Chapter 174: World Forgers.

『"Two World Forgers. One extraction mission. What could possibly go wrong?"』

The armored transport came around the bend at full speed. Standing directly in the middle of the road was a man.

He was shirtless, dressed in nothing but dark trousers with a white robe tied loosely around his waist.

He didn’t move. He didn’t raise his arms. He didn’t even brace himself. The transport slammed into him with a deafening boom, and the entire front of the vehicle crumpled on impact.

Metal folded around his body as the transport came to a dead stop. Yet the Martyr didn’t even stagger.

The vehicles behind it screeched to a halt. Their doors flew open, and agents poured onto the road. RSF-4 rifles were raised, and glowing energy bolts charged inside their weapons.

The Martyr simply stood there without flinching as the blasts hammered into his body one after another. For several seconds, the only sound was the continuous barrage of energy fire.

Then the Martyr lowered his head.

"Irritating little shits."

He vanished.

The first agent barely had time to turn before a hand clamped over his visor. The Martyr lifted him effortlessly and hurled him into the sky.

The agent shot upward so violently that he tore through the clouds, leaving a massive opening in their center.

Before anyone could react, the Martyr was already beside another agent. He seized the RSF-4 from the agent’s hands and drove it right into his face.

The agent dropped dead before he could even scream.

Another raised his rifle.

He was too slow.

The Martyr caught him by the arm and ripped it free.

The agent screamed as the Martyr spun, using the severed limb like a club and sending him crashing through a tree at the edge of the road.

Panic spread quickly through the convoy.

"Fall back!"

"Move!"

"Get back!"

Several agents abandoned their positions and started retreating.

In that moment, the Martyr crouched, swinging his arms idly, then launched himself into the air, shattering the ground beneath him in the process.

He brought both fists together above his head and swung downward, only to be met by a violent repelling force that slammed into his body.

He was blasted away, flying across the road before crashing through the dirt.

One of the surviving agents looked toward the two Anchors. "Lowenthal! You need to take Jamie and get out of here!"

Jerry Lowenthal stood beside the teenager, his expression surprisingly calm. Then he smirked. "I think it’s high time we stopped running."

Jamie looked at him, fear written plainly across his face, and Jerry placed a hand on his shoulder. "It’s okay."

The Martyr emerged from the wreckage. "Bitch..." He cracked his neck. Then he disappeared.

In a blink, he reappeared directly in front of Jerry with a wide grin and threw a punch.

The fist stopped inches from Jerry’s face, an invisible gravitational force holding it there.

The Martyr’s eyes widened just before the force reversed, launching him backward. He smashed into a tree so hard that the trunk folded around his body, trapping him between the splintered halves.

Slowly, he stood. Then he grabbed the remains of the tree and hurled it toward Jerry, letting out a low whistle as the enormous trunk sailed through the air.

But just like his punch, it stopped inches away from Jerry. An invisible force caught it and sent it flying harmlessly into the forest.

However, the Martyr was already there. He appeared beside Jerry and swung another punch, looking for an opening.

Again, the fist stopped. And again, the force repelled him.

As he flew backward, Jerry’s expression hardened. Four bars lit up across the back of his hand, sizzling with energy, and the Martyr suddenly stopped in midair.

His body was lifted. Then slammed into the ground. Again, and again, and again. The earth cracked beneath him with each impact.

Jerry raised his hand, and an enormous gravitational force pressed the Martyr into the ground, pinning him against the shattered earth.

High above them, a woman sat casually on a tree branch. She had long, jet-black hair that fell over her shoulders, framing a pale face accentuated by dark, almost black lipstick.

A white cloak hung loosely from her shoulders like a jacket, revealing a purple lingerie-style bodysuit underneath. Knee-high boots completed the look, resting against the branch.

The Painter.

She watched the battle in silence, her energy suppressed so thoroughly that none of the surviving agents had even noticed her presence.

Below, the gray tattoos covering the Martyr’s body began to move. They shifted across his skin. Slowly at first, then faster.

A strange glow pulsed through them, and the Martyr’s fingers dug into the ground. For a moment his arms trembled under the weight, but then, with a strained breath, he pushed himself upward.

Jerry’s eyes narrowed.

The Martyr kept rising. Inch by inch, he forced his body against the enormous gravitational pressure until at last he planted both hands in front of himself and shoved.

The air distorted around him, and Jerry’s eyes widened. The Martyr wasn’t just moving. He was actually resisting him.

"Interesting..." Jerry muttered.

He immediately changed tactics. The Martyr’s weight vanished, and his body floated above the ground.

Then the tattoos shifted again. They glowed purple and crawled across his body like they were alive.

Then the Martyr dropped.

BOOM!

His body slammed into the ground with such force that the earth beneath him cratered. Then he slowly lifted his head and smirked.

"Everyone, get back!" Jerry yelled.

The surviving agents didn’t need to be told twice. As they scrambled away, Jerry brought his hands together, and a translucent forcefield formed around the Martyr.

Jerry slowly brought his palms closer together, and the forcefield compressed. The Martyr’s body was squeezed tighter and tighter inside the shrinking space.

Jerry raised his hands, and the sphere rose higher and higher.

"Think this will hold me, bro?" The Martyr pressed his palms against the sphere and looked up.

Jerry brought his palms closer, shrinking the forcefield even further as it ascended. A massive repulsive force erupted beneath the sphere, and the Martyr shot upward like a missile.

The sphere tore through the clouds and shot past the stratosphere.

Even from the edge of space, the Martyr’s voice echoed back. "THAT’S A BITCH MOVE, JEEERRRYYYY!"

The Painter watched him disappear into the distance. "Malachi," she muttered, shaking her head. "That fucking twat."

***

The transport aircraft was larger than the one they’d used for the wendigo mission, a proper deployment vessel with reinforced hull plating, mounted weapons systems, and enough interior space for a full tactical team and support personnel.

Unit 11-B occupied the forward section, running last-minute equipment checks and coordinating with the Oraculum branch for real-time intelligence, while the Five remained clustered in the rear.

Across from Amara, Ethan remained distant. She noticed. He had barely spoken since they’d left the Institute.

She looked down at her hands, balled into fists on her lap. The silence between them was getting harder to ignore.

"So," Raj said, breaking the tension. "Just to clarify, we’re fighting two World Forgers, right?"

"That’s what they said," Hiro replied.

"And we’re supposed to keep them occupied while Dante’s team extracts the Anchors?" Raj paused, then nodded slowly. "That seems easy enough."

"Super easy." Sophia grinned.

Then a voice came through the aircraft’s speakers. "Five minutes to target."

The cabin immediately fell silent. So much for Raj’s attempt to break the tension. Amara closed her eyes as her fists tightened even more.

Then she felt a familiar touch. She opened her eyes and looked down to find Ethan’s hand over hers. He didn’t need to say a word, and she didn’t need to hear it. That was enough.

She looked at him, her clenched fists finally relaxing.

"Three minutes to target," the voice announced.