Chaos cultists strike from within the disguised crowd of civilians. In the chaos, Elias reacts faster than any human should — chakra flows through him as instinct overrides hesitation. His power manifests for the first time in front of others, and the squad watches him with a mix of awe… and fear.
-----
The blade-woman moved like a broken marionette — twitching, shrieking, blood-slick and faster than her size should allow. Her eyes were sewn shut. Her mouth hung open too wide, red with ecstatic laughter.
She lunged straight at Fira, who still shielded the boy with her body.
"Down!" Elias shouted — and the world slowed.
The System didn't speak.
There was no dramatic flash, no inner monologue, no training sequence.
Just a sensation:
Power.
Not raw, not explosive — but refined, like a current slipping under his skin. Warm. Coiled. Obedient.
His vision sharpened.
His steps felt weightless.
Time returned to normal — but Elias was already moving.
He covered the distance in three blinks.
Fira hadn't even hit the ground yet.
The cultist's arms came down, twin blades angling toward her neck.
Elias's body reacted. He wasn't thinking. He was executing.
He slid forward, spun on his heel, and drove his palm into the cultist's ribs.
Crack.
The woman screamed — not in pain, but pleasure — and slashed wildly.
Elias ducked low, chakra flowing down to his legs like oil over coiled wire. He kicked upward, hard, into her center mass.
Crack.
This time she flew — slammed into the wall hard enough to dent it, and slid down in a twitching pile.
Silence.
For a split-second, no one moved.
Fira lay on the floor, blinking up at Elias in disbelief.
One of the squad soldiers — Brann — just stared.
"…what the frak was that?" he whispered.
More movement.
From the shadows behind the statue, three more cultists emerged. One wore a flayed robe of skin. Another chanted in a guttural rhythm, eyes glowing violet. The third dragged a rusted flamer, trailing tubes filled with boiling pink fluid.
Elias stepped in front of Fira.
Not consciously. Instinct.
The System pulsed.
> Chakra Pool: 1.6 / 2.0
> Surge Active: Reflex Boost [MINOR]
> Status Effect: Adrenaline Link - Combat Awareness +15%
> Threat Level: HIGH
> Recommendation: Engage / Evade / Extract
The one with the flamer stepped forward and hissed, "She wants to see you."
Elias didn't reply.
He dropped low and drew in breath — something inside him moved. A center. A focus.
And then, for the second time in this life, he formed the seal:
Clone Technique.
Poof.
Two flickering duplicates burst to either side of him — shaky, barely stable, but real.
The cultist fired.
Pink flame roared through the smoke — consuming both clones instantly. The wave rolled toward Elias.
He leapt — but not away.
Through.
He timed it. Moved just behind the second clone's burst. The flames missed by inches. His coat singed, pain scorched his side — but he was inside the flamer's reach before the cultist could aim again.
Elias drove the revolver's barrel into the man's chin and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The cultist dropped.
The other two rushed him, screaming.
Brann and another trooper finally reacted — lasbolts split the air, striking one in the leg. The second kept coming — blade raised.
Elias turned, breath short, chakra fading.
Too slow—
The blade came down—
Blocked.
Fira, now on her feet, had caught the cultist's arm with both hands and drove a medicae scalpel straight into his neck.
Blood sprayed her face.
She didn't blink.
The fight was over in ten seconds.
Six dead civilians — or maybe just corpses that had worn civilian flesh. Two soldiers wounded. One lightly, one not breathing.
The boy who'd smiled? Gone.
The squad regrouped quickly, dragging the bodies into a corner. The wounded were stabilized. Kael barked orders and sent one man ahead to request evac or new directives.
Elias stood off to the side, breathing heavy.
He felt the withdrawal of chakra — like the plug had been pulled on a battery still in use.
Sweat soaked his neck. His ribs throbbed.
But more than that…
They had seen him.
No one was saying it.
Not yet.
But they had seen.
Fira approached him slowly.
Her hands were clean now. She'd wiped the blood away.
Her voice was quiet.
"You moved like a psyker."
"I'm not."
"You moved like one."
He said nothing.
She studied him — not like a medic now, but like a soldier considering an enemy. Or an ally she wasn't sure she could trust.
"You're not PDF. You're not a civvie. And you're not just lucky."
"No."
"Then what the hell are you?"
Elias looked at her. He didn't flinch.
"I don't know yet."
[END OF PART 3]