The Rank 4s charged first.
Seven of them with weapons drawn and burning with the desperate aggression of men who thought numbers mattered. Three came at Kael. Four went for Sage.
Kael didn't move.
His bandaged hands moved.
The first operative's neck got pulverized. Kael's palm connected with the man's throat and kept going, fingers closing around something that crumbled instead of snapped. The body hadn't even registered death before Kael was already turning.
Second operative. Same motion. Same result. His fist went through the neck like it was wet paper—no resistance, no effort, just the obscene wet crunch of vertebrae exploding into fragments.
Third operative skidded to a stop. Eyes wide behind his mask. Mouth opening to scream.
Kael's other hand found his throat before the sound escaped.
Crunch.
Three bodies hit the ground in less than two seconds.
