Inside the Mogadorian base…
Griffin stood motionless among the lifeless forms of Mogadorian vatborns. Their bodies—once towering and relentless—now cracked and crumbled, turning into gray dust, disintegrating into nothingness.
He exhaled, twirling his scepter absentmindedly.
Then— he heard them.
A squad of Mogadorian soldiers rounded the corridor, their black armor gleaming under the sterile white lights. Their eyes locked onto Griffin, and without hesitation—
ZAP-ZAP-ZAP!
Bolts of energy streaked toward him.
Griffin smirked.
With effortless precision, he tilted his body, dodging the first shot by inches. Then—
WHOOSH.
He SNAPPED out of existence.
One second he was there—the next, he was gone.
The Mogadorians hesitated, momentarily stunned. Where—?
WHOOSH
Griffin reappeared again. Only for them to fire at him again.
WHOOSH.He vanished again, dodging another shot.
WHOOSH. Another.
WHOOSH. Another.
He was everywhere and nowhere—a blur of motion, a ghost in the battlefield.
The Mogadorians panicked, firing blindly, their shots hitting the walls, the floor—everything except Griffin.
And then—he struck.
WHIRR.
His scepter spun, a platinum blur, humming with contained energy.
CRACK.
He slammed it into the first soldier's chest, sending him flying into the metal wall.
WHOOSH.
He teleported mid-strike—appearing behind another Mogadorian—and swung upward, the razor-edge of his weapon slicing through armor, cutting deep.
CRACK.
Another spin—another strike—another body turned to dust.
The last two Mogadorians staggered back, weapons shaking.
Griffin smirked. "You guys aren't even trying."
They raised their blasters—
WHOOSH.
Griffin disappeared—and before they could react—
WHOOSH.
He reappeared between them.
THUD.
A devastating, simultaneous strike—his scepter smashing against both of their skulls.
A heartbeat later…
Their bodies crumbled into gray ash, fading into the air.
Silence.
Griffin rolled his shoulders. "Too easy."
Then, gripping his scepter, he turned deeper into the base—his next targets waiting.
Griffin's eyes locked onto the advancing horde of Mogadorians.
A massive group charged down the corridor, blasters humming, red energy crackling at their barrels.
But Griffin?
He just smirked.
In one swift motion, he slung his scepter onto his back and cracked his knuckles.
He simply rolled his shoulders. "Alright, let's see how many of you can fly."
Then—
WHOOSH.
He snapped forward, teleporting straight at them.
Another WHOOSH—he reappeared mid-lunge, a few feet ahead.
Then again.
And again.
Each teleport stacked his speed, his force, his momentum.
His body blurred—reality bending around him as he closed the gap in an instant, each teleport stacking the kinetic energy of the last.
By the time the Mogadorians realized what was happening—
It was too late.
BOOM.
He slammed into them like a human missile.
The first Mogadorian he touched EXPLODED backward, his armor shattering from the sheer impact.
The second? LAUNCHED off his feet, slamming into two others.
The rest?
They weren't just hit—
They were ERASED.
Like ragdolls, they flew backward, CRACKING into the concrete walls with bone-shattering force.
The sheer shockwave from Griffin's teleport-powered onslaught ripped through the hall, sending dust and debris bursting outward.
By the time the last thud echoed—
The Mogadorians were gone.
Only gray ash remained.
Griffin exhaled, dusting himself off.
"Damn." He grinned, rolling his shoulders. "I should do that more often."
Then, without hesitation, he **teleported deeper into the bas
WHOOSH.
A violent air displacement.
Griffin SNAPS out of existence.
A transparent ripple lingers where he once stood, the very air seeming to bend and twist in his absence. The background behind him warps briefly, as if space itself is adjusting to the sudden vacancy.
A faint, lingering shimmer hovers for a fraction of a second before it too fades into the night.
Subtle motion blur trails behind his form, a visual echo of his presence, as if reality itself is struggling to keep up with his movement.