Eron swept through the elite soldiers like a tornado.

The thing about moving beyond the speed of sound without an ability to cancel or mitigate physics was that it had a destructive effect on the environment.

Sonic booms sent objects flying and battered bodies.

He ripped weapons out of hands with a bare minimum of concern for fingers and limbs.

They had healers and as long as he didn’t rip them off completely they’d be fine… eventually.

Normally, he would’ve been a bit more careful but the clock in his head was ticking.

After the elites went the rest of the soldiers.

He snapped arms, reasoning that he’d leave them capable of fighting off monsters on their trek back to their base camp some forty miles away in the nearest abandoned town.

He turned mortars and artillery pieces into twisted scrap.

Zipping back to the nuclear missile facility he regarded the devastation in the parking lot and the surrounding forest.

Asphalt and concrete had been torn up like a soft field in preparation for sowing.

His passing had left furrows in the dirt, bent large trees and tore smaller ones out of the ground.

The soldiers, battered and broken as they were, laid what weapons they had left down.

One soldier remained standing.

The captain.

“Captain Patriot.” He rolled his eyes.

She was straight out of marketing.

Hair the color of amber waves of grain.

Although, it wasn’t quite as majestic as it must’ve been at its best.

It had been tied in a pony tail to fit underneath her helmet, but he had punched that off her head, leaving her hair looking windblown with tiny sticks and leaves sticking out like a bird’s nest.

The plain cloth blindfold, white, remained in place with that white light glowing from her eyes.

Her armor was torn and scuffed from being shoved across the ground.

Blood stained the torn edges of her camouflage, but he could see that all evidence of injury was gone.

Her light skin was pristine aside from a few red and brown smears.

“I don’t concede our claim,” she said, brandishing a small tree that glowed with the same white light in her eyes.

He flew closer.

“Time’s up. You’re all that’s left. I took your entire crew out in minutes. Over a hundred of you. That’s a platoon, right?” A distant sound reached his ears. He had been listening for it specifically. “Correction… you and that douchebag with the American flag skull mask. Seriously, why’d you even let him get away with that edgelord crap? It reflects poorly upon your leadership… unless that’s your sort of thing too?” He raised a brow. “Right, anyways. This is over.”

“I won’t quit.”

“Yeah, admirable, so how about you turn that energy toward the real scumbags. Namely, your leaders for allying with eidolons that are literally murdering nine out of ten promising, brave young men and women to turn the one into some kind of beast hybrid. Ineffectual, I might add.” He gestured to the three he had taken out of the fight. “They’re stronger and tougher than those roided up supersoldiers,” he flicked a gaze to one of the hulking soldiers, “but the end result is the same. So, why don’t you give this up and take care of your soldiers? It’s going to be a hard trek back to base what with monster attacks and your current condition.”

“For a man complaining about his precious time, you talk a lot.” She swung the tree like a bat.

She was fast.

Faster than she had any right to be.

The tree swished through the air like a thin switch.

He braced against the impact.

Tree collided with his arm.

There was only the immovable object on the battlefield that night.

The tree recoiled in her arms, sending her spinning in the other direction, threatening her own soldiers with a fatal bludgeoning.

“Jesus…” he muttered, zipping down to save their lives as he grabbed the tree and ripped it from her grasp.

He carefully tossed it into the distance.

That skull-masked soldier should be able to take it according to the scouting report.

He dropped to the ground, stalking toward the white-glowing Captain Patriot.

It was time to definitively show where they stood in relation to each other.

His hope was that properly trouncing their strongest would force the old government to pause this Rightful Destiny nonsense. Affixing ‘destiny’ to anything had always excused atrocities.

That was the thing about responsibility that sucked.

Someone had to stop them before they got really violent and things like camps in which people were concentrated started popping up or long marches and other pogrom-type bullshit.

“Wasting my time with this…” he muttered.

The knuckles of Captain Patriot’s gloves were spiked and glowing white.

He raised his fist.

She struck faster than ninety percent of the people on the planet.

It was slow motion to him.

He let the jab land on his nose. He rated it baby-level.

The straight dug into his stomach… toddler-level.

Booms louder than the earlier artillery fire sent shockwaves across the ruined landscape.

Soldiers went prone and plugged their ears if they could.

Those that couldn’t, bled.

Eron rushed forward, stopping just short of Captain Patriot.

The sonic boom would’ve sent her flying had he not grabbed her by the chestplate.

It tingled in his hands.

A closer look revealed a faint white glow suffusing her armor and clothing.

“So, that’s why its not as badly damaged as it should be. That’s handy. As you can see, only skin-tight clothes don’t get ripped to shreds for me. Between you and me,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “it took me way to long to figure out the whole skin-tight clothing thing. Still, mildly embarrassing. I mean, it’s only a step above not wearing anything at all.”

He took her to the sky and threw her into the ground.

Dust and debris clouded the battlefield.

Captain Patriot burst out of the cloud, glowing brighter.

Her fist connected with his gut, followed by the other to the side of his cheek.

He rolled with it and grabbed both wrists, holding her aloft like a fish.

“You’re the best they’ve got? I’d rate you at somewhere between 50 and 70 on the superstrong person scale. It fluctuates though. Obviously, the white light is the source… what’re you like without it? Reduced power? Powerless?”

She kicked him in the junk, followed by a knee to the solar plexus.

“First grade level.”

He whipped her around before throwing her back into the same crater.

This time he followed her down.

“Your light’s plateaued?”

It was the rare opportunity to face a fellow Earthian in a contest of fisticuffs.

She dashed forward with a punch.

Slipping, he uncorked a light hook to her side, denting her armor despite the strengthening white light.

She folded over with a grimace and threw a desperate jab to buy space as she retreated.

He followed with a lunging straight over her jab.

It wasn’t a winning trade for the captain.

Bare fist cracked into her cheek as spiked gloves touched his nose.

“Back down to baby level.”

Her light flared.

“Ah, second wind… back to toddler level.”

She replied to the trash talk with a furious combination.

Jab. Straight. Hook. Low kick. High kick.

Each landed like a bomb, sending shockwaves across the battlefield.

She grabbed his arm and leapt, wrapping her legs around it and his neck.

Captain Patriot squeezed superhumanly strong thighs.

“Flying triangle?” He raised a brow.

He lifted her like he was curling a light dumbbell before slamming her into the ground.

“I don’t get a lot of chances to fight like this. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no contest, but it’s a good change of pace from giant monsters or eldritch horrors.”

She shifted her legs to go for an armbar.

“See, this is what I need. Techniques against a fellow Earth person. I need the practice because I have to be ready for a humanoid opponent that’s on my strength level.”

The value of the fight was dubious in that regard.

How much technique could he practice if he could just muscle through everything?

Nevertheless, he pried her legs off and went for a heel hook.

He went through each step of the move slowly, paying attention to proper technique each step of the way.

Of course, slow for him was blindingly fast for the captain.

He twisted her heel with his forearm.

Her grit teeth gave him the cue on how far to twist.

“Glowing boots are making this less effective,” he mused. “How much more until I break something? It’s hard to tell.”

She grit her teeth and drew a dagger in reply.

The stiff, triangular blade deformed on his leg.

“Bring a knife to a fistfight, eh? How salty will you be if I break it?”

She drew her pistol and emptied the magazine in his face.

“Bring a gun to a fistfight, eh? Not too salty I hope.” He twisted her heel until he heard something snap and pop. “Shit, that’s some ligament and bone damage. You heal quick anyways… get it? Heal? Heel?”

Her face twisted in pain.

“I guess I won.”

He released her and stood.

Her boot and the foot within twisted about ninety degrees to one side.

“Not over,” she hissed.

“No, I disagree. There’s just one more th—”

He spun and thrust his hand out, catching Death’s Dancer by the throat.

“You’re invisible, but not that invisible.” He squeezed.

Death’s Dancer punched and kicked until his limbs fell limp.

“That should do it. None of you are combat capable. To continue would be pointless and suicidal. Now, the spires should count this as my win, however, if you as the leader are determined to keep going to the last then it might allow it. Please don’t do that. Don’t forget that you’ve got a lot of miles to cover to get back to your safe little base camp.”

“You’d leave us like this for the monsters?” Captain Patriot said.

“Listen, lady. You can’t come at me with everything you have and then get all outraged that I won’t keep you safe. That’s all on you.”

He couldn’t get a read on her expression beyond the obvious pain.

The white light behind her blindfold concealed it.

“These are the consequences of your actions. You’re lucky that I’m not like you people since I killed none of you. I can’t imagine that you’d show me the same soft touch had our positions been reversed. So, take the L. Go home. Rethink your existence. Seriously, really take a good look at the eidolons. You’ve got a blindfold, but I’ve heard that you’re clearer-eyed than most in your nation.”

“It’s yours too. You’re a citizen by law—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved a hand, “I’ve heard that all before. Drafted, blah, blah, blah. You no longer have a monopoly on force. That’s just reality. It has been since the spires appeared. So, stop trying to bring it back. It wasn’t that great anyways. Besides, nukes? What are you going to do? Nuke people for power and control? There aren’t nearly as many people alive. You think it’s a good move to murder twenty percent of the living human population in North America? Or are you going to use that threat as leverage over me? Understand that is no leverage at all because you threaten the people and I go after your leaders.”

She gave him a curt nod.

The spires announced to them all that the challenge was concluded.

The facility remained in its current owners hands and another challenge couldn’t be performed until seven days had passed.

“Fuck, a week!”

Eron walked over to Captain Patriot and twisted her foot back into its proper place.

To her credit she didn’t utter a sound.

“There. That should speed up your healing, right?”

She glared and said nothing.

“You’re welcome. Honestly, you should be thanking me for not killing any of you even when it means that I’ll have to do the same thing in a week. Unless you wise up, but I guess that’s like asking a dog not to chase a car. Tell your leaders what I said and add that I might pay them a visit if this nonsense keeps up.”

He left them to their injuries and the dark night.

All things considered, that had went well for Eron.

It took him less than ten minutes to win the challenge.

Unfortunately, there were other places that he needed to attend to.

The Earth human stood just on the other side of the invisible boundary that marked the edge of the nuclear missile site.

Alcaestus stared down at the diminutive man.

Black hair and brown-skinned.

The man’s features echoed other humans he was familiar with on other worlds.

The difference was that the coloration didn’t fit the features compared to the people he was familiar with.

Though well-muscled, the man was below average in height for the land’s standard.

Unarmed and unarmored, the man wore the world’s common clothing.

Al had learned long ago to be wary of unarmed men moving about in danger-filled areas.

He searched his memory for the man’s identity and came up with nothing.

Granted his allies had acknowledged that their intelligence wasn’t comprehensive.

“Big guy, huh?” the man craned his neck back to look Al in the eyes.

The divine might of Adras flowed freely, yet the man looked at him as though he was a baby rabbit.

Silence stretched.

Only the soft buzz of insects and the occasional hooting owl accompanied the two of them.

“What is your purpose?”

Al broke first and he regretted opening his mouth the instant he did.

He had planned to stand there and remain silent like an iron sentinel on its eternal watch only moving when it was time to defend its charge.

After all, he had learned long ago how to stay unmoving for long hours in wait for his prey.

The man shrugged.

“Thinking about what I should do. You took this place from me.”

“Which Cruces are you then?”

“One of them, I suppose.”

“You cannot challenge until the time runs out.”

“No. I don’t think I need to do that. At least not for months. Tell me, did things change inside? Will it create the missiles? If I remember it was a few hundred million Universal Points to make one missile in about three months. Is it still like that?”

Al carefully set his features to reveal nothing.

He was unto a sculpted piece of marble.

“I see by your expression that things have changed,” the man said mildly. “Well, if it will no longer create missiles out of nothing then you keep it. I only claimed it to make sure no idiots decided to use nukes.” He raised a brow.

Al stiffened.

The man already knew the unpleasant truth that Al’s American allies had learned to their great displeasure.

The spires weren’t going to recreate their most powerful weapons. At least, not in this location.

“Still, I have to give you guys credit for moving so quickly. Not even an hour after you defeated the bosses and you’ve got the nukes all loaded up and on the road.”

How had the man known?

Al’s first instinct was to throttle the man and beat him into submission for questioning.

His second instinct was a sudden spike of fear. The kind he hadn’t felt in a long time going all the way back to the days before Adras’ granted the divine gift.

Thus, he forced himself to remain as a statue.

“I guess your adequate level of strength helped speed that process along. No need to get slow, heavy machinery in place when you could simply pick them and carry them to the trucks.”

“You were observing us.”

“I sincerely thank you. Your actions tonight have allowed me to cross this place off my list of concerns. And so, in return I’ll give you this warning. Escalation is bad for you and your temporary allies. Please share the message.”

“I am Adras’ Will. I am no messenger for those beneath me.”

“Yeah, you can think that, but you’ll do it anyway. You’ll have to in order to explain to them what happened.”

“You cannot breach the protection around this territory.”

“Actually, I can. I could’ve done it during the tutorial phase when protections were stronger. Now? It’d be as easy as taking one small step.”

Al fought the urge to take one back.

Why was such a small Earth human triggering his fear instinct when he sensed nothing from the man?

“Regardless, it’s as I said. I’ve no interest in this place. The nukes were the only things that mattered and you’ve helpfully taken them out and put them on trucks. By now they’re quite faraway, aren’t they? Would you say they’re beyond your ability to reach in time? Yeah, even at your running speed and jumping distance. There’s no way you can catch up before I’m done.”

The wheels in Al’s head spun.

The man was right.

“An act of aggression is an act of war.”

“Right back at you. I’d say taking this place from me was the act of aggression. Unless, we’re doing the double standard thing here? When you do it, it’s okay. When I do it, it’s not okay.”

“This facility and its contents are the property of the United States of America.” He defaulted to the rote words his allies had included in the list of statements they had approved.

“Empathy is the key to understanding others. Here we are, two people from two different worlds. Can’t we practice empathy, rather than default straight to conflict and the testing of strength like we were simple animals? Come on, let’s be enlightened beings for once.”

“You would place yourself on the same level as the Gods?” Al scoffed just like other eidolons he had observed in the past. The arrogance hadn’t come naturally, but he had years of practice to achieve a decent simulacrum. “Some Gods would smite you for the temerity. You are fortunate that Adras is more patient and charitable than most.”

“I’ve never been one for charity,” the man shrugged. “One last message to pass along. Tell Kerkestis, oh— that’s the Eidolon of Sut, if you didn’t know her name— that this counts. As for the nukes? Tell them that I’m throwing them into the sun.”

Al blinked.

The small man was gone.

There had been no hint of his departure.

The leaves on the ground remained undisturbed but for the slight breeze.

Al looked around, listened and sniffed.

It was only then that he realized he couldn’t recall the man’s scent or if he had one at all.

He hurried back to the facility, cursing his lack of foresight for not bringing a radio with him to confront the small man.

In his arrogance he had hoped for another fight to further raise his standing in the eyes of the American soldiers.

His triumph over the boss monsters had led to a handful of soldiers approaching him in the aftermath to ask about Adras.

Now, disaster loomed.

From the mountain top of triumph to the valley of defeat.

He saw himself tumbling down.

The small man had been right.

The Americans’ greatest weapons were too far for him to protect.

“Let’s run it back again from the beginning, Lt. List,” left butt cheek said.

“No,” Nicholas List, Death’s Dancer, said.

“We just want to make sure we didn’t miss anything,” right butt cheek said.

The two officers from intelligence rated half an ass each. Not even a whole ass individually. They looked young, probably meant they had connections to get their ranks and the safety of a desk job.

The one on the right had that chiseled jaw and butt chin. Looked built too. All show no go, judging by the smooth skin of his hands.

Nicholas knew that alchemists came up with lotions way better than what they had back in the old days. Tear up your hands on the bars putting up quadruple digits, build up the calluses and a day or two rubbing them down and you were back to being as smooth as a baby’s bottom. He only knew to make the comparison cause of that one time he had to change his cousin’s kid’s diaper. Put him up against monsters any day over a repeat of that debacle. The kid had somehow sharted in his face.

The one on the left was the complete opposite.

No chin, stick arms.

Really tall.

Looking like one of those scarecrow monsters that hid in the wheat and corn fields.

Piercing eyes that didn’t blink enough.

Yeah… he didn’t like both, but left butt cheek was creepy looking.

“What’re you looking for here? We’ve been debriefing for,” he glanced at his watch, “four hours. The battle took less than ten minutes. You see how the math doesn’t work out, right? I’ve got a good memory, so if you’re looking for inconsistencies you’re wasting your time. I know for a fact that there weren’t any. What I told you the first time was the same as what I told you the last time.”

“We have your orders, lieutenant,” left butt cheek said flatly.

“Just bear with us for a little longer,” right butt cheek smiled.

Probably thought they were bros.

Nicholas took it from the top in bored, clipped tones.

The two cheeks consulted their notes and occasionally scribbled new ones.

Probably for show because he knew that there weren’t any discrepancies. Just the same story of how the flying man shit all over the most elite unit in their combined forces, not to mention having the support of an entire company-sized element of soldiers with primary classes no lower than Level 30.

All their drills amounted to a crushing defeat.

The only thing they managed to do was ruin the asshole’s normal clothes.

When he finished the two excused themselves.

They weren’t gone long.

“It’s impressive that you can keep the story perfectly straight,” right butt cheek said.

“That’s because it’s not a story. It’s what happened. You know… reality.”

“We often find that what one calls ‘reality’ is often filtered through their perception of said events. Things like stress color said perceptions, which in turn skew memories,” left butt cheek said. “A traumatic event, for example, naturally, leads to inaccuracies. Which is why to get the true picture, we must conduct these annoying debriefings.”

“I’m not some rookie. I’ve seen and fought the worse shit you can imagine. I know you can check my evals. I don’t remember things wrong.”

“Honestly,” right butt cheek leaned forward over the steel table, “we get it. We’ve been doing these debriefings all week and you’re the best resource as far as accuracy of the events in question. You really live up to your reputation.”

Nicholas rose.

“Great, so we’re done—”

“Just a few more questions,” left butt cheek said mildly.

He considered just leaving.

What were they going to do?

They couldn’t stop him physically.

Orders?

The captain would back him, probably, sure there’d be some punishment, but it wouldn’t be worse than sitting in front of the cumulative ass for another four hours.

He sat back down.

The captain didn’t need him adding another headache.

“Mr. Cruces, the so-called flying man, made several provocative statements—” left butt cheek said.

“Yeah, I repeated them verbatim, at least the ones I heard. About the ninety percent failure rate of the eidolon’s supersoldier program.”

“His numbers are wrong, but the issue is that he knew the program existed in the first place,” right butt cheek said.

“Maybe he guessed,” Nicholas shrugged. “Or he saw. Probably has X-ray vision.”

“He did ‘see’ through your invisibility,” right butt cheek said.

“Or heard, or smelled, or felt my movements. Who knows what kind of super senses he’s got? Probably all of them. He could’ve seen the pinprick-size area of my eyes that don’t go invisible. He was obviously moving a lot slower than he could, figure he’s got sped up perceptions. He could’ve had all day to find me.”

“Can you tells us what you think concerning your failure to affect him in any measurable way?” left butt cheek said.

Smug bastard!

“I already did.”

“You relayed the facts of the fight. We’d like your opinions on the how and why.”

“Invulnerability field.”

They stared at him expectantly.

“The bombardment burned and shredded his jacket and pants, but didn’t touch the spandex-compression stuff. I stabbed him, crumpling my spears without leaving a mark. I didn’t notice any sort of glow or burst of light at the impact point like you’d expect on something enchanted with defensive magic or like the captain’s power.”

“And you’re certain it’s a power, not Skills or magic?”

“Has to be. Mages didn’t detect anything magical about him. If it’s a class than it has to be the greatest, highest-level one in existence, because what he did is completely off the scale compared to our most powerful classes. So, my answer is a superpower, like me and captain, but obviously more powerful. An invulnerability field explains it. It probably extends from his body a few centimeters.”

“The outer layer of clothing wasn’t protected like the inner.” Right butt cheek nodded like he knew what he was talking about.

“When he grabbed me it felt normal. Like a real hand. Hard and unyielding, but not weird like you get with magical shit and Skills. The only thing off was the warmth. You guys ever put some time in at the forges?”

They shook their heads.

Of course they hadn’t.

Soft bastards.

Like a baby’s butt.

“It was like standing right next to a white hot fire. You know, when the blacksmiths are really cooking.”

In the end they kept peppering him with repeated questions until lunch, then until dinner before finally letting him go.