The assassin launches forward before Johnathan can even inhale. His motion is a blur of steel and lethal intent, the glowing dagger cutting the air as if slicing through time itself. Lydia barely manages to shout an order when the blade darts for Jonathan's heart with supernatural speed.
Johnathan doesn't think. His body reacts before his mind even forms a command. Time stretches. The dagger's trajectory becomes painfully clear, each movement slowed down as though the world has been placed underwater. Johnathan steps aside with unnatural precision, feeling the edge of the blade brush heat across his ribs. His arm snaps forward. His fingers clamp around the assassin's wrist.
There's a crack which was raw, sharp, brutal. The assassin screams.
Johnathan stares at his own hand, stunned. He hadn't grabbed the wrist to break it. He only wanted to stop the blade. Yet he crushed it like flimsy wood.
Lydia's eyes widen. She has seen dozens of awakened individuals, trained killers, generations of Collin en heirs. Still, she whispers to herself, shaken, "That strength… it shouldn't be possible. Not at Stage One."
The assassin grits his teeth and switches the dagger to his uninjured hand, but Johnathan is already moving. Not because he decides to. His body acts from some deep instinct, from a reservoir of training he never received.
A voice echoes in the center of his skull, steady as a drumbeat. "Use your Resonance. Channel your breath through the Core."
Johnathan feels the mark on his chest pulse like a second heart. He tries to understand what the voice means, but there's no time. The assassin lunges again, forcing Johnathan into motion. He draws in a sharp breath without knowing why, as though obeying something ancient buried in his cells.
The voice returns, firm, almost instructional. "Exhale sharply. Release the flow."
Johnathan lets out a sudden breath.
The air ripples.
A shockwave bursts from his body, violent and invisible, exploding outward like a pressure bomb. The assassin is launched across the room, smashing into a reinforced metal wall hard enough to dent it. His body hits the floor as if gravity has doubled its weight.
Johnathan staggers. His head spins from disbelief. "I didn't mean to do that…" he mutters, breath trembling.
The voice inside answers, amused. "You merely followed instinct. More will come."
As if on cue, alarms shriek louder, and the corridor outside erupts with gunfire. Shouts echo down the hall. Lydia's operatives form a protective shield around Jonathan. Two rush to the door, firing at shadowy shapes rapidly approaching through the haze of smoke and flashing red light.
"Multiple intruders confirmed!" one operative shouts over the chaos. "They're breaching from all wings!"
Lydia's jaw tightens with a controlled fury. "Secure every exit corridor! Johnathan stays in formation center!"
But Johnathan can already feel something dangerous pressing closer. His senses stretch outward again, picking up vibrations through walls, detecting footsteps from the floors above and below. He feels movement before he sees it. His instincts drag him forward, past the operatives.
"Jonathan, stop!" Lydia snaps, but he doesn't listen. His body moves like it belongs to someone who has spent years training for war.
Two masked attackers burst from the left corridor, blades flashing. Johnathan doesn't wait for them to strike. He steps into their rhythm, as though he learned their combat style long ago. His hand grabs one assassin by the arm, flips him over the shoulder, and drives a knee into his ribcage. The second assassin comes with a spinning slash, but Johnathan ducks, lifts his elbow, and smashes the blade arm at the joint. A sickening snap follows.
Jonathan's muscles respond with frightening precision, too precise for a beginner, too natural for someone who never trained. He should be horrified by what he's doing, but adrenaline and instinct swallow fear whole. The attackers crumble like they were made of fragile bone and cheap metal.
Lydia sees it and steps back, almost reverent, but equally concerned. "He's not adapting to the Core… it's adapting to him."
Johnathan doesn't hear her. He's busy pinning the first assassin to the ground, rage and confusion boiling underneath his skin. He slams the masked man's head to the floor and shoves the mask aside. "Who sent you? Why attack us?" His voice isn't pleading. It's searching for answers he's been denied his entire life.
The assassin coughs blood, laughing through the pain. "It doesn't matter… you won't live long enough to learn."
Johnathan grips his throat harder, instinct burning through him. "Who sent you?"
The dying man's lips stretch into a blood-slick grin. "Blackwell knows you're alive."
The name hits Lydia like a gunshot. Her composure cracks, just for an instant. She turns sharply to her team. "All forces reinforce perimeter defense! Now!"
Johnathan looks up at her, the name burning into him even though he doesn't understand it. "Who's Blackwell?"
Lydia doesn't answer. Her silence is too heavy, carrying years of war, betrayal, and ghosts.
Johnathan opens his mouth to demand more, but there's no time.
The floors tremble.
The ceiling above them groans under pressure. Lydia's gaze snaps upward. Her instincts scream a warning. "Everyone brace!"
A deafening blast detonates from beneath the building. The foundation shudders violently, throwing operatives off their feet. The lights explode. The reinforced metal walls twist as if hit by a giant's fist.
Johnathan sees a glimmer before the explosion fully registers, tiny crystalline charges attached to the structure beams. The assassins didn't just infiltrate.
They planted demolition charges.
Concrete, steel, and shattered glass rain from above. Lydia rushes toward Jonathan, reaching for him. Johnathan tries to shield her in return. A violent roar tears the world apart as the entire safe house collapses inward.
The last thing Johnathan hears is the ancient voice speaking calmly through the chaos.
"Do not fear the fall, heir. Survival is your birthright."
The building crashes down on top of him.