The Moment Between Seconds

The warehouse still echoed with the fading clash of battle.

Ashes drifted. Steam hissed from fractured walls. And between the debris stood Jack Monroe, golden hair tousled, mask glowing faintly, sword humming with residual energy.

He didn't breathe.

He growled.

Adam narrowed his eyes, slowly raising his fists again.

"Jack…?" he called carefully.

No response.

The glow in Jack's eyes intensified. His grip on the sword tightened — his body tense, trembling — and then he lunged.

The blade came fast.

SHING!

Adam blocked it with his forearm, flames bursting from his skin just in time to deflect the slash. He staggered back, sliding across the dusty floor.

"Damn it—he's not there anymore."

Jack attacked again. And again.

Wild swings.

Fluid. Furious. Blade strikes in wide arcs meant to cut, not warn.

Adam ducked low, avoiding a horizontal slice. Sparks shot up as he blocked the next strike with a heated punch. But the sword was faster, heavier — Jack was moving like a possessed storm of violence.

His golden mask glared, soulless and sharp.

"Jack! It's me!" Adam yelled, dodging a vertical cut that nearly took his shoulder off. His shirt tore along the edge of the blade, blood gliding in a shallow line.

Jack didn't respond. His breaths were distorted — something inhuman behind them. His body moved faster than it should, driven by the mask's awakening power.

Adam threw a jab — it landed on Jack's ribs, hard — but Jack twisted like a shadow and slashed upward.

Adam leapt back, gasping, sweat pouring. His legs burned. His focus blurred.

The sword came again — straight for his neck.

Too fast.

Too close.

Everything stopped.

Time froze.

The entire warehouse turned a shade of deep blue — the ash halted in midair, caught mid-fall. The flickering sparks hung in place like dying stars. Jack's sword stood suspended, only inches from Adam's neck. Adam himself stuck in mid-step, eyes wide and jaw clenched, unable to move.

A faint ticking sound echoed through the stillness.

Then came a footstep.

And another.

From the far end of the warehouse, a figure strolled casually through the frozen scene, brushing dust off his blazer sleeve.

Ryo Saito.

He flipped open a small silver pocket watch, its insides glowing with strange gears and symbols no one else could read.

He let out a short breath, calm — almost disappointed.

"Look at you two," Ryo muttered, tilting his head.

He stepped over debris and paused next to Jack and Adam.

"One's sleep-deprived and bleeding through his last shirt… the other's a newbie with a cursed mask and no off-switch."

He leaned toward Jack, studying the mask. "Shiny."

With one smooth motion, Ryo turned, and kicked Adam cleanly across the warehouse with his right foot — not maliciously, but enough to get him out of the way.

THOOM. Adam flew in frozen time like a statue, flipping midair.

Then Ryo turned to Jack.

His eyes were colder now.

The sarcasm dropped.

"You're going to be a problem," he said quietly.

He reached forward with one hand, gripped Jack by the neck, and with a burst of speed that cracked the very air…

SLAMMED him down into the concrete floor.

The golden aura shattered for a moment. Jack's body went limp. The sword clattered across the floor, its glow fading.

Ryo stood up slowly, brushing his coat sleeve again.

He looked around.

"Resume."

Time snapped back.

The air surged.

Adam hit the far wall and collapsed in a heap with a pained grunt.

Jack lay unconscious in the crater of the floor, mask flickering faintly before shutting down like a power cut.

The only figure standing was Ryo.

He adjusted his blue-tinted glasses and looked toward Adam, who groaned, rolling onto his side.

"My bad," Ryo said, almost cheerfully. "I needed you out of the line of fire. You okay?"

Adam coughed. "You… kicked me halfway across the city…"

Ryo pointed. "Well, you're still breathing, aren't you? So technically, you're welcome."

He looked down at Jack.

The golden mask had dimmed to bronze.

Ryo stared at him for a long second, then whispered, more serious now:

"Let's hope he wakes up as Jack. And not… something else."