Gerry’s fist connected with Reynard’s body like a sledgehammer, a ripple of force vibrating outward. With Vector Infinity activated, Gerry became a living blur, striking from all angles in a relentless assault. Each blow was precise and deadly, his fists drilling into Reynard’s joints, twisting his wrists, and battering his torso with machine-like precision. He darted around the arena, using his homing spots like points in an invisible lattice. Each spot propelled him with inhuman speed, from point A to B to C, his path like lightning arcing through air.
This was Gerry’s masterpiece—a crystallization of his homing attribute that allowed him to ride vectors in space. His foot barely touched down before he launched into the next spot, becoming a tempest of fists and knees, striking like a whirlwind. His movements were dizzyingly fast, his body vanishing and reappearing in a blink as he closed in on Reynard from impossible angles, each hit more vicious than the last. This is it, he thought, I’ll humiliate him. Break him.
The sounds of impacts echoed sharply, like bones splintering under pressure. Reynard’s attempts to counter were limited, his reflexes stretched to their limit just to keep up with the blinding speed of Gerry’s attacks. He managed to block here and there, but each hit he absorbed took a toll, forcing him to twist and lean with increasing difficulty. Yet even as he absorbed the pain, his eyes stayed locked onto Gerry, defiant and focused, his expression as unyielding as steel.
Gerry felt the thrill of dominance surge within him, his attacks striking true. No one could withstand this. The sound of cracking bones filled the air, and he relished it, grinning viciously. But beneath the fury of his strikes, Reynard still stood, his body resisting, his presence unwavering in the storm of blows.
Slowly, an inkling of disbelief was roused in Gerry’s heart.
Gerry’s face twisted with rage and desperation as he continued his onslaught. He delivered a vicious palm strike to Reynard’s throat, only for Reynard to sway subtly, absorbing the blow without a flicker of discomfort. Gerry’s elbow snapped toward Reynard’s temple, but Reynard tilted his head with an almost dismissive ease. Impossible, Gerry thought. He shifted, unleashing a brutal knee to Reynard’s groin, but Reynard’s stance adjusted, absorbing the blow with a calm, steely gaze that sent a chill down Gerry’s spine.
No matter the ferocity of his strikes or the precision with which he attacked, Reynard remained unperturbed and unbroken. A nagging doubt began to creep in. Was it invulnerability? Some kind of barrier skill? No… there’s no way, Gerry reassured himself. I would have noticed by now.
But then, out of nowhere, his fist was intercepted mid-strike. Reynard’s hand closed around it, his grip like iron.
“You’re getting predictable,” Reynard remarked coolly, his voice low and taunting. “There’s no variety in your ‘vectors,’ is there?”
For a moment, Gerry’s confidence wavered. But then he gritted his teeth, ripping his fist free and leaping back, his determination igniting anew. Fine, if he’s seeing through my patterns, I’ll make them unpredictable.
Gerry pushed Vector Infinity to its limit, expanding his network of spots, creating a spiderweb of vectors across the arena to ensure no predictable pattern would be discernible. With a flick of his aura, he shot forward, changing angles mid-flight, delivering punches, kicks, elbows, and knees in a frenzy. Each strike was followed by a rapid redirection, bouncing unpredictably from vector to vector. His speed reached a frenzied pitch, turning him into a ghostly whirlwind around Reynard, attacking from all conceivable directions.
Yet the impact of his blows remained… minimal. Reynard’s stance adjusted, his body absorbing the strikes with a strength and calm that bordered on inhuman. And every time Gerry lunged in, Reynard’s responses sharpened, his movements smoother, as if he were gradually reading Gerry’s every intent. He’s learning… The realization struck Gerry with growing dread.
Something… something is very wrong.
Finally, the disbelief was transformed into fear.
Desperation clawed at Gerry as he refocused his efforts. He imbued his homing attribute selectively onto his right fist, feeling the precision of fate guide his strike. He blurred forward, the speed of his movement breaking the air in a sharp crack.
The fist streaked toward Reynard like a meteor—unstoppable, inevitable.
But it was stopped. Reynard’s guard, raised with eerie calm, intercepted the blow perfectly. His forearm absorbed the brunt of the strike, his body unmoving, as if Gerry’s attack was no more than a gentle tap.
Gritting his teeth, Gerry zoomed to the left in a zigzagging motion, his movements frantic and erratic, trying to shake Reynard’s tracking. He imbued the homing attribute onto his left foot, channeling all his momentum into a powerful roundhouse kick. His aura flared, the kick fast enough to slice the air audibly.
Again, Reynard blocked it. This time with a simple, almost dismissive palm gesture. His hand met Gerry’s foot with precise timing, absorbing the force without a shred of imbalance. The energy of Gerry’s attack dissipated, leaving Reynard untouched.
Normally, Gerry’s attacks was enough to rip a man apart.
Gerry skidded back, breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his brow. His mind raced. How is he doing this? Reynard hadn’t moved offensively yet, but his defense was airtight, impenetrable. It was as if Reynard’s every action was calculated to neutralize Gerry’s abilities entirely.
Reynard tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Is this the best you can do?” he asked, his voice low and biting. “I’ve finished studying your patterns… What else can you show me?”
The words struck harder than any blow, and Gerry’s frustration boiled over. No, there has to be a way! He prepared to launch himself again, this time determined to break through Reynard’s guard, no matter the cost.
Gerry’s frustration had reached its boiling point. For all his speed, precision, and the power of his homing attribute, Reynard had countered him at every turn. Worse, Reynard seemed to be learning, his responses growing faster, his movements more exact with every clash. A cold sweat crept down Gerry’s spine as he realized he couldn’t drag this fight out any longer. If he did, something terrible might happen—something he couldn’t recover from.
Gritting his teeth, Gerry made his decision. He reached into his coat and withdrew two weapons: a sleek dagger with a gleaming, almost otherworldly sheen in his right hand, and a compact handgun in his left. The dagger was his ace—a tool of probability disruption, designed specifically to bypass the tower’s miraculous murder-prevention feature.
Normally, Gerry would have used knives instead of a gun. Specifically, knives crafted from human bones, it was the perfect medium for his homing attribute. After all, his homing attribute worked best on live organic materials. With very few exception. The handgun, by contrast, was straightforward but deadly—a means to overwhelm Reynard with unrelenting pressure.
"Let’s see you stop this," Gerry muttered under his breath.
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With a sharp exhale, he moved. Vector Infinity activated, and Gerry became a blur, zigzagging through the arena with incomprehensible speed. He fired the gun, each shot coming from an unexpected angle as his homing attribute guided his body to impossibly tricky positions. The bullets didn’t curve or follow strange paths, but their sheer quantity, combined with Gerry’s relentless movements, created a dizzying storm of projectiles.
Reynard’s body was a whirlwind of motion as he moved to intercept the assault. His hands blurred as he deflected or dodged each bullet. The sound of ricocheting shots filled the arena, a cacophony of chaos.
But Gerry wasn’t done. As he closed the distance, he swung the dagger with deadly precision. It was aimed at Reynard’s throat, its probability-breaking power meant to end this battle in one decisive strike. Reynard tilted his head, narrowly dodging the blade, but Gerry pressed on, his attacks flowing seamlessly between slashes with the dagger and precise, close-range shots from his gun.
The intensity of the battle reached a fever pitch.
Gerry’s breath came in short gasps, but he didn’t let up. Each movement was sharper and more desperate than the last. Reynard’s cold gaze never wavered, but Gerry noticed something unsettling in it—an unshakable calm, as though Reynard knew exactly how this would end.
It was unreal.
Gerry’s bullets swarmed through the air, a dizzying vortex of death closing in from every angle. Yet Reynard moved with a precision that defied comprehension. Each movement was calculated to the millisecond, his body swaying and twisting as if physics itself bent to his will. The bullets never touched him, passing within hairsbreadths but never connecting. It wasn’t invulnerability, Gerry realized, but something far more terrifying: absolute calculation.
For the first time, fear gripped Gerry. His homing attribute had never failed him. Every opponent he’d faced until now had been overwhelmed, crushed by his overwhelming speed and precision. But Reynard was an enigma. Gerry couldn’t fathom his ability, couldn’t understand how this man was evading what should have been inescapable.
But Gerry wasn’t one to give up, even in the face of the unknown. If I can’t hit him the normal way, then I’ll risk everything! he thought.
Gerry's eyes narrowed as he enacted his final gambit. Each bullet in the air—imbued with his homing attribute—became a spot in his ever-evolving vector network. Unlike the static points he’d used before, these bullets created a mobile, shifting web of paths, each one recalculating in real-time as they tore through the arena. Gerry moved like a phantom, an impossible barrage of afterimages rushing toward Reynard from every conceivable direction.
Reynard stood his ground, his cold gaze locked onto Gerry. The bullets grazed his suit, tearing fabric and sending threads scattering into the air. He made no attempt to dodge the chaos this time. He simply watched.
And then Gerry was there.
In a millisecond, he materialized directly in front of Reynard, his dagger poised with lethal precision. The blade, gleaming with the promise of death, plunged forward and struck true, piercing Reynard’s chest. Gerry felt the resistance of flesh and bone as the dagger sank deep, bypassing the tower's miraculous protections like they didn’t even exist.
Victory surged through Gerry’s veins. He stared into Reynard’s eyes, expecting to see pain, fear, something. But what he saw instead made his blood run cold.
Reynard’s expression didn’t change. His face remained as calm, as unreadable, as it had been from the beginning.
Gerry froze as the blade remained lodged in Reynard’s chest, unmoving. His breath quickened when he realized something was wrong. There was no blood. Not a single drop.
The dagger should have worked. It was designed to defy the rules of the World Tower, to bypass the miraculous protections that turned death into a mere inconvenience. Yet Reynard just stood there, unflinching, his cold eyes locked on Gerry's in an unsettling, piercing gaze.
Sweat began to bead on Gerry’s forehead. He stammered, “W-What are you?”
Reynard’s lips curled into a faint, chilling smile. “Your worst nightmare.”
Without warning, Reynard’s hand shot forward, gripping Gerry’s wrist with an ironclad grip. In one fluid motion, he twisted Gerry’s arm, forcing the dagger to clatter to the floor. The movement was efficient, almost mechanical. Reynard picked up the dagger, examining it briefly with dispassionate curiosity. It looked ordinary—mundane, even. Yet he felt a unique resonance within it, something akin to an aura attribute, though distinctly foreign.
“This dagger,” Reynard muttered, tilting it in the dim light. “Strange. Not aura, but something else entirely.”
Gerry winced, his free hand swinging in an attempt to break Reynard’s hold. Before he could land the blow, an eerie, bluish glow emanated from Reynard’s body. Ethereal chains and strings erupted from thin air, snaking toward Gerry with impossible precision. They wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso, binding him in place. The chains glowed faintly as they anchored him to the floor and ceiling, suspending him like an insect trapped in a cocoon. Only his face remained visible, wide-eyed and drenched in panic.
“What—what is this?!” Gerry shouted, struggling against the spectral bonds. His body strained, but the chains didn’t budge.
Reynard’s gaze grew colder as he stepped closer, his shadow falling over Gerry like an executioner. “The conditions have been met. Multiple physical contacts confirmed. A total of 87 Soul Chains embedded. Soul Marks have been primed. Total domination is viable. How do you wish to proceed?”
The detached, clinical tone of Reynard’s words sent shivers down Gerry’s spine. It was like he wasn’t speaking to him but to some unseen force.
“What? What are you talking about? You’re talking strangely!” Gerry’s voice trembled, his confusion mixing with terror.
Reynard tilted his head slightly, his movements unnervingly precise. There was something deeply wrong, something uncanny about him. It was as if Reynard wasn’t human at all. The air around him felt heavier, oppressive, as if reality itself strained under his presence.
“You don’t need to understand,” Reynard said, his voice devoid of emotion. “You only need to submit.”
Gerry’s screams echoed through the arena, but Reynard didn’t flinch.
It was strange… Eveyrthing was strange…
For a moment, a flicker of warmth—or something resembling humanity—returned to Reynard’s cold and calculating eyes. He tilted his head slightly, and the mechanical precision of his movements softened. His voice, now natural and disturbingly calm, broke the silence.
“There is nothing strange at all,” Reynard began. “I am merely reciprocating the ill will that has been inflicted upon me.” He held the dagger lightly between his fingers, pressing its sharp edge to Gerry’s cheek. A thin line of blood beaded where the blade kissed skin.
“Interesting dagger,” Reynard murmured, studying it closely. “It carries the nullify attribute. Disrupting probability… poetic. But let’s see what it really does… and if it even works…”
Gerry thrashed against his bonds, panic overriding his composure. “Ah! No! Let go of me! The House of Mansel won’t leave you be! Do you hear me?! The Hunter’s Association wouldn’t condone murder! My family will know of your involvement! The Association has obligations to the old nobility! One way or another, my family will hunt you—and your family—down!”
Reynard’s gaze remained fixed on Gerry, utterly unshaken. A cold, cruel smile tugged at his lips. “What if the Association is complicit in this murder?”
Gerry’s protests faltered as his words caught in his throat. Reynard’s eyes shifted slightly, his focus drifting past Gerry to the arena wall, where faint distortions in the air hinted at the watchful presence of unseen spectators.
“You must be watching, right?” Reynard said aloud, his voice laced with veiled menace. “Hunter’s Association… do not inconvenience me.”
The words hung ominously in the air, but Gerry barely had time to process them. A sudden, bone-deep chill swept over him as his captor’s features began to shift. The Reynard before him was no longer flesh and blood. His skin peeled back like paper dissolving in fire, revealing beneath it a mannequin-like form. Its blank, expressionless surface wore the same tailored suit Reynard had, its proportions eerily perfect. The mannequin tilted its head slightly, mimicking Reynard’s mannerisms with unsettling precision.
“What… What are you?” Gerry stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The chains and strings binding Gerry transformed into glowing, unyielding metal. They coiled tighter, compressing his limbs and torso. Gerry screamed, his voice raw and desperate, but the chains didn’t relent. They squeezed and twisted, breaking bones with sickening cracks. As his body gave way under the relentless pressure, something even stranger began to happen.
Gerry’s mouth moved involuntarily, and words spilled forth—not cries for mercy, but confessions. Every heinous act he had committed, every secret tied to the Elsewhere Cult, poured out as though dragged from the depths of his soul. He confessed to his crimes against the Hunter’s Association, the lives he’d taken, the deals he’d brokered, and the atrocities he’d sanctioned. His voice cracked with terror, but he couldn’t stop speaking.
It wasn’t out of his free will.
“You shouldn’t have associated yourself with the cult,” Reynard’s voice came again, cold and resolute.
The mannequin remained still, watching impassively as Gerry’s confessions continued until the chains tightened one final time. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh was deafening, followed by silence. The chains were dyed red by blood and as finally… with a powerful snap… Gerry finally died.