A suspicion quietly took root in Ethan's mind. A containment field on this scale was no small feat. Could Morzan really be the one behind it?

The thought refused to settle. It gnawed at him, raising deeper questions he had no answers for. Just who was that old man, really? And how many other hidden, god-like players were lurking on this planet, quietly shaping events from the shadows?

The thin barrier ahead posed no physical resistance, so Ethan restarted Shatterstar's engines and guided the ship forward. The vessel slipped smoothly into Magnolia Valley's airspace.

The change was immediate.

The air itself felt heavier, as though an invisible weight pressed down on everything beneath the sky. It was subtle, but unmistakable, an oppressive presence that made the skin prickle.

"We deal with the closest problem first," Ethan said as he brought the ship to a controlled halt. "We can check on Meatball while we're at it."

Their entry point was near Harbor City, known as the City of Romance. It was also the former hometown of Victor, Leo, and Williams. No one objected.

Using Shatterstar's scanners, Ethan quickly locked onto Meatball's signal. Within the limited airspace, the ship's movement was almost instantaneous. Minutes later, they descended onto a seaside promenade, the waves rolling lazily below. Meatball's signal originated from a large villa perched above the coastline.

Ethan whistled softly under his breath. The guy really was loaded. Or more accurately, he owned property everywhere. Every time they tracked him down, he seemed to be living in a different house.

"Wait here. I'll go in alone," Ethan said to the group.

He knew his own weaknesses. For all his power, he still lacked real, consistent hands-on combat practice. This was a good opportunity to test himself.

As Ethan stepped into the villa's courtyard, a hostile aura burst outward from inside, sharp and aggressive, followed by a contemptuous snort.

"Hmph. This place is taken."

The voice was rude, dismissive, and carried a clear sense of entitlement.

Ethan had already sensed him. Aside from Meatball, this was the only other life-sign in the building.

"I know it's taken," Ethan replied calmly. "That's why I'm here."

In the next instant, he vanished from the courtyard. A blur of motion sent him shooting through an open window and into the villa's main living area.

The man sat casually in the center of the spacious room.

Meatball was right beside him.

Ethan's Soul Sense had already shown him everything, filling him with equal parts anger and grim amusement. Meatball's round face was decorated with two impressive black eyes. Combined with his pudgy build, he looked like a miserable panda-themed teddy bear. He was curled up on the couch, his posture tight and fearful, wearing an expression of pure humiliation and terror.

The moment Ethan appeared, Meatball's eyes lit up like signal flares.

"Boss! Save me!" he wailed, tears threatening to spill over.

"Oh?" The man beside him looked to be in his fifties. Seeing Meatball's reaction, he flashed a derisive grin, showing yellowed teeth. "You know each other? Doesn't matter. This place is mine now, kid. Get lost and find somewhere else."

"Belongs to this old man," he continued, but never finished the sentence.

Ethan moved.

There was no trash talk, no warning. He launched a flying sidekick straight toward the man's face.

"You little bastard! How dare you!" the man roared.

Instead of dodging, he thrust his hand forward, aiming to catch Ethan's foot mid-air. He wanted a direct clash of strength, confident in his superiority.

"Heavy Strike!"

The instant Ethan's heel met the grasping palm, yellow light flared. Bear Form surged to life, the skill's power compressing and detonating at the point of impact.

Crunch.

The old man had expected a probing strike. He had even been holding back, planning to unleash his strength at the last moment and shatter Ethan's ankle. He never imagined Ethan would be even more ruthless.

More importantly, Ethan's skill activation was nearly instantaneous. As a Druid ability, it required only a thought. Unless a skill required charging, usually through a weapon, its power could be concealed until the final microsecond.

This kick did exactly that.

The man's wrist and forearm exploded with a sickening crack. The force did not stop there. It plowed straight into his chest.

Thud.

He was hurled backward, couch and all, smashing into the far wall. Wood splintered, drywall crumbled, and the entire room shook.

That single kick told him everything. The man was a paper tiger. His internal organs had been pulverized, broken ribs likely piercing his lungs and heart. He was barely alive.

Ethan turned to check on Meatball.

That was when Meatball shocked him.

The chubby man with black-rimmed glasses suddenly moved with startling speed. He scrambled off the couch, half-running and half-stumbling toward the corner. Then he leapt into the air.

What followed could only be described as a perfectly executed, utterly graceless Butt-First Meteor.

His landing target was the old man's head.

Splut.

Already unconscious and at death's door, the man stood no chance against over two hundred pounds of free-falling mass. His skull made a wet, ugly sound. His face happened to be resting against a jagged piece of broken couch frame, and the impact drove it straight upward. His facial structure collapsed completely.

He died without a sound.

Meatball was not finished.

He stood, rubbing his sore backside, and began kicking and stomping the ruined head with wild abandon. A few savage blows later, the man's temples were visibly caved in.

"Alright. That's enough. He's dead," Ethan said, finally stepping in.

He had allowed the first outburst, but watching Meatball vent his rage on a corpse left him uneasy. He grabbed Meatball and pulled him back.

"Huh? Dead?" Meatball blinked, snapping out of his frenzy. "He's dead? Boss, I… I killed someone."

The reality hit him all at once. Beneath everything, he was still an ordinary man. In his world, killing meant execution. That kind of conditioning ran deep.

"It's fine," Ethan said calmly, guiding him toward the door. "The rules are changing. He was an Energy User. In that world, it's survival of the fittest. If your fist isn't harder than the other guy's, death is the expected result."

Ethan had come looking for a sparring partner. Instead, he had found a complete amateur. One kick had ended it, and Meatball had delivered the final blow. So much for training.

Outside, reuniting with the others was like being reborn for Meatball. The moment he saw Victor and the rest, he broke down completely, sobbing without restraint. The last two days had been hell. The old creep had been a sadist, treating him like a personal punching bag. Every bruise on his body was proof.

Hearing his story, the group's anger simmered dangerously close to the surface.

Ethan extended his Soul Sense across the gated villa community. Every occupied house contained the unmistakable aura of an Energy User. Judging by their strength, they were all around the same pitiful level as the one he had just killed.

Any lingering thought of training vanished.

These people were useless.

Then his gaze hardened, sharp and predatory. Meatball had been lucky. He lived alone.

Less than a hundred meters away, Ethan sensed a family of three. A husband, a wife, and a young daughter. The wife and child were completely nude. The Energy User in the house, a man in his thirties, was beating the husband. The women bore unmistakable signs of recent assault.

Something inside Ethan snapped.

"We move together," he said, his voice rough and cold. "Every Energy User who has invaded a civilian home dies. No exceptions. No mercy. When you're done, bring me their heads."

He met each member of his team's gaze as he issued the order, an order of absolute extermination.

Then he was already moving, a blur of motion tearing through the air toward the villa a hundred meters away.

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