The brute lunged forward, fists swinging like sledgehammers. Each strike could shatter bone, but Jonathan weaved past them with swift, practiced movements—calm, evasive, unreadable.
Rebecca crouched behind a toppled shelf in the corner, watching in silence. Her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes stayed sharp. She couldn't interfere—not yet. One wrong move would only put Jonathan at greater risk.
The room trembled under the brute's heavy steps. He wasn't slowing down.
Jonathan studied him carefully. The brute's enhanced muscle mass came at a cost—he was growing impatient. Predictable. Reckless. But even so, Jonathan couldn't do any real damage unarmed. His fists might as well be paper against that mutated hide.
The brute snarled. "Are you just gonna dance around like a coward?!"
Jonathan said nothing. He kept his breathing steady, eyes locked on the monster's stance. As he leaned back to avoid a low swing, he felt a rush of heat behind him. A pipe—warm, hissing—exposed.
An idea sparked.
He baited the brute with a glance, then darted left, planting his feet as the creature charged again.
At the last second, he dodged.
The brute smashed into the steel pipe. A loud hiss tore through the room as scalding water burst out, drenching his upper torso.
"RAAGH!!" the brute roared, steam rising off his blistered skin. The chemicals in his system gave him resilience—but not immunity.
Staggering from the pain, the brute stumbled back. Jonathan's boot struck something hard. He looked down.
A knife. Battered, but still sharp.
Better than nothing.
He scooped it up, flipped it in his grip, and slid into a defensive stance.
"You're dead!" the brute bellowed, eyes burning with rage. "I'll rip you apart!"
Jonathan offered a cold smile. "I'd like to see you try."
The brute charged again, screaming like a beast.
But this time, Jonathan was ready.
He tapped into the wind element—not to attack, but to move. His body lightened, each step swifter. Reflexes sharpened. Breathing synced.
He slipped past another wild swing and cut behind the brute in one fluid motion.
Slash.
The knife tore across the brute's back, leaving a ragged wound. Blood and blackened serum splattered the floor.
"GRAAHH!!"
The brute swung an elbow, but Jonathan had already leapt back, landing smoothly.
He crouched low, knife steady, eyes calculating.
The brute panted heavily, skin burned and bleeding. The injuries were minor, but they were piling up.
"You're slowing down," Jonathan said.
"Shut up!" the brute roared, clutching his side. His rage burned hotter with every word.
Rebecca watched, heart pounding. Jonathan was holding his own, but she could see it—he was waiting for an opening, striking only when needed. Precision over power. But even one mistake could cost him everything.
Jonathan kept moving, darting in and out, slashing when he could. The brute's skin was now lined with cuts, but none were fatal.
"I'll just have to wear him down…" Jonathan thought.
The brute charged again, but only hit the wall as Jonathan slipped past him.
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "The effect of Compound C should last a few more minutes. Unless…"
Her expression darkened. "Jonathan! Be careful! He's getting more dangerous by the second!"
Distracted by her voice, Jonathan turned his head—and didn't see the punch until it was nearly too late. He dodged, but barely, and landed roughly ten meters away.
"Damn… he's getting faster," Jonathan muttered, gritting his teeth.
The brute grinned, eyes wild. "Think you can run forever, boy?"
He started pacing toward him again, voice low and hateful. "After you… I'll go for them. They used me. Tossed me aside like garbage. They'll pay."
Jonathan's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Nexlark," the brute spat. "You think they care about you? You're just another tool."
"I only want to be a hero," Jonathan said, standing tall. "If stopping you is the way to prove myself, then so be it."
"Foolish dreams!" the brute growled. "They'll never acknowledge a buffoon like you."
He lunged forward, faster than before.
"Let me see you dance!"
Jonathan ducked under a punch—but the brute followed up with a kick that caught him in the ribs, sending him flying into a wall.
"Ugh… damn it," Jonathan groaned, struggling to his feet. "He's getting too fast…"
The brute laughed, slowly approaching. "An aspiring hero, huh? Should've stayed in the academy, boy."
Jonathan braced himself, tightening his grip on the knife. Blood trickled from his mouth, but his eyes didn't waver.
The brute raised his fists for the finishing blow.
But then—A voice, deep and unwavering, echoed.
"Pick someone your own size."
From the shadows stepped a man—tall, broad-shouldered, brown-skinned. He wore a black turtleneck and jeans, simple but commanding. His arms were crossed, his gaze calm.
The brute turned, snorting. "Oh? Here to steal the spotlight?"
The newcomer didn't flinch. "Nah. Just not a fan of bullies."
Rebecca's eyes widened with relief. "Darius Cane…"
The brute's lips curled into a snarl. "You think you can stop me?"
Without a word, Darius stepped forward.
"I know I can."
"NO ONE ESCAPES FROM ME!!" the brute roared, and with a deafening battle cry, charged at the new challenger.
Jonathan, catching his breath, wiped blood from his lip and looked toward Darius.
"Now this… this might even the odds."