The world held its breath.
Then—
Ex exploded forward, the ground cracking beneath his footfalls. A dagger shimmered into form within his right hand, born from instinct and precision. The four soldiers, trained and disciplined, broke formation and fanned out in response.
Too slow.
A grin curled across Ex's lips.
He hurled the dagger with a snap of his wrist—clean, fast, deadly. The first soldier twisted his body, barely avoiding the spinning blade. He lunged forward, fist cocked, aiming straight for Ex's jaw.
But Ex was already sliding beneath the blow, knees skimming the dirt as his hand snatched the dagger from the earth mid-motion. In one fluid pivot, he launched himself behind the first man just as two more dropped into the fray—one high, the other sweeping in low like a striking snake.
The punch landed—Ex's head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging—but he didn't flinch. He used the momentum, planting one foot and springing upward, landing a step onto the face of the third soldier mid-air. Time seemed to slow. Ex bent his knees and vaulted off the soldier's skull, flipping over the incoming kick below him.
His body twisted midair, eyes sharp, reading all four like an open book.
The scream came first.
A piercing wave of sound shattered the air, shaking leaves loose from the trees. It hit like a wall—rattling bones, warping vision. Birds scattered in a frenzy above.
Ex landed hard, one knee down, teeth gritted as blood trickled from his ears. The female commander stood tall, her eyes narrowed, lips parting for another scream.
"Tch."
He rolled right as the ground where he'd knelt erupted from the next scream, the shockwave splintering stone like glass. Before she could recover, the soldier with the water whip lunged in—fluid motion, both elegant and brutal. The whip cracked through the air, its length alive, coiling toward Ex's throat.
Ex dipped under it, grabbed a chunk of splintered stone, and hurled it into the soldier's knee. A grunt of pain. The whip stuttered. In that same moment, Ex surged forward.
But his vision blurred.
A shimmering barrier blinked into place—the psychic's shield, soft and pulsing like a bubble of violet light. Ex's fist met it mid-charge.
It didn't budge.
He blinked, eyes narrowing. The soldier behind the shield smirked, confident.
Ex smiled back.
With no hesitation, he pivoted on his heel and whipped the dagger at the water whip soldier again—this time catching the whip mid-swing. The blade pinned the watery tendril to a tree, yanking the soldier off-balance.
Then—BOOM.
A cannon blast roared through the clearing. Dirt exploded behind Ex's legs as the fourth soldier—the one with the leg cannon—fired again, recoil launching him backward into a tree trunk.
Ex didn't dodge.
He timed it.
The shot grazed his side, burning through fabric and skin, but it was a distraction—the cannon soldier was now exposed, winded from the recoil.
Ex vanished from sight.
When he reappeared, he was already behind the gunner, driving an elbow into the man's spine.
The cannoned leg buckled under the elbow strike, but the soldier didn't go down. Gritting his teeth, he spun with a snarl, steam venting from the cannon's chamber as it charged for another blast. The mechanism whined, and he lunged—desperate, reckless.
Ex didn't flinch.
He waited until the very last second, reading the man's body like a puzzle already solved. Then he dipped low.
The cannon fired overhead, the blast scorching the air inches from Ex's back.
But it didn't matter.
Ex was already moving.
He slid beneath the soldier like a phantom, dagger flashing out. A clean, slicing arc—behind the knees, then a pivot—another cut, this time across the inner arm, just below the triceps. The man stumbled mid-charge, limbs beginning to lock up as tendons spasmed and muscles lost control.
"its amusing watching you all scram to fight the inevitable " Ex muttered coldly. "we are simply on different levels."
The soldier fell to his knees, gasping, eyes wide in horror as his body betrayed him. Ex walked around him slowly—like a predator circling a crippled animal. He reached down, gripped the man's chin, and lifted it just enough to look him in the eye.
"There's no glory in weakness."
Then—one smooth motion.
He drove the dagger into the man's temple.
No sound.
Just silence—and the sharp, final click of death.
Ex stood, dragging his blade free, blood slipping down its edge like a whisper. He turned toward the psychic, who had seen everything.
Fear flickered behind the man's glowing shield.
"tsk"."I hope you will at least stand like a true solider when you die." Ex said, voice calm.
The psychic backed away, barrier shimmering, the violet hue pulsating with nervous energy. Ex approached slowly, like a shadow tightening around its prey.
The psychic thrust his hand forward—shield expanding outward in a last-ditch attempt to hold him off.
Ex walked straight into it.
The shield resisted—Ex's dagger sparked against its surface, his body pressing against the energy field. It rippled, flexed… but held.
For a second.
Then Ex struck.
Once.
Twice.
A flurry of blows—vicious, surgical—hammering his dagger and fists against the shield in relentless succession. The psychic screamed, pouring more power into the barrier. But Ex didn't stop.
He switched angles.
Changed rhythms.
Every impact sent vibrations through the soldier's body, through the shield, through the air.
Then the psychic's foot shifted—the dirt beneath him slightly uneven, a subtle mistake. Ex seized it. He lunged, hooked a leg behind the psychic's ankle, and drove his full weight forward.
The barrier cracked.
A sound like ice breaking beneath booted feet.
Ex grinned.
He grabbed the soldier's hair, yanked his head forward—and slammed it into the inside of his own shield.
A pulse of energy rippled out. The psychic's eyes went wide with shock.
Ex slammed his head again.
Crack.
And again.
Crack.
And again—
The shield shattered.
A burst of violet light exploded outward as if a glass dome had just collapsed. And when it cleared, the psychic was crumpled on his knees, head half-planted into the dirt, arms twitching.
Ex stood over him, breathing steadily.
"Next time," he said, wiping blood from his cheek, "build a wall that can hit back."
He stepped away, leaving the soldier twitching in the soil.
Now there were none standing.
Only silence, again. But this time, it was heavier.
And Ex… smiled.
His breath slowed, chest rising and falling with unshaken rhythm. This wasn't sport.
This was a reminder.
The air itself seemed to still around him, as though the world was pausing to watch what he would do next.
The water whip, still pinned by Ex's earlier throw, had twisted his arm free, forcing the tendril to snake loose from the blade embedded in the tree. His balance was off, but he recovered fast—pulling the moisture from the air itself, rebuilding the whip with impressive speed. The watery blade cracked again, lashing toward Ex with a furious whistle.
Ex didn't dodge.
He ran straight toward it.
The soldier's eyes widened, thinking him mad—until the moment Ex scooped a handful of dirt and flung it wide, obscuring the whip's arc. The water passed through the airborne dust, distorting—losing shape, cohesion. That was all Ex needed.
He dived low, sliding beneath the lash, shoulder skimming the earth. His hand snatched his original dagger from the tree as he passed, reclaiming it in one fluid pull.
Then he was up.
He spun behind the whip-wielder and swept his legs clean out from under him. The man hit the ground with a grunt, twisting just in time to block a stab—but Ex didn't go for the kill.
Not yet.
Instead, he stomped on the soldier's wrist—hard—forcing him to release the whip's anchor.
The water scattered uselessly into the dirt..
He didn't want to kill him.
He wanted him broken.
Ex stood above the man nursing his hand
I'm giving you a choice," he said, voice quiet, clear, final.
Ex remained still as the fight around him came to a standstill. His eyes—those broken, red eyes—continued to fixate on the two soldiers. The chaos of the battle had faded into something
deeper, something far more insidious. The air felt heavier now, as if Ex's very presence had bent it to his will.