The figure lunged again, sword slicing down in a clean arc. Xavier sidestepped, caught the man's wrist mid-swing, and drove a knee into his ribs. The hit made the figure grunt, but he twisted out, swinging the sword wildly to force distance. Xavier ducked under the blade, slammed his palm into the man's chest, and shoved him back into a crate.

Xavier was only using his hands, no weapons — no tricks. Just pure movement and control. And still, he was pushing the man back.

The figure's calm started to crack. His swings got faster, sloppier. He growled and came at Xavier again, this time with full aggression — both swords drawn now, slicing in quick, deadly patterns. The air whistled with every strike.

Xavier dodged, blocked, slipped between attacks, his eyes following every motion with surgical focus. Then, as the figure raised both blades for a final strike, Xavier's hand snapped up — fingers clenched midair.

He used telekinesis.

The blades stopped. Just froze — inches from his face.

The figure's body jerked, muscles straining, but he couldn't move. The swords trembled, caught in invisible pressure.

Xavier's eyes gleamed faintly, his voice calm and sharp. "You done?"

The figure's breathing grew heavy, confusion clear even through the mask. His arms refused to move — no matter how much strength he used.

Xavier tilted his head, studying him. "You shouldn't swing that fast if you can't handle the recoil."

Xavier's jaw tightened as the telekinetic hold began to waver — it felt like holding a wild current between his fingers. His vision flickered, a dull ache pressing against his temples. He exhaled sharply, clenched his other fist, and broke the stalemate the old-fashioned way.

He slammed a punch straight into the figure's face. The hit cracked through the silence — a solid, heavy sound — and before the man could even stumble back, Xavier twisted his body and drove his foot into his gut. The figure coughed, bent forward from the blow, and Xavier followed it up with a sharp kick to his hands. The swords flew from his grip, clattering against the floor as the man rolled across the ground, groaning.

The stranger pushed himself up slowly, clutching his stomach, his breath ragged beneath the mask. Then he finally spoke, his tone weak and strained. "Are you… a Nova?"

Xavier paused, one brow rising. 'Nova?' The word echoed faintly in his head. He'd heard it before — that space mercenary commander, the one who burned his village, had called him that too. But he had no idea what Nova was, and he didn't bother learning about it since it didn't matter and wasn't important to him.

Still, he played along. "Yeah," he said flatly, tilting his head. "What of it?"

The figure immediately bowed his head, the tension draining from his stance. "Forgive me," he said quickly. "I didn't realize… I thought you were one of them."

Xavier crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Why did you attack me so suddenly?"

The man hesitated, lowering his sword arm completely. "You broke into my base," he said finally, voice rough, almost defensive. "I had no reason to assume you were friendly."

There was a pause — both just staring at each other, quiet except for the sound of a broken chain swaying somewhere in the dark.

"Could've talked it out first," Xavier muttered, stepping closer. "Would've saved you a few ribs."

"This isn't the first time someone's come sneaking in here," the man shot back. "I've been attacked before. I don't wait for conversation anymore."

Xavier gave a small scoff. "What's going on here?"

The figure sighed, resting a hand on his chest. "Someone put a bounty on my head," he said. "High enough that every lowlife in the lower sectors wants a piece. I've been hiding here, moving around every few days. When I saw you climb through that window, I thought you were another bounty hunter."

"Lucky for you, I'm not," Xavier said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "If I was, you'd already be dead."

The figure didn't argue. He just stood there quietly, breathing hard, the faint red light from outside glinting off the edge of his fallen blade.

"You got a name?" Xavier asked finally.

The man hesitated, then nodded. "Ryn."

Xavier smirked slightly, brushing dust off his jacket. "Alright, Ryn. I will let you live, but you owe me an apology and a drink for that stunt."

Ryn gave a reluctant, faint chuckle. "Fair enough… Nova."

Xavier's eyes narrowed slightly at the word again, but he didn't correct him. He just muttered, "Don't call me that," and started walking deeper into the factory.

Ryn sheathed his sword and leaned against a cracked pillar, still catching his breath. "So," he said, tone rough but curious, "what were you doing in my hideout, Nova?"

Xavier brushed a bit of dust off his sleeve and looked around at the dark, hollow space. "Didn't even know it was your hideout," he said. "I was just chasing someone. A rat slipped out of my hands and ran through these alleys, so I followed."

Ryn frowned. "You're hunting someone?"

"Yeah." Xavier pulled a small holochip from his jacket and flicked it on. Kael's image hovered midair — grainy, but clear enough. "This bastard. He doesn't deserve to live. He is worse than a scum and I need to kill it before he turns into something worse. He was here somewhere, but he knows these streets better than I do."

Ryn stared at the projection for a few seconds, then nodded. "Fine. Consider this my apology for earlier. I'll help you find him."

Xavier arched his brow. "You're serious?"

"I owe you for not killing me when you had the chance," Ryn said flatly. "Besides, I know this block like the back of my hand. If he's hiding anywhere nearby, I'll find him."

Xavier gave a small smirk. "Fair enough. Lead the way then."

Ryn picked up his sheathed sword and slung it across his back, motioning for Xavier to follow. As they stepped out into the dusky street, the dim glow of scattered streetlamps cut through the smog, painting faint light over the concrete.

Xavier adjusted his collar and muttered under his breath, "Should've brought my glasses… would've made spotting that idiot easier. And maybe I'd have seen you before you tried cutting my head off."

Ryn let out a low chuckle. "Next time, trust your instincts instead of your gadgets."

"Trust me," Xavier said, following him through the narrow alleys, "I do just fine without them. And you already got the proof."

The two moved through the maze of streets — one leading, the other shadowing close behind — the quiet buzz of the city fading the deeper they went, until all that was left was the echo of their boots and the faint whir of a flickering sign somewhere in the distance.

Ryn raised his hand and slowed. "Someone definitely passed through here."

"Good. That means he is still hiding somewhere."

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