"So you're just all talk."
Reagan stepped toward Nyx, his fist clenched tight, blood welling between his fist.
"You're finally here," Nyx mumbled. "It's so awkward... seeing me like this."
As Reagan's fist shot out, a hand effortlessly intercepted it.
"Looks like you're having fun," said the man holding Reagan's fist, his voice dangerously calm, barely hiding his fury.
"And who do you think you are?" Reagan snapped.
The man revealed himself—Sean, his face masked with barely contained anger.
"Guess you're the leader of these weaklings. They started it. I was merely teaching them a lesson."
Nyx, still catching his breath, turned to Sean. "Can you handle it on your own? They're going to play dirty."
"I was built for this, so don't worry," Sean replied calmly. "I've already contacted the others, so just rest."
Nyx gave a faint nod, finally stepping back.
Sean cracked his knuckles. "I'm having a bad time right now, and now I hear someone's having fun with my comrade."
"Then get your squad out of here," Reagan said in a low tone. "Weaklings will still be weaklings."
Sean's eyes narrowed. "I really hate that kind of behavior. You think I'm just going to let it slide?"
He dashed forward and slammed his fist into Reagan's stomach.
Reagan's breath caught, his eyes wide with shock.
"Boss!" a heavily armored figure called out, stepping forward—Reagan's tank, clad in silver armor and wielding a massive energy shield.
But before he could act, Reagan raised a hand to stop him. Straightening up and wiping blood from his mouth, Reagan grinned.
"No. He's mine," he growled.
---
"Nyx, thanks for giving me some time. Now leave it to me," Sean said, helping Nyx to his feet.
"You really pushed yourself too hard."
The brutal, close-quarters fight between Sean and Reagan raged on. Reagan's blows slowed, his energy waning. Sean's strikes grew more precise. Blood trickled from Reagan's lip; his breathing turned ragged.
From the sidelines, the tank observed the shift in momentum—Reagan was losing.
---
Suddenly, the tank intervened. His massive shield surged forward, attempting to shove Sean back with brute force.
But Sean reacted fast. Using the shield's push, he planted his foot and leveraged the force, regaining balance with fluid motion.
"Reagan, stop playing around. Just finish it already," the tank said coldly.
---
Elsewhere, the camera shifted to two figures watching from a distance.
Karen, Reagan's melee specialist, stood in dark cloth and reinforced armor. Beside her was Riko, the sniper.
"Their fight's getting boring. You wanna join?" Karen asked.
She gestured toward the chaos. "The tank's already in. You going to join?"
"No. I'm just here to observe. If you want to join, go ahead. Leave me to my space," Riko replied flatly.
Karen scoffed. "Always cold. What if I just throw this dagger at that guy's back? What are the odds I hit him?"
"I don't care," Riko said, unmoved.
---
Sean suddenly felt it—a chilling presence behind him. A dagger spun toward his back in a deadly arc.
He braced for the impact he knew he couldn't avoid.
But it never came. A katana sliced through the air, intercepting the dagger with a clean **shink**. It clattered to the ground.
The wielder stepped forward—Ava, Sean's melee squadmate.
"Captain, focus on the front. I've got your back."
Sean smiled. "Finally, you're here."
"I'm not the only one, Captain."
A massive figure landed beside them—Aster the Tortoise.
"Captain, let me have that metal guy," Aster said, his voice booming with excitement.
---
Karen's eyes narrowed. "Did I just mess up?"
Ava, katana still drawn, replied calmly, "Using blades in a normal fight... isn't there a protocol?"
"Only matters if someone sees us," Karen said with a shrug.
Ava's expression hardened. "Then I've got no choice."
---
The chaotic clash became a series of focused duels:
Sean versus Reagan — a captain-to-captain clash.
Aster versus Wilson — tank against tank, muscle against machine.
Ava versus Karen — blades danced in a flurry of deadly grace and sheer willpower.
The real battle had only just begun.
---
*****
---
The chaotic battlefield, once roaring with noise, falls into an eerie silence. The tank and the melee specialist freeze mid-action, their aggressive momentum suddenly halted. The crowd, moments ago a sea of cheers and shouts, grows quiet—tension thickening the air like fog.
Reagan's melee specialist, Karen, frantically waves and shouts his name from across the field. But Reagan, locked in brutal combat with Sean, doesn't notice. Sean, too, is completely focused, his every move calculated and relentless, unaware of the sudden shift around them. The rest of the battlefield has gone still, yet their fight rages on—undisturbed, unbroken.
Sean's injured comrades, Nyx and Sam, watch from the sidelines, confused by the unnatural pause in battle.
Nyx leans in and whispers, "Why did they all just… stop?"
Sam scans the field, his eyes suddenly widening.
"It's… the Overelites," he breathes. "But… why are they here?"
Nyx narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"We need to stop Sean," Sam says quickly, urgency creeping into his tone.
Nyx's brow furrows. "Why? What's going on?"
Before the question can fully leave his lips, a figure blurs across the battlefield with unimaginable speed. In an instant, a single devastating blow knocks both Sean and Reagan off their feet, sending them crashing to the ground—unconscious. The blow was clean, surgical, and terrifying in its precision.
Nyx stares in disbelief. "Who… who was that guy? What did he do?"
Sam's voice drops to a grave whisper. "Don't move. That was the Vice-Captain of the Overelites."
A tall figure steps into view. Clad in a pristine white coat, his face remains hidden behind a sleek helmet. Only his hair, white as snow, flows freely—sharp and pristine against the dark, ruined battlefield.
---
*****
---
**The room fell silent.**
"Captain, we need to stop,"
Karen said, fear written across her face.
"Shut up. Let me finish this," Captain Reagan snapped.
"I don't know what's happening, but the atmosphere... it feels heavy."
I tried calling out to Sean, but he was too focused on Reagan. No one in our squad spoke. The only sounds were the fierce clashes between the two fighters. Slowly, the other warriors stepped back, forming a path.
And then—someone dashed toward Sean and Reagan.