At Kingsleigh Corporation HQ — Banquet Hall
The moment Cain gave the command, Black Row agents burst into motion like shadows released from a cage.
Ren's sharp eyes caught the five agents closing in on Sebastian, while three others slipped out of the hall. He briefly wondered what their objective was—the laboratory? But he shoved the thought aside as chaos erupted across the banquet hall.
Screams split the air.
Guests scrambled to escape, but Black Row was merciless. One woman reached the emergency exit—but before she could breathe freedom, an agent's tendrils of smoke snaked out and suffocated her, the sickening sound of gagged gasps swallowed in the swirl of gray. A man in his mid-thirties turned to flee, only to be caught mid-stride by a spike of hardened smoke impaled him through the neck. Blood sprayed like a crimson fan across the tile, the air thick with death.
But not all guests were helpless.
Three individuals—Derrik, Luna, and Franz—friends of Liam from prominent Los Angeles families, stood their ground. Derrik grabbed a nearby oak banquet table, his awakened power flaring. The wood twisted and hardened into a makeshift shield.
THWACK! THWACK!
Smoke spikes struck the wooden shield, splinters flying with each impact.
Luna ducked instinctively. "Thanks, Derrik!"
Derrik kept his stance firm. "Don't overcommit when you attack. One mistake can get you killed!"
Franz, always the hot-blooded one, growled, "Are you two done flirting?"
FWOOOSH!
A surge of flame burst from his palms, slamming into a charging agent. The black smoke wavered under the intense heat, momentarily repelled.
Meanwhile, Ren caught a glimpse of Sebastian and the Black Row squad disappearing beyond the banquet hall's ruined doors, their clash echoing through the building.
Ren's mind narrowed, calculating.
Black Row. A criminal organization rooted deep in U.S. soil.
But why Noctis?
Do they want it to empower their own? Or reverse-engineer the formula into something worse?
He didn't have time to reach a conclusion.
His senses spiked.
Behind.
A Black Row agent, moving like a phantom, launched a barrage of jagged smoke spikes toward Ren's blindside.
But Ren was already moving.
His aether stirred to life—circulating through his awakened physique. In an instant, he flickered, a blur of afterimage—just like the Body Flicker Technique he remembered from the Naruto anime in his past life.
BANG!
He reappeared in front of the attacker, a faint ripple of air trailing his motion.
Before the agent could react—CRACK!
Ren's aether-infused fist smashed into his chest, the force caving in ribs and hurling the man like a ragdoll across the room. His body hit the far wall with a deafening thud and slumped, unconscious—or worse.
Everyone in the hall paused. Even Cain turned to glance.
Then two more agents rushed Ren, blades of smoke extending like scythes from their arms.
But Ren was already advancing.
CLANG! SHIIINK!
Their attacks came fast and vicious, slicing through air.
Ren ducked, twisted. His movements were precise, honed through years of training in both swordsmanship and close combat. His fists moved like pistons, and his feet were a blur of lethal footwork.
The first of the two barely got time to react before Ren's shin met his jaw—an aether-powered roundhouse kick that snapped his neck on impact. The man dropped, lifeless.
The second agent faltered. Bruised and staggering, he backed away, fear in his eyes.
Ren didn't give him the chance.
Flicker.
Ren vanished—and appeared directly in front of him.
With one hand, he summoned a blade of condensed aether—a glimmering, spectral sword.
SHUNK!
The blade pierced the agent's abdomen clean through. A moment of stunned silence.
Then Ren yanked sideways.
SHRRRRIP!
The aether sword cleaved the man in half at the waist, blood misting the air in a horrifying arc.
Ren stood over the bisected corpse, his eyes glowing faintly with the hum of circulating aether. The battlefield was far from calm—but everyone now knew who to fear.
Cain, watching from the distance, narrowed his eyes.
—————
When Cain witnessed what Ren was truly capable of, a flicker of realization darkened his gaze. Without hesitation, he barked a command to the shadows around him.
"You five—deal with that bodyguard," he snapped.
Five Black Row agents surged forward from the periphery, sleek in form and silent in motion—trained killers bred for precision. Cain's gaze didn't follow them. Instead, it stayed locked on Celeste Lancaster. His mind worked quickly, calculating. That bodyguard... he was no ordinary escort. The strength Ren displayed couldn't be coincidence. It had to be Alaric Lancaster's doing. Of course. His daughter wouldn't be protected by anyone less than elite.
Cain watched briefly as the agents clashed with Ren—flashes of movement, shockwaves of colliding force—then made his move.
He blurred forward, closing the distance toward Celeste in a blink, the marble beneath him cracking with the sheer velocity of his step. But Celeste had already noticed him.
With calm precision, she raised both arms and channeled her aether. A harmonic frequency rippled through the air, barely audible before it crescendoed into a deafening shockwave.
Resonant Pulse.
The blast struck Cain squarely in the chest. The concussive force cracked the air and hurled him backwards like a ragdoll, slamming him into a support column with a thunderous crunch. His vision spun, ears ringing, the world swaying with vertigo. He stumbled, fighting for balance as his equilibrium shattered.
"That bitch," he growled, tasting iron on his tongue.
His sight cleared after a few unsteady seconds, and he braced himself to retaliate—only for a blur to appear before him.
Ren.
Before Cain could react, Ren seized him by the face. Another flicker—space twisted—and in an instant, they vanished from the interior of the Kingsleigh Corporation headquarters.
They reappeared outside—in the HQ parking lot—Cain's body crashing violently into the hood of a car, metal groaning under the impact.
"What the fuck just happened?" Cain rasped, coughing as he rolled off the wrecked vehicle. He took in his surroundings, confusion twisting his features. "Teleportation…?" he muttered.
Ren gave no answer. He simply stood a few feet away, silent. Watching.
Cain rose slowly, brushing dust and shards of metal from his coat. His composure was strained, but not broken.
"You're strong," he admitted, voice low and edged with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. "So why waste that power playing bodyguard for the Lancasters? You could make a name for yourself in the awakened world."
Ren said nothing. But his gaze narrowed.
Then—he snapped his fingers.
The air around them tensed.
A deep hum resonated from nowhere and everywhere at once. A thin shimmer of light crackled through the air like glass catching sunlight. Then it spread—an expanding wave of translucent distortion rippling outward in a perfect dome, like ink dropped in still water.
The world outside the dome muted and blurred, the boundaries of space warping. The horizon bent subtly, and the atmosphere took on an otherworldly stillness—as if sound and time itself had been silenced.
Spatial Isolation.
Cain's eyes widened. His voice trembled.
"No… that's impossible. Spatial Isolation is reserved for high-tier awakeners. Only top-level elites can use it. How the hell can a bodyguard use it?"
Fear bled through the cracks in his arrogance.
Ren finally spoke—his voice cold and final.
"Dead men tell no tales."
With a flick of his hand, a sword forged of condensed aether materialized—its edges humming with latent energy, its form sleek and honed by countless battles.
He moved forward, blade raised, his presence swallowing the air.
And Cain knew—this was no bodyguard.
This was judgment.