Ethan stared at the man in front of him, his expression flat, his voice stripped of any warmth or hesitation.

"You. Leave."

The order landed like a stone dropped into still water.

The man he addressed was no ordinary subordinate. He was the same one who had approached Blackie earlier, the only one who had survived the storm of bullets that should have torn him apart. Second-in-command of the Apex Predators. A Mutant whose body could dissolve into smoke and reform at will.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Confusion rippled through the gathered mercenaries, and even the second-in-command himself stiffened in place. He lifted his head and met Ethan's gaze directly, his eyes sharp despite the shock. "Why?"

Ethan smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried no humor. "My name is Ethan Caelum. If you've heard it before, you already know the answer."

The man frowned, clearly searching his memory, then his eyes widened as realization struck him like lightning. "You're Ethan Caelum? From Ember City, the M—"

"Me," Ethan said calmly, cutting him off before the title could leave his mouth. He paused, as if reconsidering something, then added, "Actually, stay. Stick with me for now."

The man's eyes flickered. He glanced once toward Voss, then gave a sharp nod without argument. Stepping past his former leader, he moved to Ethan's side and stopped beside Blackie, his posture relaxed but alert.

Blackie glanced sideways at him, curiosity written plainly on his face. The man answered with a quick, sharp grin.

That single expression made Voss blink.

He had known his second-in-command for more than ten years. He had seen him wounded, enraged, exhausted, and triumphant, but never smiling. Not like that. A cold unease coiled in Voss's gut, but with Ethan standing there, calm and unreadable, he swallowed whatever questions rose to his lips.

The momentary silence did not last.

Ethan shifted his gaze to the two men still standing at Voss's sides. "Voss," he said casually, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, "would it bother you to kill them?"

Voss stiffened. "What?" He turned his head slightly, disbelief sharpening his voice. "Why would—"

The answer came before he could finish.

His third and fourth in command reacted instantly. The moment they realized they were the targets, both men erupted in snarled curses, harsh and foreign, thick with panic and fury.

"Kurwa!"

"Yebat'!"

Ethan did not need a translator to understand the hatred behind those words. Their fear was obvious in their eyes, but the twisted, aggressive expressions on their faces told him everything he needed to know.

"Why?" Voss repeated, his voice low now, dangerous.

Ethan clicked his tongue softly and let out a quiet chuckle. "So troublesome, always needing a reason." He shrugged lightly. Any explanation he gave outright would sound flimsy, or worse, unbelievable.

The reason came from behind him instead.

"Third is tied to the War God's Vanguard mercenary group. Fourth is a sleeper agent planted by the Sablon Republic's SK Division," the newly defected second-in-command said evenly. "They've been preparing to eliminate you. You announced plans to go all-in on Ethereal and slowly step away from mercenary work. That made you a liability."

As he spoke, Ethan glanced back at him, studying his posture and tone, then gave a subtle nod. Good. He knew far more than he let on.

Voss's head snapped toward his two lieutenants. The third and fourth stared at each other in shock, their expressions betraying the truth before either could speak. Neither of them had known the other was a traitor.

Voss had survived more betrayals than most men lived years. He did not need a confession. Their reactions were enough. Still, he did not move. Instead, he turned his gaze back to his former second-in-command, his voice frighteningly calm.

"And you?" he asked. "Who were you working for?"

The man hesitated and glanced at Ethan, waiting.

Ethan gave a small nod.

"The US Ninth Division," the man said clearly. "Agent Scott."

Voss's brow smoothed as if a lingering puzzle piece had finally clicked into place. He nodded once, accepting it without comment. Then his eyes hardened as he turned back to the third and fourth. "Any last words?"

Their answer was violence.

The third-in-command snarled, his fingernails stretching into jagged claws as his body convulsed. Bones cracked audibly as muscle mass surged, his frame swelling and reshaping until a hulking, wolf-like beast stood where the man had been moments earlier.

Beside him, the fourth-in-command let out a grunt. His right arm rippled grotesquely, flesh and bone flowing like molten metal before hardening into gleaming steel. The limb elongated into a vicious, spear-like blade, polished and deadly. He lunged without hesitation, the point aimed straight for Voss's heart.

Ethan's eyes sharpened. Behind him, Agent Scott tensed, ready to intervene.

They were too close. Ethan could have acted, could have crushed them with Soul Sense before they reached their target, but he held back, his attention fixed entirely on Voss.

Right on cue, a familiar energy signature flared.

Voss roared, his voice raw and powerful. "Soul Detonation!"

WHOOMF!

A violent wave of Soul Power erupted outward from his forehead, not a focused strike but a brutal release of psychic force. The air itself seemed to tear as the blast expanded.

Both Mutants were caught mid-lunge and thrown backward as if struck by an invisible freight train, their transformed bodies flung through the air.

"You are a Soul-Wielder!"

The words rang out simultaneously from two voices.

Ethan and Agent Scott glanced at each other.

Ethan spoke first. "Your mission was to confirm it, wasn't it? Director Vaughn sent you."

Scott hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I was embedded with the Originalists. Ten years ago, Director Vaughn gave me the order personally. Get close. Confirm whether Voss was a Soul-Wielder." His gaze shifted to Voss, who was steadying himself after the blast. Respect and caution mingled in his eyes. "For a decade, he never used it. Everyone believed he was just a normal man with sharp instincts. Turns out his Soul rank isn't low at all."

He let out a breath and gave a faint, crooked smile. "Not sure who I'm supposed to report to now. You dealt with Director Vaughn. The Originalists and Dissenters are gone. The Neutral Faction's running things again, from what I hear. I don't even know where I belong anymore."

TAKATAKATAKATAKA!

The thunder of automatic gunfire tore through the air, cutting the moment short. From within the ranks of the Apex Predators, hundreds of muzzles flashed at once. Voss's loyalists had reacted instinctively. Seeing their leader attacked, they opened fire without hesitation. Identities no longer mattered.

The two Mutants, still disoriented from the psychic blast, were shredded in seconds. High-velocity rounds ripped through flesh and bone, turning the dusty ground dark with blood. When the firing finally stopped, only the fourth-in-command's grotesque steel arm remained partially intact, clattering uselessly onto the earth. Had his entire body been capable of transforming, he might have survived. But a Mutant of that caliber would never have been assigned to deep cover in a minor mercenary outfit.

As the echoes faded, Voss stared at the bodies in silence. Something raw and deeply personal flickered in his eyes. These men had fought beside him for years. They had saved his life, and he had saved theirs more times than he could count. All it took was his desire to walk away for them to decide he needed to die.

He had wanted to hear their excuses.

Instead, they had forced his hand, exposing the secret he had buried for a decade.

As a Soul-Wielder, Voss understood better than anyone how the Supernatural World viewed his kind. To Energy Users and Mutants alike, Soul-Wielders were not allies or rivals.

They were dangerous aberrations.

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