The commander moved with terrifying efficiency, slipping through the chaos, ignoring blows that should have crippled it, singular focus narrowing on the quiet, radiant anomaly at the centre of Snow Team.
Felicity felt it. Not hunger.
Recognition.
Victor was already there.
He intercepted the creature mid-stride, unleashing his power fully—fire roaring, ice snapping—as he forced the commander back with overwhelming force.
"Stay with me," he snarled, gripping Felicity's wrist without looking away.
She nodded, breath hitching, the space inside her pulling, humming with power eager to answer a call she didn't yet grasp.
Ivan's team closed in again.
Legend's shadows hardened into blades, slicing at the creature's limbs. Marx redirected lightning into Victor's fire, supercharging it into white-hot arcs. Pope, silent until now, slammed both fists down, stone erupting upward to pin the commander's legs.
The creature fell to one knee. It looked up at them. And smiled.
