Mollinger reappeared instantly, not behind Halmu, but above him, spinning in mid-air with impossible agility.

The second barrel of his gun fired. This time, the projectile was a highly concentrated beam of pure kinetic energy, striking Halmu's head with surgical precision.

CRACK!

Halmu's head snapped back, the blow rattling his formidable skull, and he roared in enraged frustration. This was not the clumsy human he expected.

Mollinger landed lightly, the recoil of his gun seemingly nonexistent for his immense strength.

He didn't just fight with his gun; he fought as if his gun was a part of him, an extension of his will.

Halmu roared, his speed a blur as he spun the Annihilator, sending a wave of black energy in a circle around him.

Mollinger didn't evade. With a surprising, almost casual flip, he brought the massive gun up like a shield.

The heavy weapon, radiating a pulsating silver aura, met the wave of dark energy head-on.

CLANG-SHIIING!

The sound was metal grinding against solid force. Mollinger was pushed back, his boots scoring deep lines in the stone, but the shield held. The gun, as impossible as it seemed, acted as a perfect defensive barrier.

"Impossible," Kane whispered, awe and disbelief battling in his voice. "He's using it as a… as a gauntlet."

Storm, watching his grandfather, felt a cold knot of realization tighten in his stomach. His own Kinetic Amplification was child's play compared to this.

Mollinger wasn't just fast; he was manipulating space and force with every movement.

Halmu, now truly infuriated, pressed his attack. He unleashed a barrage of rapid, crushing swings with the Annihilator, each blow capable of demolishing a small building.

The black energy around the sword pulsed like a living entity.

Mollinger met each strike with a calculated counter. He would fire a concussive shot to deflect one swing, use the immense gun to parry another, and then, in a blink, he'd use the weapon itself as a blunt instrument.

He spun, the long barrel of his gun arcing in a wide sweep, catching the flat of the Annihilator with a resounding THWACK, deflecting it upward.

Before Halmu could recover, Mollinger unleashed a stream of small, rapid-fire bullets—not from the barrels, but from a hidden mechanism in the gun's side, each one stinging Halmu's armor like angry wasps.

"He's baiting him," Seraphina breathed, her eyes, usually filled with grim determination, now wide with wonder. "He's not just fighting; he's dancing."

Halmu, growing more enraged, activated his own power. His body began to glow with a malevolent, pulsating black aura, enhancing his speed and strength exponentially.

He moved like a true demon, his attacks faster, more chaotic, seeking any opening.

But Mollinger was always a step ahead. He wasn't relying on raw speed alone.

As Halmu lunged with a sudden, devastating thrust of the Annihilator, Mollinger did a complex, almost effortless backflip, the enormous gun spinning with him.

Mid-air, he fired a focused beam of silver light from his heel—a hidden propulsion system. The beam slammed into Halmu's face, not causing damage but forcing him to flinch, giving Mollinger the opening he needed.

Landing on one knee, Mollinger swung the huge gun like a baseball bat. The solid, silver-aura-clad barrel connected squarely with the side of Halmu's head.

KRA-KOOM!

Halmu's head snapped sideways with a sickening crack, and he staggered. Even with his demonic resilience, that blow had real impact.

"Is that all you've got, demon?" Mollinger taunted, his smirk unwavering. "You're just a glorified brawler."

Halmu roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. His eyes glowed crimson, and the black aura around him condensed, forming shadowy, clawed tendrils that lashed out, trying to ensnare Mollinger.

But Mollinger merely laughed. With a fluid, impossible motion, he twirled the massive gun.

The weapon transformed, not physically, but spiritually, turning into a whirling vortex of silver energy, shredding the shadow tendrils before they could even touch him.

"He's using it as an Aura Conduit! A spinning shield!" Rhys exclaimed, finally finding his voice, though it was filled with utter astonishment.

Storm watched his grandfather, a man he thought he knew, unveil a level of skill that redefined everything he understood about combat.

His grandfather wasn't just a gunslinger; he was a master of Kinetic Aura manipulation on a cosmic scale, using his weapon not just as a tool, but as a direct extension of his very being, turning defense into attack, and attack into a devastating, unstoppable dance.

The fight was less a brawl and more a whirlwind of silver and black, with Mollinger always just beyond reach, always countering, always dominating.

Halmu was being systematically dismantled, not by brute force, but by sheer, overwhelming mastery.

Mollinger's dominance was absolute. Halmu, panting heavily, was backed into a corner, his powerful attacks deftly deflected and countered by the bewildering agility and technical mastery of the Gun Saint.

Halmu's patience, never his strong suit, was running dangerously thin.

Mollinger decided to end it. A monstrous amount of intense, swirling silver aura gathered rapidly in front of the twin barrels of his massive gun, condensing into a lethal, glowing sphere of pure destructive force.

He was about to fire a shot that would vaporize what remained of Halmu.

Just as the pressure peaked and the air crackled with lethal energy, an overwhelming, suffocating pressure—far greater and colder than Halmu's or Mollinger's combined—slammed down onto the battlefield.

It was a pressure that felt ancient and utterly malevolent, instantly stopping the flow of the silver aura.

A figure, silent and sudden, landed instantly between the two combatants.

The shot, already released from the barrel by the momentum of Mollinger's action, was travelling at impossible speed toward the head of the newly arrived figure.

The figure was tall and lean, clad in long, winding black kimono. Where a face should have been, there was only a chilling, smooth white skull, devoid of any human feature save for two glowing, hollow eyes.

An unnervingly aloof smirk spread across the bone-white skull face.

Before Mollinger could shout or react, the figure's hand moved. A single, wickedly sharp Katana, wreathed in chilling blue-black energy, flashed out and was pulled back in a single motion.

The silver aura shot, Mollinger's finisher, was sliced perfectly in two.

The bifurcated blast separated and continued their trajectory, causing two massive, thunderous explosions harmlessly in the distant, unoccupied ruins of the city.

The figure, Halmu's master, returned his katana to its sheath with a soft, final snick.

His voice was cold, deep, and utterly devoid of emotion, yet carried undeniable authority.

"Let's stop here for today, Gun Saint. Don't force us now."

Mollinger kept his silence. He lowered his huge gun slowly, the silver aura receding back into the weapon.

His stoic face showed a flicker of grim realization. He could see that fighting this new opponent, this powerful Skull-Face, was impossible without risking catastrophic collateral damage to the city—and likely not winning.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," the Skull-Face said, turning his back on Mollinger with casual confidence.

He approached the panting Halmu, who was still trying to gather his wits. Halmu looked up, ready to protest the abrupt end of the fight.

Instead of praise, a crisp, sharp slap resounded across the silent field, echoing from the Skull-Face's hand connecting squarely with Halmu's jaw.

Halmu was stunned into silence. Before he could utter a word of protest, the Skull-Face threw a small, black talisman into the air.

The talisman unfolded into a swirling vortex of dark energy. With a forceful shove, the Skull-Face pushed Halmu into the vortex, then stepped in himself.

The talisman instantly sucked the two of them inside and vanished, leaving behind nothing but the silence and the chilling cold.

The Healing Saintess, floating down to Mollinger's side, the ethereal light around her flickering with surprise, whispered, "Why did they give up?"

Mollinger rubbed the bridge of his nose, the smirk completely gone, replaced by a grave, heavy expression.

"Can't guess, but it wasn't fear of us. Something is wrong. We'll have to alter our plans," the Gun Saint said, his voice grave and low.

"They are planning something big."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.