Suddenly, the scarred leader snapped out of his hesitation, his Beta-rank pride flaring like a fire doused with gasoline. Beta, just one step below Alpha, was the third strongest rank known in this chaotic new world, a badge of power that made him feel untouchable. What was some blind bodyguard to him? A nobody, a prop standing in front of a teenage girl, no matter how famous she was. He smirked, stepping closer, his crude axe—carved from the brittle bones of a Gemini—swinging lazily in his grip. "So what if you're a bodyguard?" he taunted, his voice thick with scorn, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "What's a blind man gonna do? Blink me to death?" His buddies snickered, their confidence bolstered by his bravado, their weapons glinting in the morning light.
Zane didn't flinch. In one smooth, terrifying motion, he lunged, his hand closing around the leader's throat like a vice. With a single arm, he lifted the grown man off the ground, his feet dangling, his hands clawing uselessly at Zane's grip. The thug's face reddened, then purpled, his gasps sharp and desperate, but Zane's strength was unyielding, like a machine forged for one purpose. "You're in the presence of Miss Ariel," Zane said, his voice a low, icy growl, each word dripping with menace. "Show some respect, trash." With a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled the man across the street, his body arcing through the air before smashing through the glass front of a convenience store. The crash was deafening—glass shattering, shelves collapsing, cans and bottles skittering across the floor. The leader slumped in the wreckage, unconscious, a broken puppet amid the chaos.
The crowd erupted in gasps, their voices a chaotic hum. "He threw him, that far?" a skinny guy stammered, his phone shaking as he zoomed in on the wreckage. "If the bodyguard's this strong, what's Miss Ariel capable of?" a woman whispered, her eyes wide with awe and fear. The air crackled with tension, phones flashing, the crowd's anticipation spiking.
The six remaining thugs stood frozen, their bravado crumbling, but fear gave way to reckless anger. "You bastard!" one shouted, a stocky man with a club, his voice trembling with rage, his knuckles white around his weapon. "You think you can take all six of us by yourself? He's blind—hit him from every angle, forget the girls for now!" a woman with a jagged spear yelled, her voice sharp with desperation. They charged as a pack, weapons raised—clubs, knives, spears—thinking his blindness was a weakness they could exploit, their footsteps pounding the cracked pavement.
Zane's voice cut through, calm and razor-sharp, like a blade unsheathed. "I don't think you understand what you're doing—or who you're trying to kidnap." The words were barely out when it was over. No one saw what happened, not really. One moment, the thugs were rushing in, a blur of motion and steel; the next, they were sprawled across the ground, groaning, their weapons scattered like broken toys. The crowd blinked, stunned, their phones still rolling but their minds struggling to catch up. Ariel, reading Zane's intent like a book, stayed silent, her blue eyes glinting with quiet approval, her hands resting at her sides, ready but unneeded.
Zane stepped forward, his boots silent on the pavement, and approached the nearest thug—a woman, her dagger lying useless a few feet away, her face twisted in pain. He knelt beside her, taking her hand with a gentleness that felt like a trap. "Know this," he said, his voice low, almost conversational, but heavy with a promise of pain. "If you try to harm Miss Ariel, you'd better be ready to bet your life." Without warning, he twisted her wrist, the crack sharp and sickening, like a branch snapping in a storm. Her scream tore through the street, raw and piercing, her body thrashing but pinned by his strength. The crowd flinched, some stepping back, others filming with trembling hands.
"You bastard!" another thug roared, a lanky man who'd barely dragged himself to his feet as he took the axe left by their leader. He then raised it high as he leapt, swinging down to cleave Zane's head. Zane didn't turn, didn't blink. His free hand shot up, catching the blade mid-swing, his fingers closing around the steel like it was clay. With a slow, deliberate twist, he crushed it, the metal splintering between his fingers, shards clattering to the ground. The man's knees gave out, and he collapsed, his eyes wide with shock, his breath hitching like he'd seen a ghost. The axe, forged from Gemini bone, was nothing in Zane's grip—a toy broken by a man who fought monsters.
"He caught an axe with his bare hand," a voice in the crowd choked out, barely audible over the murmurs. "And then shattered it like it was glass," another added, their tone a mix of fear and disbelief. The air was thick now, the crowd's excitement curdling into unease, their phones still capturing every moment but their faces pale.
Zane turned back to the woman, her face streaked with tears, her body trembling. He grabbed her arm again, his grip unyielding, and bent her elbow backward with a grotesque pop. Her scream was sharper this time, a sound that clawed at the nerves, echoing off the buildings. He glanced at Ariel, his face unreadable behind the blindfold, then moved to her other arm, snapping it with the same cold precision, her cries growing frantic, desperate. The crowd shifted, their murmurs turning to whispers of horror.
"Hey, this is too much—someone stop him!" a man muttered, his voice shaky, his hand frozen on his phone, no longer sure what he was filming. "He's going too far," a woman agreed, her tone uneasy, stepping back from the edge of the circle.
"Void, that's enough," Ariel's voice rang out, clear and firm, slicing through the chaos like a bell in a storm. The crowd turned to her, her golden hair framing her face, her blue eyes steady but commanding, a Primordial's authority in every syllable.
Zane paused, his head tilting toward her, his voice low, deliberate, almost defiant. "No, Miss Ariel, they haven't gotten the message yet." He moved to the woman's leg, his hand closing around her knee, snapping it with a brutal crack that made the crowd wince. Her scream was raw, a sound of pure agony, shaking the air like a wounded animal's cry.
"No, I got the message, please stop!" the woman sobbed, her voice breaking, tears streaming down her face, her body a wreck of pain. Zane ignored her, his hand moving to her other leg, ready to break it too, her screams blending with the crowd's growing unease.
"Void, I said 'stop'!" Ariel shouted, her voice sharper now, a Primordial's power crackling beneath it, demanding obedience. The crowd held its breath, phones still rolling, their eyes darting between Ariel and Zane—Void—waiting to see if he'd bend to her command or push further, carving his lesson deeper into the street's memory.
Before Zane could snap the woman's remaining leg, Ariel's voice cut through, not a plea but a command, sharp and resonant, laced with the weight of her Primordial power.
"Boulder's might, from earth it wakes, bind their wrists, their freedom breaks. Chains of stone, their will confine, force them low, let their knees align. Powerless to Earth's domination, Earth Domain: Unwavering Submission." The ground trembled, a low rumble shaking the pavement as jagged stone chains erupted from the earth, coiling like serpents around Zane's wrists and ankles. Spikes of rock surged upward, locking him in place, his body rigid in a cage of unyielding stone. The chains were heavy, their edges rough, grinding against his skin, but Zane stood still, unmoving—not because he couldn't break free, but because he chose not to. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his mind calm. 'Good job, Ariel. You read me perfectly.'
"I thought I told you to stop, Void," Ariel said, her voice firm but laced with a sister's exasperation as she walked toward him, her boots clicking on the cracked pavement. Her blue eyes locked onto his blindfolded face, her hands glowing faintly, the remnants of her spell lingering in the air like dust after a quake.
The crowd erupted in murmurs, their voices a chaotic mix of shock and reverence. "What? She stopped him with one spell?" a wiry man stammered, his phone nearly slipping from his hand as he zoomed in on the stone chains. "That's… that's the power of a Primordial?" a woman whispered, her voice trembling, her eyes wide as she clutched her recorder. "I thought he was unstoppable, but she just—bam, locked him down!" another voice hissed, a young guy with a Gemini-forged knife, his tone a mix of fear and admiration. The air buzzed louder, the crowd's awe swelling, their phones capturing every second of the Primordial's display.
Ariel turned to Celine, who stood frozen, her hazel eyes darting between Zane's stone prison and the broken woman on the ground, her mind struggling to piece together the scene. "Celine, please heal them," Ariel said, her voice soft but steady, a gentle command that carried her authority.
Celine nodded, her hands shaking as she knelt beside the sobbing woman, whose arms and knee were twisted at sickening angles. Her healing aura flared, a soft green glow spilling from her palms, knitting bone and flesh with a warmth that eased the woman's cries. Celine's heart raced—she'd sparred with Zane, felt his overwhelming strength firsthand, and knew Ariel's spells, powerful as they were, couldn't truly hold him. 'He's letting her stop him,' she realized, her hazel eyes narrowing as she worked. 'But why?' Unable to fully grasp Zane's plan, she focused on her task.
The woman's screams faded to whimpers, her body mending under Celine's glow, though her eyes stayed wide with terror, locked on Zane. The other thugs, still sprawled on the pavement, groaned, their own injuries less severe but their spirits crushed. The crowd's whispers grew, their phones still rolling, some stepping closer, others backing away, torn between fear and fascination.
"Hi, everyone, if you don't mind, I would like to hear your thoughts in the review section. Thank you for the support, and as usual, much respect to you all.