Elysia clearly saw ripples, like those on water, spreading across Wrath's furious face from the point where her whip kick had struck.
Wrath's once stern expression crumbled completely. All eight of his eyes rolled upward, his tongue lolled out, and a bizarre, gurgling sound escaped his lips:
"Yue~~~!!!"
Then, spinning like a top, he was hurled away out of sight.
Elysia swiftly retracted her leg and instinctively clutched her billowing skirt. She wasn't wearing safety shorts, and an accidental reveal would be disastrous.
Fortunately, few civilians were paying attention to her. Nearly everyone had scattered in all directions. Whether due to the country's frequent terrorist attacks or the remarkable resilience of its people, there was no pushing or trampling.
Even so, in those brief seconds, over a dozen people were killed or wounded. As Wrath charged forward, Pride completed his transformation on the spot. With a single sweep of his claws, he bisected everyone in the vicinity at the waist.
Pride's transformation was unlike Wrath's. While Wrath's form was grotesque, it at least retained a humanoid shape. Pride, however, rapidly swelled, transforming into a complete monster in the blink of an eye.
His body was covered in white scales, and three long necks supported the heads of a lion, a snake, and a wolf. Massive, fleshy bat-like wings sprouted from his back, and his limbs morphed into thick, bestial claws that gripped the ground.
In the next instant, Pride lunged forward, not toward Elysia on the high platform, but toward the fleeing civilians and the White Tower staff rushing toward him.
The longest snake head shot out like an arrow. In the blink of an eye, it bit off the upper body of the White Tower staff member who had first noticed the anomaly and was closest to the monster, sending a fountain of blood spraying across the area.
"Where did that monster come from?!"
"Damn it! Open fire!"
Immediately, fireballs, ice shards, wind blades, and other common abilities rained down on Pride, accompanied by a dense hail of gunfire.
Before the initial barrage could reach him, several pink arrows shot forward with surprising speed, piercing Pride's four claws and pinning him to the ground. Only then did the accumulated attacks finally slam into him.
Boom—!!!
The fireball, the fastest of the projectiles, detonated on impact, unleashing a massive explosion that sent smoke and dust billowing into the air. The ice cones, wind blades, and hail of bullets followed, disappearing into the swirling cloud.
Seeing this, Elysia couldn't help but mutter inwardly, "This is bad."
Simply put, according to the Smoke No Damage Law, this wave of attacks was doomed to fail.
(TL Note: Classic moment in anime where theres a ton of smoke after an attack but no dmg.)
To elaborate, the fireball's premature explosion created residual shockwaves and intense heat that would inevitably weaken the subsequent ice cones, wind blades, and bullets. Furthermore, the dense smoke obscured Elysia's vision, hindering her own attacks.
Elysia's gaze flickered to the source of the fireball—Carolina!
Good grief, it's you?!
Elysia couldn't decide whether to commend Carolina's swift reaction and decisive attack or scold her for being too hasty, turning good intentions into a counterproductive mess.
Meanwhile, as Pride and Wrath launched their assault, Old John's team had already reached three Cultist strongholds.
Leaning against a corner, Old John pulled out a small mirror. With a single glance, he pinpointed the precise locations of all enemies around the bend.
He then turned to his teammate beside him, who immediately gave him an "OK" sign.
In the next instant, Old John squeezed the trigger. The bullet traced a graceful arc, striking all three Cultists behind the corner squarely in the forehead with deadly accuracy.
Remarkably, not a single sound accompanied the gunshot, the bullet's impact, or the Cultists' collapse.
This was thanks to his teammate's ability: Silent Field. Its effect was simple yet potent—it created a special zone around them where all sound vanished.
After swiftly exchanging a few hand signals, the four-member team, including Old John and the Silent Ability User, moved quickly around the corner and continued deeper into the stronghold.
The scene resembled four elite players in a stealth co-op online game, their skill and coordination honed to perfection.
Even in complete silence, the four operatives communicated flawlessly. A single glance, a subtle gesture—born from countless battles and seamless coordination—allowed them to instantly grasp each other's intentions.
Old John moved through the shadows like the Grim Reaper, swiftly and precisely eliminating enemies from their patrol routes.
However, the other two cultist strongholds presented starkly different scenarios.
Barton led Second Squad directly to the main entrance of one such stronghold, making no attempt at stealth.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" a cultist, mid-drug high, snarled when he noticed the group at the gate.
In the next instant, a fiery projectile hurtled toward him.
Boom—!!!
Clatter. Barton tossed aside the empty rocket launcher without reloading, grabbing a Gatling gun instead.
It's worth noting that Barton was the eyepatch-wearing, one-eyed veteran in his fifties. Yet his taut, muscular physique belied his age entirely, making him look anything but an old man.
With belts of ammunition slung across their shoulders, Barton hefted the Gatling gun and marched into the cultist stronghold alongside his heavily armed comrades.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
The relentless barrage of gunfire transformed this ordinary, secluded residential area into a war zone, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder.
"The stench of iron and blood... this is the true scent of war," Barton muttered to himself as he and his team advanced. Any cultist foolish enough to show their face was torn to shreds within seconds by the metallic storm, reduced to literal puddles of minced meat.
If Old John's mission was a stealth game, Barton's was a full-blown combat simulation, straight out of Battlefield, designed to immerse them in the brutal chaos of war.
A bewildered civilian on the sidewalk fumbled for their phone and dialed 911.
"911, Florida Police Department. How can I help you?"
"Um... I'm witnessing a street shootout. One group is mowing down another with a Gatling gun..."
"???"