"What?"
The pot-bellied councilor's shout made Jack and the others whirl toward the door.
Vega stood there, his face unreadable, casually tossing aside a corpse with a snapped neck.
Thud.
The sound of the body hitting the ground struck like a hammer to their chests. Fear coiled around Jack and the other councilors—their limbs trembled at the thought that, in another minute, they might be the ones with twisted necks.
" Vega. Listen to us!" Jack stammered, hands raised. "We didn't betray you! The Ten Elders sent negotiators—we were just receiving them!"
"Y-yes!" the others chimed in, nodding frantically. They had seen Vega in action at Pendleton's headquarters—the way he'd descended like a demon king still haunted them.
Now, with barely ten meters between them, terror turned their bones to jelly.
Vega ignored their excuses. His footsteps echoed like a death knell, each step tightening the noose around their throats. The stench of sweat and urine filled the air as the big-bellied councilor lost control of his bladder.
They wanted to run. But their bodies refused to move.
A crushing killing intent—thick enough to choke on—pinned them in place. A voice whispered in their minds:
"Move, and you die."
Vega's gaze swept the empty club behind them. "Seems your new master doesn't care for his dogs," he mused. "I gave them time to save you. Yet no one came."
A flick of his wrist.
Phantom claws lashed out—thwick, thwick, thwick—and heads toppled like rotten fruit.
"Finally decided to show yourselves?" Vega eyed the three figures emerging from the shadows.
His Nen-enhanced vision dissected them instantly. Their energy reserves dwarfed his own—but Vega didn't flinch. Raw power had never been his only weapon.
The red-scaled man—Crimson Serpent—kicked a severed head aside. "Saved us the trouble of cleaning up these traitors," he sneered, though his eyes locked onto Vega's cursed sword. "So. You do know Nen. And that blade… your Hatsu, I presume?"
He snapped orders to his comrades: "Lizard. Hound. Don't touch that sword. We don't know its ability."
The muscle-bound Hound cracked his knuckles. "conjuring-types are my favorite," he grinned. "All I need is enough Nen to shield my—"
BOOM!
Twenty meters vanished in a blur as Hound closed the gap, fist rocketing toward Vega's temple—
—only to smash into spectral armor materializing around him.
"Tch. Parlor tricks," Hound spat, doubling down with a Nen-infused haymaker.
The impact sent shockwaves through the courtyard.
Hound's smirk died when he saw:
The armor? Unscratched.
Vega? Unmoved.
His own fingers? Shattered.
"This isn't armor—it's a damn fortress—"
Vega's gauntleted hand seized Hound's wrist. "My turn."
Nen spiraled around his fist—
CRUNCH.
Ribs caved. Aura shattered. Hound cartwheeled through the air, one arm ripped clean off, before skidding to a stop—gasping, dying.
Vega turned to the remaining two. "Choose. How you want to die."