Chapter 112: No Pattern, No Mercy.

“I’m not done.”

The words hung in the court like a threat.

For a second, no one moved.

Then Jagger bent slightly, slipped one foot back, and kicked off the black indoor slides they had shoved him into. The cheap things skidded across the rubber mat and spun to a stop near the edge of the court. Barefoot now, he planted himself properly, feeling the texture of the mat beneath his soles, the grip, the give, the subtle drag that told him exactly how the court would answer when he moved.

Chase stared at him with open disbelief, then grinned wider as the shock bled out of his expression and something uglier took its place. Delight. The kind reserved for opponents who refused to act in accordance with reason.

Jace did not smile at all. Her attention sharpened instantly, her body tightening in that small, efficient way that meant she had already accepted the fight was not over.

On one side of the court, Grace’s broad shoulders set harder. On the other, Leo stood just as still as before, pale and narrow and tense, but now his sunken eyes stayed fixed on Jagger with a little more focus than fear.

Inside him, the blue notification flared.

–

[New Skill Acquired]

[King of the Hunt (Passive)] Unleashes a wave of oppressive predatory intent. Weaker enemies may freeze, hesitate, or suffer reduced combat effectiveness, while stronger enemies feel marked as prey. [Cost: 30 MP. Cooldown: 30 minutes]

[Predator’s Blitz cooldown has ended.]

–

Jagger’s eyes narrowed as he read it.

Then the air around him changed.

It did not announce itself with light or sound. It bled out of him in silence, an invisible pressure that crawled over the court and sank into everyone standing on it. The temperature did not drop, yet several people on the upper deck tensed as though something cold had just brushed the backs of their necks. A young observer near the railing stopped breathing for half a beat, his fingers tightening around the metal bar. One of the staff by the far wall stiffened so suddenly she nearly dropped the tablet in her hand.

Chase’s grin faltered.

Jace’s eyes hardened and narrowed.

Grace’s jaw tightened, her gaze locking onto Jagger with the heavy focus of a veteran who had just felt a larger predator step into the same territory.

Leo froze.

It was not fear in the usual sense. It was recognition. Something old and instinctive, something below thought, whispered the same truth into all of them.

Predator.

’Good,’ Zumthor said, the word thick with approval.

’Do not waste it,’ Ophilia said at once, cold and precise.

For the first time, neither of them pulled against the other.

’Drive the pressure forward,’ Ophilia said. ’Make them respond.’

’And when they do,’ Zumthor added, savage and eager, ’hit the one in front hard enough to shake the rest.’

Jagger rose fully.

“Corrupted Surge.”

Dark energy slammed through him. Black-red veins lit beneath his skin, pulsing harshly from chest to throat to arms. His heartbeat battered against his ribs. Pain sharpened. So did everything else.

Chase’s smile came back, though thinner now. “There you are.”

Jagger’s gaze slid across the court and stopped on Grace just as she stepped forward.

Steel-gray light erupted beside her.

A shield appeared in her grip, massive and rectangular, tall enough to wall off a man and broad enough to look like a slab torn from a fortress gate. It was forged of dark weathered metal with an intricate gothic frame rising in elegant, brutal curves across its face. The structure was split into cross-like lines that arched and flowed over the shield’s surface, each ridge worn and scarred as though it had taken impacts meant to kill. At its center sat a dark blue diamond-shaped crystal set within a metal star, cold and deep like a shard of midnight. The whole shield looked ancient, heavy, and unyielding, like some sanctified tomb door repurposed for war.

Grace brought it down.

The lower edge slammed into the mat with a violent metallic crash that boomed through the training hall. The impact locked it into place like a bastion being set into a battlefield.

Behind it, Grace planted her feet and lowered her center of gravity. She did not merely stand behind the shield. She became part of it.

’Center line,’ Ophilia said.

’No hesitation,’ Zumthor growled. ’Break the wall before the others close.’

Jagger moved.

“Predator’s Blitz.”

He exploded forward.

The court vanished beneath him in a blur. One barefoot step bit into the mat so hard the rubber squealed. The second came lower, faster, his whole body angling like a spear. His shoulder dropped. Muscles coiled across his back and legs. The black-red veins under his skin pulsed once, violently, as he drove himself straight into Grace’s shield.

The impact was enormous.

A savage, full-bodied thud ripped through the court as flesh, bone, and momentum crashed into steel. The shield shrieked against the mat. Grace’s arms locked, but even she could not dead-stop that kind of burst cleanly. Her boots dragged half a step. Then another. The lower edge of the shield tore a line through the rubber as Jagger kept driving, teeth bared, shoulder jammed into the cold metal, every muscle in his frame straining.

Grace’s eyes widened.

Jagger felt the resistance shift.

’Now,’ Ophilia said sharply.

’Low. Cut the base out from under her,’ Zumthor barked.

Jagger twisted.

He came off the shield-line hard and fast, dropping his weight away at the last second. His left palm smacked the shield’s rim for leverage as his body turned. Then his leg whipped around in a brutal low kick that slammed into Grace’s lead knee from the outside.

The strike landed with a meaty crack.

Grace’s balance broke.

Her weight, already driven backward by the blitz, betrayed her. The tower shield tilted a fraction. That fraction was enough. Jagger stepped in before she could recover and rammed a second strike, this one a vicious short-range side kick, into the inside of her thigh and hip. The force turned her further, wrenching her alignment off-center.

The shield lurched sideways.

Grace staggered two full steps, one hand forced to widen on the grip to keep the shield from toppling with her. She did not go down, but she was out of the line for the moment, dragged off her perfect wall stance, and forced to fight for structure again.

That was all Jace and Chase needed.

And all Jagger wanted.

The siblings came at once.

Chase burst in from the left, fast and aggressive, his fist already driving forward. Jace cut in from the right, clean and measured, leg chambering for a kick that aimed not for damage first, but for control.

Jagger met them head-on.

“Frenzy.”

The skill detonated through him.

Heat flooded his limbs. Something feral and relentless surged up through his body and wrapped around his movements. His speed sharpened into something ugly. His rhythm stopped being rhythm at all.

He attacked.

There was no pattern to it. No clean sequence. No formal structure.

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