Nguyen dashed across the field, but the voices of the escaping criminals pulled at his attention, forcing him to pause. Whatever Bubbles had done—his technique or whatever it was — had begun to falter.
One by one, they clawed their way free, dragging their bodies out of the softened ground with desperate effort.
Nguyen gritted his teeth. His gaze shifted toward Arrow, who was now engaged with Hazel as she took form once more, then moved to Jurgen, who remained locked in active combat with Thorner.
He hesitated, the decision weighing on him, before committing. With a sharp exhale, he charged toward the criminals, his hand illuminating wildly with crackling lightning. He leapt into the air, and as he rose, their gazes followed him upward, fear settling in as they understood what was coming.
"Die! You thieving bastards!"
He came down in their midst, landing against the softened terrain, and drove his hand into the ground. A sharp, resounding crack followed as lightning surged outward, coursing through the earth and linking through their bodies in a violent, luminous discharge.
Their screams filled the air. For an instant, their skeletons shone through the strikes, stark and exposed, before their bodies gave out. They dropped where they stood, forms blackened, strands of hair standing rigid from the lingering charge.
Far across the field, where blows were being traded, Jurgen was enduring the worst beating of his life. Thorner moved with a fluid ease, slipping past everything Jurgen threw at him as though his body followed no rigid form.
Jurgen continued to unleash barrages, but none found their mark. Gradually, his approach shifted—what had begun with intention and structure began to unravel into strikes thrown without rhythm or control.
Each counter from Thorner landed cleanly. Jurgen's face swelled under the repeated impact, his lips splitting further with every blow, his eyes beginning to close under the strain. Another strike came in swiftly, sealing one eye shut completely.
His movements faltered as he staggered backward, his hands lifting uncertainly into the air, no longer guided with purpose. Disoriented by the continuous barrage, his senses blurred, the world around him spinning heavily as he struggled to remain upright.
Oi… am I that weak? Dammit! Is this my limit? Dammit all! Dammit all!!!
His rage surged, hot and unrestrained, and a loud scream tore from his lungs as he lunged at Thorner like a madman. He threw punches wildly, each strike lacking any rhythm or control.
Swing after swing met nothing. Thorner simply shifted back with each attempt, evading with such ease it resembled a grown man sidestepping the clumsy strikes of a child at play.
The frenzy that consumed Jurgen felt disturbingly familiar. Moving without awareness, without restraint — it echoed the same state Blackwood had fallen in back at the arena. Frustration alone drove him now, pushing him deeper into that same unsteady, reckless state.
Thorner could not help but laugh, the sound quiet but laced with clear amusement at what he considered pathetic.
He responded with precision. Three lead hooks followed in quick succession, alternating hands with controlled timing. A sharp slap landed against Jurgen's temple, and before he could recover, Thorner seized him by the ear and dragged him forward, closing the distance just enough to drive a left hook into his body that forced him back.
Jurgen doubled over, clutching his stomach as the pain surged through him. He vomited, gasping for air in uneven breaths, his remaining eye swelling further, nearly forced shut under the continued assault.
He cursed inwardly with such intensity that another scream forced its way out of him, his voice cracking as though it stood on the verge of breaking.
Thorner closed the distance with a casual, unhurried walk.
Jurgen staggered back, one hand stretched out as if to hold Thorner at bay, the other clutching his stomach as the pain persisted.
"You've finally gone mad, huh?"
Thorner brushed the outstretched hand aside and drove a vicious strike into his chest. A muffled scream escaped Jurgen, strained by the lack of air in his lungs, and blood followed in a heavy flow as he struggled to draw breath.
"Good."
His hand shot forward, seizing his uniform. The grip jerked Jurgen backward before pulling him slightly inward, holding him firmly in place.
A punch landed against his face, then another, and another, each one following without pause. Blow after blow connected in succession, delivered without restraint or mercy.
At last, Jurgen's body gave in, going limp under the sustained assault. He was not dead, but the severity of the beating alone was enough to make him wish he were.
There was no resistance left in him. No strength remained for him to struggle; he was held upright solely by Thorner's grip.
"Blame Mercedes!"
His voice came slow and loud, the words slightly drawn out, as though he were delivering a lesson rather than speaking in anger.
"They put you in this situation!"
Another punch followed, sealing the other eye shut.
"Sending kids to face me? How laughable."
An unrestrained tear slipped through the swelling around Jurgen's eye, mixing with the blood that covered his face.
"As weak as you are, did you really think you had a chance? You insult me, brat!" Thorner shouted.
There was clear annoyance in his voice now. He felt insulted — by Mercedes, who seemed to have underestimated him, and by this… this pitiful excuse for a soldier who had dared to stand before him.
Across the field, still surrounded by the charred remains of the fallen criminals, Nguyen stood frozen in shock. The scene before him was too brutal to fully process, and the fear that followed was overwhelming enough that he could already imagine himself in Jurgen's place.
The difference in power between them and Thorner was unmistakable.
Bubbles' voice carried across the field as he remained on his knees, begging and crying for Thorner to stop his relentless assault.
Even Arrow, who was still actively engaged, could not help but catch sight of the scene. A loud shout tore from him, sharp and immediate.
"You bastard. Let him g—"
The word had not fully left his lips before his breath was seized. He snapped his gaze back to Hazel, who had now taken full form, while the air within his lungs was drawn out with quiet cruelty. He gasped, the little breath that remained slipping away against his will.
He cursed, his hands rising instinctively as he slapped and clawed at his neck. The feeling of suffocation settled over him like a tightening hold, heavy and inescapable.
Hazel closed the distance between them, her approach steady and unhurried, as Arrow dropped to his knees, the strain becoming unbearable. That single glance had cost him more than he had anticipated.
Though Hazel remained ruthless in nature, even she could not entirely ignore the curses and relentless assault Thorner continued to pour upon Jurgen.
In that moment, as Thorner continued to land wicked blows against the boy's face, the air grew cold — unnaturally so, as though something unseen had settled over the field.
A loud screech pierced through the area without any clear source. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, impossible to trace, its presence pressing into the space from all directions.
A heavy silence followed. Everything stilled. Even Thorner's hand paused, hovering just above Jurgen's face. The chill had reached him as well, spreading with a quiet, unsettling weight.
Hazel was halted in place, instinctively releasing her hold on Arrow. He gasped as fresh air rushed back into his lungs, collapsing slightly as relief flooded through him while he strained on the ground.
No one dared to move, not even an inch.
Before thought could fully form, a hand burst through Thorner's body.
It emerged from his back and extended forward, stopping just above Jurgen's face. Warm liquid dripped slowly from it, falling onto Jurgen's swollen eyes. The limb was unnaturally elongated, its fingers stretched into sharp, blade-like points, black in color and disturbingly still.
Jurgen strained his bloodied, nearly shut eyes in an effort to understand what had happened. His vision failed him, but the chill that filled the air made one thing clear — whatever had arrived was dangerous beyond measure.
Through that narrow, blurred view, he caught sight of Thorner's face. The man stood rigid for a brief moment before dark red blood spilled from his mouth. The hand within him twisted, slow and deliberate, before tearing itself free in a sharp, decisive motion.
Jurgen shifted back an inch as the grip on his uniform loosened. A moment later, his body gave out entirely, falling on his knees as Thorner's hold released him. Thorner's body followed, collapsing forward onto him, draping over him as blood spread rapidly across Jurgen's form.
A tremor ran through the field.
No one behind dared to make a sound. Their eyes remained fixed ahead, locked onto what now stood before them. Whatever it was, its mere presence had silenced the once chaotic field, leaving it as still as a graveyard.
There was something profoundly wrong about it.
Unnaturally wrong.