changed. When the changed object is restored, its original state—such as speed—will be perfectly inherited.
That would be the simplest and most terrifying kinetic weapon, a mobile "Rod of God".
Anger was no longer visible in Nabokov's eyes; anger was the echo of reason crumbling. As reason disappeared, anger disappeared as well. His mind was now filled with madness.
Madness does not contain anger; the original anger is transformed into a pure destructive desire within madness.
At this moment, Nabokov was not angry; he simply wanted to smash Asimov in front of him into pieces, and this was not an action driven by emotion.
There was no way to persuade him to give up, because it was no longer an idea that arose from some reason and could be persuaded, but an action that had to be carried out.
Nabokov, caught in such an emotional state, pulled the trigger.
"Mr. Asimov, may you have a safe journey to the afterlife."
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