The first strike came from the executive.She was a young woman wearing a silver chestplate with a raised section over the breast area, paired with a short, pristine-white skirt that covered part of her legs yet allowed great mobility. Beneath it, black stockings and heels gleamed with an artificial blue sheen.
Her eyes, a deep and vivid green, flared with a supernatural gold the moment they locked onto Rex. The young man wasn't foolish—he knew exactly what that meant: modified corneas. Such upgrades gave near-computer levels of processing speed, allowing movements up to fifty percent faster and more efficient than those of a human with equal training.
He quickly raised his guard, hands leveled at his chest, ready to receive the young woman, who lunged toward him like a dancer in motion. Her short black hair swung with every kick, yet Rex could anticipate and evade each strike with astonishing ease, taking just one or two steps to avoid the spinning assaults that restarted like an unhinged top. To him, those attacks were predictable. Slow.
Most members of the Golden Ladder were confident in their abilities, for they had never faced the true dangers of the lower world. But for Rex—who knew only the Abyss—fighting Delta-class mutants was his daily bread. On bad days, he'd encountered Beta or even Alpha-class monsters. Reacting to feral beasts, creatures driven by nothing but hunger and survival, was what had kept him alive for so long.
That's why, no matter how acrobatic or impressive the woman's movements were, they were still predictable. Even when she vaulted high and struck from behind, Rex only needed a light hop over a fallen guard to avoid her completely.
The executive's expression showed frustration—perhaps even strain—especially when Rex, just to mock her, closed his eyes and made a face as if he were about to fall asleep. Her eyes blazed brighter, glowing a fierce yellow; like a warning light flashing across her face, she charged in fury. Her heels flared into a burning crimson and clashed against the young man's leg.
Yes—Rex blocked her attack with a kick.The executive couldn't hide her astonishment. When she tried to follow up with a spinning kick, he stopped it again with his leg. She unleashed her full sequence of acrobatics, yet every strike ended up colliding with the young man's shins—left or right—without exception.
—Why aren't you using your hands?! —the young woman shouted, frustrated, taking a few steps back.Rex, smiling beneath the mask, replied calmly:
—Because if I did… I'd just tear your legs off.
The woman frowned, enraged. How dare that lowly terrorist mock her like that? She increased the intensity of her blows; her crimson heels seemed to burn with every furious strike.
At first, Rex could still resist—but gradually, his legs began to feel it. Not just from the impact, which was like colliding with concrete, but because the heat started to seep through his leather pants.
Forced to defend himself, he shifted position, pulling his legs back and raising the back of his hand to deflect a brutal kick that grazed his cheek. The brief contact between his hand and her stocking melted part of the fabric, revealing the bionic limb beneath. Underneath, a reinforced silver spike gleamed, glowing red-hot.
Rex clicked his tongue and stepped back a few paces.
—So that's what it was… —he muttered.
The young woman smirked shamelessly and lunged again, closing the distance between them. Her legs spun like merciless blades—a deadly performance before the eyes of the onlookers. Rex dodged by inches, until in a single, decisive moment—when the tip of the spike aimed for his face—he moved with surgical precision, catching her leg mid-strike with an open palm.
The executive froze—her leg suspended in the air, held firmly by the other. She struggled, to no avail.
—I warned you —Rex said, his voice steady—. If I use my hands… you'll lose your legs.
With one swift, precise motion, his hand—shaped like a blade—sliced clean through the bionic limb, leaving nothing but a sparking metallic stump. The woman let out a desperate scream and collapsed to the ground.
Her cry echoed across the plaza. On the surrounding screens, the public froze, horrified. Hide could see the indignant faces of the spectators; beside him, the professor, ever more intrigued, kept his gaze fixed on Tyranus.
—Who are you, Tyranus? —the professor murmured under his breath, not expecting an answer. Hide could only watch the screen, uncertain whether to feel relieved or terrified.
Rex dropped the half-melted limb he was still holding. Then he turned toward the Paradise cloud, where Captain Trinnus watched from his elevated platform.
—Are you still going to play games? —he asked, staring upward.