Upon hearing Seiya’s words about allowing his father to call in the elites, Hayne hurried toward him, anxious.
"What are you saying?! Don’t let them—" he began in a panic, but before he could finish, the heavy door burst open, a fierce gust of wind rushing through as the elites leapt inside.
Seiya’s eyes glead as he tightly gripped his staff. In an instant, he appeared at the threshold, slamming the head of an elite against the wall with sheer power. A cold breeze swept through the hall, freezing everyone in place with pale faces—the elites marveled at Seiya’s speed and might.
This display erased any lingering nonchalance among the remaining elites. They steeled themselves, realizing that their opponent was not one to be underestimated.
The elite who had been slamd to the wall crumpled to the floor, lifeless. Seiya turned away from him, strolling past the others with casual ease and returning to his position in the center of the hall.
He extended his staff in a sweeping motion, then raised his gaze to the four remaining elites, now arranged before him. "Do I respect you all and rid you one after one?" he asked, his head tilting slightly in contemplation. "Or do I simply wipe you all out at once?" His voice was polite, but his gaze was sharp and spine chilling.
Seiya’s father’s eyes remained wide in disbelief, shocked by the swiftness with which Seiya had taken down an elite. He had grossly underestimated his son, unaware of the imnse power and skill he had developed over the years from the rigid training.
An elite from the four stepped up, closing up on Seiya—he appeared quite short that Seiya’s gaze fell on him from above, watching with detached curiosity.
"What kind of strange eyes are those? Kekeke," the elite taunted, his grin spreading across his face. "Not that it matters," he added, before bringing up a powerful punch aid directly at Seiya’s face.
The punch landed with a forceful strike to Seiya’s cheek, tilting his head slightly and drawing a small tear at the corner of his lip. Seiya had seen the blow coming, and with his eyes’ ability to perceive ti in slow motion, he could have easily avoided or stopped it—but for so reason, he didn’t.
Blood trickled from the corner of Seiya’s mouth, his head still tilted, he stared down at the elite, his eyes gleaming with a chilling intensity. The mocking grin had vanished from the elite’s face, replaced by a stern expression. He quickly leapt back to his comrades, shaking the hand that had thrown the punch as if trying to shake off the lingering pain.
"We attack together," he declared, his tone laced with a shaless confidence, flashing a toothy grin.
The other elites responded with grins and knowing smirks—except for one. The elite with black hair, streaked with white strands at the front from vitiligo—the one who had accompanied Seiya on his first mission. Unlike the others, he stood rigid, his cold, impassive features showed no amusent.
Seiya’s cold gaze lingered on him, a flicker of familiarity stirring in his mind, but the mory remained vague, just out of reach. So he couldn’t place him.
"Alright, together!" one of the elites announced with a cheeky grin and they moved into position. But before any of them could act, Seiya surged forward in a blur of motion, launching himself at the short elite who had struck him. Seiya’s legs coiled tightly around the boy’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides, locking him in place.
The elite’s eyes widened in slow realization as Seiya raised his staff high, its tip aid directly at his skull. Just as the staff ca hurtling down with lethal force, another elite lunged forward, thrusting out his palm in a desperate attempt to intercept the strike.
A grave miscalculation from his part.
Seiya’s staff tore through the elite’s outstretched palm, obliterating it in an instant before continuing its rciless descent. It struck the short elite’s head with devastating precision, the sheer force driving it straight through his body. His upper half erupted into fragnts of flesh and bone, while his lower half lingered for a fleeting mont—then crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
The elite whose palm had been shattered stood paralyzed, his breath caught in his throat. He stared in horror at the ruin of his severed limb, beads of sweat gathering on his ashen face.
Hayne instinctively staggered backward, his body recoiling from the overwhelming aura of danger.
Seiya’s father, frozen in shock, could only stare—his form stiff, his mind struggling to process the brutality he had just witnessed.
The remaining elites watched in silence, their expressions unreadable, But their stillness betrayed their thoughts. None of them had expected this.
Seiya, now streaked with blood from his fallen opponent, flicked his staff with a casual motion, sending crimson droplets scattering across the floor. Without a word, he turned and strode back to his place at the center of the hall.
"….he punched ," He remarked casually to the people who remained in stunned silence, his tone calm.
Of the five elites Seiya’s father had summoned, only three remained standing. Without hesitation, they fell into formation, their bodies tensing as they activated their Awakened Abilities in unison—preparing to engage Seiya all at once.
The sight of Seiya’s terrifying power and the spectacle they witnessed had cented in their minds—Seiya was unlike any opponent they had co across.
This was no longer a re battle; it was survival. There was no room for hesitation, neither pride to uphold nor sha to spare. Only one fact remained—either they struck him down, or they would fall by his hands.
Seiya exhaled, his gaze hollow, devoid of interest. He had grown weary of this pattern—whenever these so-called Awakeners found themselves cornered, they resorted to their abilities, as if that would change their fate. Now his eyes are going to register and absorb three more Abilities he deed useless.
Nonetheless, Seiya steeled himself, ready to engage them.
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