Silvermane's punch hurtled forward like a sledgehammer tearing through the wind. It wasn't just a strike—it was a death sentence. Knuckle felt time slow down, each second stretching into a century. In that moment, his mind teetered on the brink of collapse. Every strategy, every calculation was an equation with no solution.
But then, from deep within his mind, a fragment of memory flickered—a voice cutting through the dark. "Slip, kid. Simple. Tilt your head, let the punch graze past. Easy, like dodging a bottle flying across a bar."
The raspy voice of his old neighbor echoed in his head. One evening under the flickering yellow light before a shabby room on the Outer Wall, the retired boxer had sipped cheap liquor while teaching: "Don't predict, don't think. Just let it slide past." Knuckle, then a scrawny boy of eight, practiced slipping punches with a bottle dangling from a string. That was the first combat technique he had ever learned, and it became the foundation of his entire fighting style.
When his mind had given up, muscle memory took over. Without conscious thought, his chin dipped, his right shoulder rolled, slipping out of Silvermane's line of attack in a single breath. Fast. The fastest slip of his life. Silvermane's punch skimmed by, missing his cheek by less than an inch, carrying a scorching gust of wind—yet all Knuckle felt was the dust beneath his feet, his lead foot pivoting and leaving a faint skid across the dry earth.
It was a quick slip, but not a perfect one. His back heel rose too high, his hips shifted off axis, his spine leaned too far outward. Too much weight pressed onto his front foot, throwing him off balance.
In the heartbeat that followed, Silvermane's cold eyes locked onto him. The monster's left shoulder snapped back, right hip coiled like a spring, rear foot stomped a half-step. His shoulders aligned, forming a flawless straight line like a gun barrel. Knuckle could see the veins bulging on Silvermane's neck, muscles straining as power traveled from heel, through calf, hip, shoulder, and into the fist. It was the stance of a cross punch. Straight, compact, merciless. With his balance broken, Knuckle couldn't twist, couldn't retreat, couldn't evade. Every escape was sealed shut.
Whizz.
In that life-or-death instant, everything slowed as if replayed in slow motion, and Knuckle swore he saw a bullet streak past his shoulder, spiral into Silvermane's wrist, and halt the cross punch before it was ever thrown.
[Holy shit, what a crazy clutch save!]
The livestream shook violently, chat exploding.
[Oh my god, almost shattered his face!]
[Bro, if that landed he'd be a corpse already!]
[Wait—was that Mai's shot???]
[Blocking a punch with a bullet—no movie would dare pull that off!]
[Missed by a hair, how the hell do you even aim that?!]
The screen split: on the left, Mai's barrel still smoking, her eyes cold as ice. On the right, Silvermane froze, his massive cross halted mid-air, tendons straining as he growled, eyes darting toward a distant treetop.
He turned back instantly, gathering strength for a hammer-like straight. But just then—(flash)—a second bullet spun into his wrist, stalling his fist again.
Chat erupted.
[What the hell???]
[A regular gun can do this?]
[Weren't guns useless against high E-rank?]
[They can't pierce flesh, but recoil works just fine!]
On the left screen, Knuckle regained footing. He lunged in, chaining body shots into Silvermane's right flank. Each strike landed sharp and solid, twisting the beast's face—whether in pain or in rage was unclear. The lion roared furiously, hurling a thunderous jab to crush the gnat before him.
But this time, the right screen remained still—Mai simply watched. Knuckle slipped past the jab easily, seizing the chance to counter another hook to the lion's ribs.
[Why isn't she shooting?]
[Don't tell me she only fires when Knuckle's got no way out?!]
[No way—that's humanly impossible!]
[She's a Raiser, not some random scrub!]
[Yeah, yeah a level 1 Raiser lol]
Knuckle drove in with another straight to the exact same place. Silvermane lower his massive arm to block—
Whizz.
Another bullet smacked into his elbow, stopping his guard halfway down. Knuckle's straight ripped through the opening, the heavy impact echoing in his side.
Chat howled:
[Holy shit, like slow-motion in a game!]
[Now she's breaking his guard too?!]
Silvermane roared in fury, abandoning every technique he'd learned, reverting to pure beastly instinct, claws sweeping wide to tear Knuckle in half. But in that instant, another bullet struck, stalling the motion again. Knuckle twisted, driving up a thunderous uppercut.
[!!!]
[This is ecstasy to watch!]
[Better than any drug, I swear!]
The beast, crazed, swung a haymaker with its other arm, steel hammer crashing down with intent to obliterate everything—yet bang! Mai's bullet spiraled into his tendon just as he exerted force, making the swing lag half a beat. Knuckle slipped left, hammering two body shots into his flank, each digging deeper, heavier than the last.
[Combo! Combo!]
[AAAH insane!]
[This makes me want to go fight myself!]
Silvermane hunched, then instantly lifted his elbow to guard. Gunfire cracked again, jerking the guard open, leaving a gap. Knuckle didn't hesitate—he drove a right cross, twisting his shoulder through, crashing into the beast's side.
The livestream split-screen: one side Knuckle unleashed a furious combo, the other Mai squeezed the trigger coolly, smoke curling over her cheek. Gunfire and fists melded into a relentless rhythm, as though they had trained their whole lives for this duet.
Chat exploded:
[This is scripted, no way!!]
[Knuckle + Mai = abosoluste cinema!]
In a command room far from Lost Angel, a young military woman focused intently on the livestream on her phone.
"Not bad, not bad," a voice rumbled behind her, deep yet magnetic. "Talent like this wasted outside the army is a shame."
The green-haired girl stood at once, snapping to attention before the silver-haired man in a worn but neatly pressed uniform. "Report, Commander—"
The old man waved her off, a wrinkled smile tugging at his lips. "Relax. We're off duty."
She eased her shoulders but kept her eyes fixed on the screen. Taking a breath, she said, "Sir, as far as I know, the Blackfang MK 2000 SSR doesn't have the power to stop an attack from an E-rank boss like Silvermane. How is she doing it?"
The old man raised a brow, eyes glinting with approval. "Ah, sharp observation, Viona." Stroking his silver beard, he spoke slowly: "You know the stop-hit technique in fencing?"
Viona tilted her head, skepticism plain. He smiled and rephrased: "How about the Intercepting Fist of Jeet Kune Do? Bruce Lee?"
Her eyes widened, as if a puzzle piece had snapped into place. "You mean…"
He lifted his hand, mimicking a punch in slow motion. "Exactly. A punch, no matter how powerful, needs space to gather strength, speed, momentum."
Then he pulled his hand back, blocking with the other. "So the best moment to intercept is before the strike fully releases. Time it right, and even the recoil of a normal bullet is enough to stop it from being thrown."
Viona nodded slowly, though disbelief lingered. She was a D-rank superhero, had faced foes stronger than Silvermane, yet watching someone fight, aim, and time shots within milliseconds all at once was beyond imagination.
Perhaps sensing her doubt, he added: "The issue isn't strength—it's combat mindset. Of course, pulling it off isn't easy. Look, she's already overloading herself."
Mai felt the trickle of blood from her nose, but she had no time to care. Her focus was tearing her body past its limit. Every shot was another push beyond endurance.
[Ataqué de Arresto]—Arresting Strike—was never meant to be sustained endlessly. The strain on concentration was crushing. Rapier, her noble friend with blonde ringlet hair, once told her that to master [Ataqué de Arresto], she had to learn to 'read' her opponent. Not just motion, but every twitch of muscle, every ripple of flesh, every fleeting expression, every flicker of the eyes. Only then could she strike in the instant before an attack truly began—using minimal effort to disrupt her opponent's rhythm and unravel their assault before it ever took shape.
"Your enemy will tell you when they attack, if you just learn to listen," Rapier had said, in those endless days of training within the royal palace of the Kingdom of Castilia. It was the most time-consuming technique Mai had ever studied—even more than the grandiose techniques she would later master, the ones that could split rivers and cleave mountains.
But it was [Ataqué de Arresto]—or rather, the skill of reading—that had carried her through countless battles, from small demons to the campaign against the Demon King himself. It was the foundation, the heartbeat of survival.
And here, in this very fight, she blended Rapier's [Ataqué de Arresto] with the marksmanship of Gunslinger, and a touch of Warrior's teaching on how force is generated—using that knowledge to judge the perfect moment to intercept Silvermane's crushing blows.
The technique demanded crushing concentration. Her mind ran at full throttle, every second felt like her skull was being squeezed, vision blurring, breath choking.
If it had been her just a watch ago, she would never have endured this long. But now, with Vorn flowing steadily through her just opened meridians, the pain was smoothed away with every cycle of its circulation.
Across the battlefield, Inferno Knuckle felt relief wash over him with Mai at his side. She intercepted blows that would have been nearly impossible for him to dodge, and she opened gaps for every strike he launched.
He was slowly syncing with Mai's rhythm—or rather, entrusting more than half his defense to her while he fought on with the faith that she would always catch what he needed. Still, he knew she needed a pause after ten shots to reload, leaving him alone to weather Silvermane's fury.
"Eight, nine, ten," Knuckle counted silently, his eyes tracking every move of his foe. When the gunfire ceased, the crushing weight of pressure returned at once. Silvermane's swipes crashed like falling mountains, each carrying the force to shatter bone. Yet Knuckle had adapted to its pace. He slipped, rolled his shoulders, letting punches graze past, trails of dust marking the ground.
His eyes flicked to Silvermane's right flank, where thick fur had burned away, exposing raw, red skin. His early body shots were mere scratches, but now they forced the beast to guard. And when Silvermane guarded, it meant he felt pain. Knuckle's last strike had twisted the monster's face, anger and unease flashing in its eyes. Knuckle knew—the decisive moment was here.
Bang!
Mai's shot rang out again, slamming into Silvermane's wrist, stalling its punch. Knuckle seized the opening. He drew a deep breath, feeling Vorn surge within him. Flames erupted from his right fist, blazing hot, illuminating the dark forest.
["INFERNO PUNCH: FULL FORCE!"]