HOLY LAND — CENTRE CITY
The Sacred stone, glint in the sunlight, boots crunch. Jager strides forward. Nathan beside him. No rush. No hesitation.
The pink-haired Elite narrows her eyes.
The prince freezes.
Guards tighten formation around him.
Jager’s gaze burns. Locked. Advancing.
Heavy steps. Deliberate.
A Firecracker flashes into his path, gun raised.
“What’s your business?”
Jager doesn’t answer. He grabs the man’s head. Slams it into the stone.
Crack.
Sacred rock fractures outward.
The Firecracker goes limp before he can scream.
One of the Adviser’s guards lunges.
An iron grip yanks him back.
“Don’t,” the Adviser growls. “Let the Phantoms handle this.”
The worn coat Firecracker stares.
Calculating.
What the hell—
Nathan tears through the air.
Appears in front of Daniel.
Boots scrape sparks.
“So you’re a traitor?”
Daniel swings.
Nathan tilts his head.
Lazy.
Precise.
Steel flashes.
Knife arcs for the throat—
The male Elite erupts.
Grabs Nathan mid-strike.
Drives him into a wall.
Stone explodes.
Dust rains.
Nathan’s skull snaps back—
Pinned.
For a breath.
The pink-haired Elite and the worn coat open fire on Jager.
Bullets scream.
They bend.
Skim.
Miss.
Jager keeps walking.
Eyes never leaving the prince.
The worn coat charges.
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Aiming center mass.
Jager’s fist moves.
A blur.
The worn coat twists at the last instant.
The punch grazes instead of obliterates.
Still—
Pain detonates through him.
He stumbles back.
The prince’s guards break.
Two flee.
The third hoists the prince.
Runs.
Daniel bolts after them.
Panic sharp in his steps.
Jager moves, not fast, not yet.
Then—
Gone.
Stone caves beneath his last step.
He reappears ahead.
Already closing the distance.
Nathan kicks off the wall.
Chasing.
The northern fighters follow.
Boots hammering sacred ground.
The male Elite pushes his speed to match Jager—
Nathan dives low.
Hooks him off course.
They crash.
Roll.
Separate.
Up again.
Nathan slides into his path.
Stops dead in front of him.
Gun rises—
The air warps.
The male Elite fires.
Nathan skews sideways in violent distortion.
The bullet splits air where his head was.
He vanishes.
Reappears.
Knife flashing silver.
They trade disappearances.
Re-entry.
Impact.
Air cracking like splitting glass.
Stone shattering under each landing.
The male Elite fires point-blank.
The round screams toward Nathan’s temple.
Nathan moves—
Almost.
The bullet scorches past.
Skin sears.
Too close.
Nathan appears at his back.
Breath cold against his neck.
The knife plunges into his spine.
Deep.
Precise.
The male Elite locks rigid.
Gun slips.
Body collapses.
Nathan rises, eyes blazing.
And runs.
Jager is almost there.
Daniel stumbles into his path.
Jager catches his sleeve.
Yanks him back.
Foot pistons into his stomach.
Daniel folds.
Drops.
Unconscious.
The pink-haired Elite and the worn coat stand together now.
Guns steady.
Fear hidden behind discipline.
They fire.
Jager disappears.
Boots thunder past them.
He folds through space—
—and reappears among the fleeing guards.
They crumple instantly.
No blood.
No flourish.
Just impact.
Bodies drop.
The prince spins—
Jager steps out of nothing in front of him.
“You’re going nowhere.”
Hand clamps around his throat.
The prince blacks out mid-gasp.
The worn coat tackles Jager from the side.
Fist crashes into Jager's jaw.
They crash.
Stone cracks.
The worn coat grins through blood.
"Oops… glad I got him.”
Nathan surges back into form.
Fury carved into his face.
Fist flying—
The pink-haired Elite intercepts.
Her boot slams into his chest.
Nathan skids across stone.
Jager rises slowly, too slowly, his eyes burn. Rage rising.
Nathan stands still, closes his eyes.
Inside his vision—
Red rings ripple outward.
Like liquid glass spreading across reality.
A silhouette shifts position within those ripples.
He opens his eyes.
The pink-haired Elite charges.
Nathan flickers—
Gone.
Reappears.
Gone again.
Orbit Flash.
He doesn’t move through space.
He swaps coordinates within a fixed orbit.
A pre-mapped radius.
Every blink places him at another point on that circle.
No travel time.
No in-between.
Only displacement.
She reforms—
He’s already somewhere else.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The air crackles with broken geometry.
Then—
He appears inches behind her.
Knife resting calmly in his palm.
Thin red lines bloom across her body.
Perfectly measured.
She exhales.
“How…”
Nathan’s voice is steady.
“Reality swapping’s a thing many fighters never master.”
She falls.
He continues.
“Orbit Flash. My signature.”
The prince wakes.
Sees chaos.
Runs.
Jager’s rage detonates.
He explodes forward.
Distance erased.
Fingers graze the prince’s heel—
The worn coat slams into him again.
They crash.
Jager’s hand clamps around the worn coat’s throat.
Crushing.
Dragging him across stone.
The Adviser turns sharply.
“Retreat.”
They withdraw.
Silent.
Jager surges again.
Appears before the prince.
Grabs him.
Pins him beneath a boot.
“Let me go!” the prince screams.
Jager lifts him by the neck.
Arm shaking.
Rage trembling through muscle.
Shhhhk—
Iron.
Buried into his stomach.
The worn coat behind him.
Voice twisted with resolve.
“A threat like you must die.”
Jager’s eyes burn.
Wet.
Furious.
His grip tightens anyway.
The other Firecracker— bloodied from the earlier slam—forces himself upright in the distance
Nathan approaches.
Jager turns his head.
“Run. Go. Give One-biskae to Daisy. Find her. Now.”
The worn coat tries to pursue Nathan—
Jager snatches him back.
The other Firecracker runs after Nathan instead.
The prince collapses.
Gasping.
Jager reaches into his coat.
Pulls out a grenade.
The worn coat sees it.
Horror. He tries to free himself from Jager's grip.
Jager tightens. "You die with me."
The pin screams free.
Time freezes.
A breath.
White.
The explosion devours the Holy Land.
Stone vaporizes.
Sacred ground becomes flame.
When the fire fades—
Nothing remains of the three men.
Smoke rolls.
The pink-haired Elite trembles on the ground.
Eyes wide.
“Man’s not human… he’s a beast…”
The Holy Land goes silent.
And something far worse begins.
