Colt Knightwood didn't waste a second. He launched himself at with terrifying speed, his fist radiating golden energy as it cut through the air toward my face.
I barely managed to dodge, feeling the rush of wind against my cheek as his punch missed by milliters. The wall behind cracked from the pressure alone.
"You're fast," Colt remarked, his eyes narrowing. "But speed won't save you today."
I summoned my energy, golden light flickering around my body as I activated my Saintly Body Skill. "I'm not dying here. Not when Michael Ashworth's life depends on ."
Colt smirked. "You've been set up, Knight. There's no escape."
He struck again, this ti with both hands forming a complicated pattern. The air itself seed to compress around , making it hard to breathe. I recognized this technique—Spatial Confinent, a high-level skill that few Grandmasters could execute with such precision.
I countered with a defensive maneuver, channeling energy to create a barrier around myself. The collision sent shockwaves through the room, shattering the windows and sending Sutton scrambling for cover.
"You've improved," Colt admitted. "But you're still no match for a Peak Grandmaster."
I backed toward the door, preparing to flee. I couldn't win this fight—my only hope was escape.
As if reading my thoughts, Colt's expression darkened. "Seven Star Isolation," he called out, his energy expanding outward in seven distinct waves.
The space around us warped. The door I'd been heading toward suddenly seed impossibly distant. The very air felt thick, resistant to my movents.
"No one leaves until I allow it," Colt stated coldly. "This technique isolates a fifteen-ter radius from the outside world."
I was trapped. Five other Grandmasters stood ready to intervene if needed, though they seed content to watch for now. This was Colt's show.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. If escape was impossible, I had only one option left.
"Best Thin Armor," I whispered, activating another defense technique. My skin hardened, taking on a subtle golden sheen.
Colt lunged forward with blinding speed. I countered with the Absolute Beginning Sacred Fist, one of my strongest attack techniques. Our fists collided in midair, the impact creating a thunderous boom that shook the entire building.
Pain shot up my arm. I'd managed to land a solid hit, but the price was steep. My bones creaked under the pressure of matching Colt's strength.
To my satisfaction, Colt staggered back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes widened with genuine surprise.
"You actually hurt ," he said, wiping the blood away. "That's... unexpected."
The other Grandmasters shifted uncomfortably. They hadn't anticipated I would wound their leader.
I pressed my advantage, launching another attack. This ti, I aid for Colt's midsection, channeling even more energy into my strike.
Colt blocked, but the force sent him sliding backward. For a mont, hope flared within . Perhaps I could win this after all, or at least fight my way to an escape.
Then Colt smiled, and my hope died.
"You've forced to take you seriously," he said, his voice eerily calm. "I won't make that mistake again."
His energy suddenly doubled, then tripled. The pressure in the room beca suffocating. This was his true power—he'd been holding back before.
"Seven Capture Saint Skill," he announced. "First Capture—Limbs."
Invisible forces wrapped around my arms and legs like steel bands. I struggled against them, pouring my energy into breaking free. For a mont, I succeeded, shattering the energy bindings with a burst of my own power.
"Second Capture—Strength."
My muscles seized up, refusing to respond properly. Each movent beca a monuntal effort, as if I were trying to swim through concrete.
"Third Capture—Spirit."
A crushing pressure descended on my mind. My thoughts scattered, my concentration faltered. Maintaining my defensive techniques beca nearly impossible.
Despite the pain, I fought back. I managed to break through the ntal pressure long enough to launch a desperate counterattack. My fist connected with Colt's chest, driving him back once more.
But the effort cost dearly. Blood spurted from my mouth as several internal organs ruptured from the strain.
"Fourth Capture—Blood."
My blood seed to thicken in my veins, slowing to a crawl. The pain was excruciating.
"Fifth Capture—Bones."
I heard sickening cracks as pressure built inside my skeleton. Not breaking them—not yet—but threatening to at any mont.
I collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath. My golden aura flickered, growing dimr by the second.
"Sixth Capture—Organs."
The pressure inside my body intensified. I vomited blood, the crimson liquid splattering across the floor. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.
"And finally, Seventh Capture—Life."
An inexorable force closed around my throat, cutting off my air. At the sa ti, my heart seized in my chest, its rhythm faltering.
I fought with everything I had left, but it wasn't enough. My defenses crumbled. My energy reserves emptied. The golden light surrounding my body winked out entirely.
Colt walked toward , his expression detached, professional. This was just another job for him.
"You fought well," he acknowledged. "Better than expected. But the outco was never in doubt."
He delivered a final devastating blow to my chest. I heard ribs snap. The impact sent crashing into the wall, where I slid down limply, leaving a sar of blood in my wake.
I lay there, broken and defeated. Blood pooled beneath . Every breath was agony.
Colt stood over , preparing the finishing blow. "Any last words?"
I couldn't speak. Could barely think through the pain. All I could manage was a single thought: I'd failed. Failed to save Michael Ashworth. Failed to protect myself. Failed Isabelle.
"No?" Colt said to my silence. "Then this ends now."
* * *
In his private study across town, Corbin Ashworth poured himself a glass of brandy, savoring the amber liquid as he considered the woman seated across from him. Chapter provided via *.
Isabelle Ashworth sat rigidly in her chair, her posture perfect as always, but her eyes held undisguised contempt. "You said this was important, Uncle. What do you want?"
"Patience, my dear niece," Corbin replied, swirling his brandy. "We have several matters to discuss regarding your future."
"My future is my own concern," Isabelle replied coldly.
Corbin's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Is it? I think you'll find your grandfather's condition has changed that reality. As acting head of the Ashworth family, certain... decisions now fall to ."
Isabelle's face paled slightly, but her expression remained defiant. "Grandfather will recover. Liam will make sure of it."
"Ah yes, your precious Liam Knight," Corbin said, his voice dripping with disdain. "The man who thinks he can challenge the natural order of things."
Before Isabelle could respond, Corbin's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his lips curving into a satisfied smile.
"Speaking of Mr. Knight," he said, turning the phone to show Isabelle the caller ID: "Colt Knightwood."
Corbin answered the call, switching it to video mode. "Mr. Knightwood. I trust you have good news for ?"
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