Chapter 35
The door slamd behind him.
Ronan’s steps echoed down the stairwell, controlled but sharp, each one matching the pulse thudding in his skull.
High-Value Target. S-Rank. 0.3km. Threat Level: Critical.
The system’s ssage kept pulsing at the edge of his mind like a heartbeat he couldn’t shut out. He didn’t have ti to think about why the system picked this target—only that it did.
He stepped out into the night.
The city was quiet, lights humming faintly in the distance. A soft wind cut across the street, brushing his damp hair back as he walked, hands shoved into his jacket. He was trying to look normal, to not give off anything that could be read as intent.
But under the surface, his blood was heating.
0.2 km.
The system pinged again. Closer.
His enhanced perception kicked in without him trying. He could hear the low hum of electricity through power lines, the steady patter of footsteps three blocks away, the clink of a bottle being knocked over in an alley.
Then he felt it.
A presence. Not just another person. Not a pedestrian. This was dense. Controlled. Focused like a needle. The air seed heavier with each step he took toward it.
0.1 km.
Ronan turned the corner.
A man stood at the far end of the street, back turned, a cigarette between his fingers. He wasn’t moving—just watching the smoke curl into the night sky like he had all the ti in the world.
System pinged again:
Subject identified. Harlan Vex.
Harlan turned his head slightly, like he felt sothing. His eyes didn’t lock on Ronan, but there was no mistaking it—he sensed him.
He dropped the cigarette and crushed it with a boot.
"You’re not from the Watch," Harlan said. His voice was calm, even amused. "They usually send squads. Not guys in hoodies."
Ronan said nothing.
Harlan turned fully now. Tall, muscular. Relaxed. Like a man who wasn’t afraid of being hunted. He wore black gloves, his left one slightly bulging with a tallic implant underneath. But what struck Ronan most wasn’t his posture.
It was the confidence.
The system had marked him S-rank for a reason.
"Who sent you?" Harlan asked. "Or are you one of those vigilante types? Got a personal score to settle?"
Ronan stared back, eyes cold. "You experinted on people. Ninety-four confird kills."
"Alleged kills," Harlan corrected, his tone easy. "Besides... I stopped counting after fifty."
He was stalling. Ronan could feel it. No movent, but his stance was subtly shifting. Lowering his center of gravity. Preparing.
Then—
System Warning: Ability Activation Detected.
Hostile ability: Spatial Displacent (S-Rank).
Ronan didn’t get ti to process before the space between them distorted.
The street twisted. What the fuck!
Ronan barely leapt aside as a section of the concrete exploded upward like a landmine had gone off beneath it. Shards flew past his face, one slicing his cheek. He didn’t slow.
He darted forward with his speed-enhanced legs blurring as he closed the distance.
Harlan didn’t flinch. Instead, the air around him fractured, a shimring ripple forming a loose shield.
Ronan struck, fist aid straight for the throat. But his punch passed through empty air.
Then, impact.
From behind.
Harlan’s elbow slamd into Ronan’s back like a truck, sending him sprawling forward onto the asphalt.
Pain spiked through Ronan’s ribs. He rolled fast, narrowly avoiding a follow-up strike that collapsed a tal dumpster behind him like it was made of paper.
Spatial Displacent.
He wasn’t teleporting. He was swapping space, folding small zones, trading them instantly. That’s why he vanished mid-attack and reappeared behind Ronan.
"Think, Ronan, adapt." This was the first ti he was fighting an actual S rank system user, and he definitely wasn’t finding it easy.
He gritted his teeth and stood. His muscles healed fast, but not instantly. He could feel the bruise forming already. The speed at which the system healed him had slowed down for reasons he didn’t know why. He was gonna ask that later.
"I can do this all night," Harlan said. He wasn’t even breathing hard. "You system users... always rushing in like you’re untouchable."
Ronan didn’t answer.
He raised one hand. Focused.
The dumpster Harlan destroyed rattled, then shot forward like a missile.
Harlan smirked. The space in front of him distorted and the dumpster vanished, reappearing midair five feet behind Ronan.
Ronan didn’t waste a second.
Gravity Suppression: Activated.
He dropped the field instantly.
Harlan’s knees buckled, just for a mont. But it was enough.
Ronan moved.
He was a blur, ducking low, sweeping Harlan’s leg out from under him. As Harlan hit the ground, Ronan planted his foot in the man’s chest and slamd his palm toward his face—
Harlan disappeared.
Ronan’s hand struck asphalt.
He twisted, eyes scanning.
Behind.
Too late.
A fist caught him in the side of the face, sending his vision spinning. He staggered, wiped blood from his lip, then grinned bitterly.
"You really suck at staying still," Ronan muttered.
"You’re not bad," Harlan admitted. "Different. Got more than one ability, don’t you?"
Ronan didn’t confirm it. He’d already shown too much.
Instead, he breathed in.
Slowed his heart.
Let the system take over.
Combat Intuition: Synced.
His body shifted subtly, stance adjusting, fingers curling tighter. The world around him sharpened. Every sound. Every flicker of movent.
Harlan blurred again, space distorting.
But this ti, Ronan didn’t guess.
He moved before it happened, pivoting left, and caught Harlan’s arm mid-strike.
Harlan’s eyes widened.
Ronan slamd his elbow into the man’s jaw, then spun and drove his knee into his ribs.
Harlan grunted and teleported again, but now it was sloppy.
He landed ten feet away, coughing. Blood trickled down his chin.
Ronan straightened. "Still wanna do this all night?"
Harlan glared. "You’re not normal."
"No," Ronan said. "I’m not."
A second passed. Then Harlan’s lips curled into a grin. "Good. I hate normal."
He charged.
And the street turned into a freaking war zone.
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