Eight clean, seamless slashes burst outward like a violent storm of steel, engulfing the pale agent completely. The arcs overlapped with surgical precision, crossing and recrossing until they formed a lethal cage that should have reduced him to fragments in less than a heartbeat.
And yet, just before the blade could carve through flesh, the man vanished.
In his place, a strange cloud of black mist lingered, swirling briefly in the air as though reluctant to disperse before thinning into nothing. The Eight Blades Flash sliced cleanly through empty space and dissipating vapor, cutting nothing but air.
Teleportation.
Richard's eyes narrowed as the realization settled in. The pale agent hadn't dodged through speed or reflex. He hadn't twisted out of range or blocked at the last instant. He had simply removed himself from the equation entirely.
Missed.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Eight Blades Flash had failed to connect with its target. That single fact tightened something inside his chest, not fear exactly, but the cold awareness that the battlefield had just shifted.
His expression hardened as he studied the fading black vapor. It was eerily familiar in form, if not in color. The phenomenon resembled the Red Devil's crimson smoke or Nightcrawler's indigo burst when they displaced themselves through space. Different hue, different texture, but the underlying principle felt disturbingly similar.
Was it truly that kind of teleportation?
If it was, then this fight had just become far more complicated than he preferred.
Richard's Flash was spatial displacement within a defined radius, currently extended to five hundred meters after enhancement. It was efficient and nearly instantaneous, perfect for short-range repositioning and ambushes, but it was still constrained by distance. Nightcrawler, even before mastering his mutation, could jump several miles within line of sight. At peak control, his range became alarmingly flexible, bending the rules of engagement.
As for the Red Devil, crossing thousands of miles in minutes while carrying passengers wasn't even considered extraordinary for him.
This agent's ability felt closer to theirs than to Richard's own.
In previous battles, Richard had relied heavily on Flash to dictate tempo, to reposition unpredictably, and to execute lethal surprise attacks. Now he was facing someone whose mobility appeared to surpass his own. If the pale agent could evade Eight Blades Flash so casually, then techniques like Zanshin, Iai Slash, or Earth-Shatter would likely meet the same fate.
Even large-scale elemental assaults would struggle to secure a hit.
Unless he could interrupt the teleport.
Richard exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation simmering beneath the surface. He hated teleporters, not because they were invincible, but because they disrupted rhythm. Every strike became a gamble against absence.
While reassessing the situation, he allowed himself a brief glance toward the remaining female agent. She hadn't moved since the exchange began, and she hadn't displayed any visible mutation. That stillness was not comforting. It was calculated.
If the giant earlier had been the frontline tank and the pale agent the assassin, then she was either long-range artillery or battlefield support. Neither scenario favored him. Her continued presence meant variables he had yet to account for.
He needed to break their coordination.
A plan formed in an instant.
Richard lifted his blade slightly and spoke without turning around, his voice steady and cold. "This is between me and the Mutant Affairs Department. Stay out of it."
On the surface, assistance from Jean and Logan would reduce pressure and increase firepower. In reality, their involvement would complicate what he intended to do next. He needed a clean field, no distractions, no friendly interference.
Jean hesitated only briefly before giving a subtle signal to withdraw. She understood his tone well enough to recognize it wasn't bravado. Logan bristled, jaw tight and claws itching to extend, but he complied after a second of visible reluctance. Clarice moved quickly, ushering the children farther back into the trees.
Good.
Richard adjusted his stance and shifted his focus entirely to the female agent. Removing her would either cripple their tactical structure or force the teleporter into a predictable reaction.
Flash.
He vanished from his original position without warning, air collapsing inward where he had stood. In the next instant, he reappeared behind the woman, blade already descending toward her neck in a clean, decisive arc meant for execution.
Whether she was a mage, support, or something else entirely did not matter. Eliminating her first would either end the confrontation immediately or trigger the opening he needed.
The pale agent reacted exactly as Richard had anticipated.
Black mist erupted violently between them.
The teleporter materialized directly in the path of the descending blade, inserting himself between Richard and the female agent. He did not attempt to parry or block the strike in any conventional manner. Instead, he abandoned defense entirely and lunged forward, driving his dagger straight toward Richard's heart.
It was a calculated gamble.
If Richard committed to the beheading strike, the woman might die—but so would he. If he withdrew to preserve himself, she would survive. The teleporter was trading his own life for deterrence, betting on instinct.
In his mind, Richard would choose survival.
He miscalculated.
Richard did not Flash away.
Four Alpha-level X-genes were active within him at that moment: Plunder, Super Strength, Super Physique, and Super Regeneration. The combination wasn't theoretical; it was tested in blood.
Super Physique alone elevated his durability beyond conventional firearms. Armor-piercing rounds from anti-materiel rifles would struggle to breach his skin. His musculature and tissue density were closer to reinforced composite than organic flesh.
And Super Regeneration ensured that even if something did penetrate, survival was not in question.
The dagger struck with full force.
The black blade collided with his left chest, precisely where a normal human heart would lie. The impact was solid and decisive, the kind meant to kill instantly.
The result stunned the attacker.
The metal did not pierce.
Instead, it pressed against Richard's skin as though forced against hardened alloy. There was resistance. Absolute resistance. No blood flowed. No flesh yielded. The blade failed to sink even a centimeter.
The pale agent's eyes widened in disbelief as the reality set in. His hand trembled slightly, not from effort but from shock.
Impossible.
He immediately attempted to teleport again.
Richard had been waiting for that exact decision.
Whip of the Mind.
An invisible psychic lash cracked across the agent's consciousness like a bolt of lightning. There was no physical manifestation, no sound, but the effect was immediate and violent.
The teleporter convulsed as every muscle in his body seized simultaneously. The pain was not physical in the traditional sense. It was deeper, a neurological rupture that scrambled thought and fractured concentration. His mind became static, fragmented and chaotic.
Teleportation requires intent.
Intent requires clarity.
The ability collapsed before it could activate.
Got you.
Richard pivoted sharply, abandoning the downward strike meant for the female agent. His blade reversed direction mid-arc, momentum flowing seamlessly into lethal precision as he committed fully to the new target.
Eight Blades Flash.
This time, there was no mist, no displacement, no vanishing act.
The slashes erupted in perfect synchronization, each arc calibrated and merciless. Steel carved through flesh before the teleporter's mind could even comprehend the failure of his power.
Eight separate cuts.
Eight precise divisions.
The pale agent's body disassembled mid-air, severed cleanly along intersecting lines. Blood sprayed in sharp crimson arcs before fragments collapsed onto the forest floor in a grotesque scatter of limbs and torn fabric.
Silence followed the violence.
The black mist did not return.
Teleportation requires survival.
He no longer qualified.
.....
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