The world beyond the military base's fences was a canvas of decay painted in shades of grey and brown. The silence was a heavy blanket, broken only by the scuff of their boots on cracked asphalt and the occasional, distant moan carried on the wind. Noctus and Artemis moved with a predator's grace, their senses extended, not just with sight and sound, but with the very air itself. Noctus had suggested heading west; the currents had carried faint, ragged whispers of breath and the metallic scent of fear from that direction. Hope, however faint, was a resource as vital as food or water.
They hadn't traveled far when the ambush came. It wasn't sophisticated. A rusted truck was pulled across the road, and from behind it and the shells of surrounding buildings, a group of a dozen men emerged. They were a sorry lot, their clothes ragged, their faces gaunt, but their eyes held a desperate, feral cunning. They carried an assortment of weapons—crowbars, pipes, a few hunting knives. Their leader, a hulking man with a scar across his lip, stepped forward, a crude axe resting on his shoulder.
"Well, well," the man rasped, his gaze sweeping over them. It lingered on their clean, relatively intact clothing, then on the confident way they held themselves. But his attention, lecherous and possessive, quickly settled on Artemis. He looked her up and down, a slow, vulgar smile spreading across his face. "Look what the wind blew in. A real pretty one. Ain't seen one so clean in a long time."
His companions chuckled, their own gazes stripping Artemis with a brazen hunger that had nothing to do with food. They were looking at her like a piece of meat, a prize to be claimed. Artemis's posture, usually so cool and composed, tightened. A flicker of disgust and unease crossed her features, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She wasn't afraid of a fight, but the violation in their stares was a different kind of threat.
Noctus didn't move. He didn't tense or reach for a weapon. He simply took a single, fluid step to the side, placing his body directly between the thugs' line of sight and Artemis. He didn't block her physically, but he blocked them. Their lewd gazes now fell upon his back, their intended target shielded by his presence.
Then, he did something that made Artemis's breath catch. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her over his shoulder. And he smiled.
It wasn't the cheerful, rebellious grin of Cyclone. It was something colder, sharper. A predator's smile. It was a smile that promised a storm, not of chaos, but of focused, absolute retribution. In that smile, she saw the unchained Tempest, the one who had declared he would rule order with his own chaos. And it was all for her.
"Let me handle it," he said, his voice deceptively light, almost conversational.
Artemis stared at him, her confusion at his sudden shift in demeanor warring with the intense blush that heated her cheeks. The cold fear the thugs had inspired was instantly replaced by a different, warmer, more flustering feeling. She found she couldn't hold his gaze. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"Yeah," she whispered, the word barely audible.
That was all the permission Noctus needed.
He turned back to face the group, his smile gone, replaced by an expression of utter, dispassionate calm. The lead thug, emboldened by what he perceived as weakness, sneered. "What's the matter, pretty boy? Gonna be a hero?"
Noctus didn't answer. He simply raised his right hand, palm open, towards the sky.
The air began to hum.
It was a low, sub-audible thrum that vibrated in their teeth and bones. The dust on the road started to tremble, then lift, swirling in invisible currents. The thugs' jeers died in their throats, their expressions shifting from arrogance to confusion, then to dawning horror.
Noctus's open hand slowly curled into a fist.
And the world around the thugs screamed.
The air itself became a prison. It wasn't a tornado that lifted and threw; it was a vortex that compressed. The thugs were suddenly trapped in a cylinder of howling, suffocating wind, the pressure dropping so rapidly their eardrums popped. They gasped, but the air was being stolen from their lungs, whipped away into the maelstrom. They were caught in the eye of a storm that Noctus had created just for them, a display of power so precise and terrifying it was beyond their comprehension.
He didn't kill them. He didn't need to. He simply showed them a fraction of the abyss that resided within him. He showed them what it meant to threaten what was under his protection. After a long moment that felt like an eternity to the trapped men, he opened his fist.
The wind died instantly. The compressed air exploded outwards with a soft whump, throwing the thugs off their feet. They landed in a groaning, terrified heap, gasping and clutching their throats, their weapons forgotten.
Noctus didn't even look at them as they scrambled away, tripping over each other in their panic to flee. He simply turned back to Artemis, his expression once again neutral, as if he had just swatted a fly.
"Shall we continue?" he asked, his voice once again its usual calm, pragmatic tone.
Artemis could only nod, her heart still pounding, not from fear of the thugs, but from the terrifying, exhilarating display of power she had just witnessed, and the single, simple reason behind it. He had handled it.