Predator in the Mist

Location: Redthorn Gorge, a fog-filled ravine

Time: July 23rd, 6:45 AM

---

Kael crouched on a sloped ledge, cloaked by rising mist. The terrain was perfect — jagged cliffs, moss-covered boulders, and trees twisted into unnatural shapes. His robe blended into the dim light. The mask on his face hid every twitch, every emotion.

Below him, the Blackscale Squad—six heavily armored elites—moved in formation. They were skilled. Not reckless. Not loud. But not him.

Kael was the mist. The silence. The predator.

He touched the moist bark of a nearby tree. A faint green shimmer passed from his palm to the wood. Tiny thorns hardened instantly—thin, sharp, and deadly.

He plucked three wooden needles the size of nails, aiming them with precise angles. His right hand tensed, then snapped forward.

Pshh! Pshh! Pshh!

Three necks burst with blood. Three bodies dropped before their helmets hit the ground. No echo. No scream.

"Sniper! Defensive spread!" one of them shouted.

Too late.

Kael was already gone, gliding to another ledge. Ghost Veil activated silently, enhancing his senses. He could smell the iron in their blood. Hear the heartbeat of the next attacker before he even moved.

The fourth enemy tried flanking from the side. Kael leapt down. One motion—Obsidian Dagger drawn—cleaved through the man's reinforced chest plate like paper. Another flipped around with a claymore in hand.

Kael parried the first swing with the Dagger of Humility, the metal flashing orange-hot. The smell of burning steel flooded the air.

"Who the hell is this guy!?" the last soldier yelled, terrified.

Kael whispered, "Your last mistake."

Shadow Binding.

A pulse of black shadow surged from his feet. The last two soldiers froze in place, arms trembling.

One, the stronger of the two, broke free after eight seconds—his foot grinding through the dirt. Kael didn't wait.

Routine Serge activated.

Time dilated. Strength surged. Wind screamed past his ears.

Kael's foot hit the ground—hard—and in one blink, he appeared in front of the man. A vicious uppercut with the Sword of Dominance shattered his ribcage.

The last soldier couldn't even beg.

Kael stood over the broken bodies. Breathing slow. No joy. No pride. Only the cold understanding that this was survival.

---

Elsewhere, watching...

A hidden drone, nearly invisible, recorded everything.

In a control room somewhere far away, a woman in a suit frowned.

"He's adapting faster than predicted," she said. "He's using the terrain like a chessboard."

Another man in a lab coat muttered, "Divine Echo hasn't even triggered. We haven't seen his true limit yet."

The woman whispered, "Pray it never does."

---