"Stop him! Block him! Kill that brat!"
The Furious Three were shouting themselves hoarse.
Just seconds ago, they had been savoring the moment, waiting for their Knights to encircle Marcus so they could crush him slowly and publicly. They wanted him helpless. They wanted him cornered. They wanted to savor revenge.
Instead, the battlefield twisted in a single breath.
Marcus had not merely slipped past their Knights. He had torn their formation open. Their proud Iron Wall now had a jagged rupture carved straight through its center, and he was already inside their backline before they fully understood what had happened.
Watching the way he moved, fluid and precise, reacting to threats almost before they formed, the Furious Three felt a familiar chill crawl up their spines. It was the same suffocating sensation they had experienced in the Newbie Village. The same helpless disbelief.
No matter how many men they brought, this one player refused to follow the script.
