Suddenly, Joren vanished.
It was Star Platinum behind him who seized his arm and hurled him away.
"ora!"
The air itself seemed to tear apart.
Joren's body shot forward in a dead-straight line—straight toward the black cat.
The cat reacted instantly, fur bristling like live wires.
It shrieked and tried to leap aside—
—but it was already too late.
Nothing could evade that speed.
Joren's hand halted just above the cat's skull.
The wind roaring from his palm alone was violent enough to flatten the creature backward, its fur whipped upright as though caught in a tidal wave.
Moments ago, those yellow eyes had watched the chaos with detached curiosity.
Now, they held only raw, primal terror.
The cat trembled—not in pretense, but in bone-deep instinct.
This was the dread every living thing feels when standing before overwhelming power.
Joren's brow furrowed slightly.
Something was off.
The cat's vitals matched those of the other nearby animals—confused, agitated, terrified.
Just like them, it was a puppet. Not the puppeteer.
Ya-re, ya-re…
Did I misjudge?
He began to pull his hand back, ready to reassess—
—when a woman's voice slithered into his mind.
It crackled with faint static, sickly sweet yet venomous, laced with both seduction and seething hatred.
"Oh? I never expected you'd pinpoint my commander so precisely… from within my entire 'army.'"
"You're far cleverer than I gave you credit for, handsome."
Telepathy?
So the controller wasn't even here.
"You locked away my 'king'… Now it's your turn to feel what it's like—torn apart by wild beasts."
King?
One name flashed through Joren's mind: Kingpin.
He recalled the crime lord he'd smashed into the Grandview Theatre's concrete wall like a ragdoll.
Clearly, Fisk's empire hadn't crumbled as cleanly as he'd assumed.
"Come out."
"Come out? Oh, no, no, no~"
"I prefer to watch… from the shadows. To see my prey squirm in sweet, helpless despair."
Her laughter echoed inside his skull—sharp, metallic, as if sharpened to pierce his eardrums.
"The game has only just begun!"
The moment her words faded—
"Awooo—!"
A massive stray dog outside the ring let out a guttural howl.
Every animal around them—rats, crows, strays—suddenly locked eyes with Joren…
…their irises blazing an unnatural, bloody red.
"ROAR!"
The nearest Doberman, a bolt of black lightning, launched itself first—jaws wide, fangs bared, aiming straight for his throat.
Then came the second.
The third.
Dozens more.
From every direction, the tide of feral creatures surged inward—
a tsunami of claws, teeth, and madness—
all crashing toward the lone figure standing at the center of the street.
The snakes slithered across the pavement in a writhing lattice of scales and venom.
Stray cats leapt from hoods and trash cans, claws bared, eyes gleaming with unnatural aggression.
Even the rats surged forward—a gray tide gnashing teeth, aiming for his ankles.
It was a siege. Hundreds of creatures, all driven by a single will.
From an apartment window down the block, someone screamed.
Residents frozen mid-photo stared in horror. No one had ever seen anything so grotesque—so alive with malice.
In the center of it all stood the boy who'd appeared out of nowhere on the sidewalk—already swallowed by the onrushing horde.
"Oh my god!"
"He's dead for sure!"
Then—silence shattered.
Not by sound, but by sight.
Just as the first fangs and claws were about to sink in—
—a towering, violet-glowing figure erupted behind him.
Star Platinum.
"Oh dear… really," Joren muttered, tugging his hat lower.
His green eyes were calm, almost bored—yet edged with quiet irritation.
"It's so noisy."
Ora ora ora ora ora ora—!!!
Not a roar. Not a battle cry.
A rapid, rhythmic whisper—like machine-gun silk.
Star Platinum's fists blurred into twin storms of purple shadow.
Too fast for the eye. Too precise for machines.
The lead Doberman froze mid-lunge—then crumpled like wet paper.
A shallow mark, barely a scratch, marred its neck. No blood. No broken bone.
Just severed nerves. Perfectly disabled.
Above, a wildcat plummeted toward Joren's hat—claws outstretched.
A single finger, flicked with impossible speed.
Smack!
The sound was crisp, almost comical.
The cat arced through the air, spinning seven times before landing softly in a heap of garbage bags—unconscious, unharmed.
The rat horde hit an invisible barrier two meters from Joren's boots.
Not a wall of force—but of wind. Compressed, razor-thin, spun from Star Platinum's afterimages.
The rodents bounced off like hailstones, flung skyward in a gray downpour.
All of it lasted less than three seconds.
Within that two-meter radius around Joren, the world fell silent.
No blood. No gore. Just bodies—intact, unbroken, utterly still—piled into a grotesque hillock of cold, surgical violence.
The street emptied of sound.
Even the screams from the apartments ceased. Throats locked. Eyes wide.
They stared at the sea of unmoving animals… and the lone figure standing untouched in the center.
In Joren's mind, the woman's laughter choked off.
"Wh-what did you do?!"
Her voice trembled—disbelief curdling into terror.
Joren tilted his head, gaze cutting through concrete and distance alike, locking onto her hidden perch.
"Didn't your 'king' tell you?"
His voice was soft. Final.
"Those who provoke me… suffer the consequences."
The psychic thread snapped.
She ran.
Joren exhaled, glancing at the carnage—then at the nearby car, its windshield spiderwebbed, blood smeared across the hood.
"Yare yare…"
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