The battlefield lurched again.
The remaining Dark Enchanter moved ceaselessly at the rear, its staff weaving deliberate arcs through the air. Though one Enchanter had already been eliminated earlier in the clash amidst the chaos, the surviving one compensated with terrifying precision. The distortion field rippled outward from it like a malignant heartbeat.
Summoned beasts surged forward in relentless waves.
Space twisted treacherously beneath the defenders' feet.
Attacks missed by inches as the ground shifted unpredictably. Momentum betrayed muscle memory. Timing failed instinct. Even veteran fighters stumbled as distances stretched and compressed without warning.
Nisha cried out and dropped to one knee, clutching her head.
"They're pushing back—hard," she gasped. Blood streaked from her nose, staining her lip. "I can't—there's too much interference!"
Gee reacted instantly, hurling a small vial toward her. "Drink it! Now!"
The glass shattered at Nisha's feet, restorative vapors rising instantly. She inhaled sharply, forcing her mind to steady, drawing the scattered threads of awareness back together.
But the pressure did not lessen.
The Berserker advanced again.
Its blade came low this time, sweeping wide with calculated brutality. Mary barely managed to angle her shield correctly. The impact rang like a struck cathedral bell. Her arms trembled violently; the bones in her forearms creaked under strain.
Afee roared and drove a shoulder into the demon's flank, diverting its balance for a heartbeat.
Seconds.
That was all they ever bought—seconds.
Isey watched everything unfold in fragments.
Measured. Precise. Detached.
He observed the Berserker's rhythm.
The Enchanter's warp pulses.
Dean's weakening barrier intervals.
Mary's stamina curve.
Sanjay's explosive recovery time between Xenoblast discharges.
The summoned beasts' reinforcement timing.
Level One would not be enough.
He had known that the moment the Berserker rose from the earlier combined assault, armor fractured but core intact. The people present were not enough to take down this moving fortress.
He also knew the cost just as clearly.
And still, he chose.
Strengthening—Level Two.
The change was immediate—and violent.
Power surged through him like a flood breaching a dam. Veins burned. Muscles tightened beyond natural limits. The sensation was less controlled than Level One. More invasive. More absolute.
The world snapped into razor-sharp clarity.
Every sound separated into layers. Distant crackling flames. Dean's labored breathing. Mary's strained exhale. The hum of warped space. The grinding drag of the Berserker's blade across broken stone.
Every movement slowed.
Not because time itself had halted—
—but because his perception had accelerated beyond it.
Even the distortion imposed by the Enchanter faltered, as though reality itself were forced to realign around him. The warped air shuddered and flattened in his immediate vicinity.
Several members of Stopgap felt it before they saw it.
"What—" Afee breathed, eyes widening.
"That pressure—" Mary whispered hoarsely. "That's not E-Ranked."
Dean turned just in time to see Isey move.
And then—
He was gone.
Not fast.
Gone.
Isey crossed the battlefield in seconds, movement so abrupt that even the demons failed to process it in time. He did not carve a path through them; he displaced them. A lesser demon reached for him—its arm shattered before its mind registered the motion, fragments spinning weightlessly in distorted air.
His focus locked onto the Dark Enchanter.
The demon turned, staff lifting in reflex, runes flaring defensively as a warp pulse peaked.
Too late.
One punch.
The impact was not loud.
It was final.
Isey's fist connected with the Enchanter's chest at the exact crest of its distortion cycle. The warped field collapsed inward violently. Bone, armor, and concentrated dark energy compressed under quadrupled force.
The Enchanter's torso caved in.
Its staff slipped from skeletal fingers.
Its form imploded into a cloud of black mist that dispersed like smoke caught in a sudden gale.
The battlefield convulsed.
"Link—broken!" Sanjay shouted, disbelief threading through his voice.
Around them, gravity snapped back into proper alignment. Distances stabilized. Footing returned. The nauseating warping pressure evaporated in an instant.
The surviving summoned beasts faltered, momentarily disoriented without centralized control.
The Dark Berserker noticed.
Its helm turned.
It saw Isey.
And for the first time—
It hesitated.
The Berserker roared—not in ritual declaration, but in fury stripped of calculation.
It charged.
Sanjay lunged to intercept, unleashing a point-blank Xenoblast at the demon's chest.
The greatblade came down with crushing inevitability.
Energy detonated against armor—
—and Sanjay was struck aside like a discarded weapon.
He skidded across shattered stone in a shower of sparks, armor scorched, breath driven violently from his lungs.
Several members of Stopgap froze.
"Did you see that?" Fiqq whispered. "Sanjay just—"
Isey stepped forward.
Steel met flesh.
The collision cracked the ground beneath them, shockwaves rippling outward and knocking nearby fighters off their feet. Debris lifted and fell like hail.
The Berserker struck again.
And again.
And again.
Its blade screamed through the air, each arc calculated to dismember. Sparks tore from Isey's forearms as he blocked, redirected, absorbed. Even at Level Two, the impacts jarred through him, vibrating bone and tendon.
The demon was terrifying.
Strong.
Relentless.
Disciplined beyond reason.
But it was bound by strength.
Isey was bound by time.
He stepped inside the Berserker's guard.
The demon adjusted instantly—but too slowly.
Isey's fist drove into one of the fractures Sanjay had carved earlier.
Once.
The crack widened, armor groaning under stress.
Twice.
The plate buckled inward, exposing glimpses of molten red energy beneath.
The Berserker backhanded him, sending him skidding several meters across fractured asphalt—but he was already rising, recalculating mid-motion.
Strengthening ticked.
Twenty-two minutes remaining.
He re-engaged without hesitation.
The third blow shattered the chest armor completely.
Black shards exploded outward like shrapnel.
Beneath the plating, corrupted flesh pulsed with unstable energy, veins of molten red threading through charred muscle.
Mary, bleeding and shaking, forced herself upright. With a guttural cry, she slammed her shield forward with everything she had left.
The impact drove the Berserker half a step backward—no more, but enough.
Dean, teeth clenched and barrier flickering dangerously, angled his construct with surgical precision.
When the Berserker swung its blade downward in retaliation—
Dean caught the momentum.
Redirected it.
Reflected it straight back into the demon's exposed torso.
The greatblade tore through its own weakened core.
The Berserker staggered.
Its roar broke into a grinding snarl, something between fury and disbelief.
Isey stepped forward one final time.
His fist drove deep into the fractured chest cavity, past shattered armor and ruptured flesh.
Energy erupted outward in a violent surge.
The Dark Berserker convulsed.
Then fell.
The sound it made when it struck the ground echoed unnaturally across the ruined street.
Deep.
Heavy.
Ominous.
Silence followed.
Not triumphant.
Unsettling.
Unreal.
The lesser demons, severed from command, wavered. Some dissolved into ash where they stood. Others retreated instinctively toward the Gate, which now flickered weakly, its surface unstable without its commanders.
Then—
Isey collapsed.
The power drained from him like a receding tide.
Agony replaced clarity.
His limbs shook violently. Muscles screamed in protest. His vision blurred at the edges, colors bleeding together.
Cooldown.
One hour.
No Strengthening.
No reserve.
Nothing.
Dean caught him before he hit the ground, eyes wide with something dangerously close to fear.
"Isey," he said quietly. "What… what was that?"
Around them, medics rushed in. Gee barked rapid instructions, directing triage with practiced efficiency. Nisha slumped fully into unconsciousness, her mind overtaxed beyond safe limits. Mary sank heavily against a chunk of rubble, cradling her dented shield like a lifeline.
Fighters lay scattered—burned, broken, bleeding.
Too many injuries.
Too much cost.
But the Gate stood silent.
The demons were gone.
As dawn crept over the shattered city, muted gold light washed across cracked asphalt and fallen bodies. Smoke thinned into pale ribbons drifting skyward. The world exhaled cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the fragile stillness.
Sanjay rose unsteadily to his feet.
His armor was scorched. Blood traced a dark line along his temple. His breathing was controlled—but deliberate.
His gaze fixed on Isey.
He walked over slowly.
Looked at him.
Really looked at him.
"That wasn't E-Ranked," Sanjay said softly.
No one disagreed.
The white tag at Isey's waist felt almost mocking in the quiet aftermath.
Isey did not answer.
He had already slipped into unconsciousness, face pale, breathing shallow but steady.
Sanjay's eyes lingered on him for several seconds longer, thoughts unreadable.
Then he turned away.
His gaze swept over the battered survivors—men and women who had followed him without hesitation into a battle that had nearly broken them.
"We survived," he said.
The words carried across the ruined street.
But no one answered immediately.
Because for the first time, Stopgap Mercenary understood something unsettling.
They had fought beside a man they did not truly know.
A man who could shatter commanders.
A man who had hidden beneath a white tag.
And somewhere in the back of every survivor's mind lingered the same quiet realization—
If that had been necessary to win this battle—
What would the next one require?
And how much would it cost?