Leader?

The spearhead flashed. A strike meant to kill.

There was no wasted motion or any flourish movements. He saw an opportunity to end this battle wanting nothing more than just a kill.

Pierce's spear lunged forward like a gleaming fang, its tip locked on Ronan's heart. It was swift, precise and unstoppable inching closer.

Until…

BANG.

The gunshot cracked through the air.

Nova who was watching in the side, suddenly leaned forward instinctively, a gasp caught in his throat.

The gun shot came from the ground.

Ronan's bloodied subordinate who was barely alive, barely breathing had lifted his arm, gun clutched in trembling fingers. His face was smeared with dirt and blood, teeth clenched in pure willpower.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three more shots were fired. His aim was sloppy and desperate but it did what he intended to do.

Pierce's body twisted mid-strike. The first bullet grazed his shoulder, interrupting his strike to end Ronan once and for all. His arm shuddered, his spear dipped. The edge scraped down Ronan's left arm instead of piercing his heart.

The other shots hit, but the impact was barely visible.

One smacked into Pierce's side, mana flaring around his ribs in a split-second defense. Another grazed his thigh. His eyes darted to the shooter, clearly annoyed and exhausted, using almost all his mana on that strike.

But he didn't fall. No blood spilled.

A normal man would've been sprawled on the floor, bleeding out from a shot like that.

Pierce wasn't just a normal man. With mana reinforcing his body, even bullets lost their bite, impact dulled, damage reduced from normal attacks, the pain was barely felt.

But there was no triumph in his eyes, only horror because his strike faltered and did not deal a fatal blow, and that was all Ronan needed.

A single moment to turn the tables of the fight.

His body dropped, pivoted to the side then surged forward like a coiled spring. His left arm hung limp, but his right hand burned with passion.

Mana gathered around it in rippling arcs, turning his entire forearm into a weapon. Not just reinforcement of the body, it was shaped like a weapon.

Condensed like a spear without steel.

The floor cracked under his momentum.

Nova's heart thudded against his chest. His eyes widened.

"Shit," he muttered. He couldn't see the mana forming but he could feel it. A crushing force coiling in that arm, like a loaded spring ready to snap at any moment.

Pierce tried to move. He tied to leap back, deflect, twist. Anything he could do to avoid the incoming attack.

But Ronan was already there.

His arm launched forward like a piston, aimed right between Pierce's eyes.

Nova's breath stopped. He was several meters away from them but he could feel it. The strike would end it.

Yet it didn't.

The blow froze, suspended in the air, a hair's width from Pierce's face.

The pressure alone cracked the stone floor behind him. The wind of it ruffled Pierce's coat. His hair snapped from the force.

But the strike had been stopped.

A pale, gloved hand gripped Ronan's wrist. Steady and unshaken to its core. The overwhelming force behind his strike instantly vanished, it was snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Vincent stood between them, palm extended like he'd simply reached out to catch a falling leaf.

No one noticed him approach. No footsteps. No rush of wind to betray his speed. Not even a whisper to hint at his presence, he was simply there appearing in an instant.

Ronan's entire body shook with tension. His eyes were still locked on his target. His fist trembled from the power packed behind it and the frustration of it being denied.

Vincent's voice was quiet. But in the silence that followed, it sounded like a verdict.

"It's over Ronan."

....

Vincent's grip never tightened even more, never loosened for a split-second because that would mean a chance for the opponent to strike back. He simply held Ronan's hand in place.

Ronan's mana-fueled arm was locked in place, veins bulging, energy still humming in his bones but it might as well have been pressed against stone.

Vincent didn't even look strained.

He turned his head slightly, his voice even. "It's over."

Ronan's eyes narrowed, teeth grit. But then he stopped struggling and…

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

He laughed. Hard enough that his breath caught in his throat.

Everyone can hear it, It was genuine laughter but beneath it, there was a bitterness that clung to every note.

His arm finally dropped, shoulders rising and falling as if he'd just jogged through hell.

"I should've known," Ronan muttered, voice raw. "You've gotten stronger… a lot stronger. You weren't like this the last time we fought."

Vincent didn't respond. He only let go and stepped back, letting the space between them breathe again.

Ronan rotated his wrist slowly, flexing his fingers as if to make sure they still worked. "You know what pisses me off most?" he said, still chuckling under his breath. "I've trained. I've clawed my way through fire and glass to get here. I thought… I really thought I was closing the gap."

He looked at Vincent now, not with hatred, but something close to... disappointment.

"But you?" he said, chuckling again. "You're miles ahead. Years ahead. I could've brought every Mad Hound elite here and it wouldn't have made a damn difference."

Vincent's gaze stayed steady.

Ronan's lips curved. "Just end this already."

Silence passed between them. The contemplation in that silence was hard for everyone. Different thoughts on what might happen in the moment.

Then after a couple of seconds, Vincent spoke, his voice low. "Where do I find your leader?"

The moment the words left his mouth, something shifted in Ronan's face.

His smirk twitched then it dropped completely.

A shadow crossed over his eyes, subtle but sharp. The kind of look that only people who've seen something they shouldn't have.

Ronan lowered his head. He didn't answer immediately, his hands tightened into fists like he was thinking of fighting again.

But Vincent thought nothing of it, and just waited for him to speak.

When Ronan finally spoke, it came with a hollow breath, like he had to expel something inside him before forming his words.

"I don't know," he said.

Vincent's eyes narrowed just slightly. After all that waiting, he didn't expect nothing in return. "Where is he? Don't play games."

"I don't know where!" Ronan snapped. His eyes had a strange gleam now something between awe and terror. "I don't know where he came from. He just took over one day and I was powerless against him."

He lifted his head again, meeting Vincent's emotionless stare. His voice dropped, dark and low. "You don't stand a chance. He's a monster, stronger than anyone I've ever known. Stronger than you..."