The young man with glasses glanced back at the gothic woman, his expression void of emotion. She gave a slight, dismissive nod of her head.

"Finish them," said the woman.

The young man made a swift flick of his wrist. From the five points on his energy shields where the sniper bullets had struck, concentrated beams of searing white light erupted. They streaked toward the rooftops with impossible precision. Five muffled explosions of gore followed as the Royal snipers were decapitated instantly, their bodies slumping over the ledges.

Ethan raised his eyebrows, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. That's a powerful ability. If he can redirect kinetic energy and turn it into light... can my lightning break through? Ethan thought.

The woman took a step forward, her silver spikes glinting. "That was just a warning. Next time, there will be no mercy," said the woman.

Fury emerged through Ethan, hotter than the electricity coiling around his heart. He wasn't used to being threatened, and he certainly wasn't used to losing his men in front of his eyes. His knuckles turned white, the air around him beginning to hum with a violent frequency.

"Let's see if you have what it takes to speak to me like that, bitch!" shouted Ethan.

He launched himself forward like a thunderbolt. He moved so fast the air cracked in his wake. His fist, glowing with the combined power of [Dao Martial of the Fist] and high-voltage lightning, aimed straight for the woman's throat.

The young man with glasses blurred into position between them. He raised both hands, manifesting a massive, reinforced energy barrier. Ethan's fist slammed into the shield with the force of a falling meteor. The impact created a shockwave that shattered every window within a two-block radius.

The young man didn't break, but the sheer physical power of the strike forced him backward. His heels plowed through the asphalt, tearing deep trenches into the street as he was dragged twenty meters back before finally coming to a halt. He looked up, a thin trail of blood running from his nose, but he was smiling.

He extended his palm toward Ethan. A jagged bolt of pure white energy shot from his hand. Ethan didn't dodge; he reached out and caught the beam with his bare palm. With a snarl, Ethan closed his fist, crushing the energy bolt until it shattered into thousands of harmless sparks, like breaking cheap glass.

The woman watched the exchange, her mocking smile fading into a look of cold calculation. "It seems you are powerful. Perhaps more than I expected," said the woman.

Ethan stood tall, his silver-plated skin glowing beneath the blue arcs of lightning. He looked at her with pure, unadulterated arrogance. "You're strong. Let's see exactly how long that lasts," Ethan said.

But before he could strike again, a deafening, synchronized sound echoed through the street—the metallic clack-clack of hundreds of weapons being chambered. Behind the three leaders, the sea of ​​armed men shifted into firing positions. The heavy machine guns mounted on the black SUVs whirred to life, all of them calibrated and aimed directly at Ethan's small group of soldiers.

The woman gestured to the overwhelming force surrounding them. "You are strong, Ethan Blake. You might even survive this. But not a single one of your men will. They will all die by your hand, because you chose to stay and fight a war you cannot win," said the woman.

Ethan froze. For the first time, hesitation flickered in his eyes. He looked back at his twenty soldiers and Sarah, who was shivering behind the armored glass. He could win his own fight, but he couldn't shield everyone from a thousand bullets at once.

Falcon 20 saw the doubt in his leader's eyes. He stepped forward, gripping his rifle with a steady hand, a fierce grin on his face.

"Don't stop on our account, Boss! We'll be fine. We didn't sign up for a desk job. If we die, we die fighting for the man who gave us a reason to stand tall!" shouted Falcon 20.

Behind him, the rest of the Royal units raised their weapons in unison, aiming back at the massive army with suicidal bravery. They were ready for a bloodbath.

Slowly, Ethan extinguished the lightning coiling around his arms. The silver glow of his skin faded back to a normal hue. He raised a single hand, palm open.

"Stand down. Drop your aim," said Ethan.

"Boss?" Falcon 20 asked, his voice thick with confusion.

"I said lower your weapons. We aren't fighting today," said Ethan.

The Royal soldiers hesitantly lowered their rifles, though their bodies remained tense. The gothic woman let out a sharp, melodic laugh that carried no warmth. She looked at Ethan with a predatory satisfaction, believing she had finally found his leash.

"A wise choice, little fish. Perhaps you do have the brains to match that muscle. We will see each other again very soon," said the woman.

She turned on her heel, her leather coat snapping in the wind. The scarred man and the young man with glasses followed her silently as they retreated toward a lead-armored SUV. The sea of mercenaries parted for them, and as soon as the trio stepped inside the vehicle, the door slammed shut with a heavy thud.

The moment the tinted glass shielded them from view, the young man with glasses collapsed against the leather seat. His stoic expression shattered as he began to vomit violently—thick, dark blood mixed with fragments of internal tissue sprayed across the floor of the car.

"Alistair!" shouted the woman, her eyes widening in genuine alarm.

She didn't hesitate, reaching into her inner pocket and pulling out a specialized injector filled with a shimmering, viscous silver liquid. She ripped open his shirt and slammed the needle directly into his heart, plunging the stabilizer home.

Alistair's body convulsed, his heels drumming against the floor as the silver fluid forced his cells to regenerate. After several agonizing moments, his breathing slowed, though his face remained ashen.

"What happened? You blocked the strike! Your shields were active!" asked the woman, her voice trembling with a rare touch of fear.

Alistair looked up, his eyes dull and bloodshot. He spoke with a terrifyingly apathetic voice, as if he were discussing the weather rather than his own near-death.

"The damage... it was more than the barriers could dissipate. He didn't just hit the shield; he overloaded the reality of it. When my shield shattered, the kinetic feedback liquidated three of my organs instantly. The electricity... it bypassed my skin and burned me from the inside out," said Alistair.

He wiped a trail of gore from his chin, looking out the window at the receding figure of Ethan Blake.

"He wasn't trying to break the shield, Charlotte. He was trying to erase the person holding it. I was seconds away from being nothing but ash," said Alistair.

Outside, Ethan watched the convoy roll away. He stood perfectly still, his face unreadable, but his mind was already burning with the next phase of the war.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.