The dozen or so people in front of Ethan froze in shock, throwing up their abilities in a panic to defend themselves.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
The sound of tearing cloth ripped through the air—then silence.
Three streaks of bloody light cut forward. The lowest one skimmed over the fat man sprawled on the floor and punched through the opposite cabin wall, carving three neat holes before vanishing into the ocean.
Not even a splash. The water simply parted, swallowing the light whole.
The suite fell quiet.
Everyone facing Ethan remained locked in their stances, motionless as if they had turned to stone.
Drip.
A thin stream of blood slid down a man's neck and spattered on the floor. The small sound acted like a trigger.
Bodies collapsed in unison.
Splash.
The smell hit them immediately—thick, metallic, and nauseating, carrying with it an undertone of rot.
More than a dozen people lay strewn about, hacked into pieces.
