Ronan's warhammer smashed through the street, sending concrete and metal flying. Screams echoed from below as civilians and outlaws alike scattered.
Buildings shook. Fires broke out. The air reeked of smoke and terror.
"Ronan~ enough!" Nebula snapped, glancing around. "This is the Collector's domain."
"You want to start a war with him too?"
But Ronan, blinded by fury, didn't even hear her.
His arrogance had long consumed his reason, and now the universe itself seemed too small to contain his wrath.
"Let the Collector come." He growled, smashing another wall into rubble.
"If he wants to challenge me for the Orb, he's welcome to die with the rest."
He raised his hammer again, only to pause mid-motion.
A figure stood alone at the center of the street, directly in his path.
Nebula's eyes narrowed.
"Wait… who~" Her voice caught as she saw what the man was casually tossing in one hand.
A silver metal sphere, smooth, hollow, and unmistakable.
The Orb!
The very object Ronan had scoured the stars for.
The figure was Soren, he flipped the Orb lazily into the air, caught it, and repeated the motion like it was a toy.
But behind that relaxed air, his eyes were cold.
The accusers hesitated, staring.
Then they began to laugh.
"What, is this guy insane?" One sneered.
"He must be! Jumped out here alone, playing catch with the Orb. What's he gonna do, bore us to death?"
"Hey! Kid!" Another barked, stepping forward.
His scaly skin glinted under the dying sunlight, and his mouth stretched wide, almost to his ears, revealing jagged fangs. "Hand it over. Maybe we'll let you die quick."
Soren didn't respond.
To the accusers, he looked like nothing special… thin, quiet, not even wearing armor. Just another fool who'd bitten off more than he could chew.
Ronan stayed silent, watching closely.
Let them test him. If this stranger really had wiped out Kratt's team, Ronan wanted to know how.
Another accuser stepped forward, grinning. "Hey! I'm talking to you, punk. You deaf?"
The creature raised its weapon, aiming directly at Soren's chest.
"Noisy." Soren muttered.
An invisible wave burst outward from him, with no sound, no warning, only force.
The accuser who had aimed his weapon suddenly screamed. His entire body locked up, spasming violently as he dropped his gun. His limbs twisted at unnatural angles.
Blood dripped from his eyes.
The others stumbled back in alarm.
"What the?! What's wrong with him?"
"He didn't even move!"
The screaming accuser collapsed, convulsing on the ground like a puppet with cut strings.
His roar was cut off mid-breath as a sickening crack-crack-crack echoed through the street.
His body twisted unnaturally, bones snapping like dry branches. Under an invisible force, he was contorted, spun and crushed, his limbs warping into grotesque angles.
His weapon? A shattered mess of metal, crushed into a clump of useless scrap.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The remaining accusers hesitated, eyes darting between the mangled corpse of their comrade and the calm figure at the center of the street—Soren, still toying with the Orb like nothing had happened.
"What kind of power is that?"
A moment of fear passed through the ranks, but only for a moment. These were not ordinary soldiers.
These were accusers: ruthless enforcers forged in blood and war. Fear was a flicker in their minds, quickly drowned by the heat of fury.
"Kill him!" One shouted.
In an instant, chaos erupted.
Blasters roared. Energy blades lit up the shadows. Explosive rounds and plasma bolts filled the air, all aimed at Soren.
The entire block was consumed in a blinding storm of color and noise as they fired everything they had.
But the figure they targeted shimmered…
"Afterimage?!" Nebula barked.
Across the street, Soren reappeared like a ghost, completely untouched.
He raised one hand, and the Orb hovered at his side as if obeying his will.
"Midnight Funeral." His voice was soft.
A deep rumble answered him.
The ground beneath his feet darkened, not from shadow, but from pure magic.
A black circle of runes ignited around him, pulsing with unholy light. The darkness thickened, growing outward in waves like a spreading infection.
In seconds, an oppressive, choking gloom blanketed the district, block after block swallowed by it.
The accusers screamed, but their voices vanished into the pitch-black fog.
Ronan's eyes widened. The calm he held moments ago cracked as he felt the overwhelming death-force within the black tide. His grip on the hammer tightened.
"That's no illusion."
"That's forbidden sorcery."
Beside him, Nebula tensed. "He's not just some psychic freak... what is he?"
The darkness rolled toward them, drowning everything. Ronan's instincts flared.
"Enough!"
With a roar, he slammed his warhammer into the ground.
A shockwave erupted from him, brilliant blue energy exploding outward. The sheer pressure tore through the street, cracking stone, ripping through the atmosphere.
The wave met the tide of blackness like two storms colliding, magic and power clashing in a cosmic struggle.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze.
BOOM.
The black mist halted in place, as if hitting a wall. Ronan stood firm, surrounded by a fading circle of scorched stone.
He had stopped the tide, but only in his direction.
All around them, the screaming continued.
Nebula turned sharply, eyes wide. "The others... they're still inside!"
The black fog churned like a living thing. From within, muffled screams and guttural cries echoed, a chorus of fear, agony, and madness.
Ronan's jaw clenched. He had expected a scuffle. A show of strength. But this...
He stared into the creeping blackness and growled, "You dare unleash this... this magic in front of me?"
Soren's voice drifted out from the gloom, echoing eerily.
"You brought death to this place without care. I'm just giving it back."