Shaking off the lingering tension from her conversation with Ryken was easy enough once she was moving. Ratelsi crossed the glass skybridge joining the residential block to the operational wing. Relying on her heightened senses, she followed the trail of arcane energy the operatives—no, her teammates now—left behind through a few turns leading to the threshold of a conference hall. A massive, U-shaped desk anchored the room, with glowing blue trim mirroring the concentric halo orbs suspended overhead. Beneath them was the main display: a large screen streaming live schematics and radar readouts against a honeycomb wall.
Five of the nine ergonomic seats were already filled. Jeenah, Saedi, and Torenn claimed the left flank, with Saedi practically glued to her boyfriend's arm. Seraph sat across from them, perched beside a guy she hadn't seen before.
Ratelsi sauntered in, hand on her hip, letting her boots strike the floor with lazy confidence. The shift in the atmosphere was instant—all eyes focused on the Mawborn. Dret, beside Seraph, lowered the dirty rag he was using to clean his sidearm. His bright pink eyes went wide. "Whoa, wait—why didn't anyone mention the new chick was hot?"
Seraph muttered something under her breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, while Saedi just laughed, leaning deeper into Torenn.
Simply ignoring his catcall wasn't an option, apparently. Dret immediately shoved his chair back, the casters whirring across the polished floor as he dropped his cloth and stood. The Peculiar closed the distance in quick strides, stopping short of Ratelsi with a flirty, disarming grin. "Yo. You the new chick, yeh? Andret Bobbis, but these folks call me Dret. Guess you can too." His smirk widened, and he waggled his brows. "Unless you'd rather give me a nickname reserved just for you."
Ratelsi let out a scoffing chuckle. The shtick was weak, but for all his flirtatious swagger, the man exuded grounded, formidable strength. Defined muscles filled out a sleeveless, navy turtleneck accented with gold buttons—dark, spiky hair with a bold pink streak framed a face with brilliant pink eyes. Utility cargo pants, cinched tight at the belt, were tucked neatly into heavy combat boots. She measured his height with a slow flick of her gaze. Five-eight. Maybe five-nine at best.
Ratelsi crossed her arms. "Giving you a nickname sounds like a chore, shortie."
A stifled ripple of laughter leaked through the room. Dret hated when people called him that nickname, always claiming instead that he was of average height. But the pretty girl's fresh-off-the-boat ignorance bought her a free pass. "You're feisty," he said, leaning in with a smirk that didn't quite reach his glowing eyes. "We need more of that around here." He extended a hand, expecting a polite, tentative squeeze. Instead, Ratelsi locked her fingers around his palm like a vise—metal-hard pressure ground against his knuckles.
A satisfied smirk stretched Ratelsi's lips as she felt the subtle tremor in his wrist, the sudden panic in the tension of his tendons. She tilted her head, much like a raptor. "What's wrong? Can't pull away?"
"Huh? Of course I—woah!"
Ratelsi released him without warning. The sudden loss of resistance sent Dret stumbling back two steps. He hissed through his teeth, snapping his hand back to his chest, vigorously shaking out the blood. "Man, you're freakishly strong," he muttered, cradling his hand and blowing on his reddened fingers. "Thought she was boutta tear 'em clean off."
Amused, Ratelsi watched him walk back to his seat as she claimed an empty chair beside Jeenah, whose face lit up the second she sat down. But the comfort was cut short by Ratelsi catching Seraph's darting, hesitant glances. What's her deal? She thought, suspicious. She was there when Timoth died, maybe she felt guilty? If so, then good! They should all feel guilty.
Yet looking at Seraph now, stripped of her disguise, you'd never guess this Peculiar was complicit in such a dangerous, bloody feat. Everything about her exuded privilege and aristocratic grace, the common traits of a Patrician. Pale-skinned, her straight auburn hair fell over the high collar of her dress, with a blunt fringe across her forehead. A thigh-high slit revealed dark tights disappearing into heeled platform boots. Bright turquoise eyes, sharp, with thin, arched eyebrows. A mole near her right eye. Seraph was stunning, adorned with dangling earrings and a choker. Refined. Pinned together with effortless elegance that felt entirely alien yet somewhat comfortable here.
What's someone like her doing in an organziation like P.A.R.T.? Ratelsi mused. But the answer wouldn't come anytime soon, and she wasn't exactly fishing.
When the door slid open, Ryken stepped into the room and settled beside Seraph. The moment his amethyst eyes swept across the table and locked onto Ratelsi, his shoulder slump was palpable. His pupils dilated; his brows pulled tight. Ratelsi, on the other hand, shut her eyes, physically severing eye contact before turning away. Seraph watched Ryken let out a ragged sigh and slump further, resting the side of his face against his hand and staring blankly at the wall.
"Are you okay?" Seraph asked softly, tugging his sleeve, flicking her gaze from Ratelsi's hardened expression back to Ryken. "You look… unsettled."
He waved the concern away, forcing a small, effortless grin. "Nothing to worry about. Just wondering what Eliàna has lined up for us today."
Seraph felt a faint prickle of irritation at the brush-off. Liar. Whatever was chewing at him had nothing to do with Eliàna and everything to do with the woman across the table. After all, Seraph knew him in a way no one else in the room did. Once, in their adolescence, their families had bound them together in a betrothal meant to forge a powerful alliance. But that bargain died the day of the incident that left thick, ropy strangulation scars ringed around his throat like a permanent collar. Turquoise eyes, speculating beneath soft, fine lashes, lingered for a second on the high collar of his shirt, knowing the twisted, pale tissue hidden beneath his runic tattoos. The betrothal was dissolved, but the phantom weight of what they almost were still hung between them—well, mostly her. He maintained a guarded perimeter around her now, kept her at arm's length, but she—neither his closest friend nor his lover—still knew him like a familiar script.
Her reminiscence was cut short when the automatic doors hissed open, and Eliàna entered, followed closely by Oberon tapping unevenly on a tablet's screen. "Ah, look, they're here," Ryken said, bringing the room's attention to the door. Naturally, Ratelsi sized up the team's captain, Oberon; she'd secretly been wondering who piloted this little crew. For all her authority and undeniable strength, Eliàna remained a Normie. There's no way she'd boat eight Peculiars, two of which were Mawborns, without appointing a captain who knew how to sail the ship. Oberon carried an aura of understated reliability, his posture impeccably calm yet alert. Dark-skinned, with bright orange eyes and a handsome face. Seeing the team already present, his guarded expression softened into an approving curve of his lips. His uniform—a high-collared tunic rolled up at the forearms to show chorded muscle, gathering loosely at his waist before cinching at the ankles—swished softly as he strode. Ratelsi couldn't help but notice that his and Torenn's uniforms were pretty much identical.
Hands braced against the command table, Eliàna held the room with a single, sweeping glance, pausing with an approving nod when she reached Ratelsi's new look. "Good, everyone's here. Listen up," she said in a clear voice. "The board is clear today, which means your primary duties are light. But don't mistake 'light' for easy."
A brief glance over her shoulder prompted Oberon to tap his tablet. Behind them, the massive screen's main display collapsed its live schematics, replacing them with a high-res 3D render of a creature—a large feline with coated fur in iridescent blues and greens, and a sweeping, fan-like tail of brilliant peacock plumes.
"This is an Ondra," Eliàna said, pulling a thin metal rod from her sleeve and rapping it against the screen. "An exotic hybrid—part peacock, part feline—indigenous to Argona; they're skittish by nature, but when threatened, those plumes bristle and launch like micro-darts. Strong enough to pierce through light body armour. You'll be transporting one today."
Eliàna scanned the operatives again, picking who to assign. "Ratelsi, Oberon, Dret, Ryken—this delivery is yours. The beast belongs to House Gurtend's matriarch, Turelina Gurtend, who won it at an auction two days ago. She expects her new pet delivered to her estate by evening, intact and unprovoked. Do not agitate it."
A manicured hand with multicoloured nails shot up.
"Yes, Jeenah?" Eliàna asked, turning to her.
Twirling the hem of her miniskirt, Jeenah offered Ratelsi an apologetic wince. "Uhm, Ratelsi doesn't have her HoloSmart yet. We… kinda confiscated it and haven't given it back."
Ratelsi crossed her arms, her face deadpan. "Hmph. Took you long enough to notice."
"Right," Eliàna said, tapping the rod against her cheek. "She isn't getting that one back anyway. We're issuing a new model—one far more advanced and suited to our operational needs. Everything from her previous HoloSmart will be transferred to the new one. Which means before your evening mission, Ratelsi, you'll need to stop by the Cura's HQ to get it calibrated. Jeenah and Torenn will escort you."
"Roger." Torenn nodded firmly, while Jeenah silently clapped her hands. "Ooh, I actually get to leave the building today."
Skeptical, Ratelsi's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that? I haven't taken a MAP test in over a decade. What if my Mawborn identity gets catalogued or worse, leaked?"
Eliàna let the team captain handle this one. "Your evaluation will be classified," Oberon chimed in. "P.A.R.T. members aren't subject to public registry updates. That's precisely why Jeenah is going with you. As our highest-priority asset, her presence alone signals to the officials that your intake requires maximum discretion."
Ratelsi spared the "asset" a long glance, then shrugged. "Well. Guess you've got it all figured out."
After a beat of silence, Ryken leaned back, smirking. "So… zookeeper duty, huh?"
"If that creature shoots a quill through your hand because you tried to pet it, Ryken, I'm not filling the incident report," Eliàna replied, drawing a low ripple of chuckles. "Moving on. While Ratelsi's HolosSmart gets calibrated, Oberon, Seraph, Saedi—you're with me to Turris for medical clearances and supervision. Standard security protocols apply." Saedi and Oberon saluted the commander, while Seraph inclined her head in silent agreement.
"That would be all. Disperse," Eliàna commanded, severing any further chatter as Oberon tapped the tablet to clear the screens. The operatives pushed back their chairs, rising to offer the commander a two-finger salute to the collarbone. Only Ratelsi remained seated, catching their side-glances with an annoyed huff. "What? I'm so not doing that." At least not while she could barely stand looking at their faces. Eliàna smirked and stepped past Ratelsi, resting a hand on her headrest. "No one's going to force you to do what you'll end up doing anyway," she murmured, then spun the chair full circle. By the time Ratelsi stopped rotating with a scowl on her face, the commander already sauntered out the door, the rest of the room bursting into chatter behind her.
As Seraph, Dret and Ryken left, Torenn paused to let Saedi kiss him on the lips; she whispered something in his ear, drawing a quiet laugh from him before he caressed her cheek and let her go. He then approached the table where Jeenah and Ratelsi were still seated. Tan-skinned, well-built, and sporting vibrant blue hair tied into a loose ponytail, the Peculiar's bright yellow eyes shifted between both women. Golden studs glinted at his earlobes.
"Right then," Torenn said. "If we're making it to Afewerk on schedule, we outta move now."
Nodding, the women fell into step behind Torenn to the elevator. As the doors hissed shut, Torenn punched in a floor and looked over at Ratelsi. "Yunno how to pilot a Strider?"
She nodded her head.
He sucked his teeth. "Awesome. Thought you were gonna hafta learn."
Raising a brow, she thumbed toward her back. "Why? I have wings."
Torenn, utterly unbothered, just sucked his teeth again. "Yeaaah. Thought you were gonna hafta learn."
Ratelsi turned to Jeenah for an explanation of why he repeated that, but Jeenah merely stifled a laugh, feigning interest in the elevator walls.
The ride down to the lower floors was surprisingly short, opening with a hiss to reveal a view that instantly widened Ratelsi's bored malachite-green eyes. Lines of aggressive, high-performance Strider Mk. Vs sat parked in rows across a vast floor of polished concrete reflecting the warm overhead lighting. The industrial bay felt expansive and immaculately kept—dark matte walls framed by yellow accent shelving, modular tool racks, and heavy-duty charging banks. Suspended under bright halo orbs, the aerodynamic machines stood in quiet, powerful readiness.
"No fucking way," Ratelsi breathed, pushing past Jeenah and Torenn. Trailing behind her, the two exchanged knowing smirks at her sudden shift in attitude. "Ah, so she likes 'em bikes, huh?" Torenn whispered to Jeenah, "Figures."
Up close, the Striders looked like lethal apex predators forged from carbon fiber and micro-alloy, way different from the ones she'd seen those Palashits ride. These... were pure muscle. Beautiful, pure muscles! Sleek frames, low-slung and angular, built around heavy pulse-repulsion turbines. Magnetic stabilizer vanes flared out like folded fins near the rear cowlings, and dual energy exhaust ports hinted at their staggering output. Ha! Timoth would be soooo jealous! He woulda loved these!
Laughing softly, Ratelsi strode over to a pitch-black machine with crimson line accents and ran a hand over its sculpted frame. "That's the Strider Mk V Impulse," Torenn said, tapping his boot against the machine's lower grav-skid. "Dual-spool ion thruster core. Generates a clean nine hundred horsepower with ninety-eight percent thermal efficiency."
Ratelsi let out a low whistle, leaning over to eye the exposed cooling fins. "You're telling me this lightweight frame can handle that kind of torque without tearing itself apart?"
"I mean, it's got reinforcement struts woven from ceramic-composite," Torenn explained, patting the saddle. "Zero flex, not gonna lie. Zero drag, too. This beauty does zero to two hundred in 1.8 seconds. Hit the burn-thrusters on an open stretch, and you'll leave your shadow behind. Right, Jeen?"
"Uh-huh. Everything he said," Jeenah responded. Smug, Torenn raised his hand, and Jeenah slapped it with hers in a high-five.
Ratelsi looked at her back where wings should be, then back to the Strider's predatory nose cone. A slow, dangerous smile kissed her lips. "A'ight... You're making strong points here. Don't get used to it, though. My wings are still better."
"Pfft. Yeah, suuurree," Torenn snickered, grabbing a black comm-helmet off the yellow gear display and tossing it toward her. "Once we hit Afewerk, you're not even gonna be thinking about your flappies."
Effortlessly catching the helmet by the crown, Ratelsi tucked it under her arm with a widened grin, flashing her sharp canines. "Flappies? Oh, it's on."
As she straddled her chosen vehicle, put on her helmet, tucked her long ponytail and felt the cool grip of the handlebars, she tapped the ignition sequence. The digital dashboard flared to life, casting a blue readout across her visor before cycling through system checks. Beside her, Jeenah and Torenn mounted their own Striders, pulling on helmets that matched their bikes' colour—blue and green.
"Joji, let up the walls," Jeenah called out.
"Noted, Ms Obidiah," the HQ AI's voice echoed over the overhead speakers.
Heavy hydraulics groaned, and the segmented concrete blast doors before them began to slide skyward, exposing a wide strip of sunlit tarmac and the distant skyline beyond. Ratelsi twisted the throttle. VROOM! VROOOOOOMMM! The turbine beneath her let out a deep, rattling hum, magnetic dampers whining as the Strider lifted an inch higher off its skids. Smirking behind her visor, she didn't wait for the doors to finish rising—the moment there was clearance, she slammed the drive.
The trio shot off the curb in a violent burst of power, leaving scorched air and static discharge in their wake.
Esrossa's streets blurred into streaks of concrete and neon, the wind buffeting her shoulders as the Strider's anti-grav field fought the pavement. It wasn't like flying at all—wings required muscle, rhythm and constant drag. This was pure, unadulterated propulsion. The adrenaline from the force pressing Ratelsi hard against her seat was insane. She let out a wild laugh inside her helmet, leaning hard into the first curve as Torenn and Jeenah swept up alongside her on either flank.
[The Cura Supernorum's Regional HQ, Afewerk, Sector Belt]
As the Striders coasted into Afewerk's outer perimeter, the sudden drop in temperature hit them like a physical wall. Ratelsi killed the throttle and yanked off her helmet, letting the icy mountain wind bite her brown skin. Afewerk wasn't much of a town—it looked like a fortified roost perched on the razored summit of Mount Hugh. Trapped by the mountain's strict spatial limit, the settlement was a cramped, dense knot of basalt structures clinging desperately to the cliffside.
People actually live in this freezer? She wondered.
Welcome to the top of the world," Torenn said, his breath fogging as he unclipped his helmet. "Smallest town in Argona, highest point of elevation in all the Belt. Look down."
Ratelsi stepped onto the guardrail. Unclipping her own helmet, Jeenah warned, "Hey–be careful!" Ratelsi tossed a smirk over her shoulder. "Pssh. You think this is high?" Fearless, she leaned over the edge anyway. Far beneath the cliff's precipice, the lower sprawl stretched out in a murky grid—a wide basin of smog, endless transport corridors, and factory complexes.
"It's like looking down at an anthill," Ratelsi muttered. The biting wind caught her long ponytail, whipping dark strands across her face. She slapped them away with an annoyed huff.
"That's why the bureaucrats settled here; it's strategic," Torenn noted, leaning his arms on his handlebars. "You've got a single access trail up the ridge, subterranean thermal vents keeping the roads clear of ice, and complete radar over the entire Belt."
"Plus the view!" Jeenah chimed in, leaning over her handlebars to point toward the eastern chasm. "Look at that mist cloud!" All three turned to look at the colossal, twin-curtain waterfall thundering down a wall of silver granite, plunging thousands of feet into the sea of white mist below. "That's the Weeping Falls," Jeenah said proudly. "The spray freezes halfway down into ice needles before it even hits the lower valley basin. Beautiful, right?"
"Yeah, if you like freezing your wings off," Ratelsi grumbled under her breath. This was where Macaque seriously considered taking her for a date? What an absolute dork. She looked away from the cascading falls to the titan anchored at the center of town—a sleek, multi-faceted skyscraper carved from black titanium and polished glass, towering aggressively over the humble basalt dwellings below. The Sigil of Liyuen was emblazoned near the peak. The spire undoubtedly housed training sectors, bio-labs, classified archives, and at its crown, the Primarch's office.
"Talk about an eyesore," Ratelsi observed, pointing a taloned finger at the Cura's Headquarters.
Torenn snorted, keying his engine back to life. "The Cura isn't known for subtle architecture. I mean, they literally stuck their regional HQ on the highest point just so their comm arrays cover every square inch of the Belt."
"Riight. Their comm arrays," Ratelsi scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Definitely not a massive flex to assert dominance."
"Now, I didn't say that," Torenn chuckled, giving Ratelsi a knowing look. He pulled his helmet into place and gestured toward the entrance hall. "Come on, let's get you sorted out, rookie."
The trio glided toward the Headquarters' entrance where two Paladins stood guard, Detonators slung across their arms. The moment the Peculiars touched down, the guards' visors lit up as their internal HUDs processed the Peculiars' bio-signatures. Identifying Torenn and Jeenah, both guards brought two fingers to their collarbones.
"Ms Obidiah. Mr Brackenn," they greeted in unison, before turning their attention to Ratelsi. She raised an eyebrow, sizing them up right back.
"She's with us," Jeenah said, smiling as she looped her arm through Ratelsi's. The latter tensed at the touch, but sensing no hostility, eventually relaxed.
"Yeah—our newest recruit," Torenn piped up from behind the women.
Acknowledging the order and Ratelsi's uniform, one guard pressed an access card to the electronic lock. The heavy doors hissed open, granting them entry into a vaulted, hyper-modern atrium. At the center, a holographic column poured down from the ceiling like a spotlight, ringed overhead by concentric halo orbs, broadcasting rotating feeds of weapon specs, political campaigns, and news bulletins. Unlike its bleak exterior, the Cura Headquarters' interior was blindingly clean and dust-free. Multi-level balconies overlooked the polished main floor, where white-coated staff moved among interactive consoles and sleek seating pods. Massive screens lined the walls, looping the Primarch's sermons. Ratelsi's pointed ears twitched at the low, ambient hum of purifiers. Taking a breath, she tasted ozone in this bureaucratic machine churning through its daily grind.
"You've been here before, right?" Jeenah asked Ratelsi. Having released her arm—maybe because she felt Ratelsi's earlier tension at her unexpected touch—Jeenah opted to walk beside the Mawborn, with Torenn strolling silently behind them.
Ratelsi shrugged, raising her glowing eyes to the ceiling. "Not in like a decade," she said, looking around again. "Everything's a little different from what I remember. The HQ wasn't as… futuristic."
Jeenah nodded in understanding. "Fair enough. Ten years ago, we hadn't fully uncovered the extent of what technology could do when infused with magic—runic magic." Then she spun on her heels, walking backwards as she spread her arms. "Now, everything is made easy through Augmented Holographic Reality."
Ratelsi cocked her head, looking thoughtful. "That sounds like I should know how that works."
Jeenah laughed. "It's okay if you don't. Most people don't care about the mechanics of their everyday technologies as long as it works. But since we're here, I'll show you." She pointed a manicured finger at a pyrokinetic nervously flicking match heads between scarred fingers as he swiped through food options on a vending machine's holographic screen. "See that?" she said, and Ratelsi watched the Peculiar reach into the projection, pluck out a physical cup of instant noodles and a soda bottle, and pull them right out of the light.
"Just like that. Magic is infused into holographic tech, enabling us to physically interact with it. That's how AHR works."
Ratelsi hummed. "I think I get it."
Rounding the bend brought them to a crowded waiting sector, where a queue of Peculiars stood ready for their mandatory, biannual MAP evaluations. Paladins patrolled either end of the line, keeping watch over the biologically varied forms and species wearing matching holographic ID tags. The collective anxiety in the space was palpable. After all, this was where a Peculiar's right to legitimate access to employment, housing, or any civil standing at all was based on passing or failing the tests. Clearly, nobody here wanted to fail. Nearby, a six-limbed clerk methodically processed digital triplicate forms on a wide terminal.
As Ratelsi, Jeenah and Torenn approached, navigating past janitors in polymer jumpsuits, the Paladins at the rear of the line immediately snapped to attention and offered a two-finger salute. The shift in the room was magnetic. The entire queue turned to stare. Even the clerk stopped processing, as the trio's presence completely rewrote the energy in the room. Curious murmurs swept through the hall as onlookers traded guesses about who had just walked in, some recognizing Jeenah and Torenn.
"—those uniforms. Aren't those three with that secret organization?"
"What secret organization? Do you mean P.A.R.T.?"
"Yeah! The dark one with the Afro—she's a Model Minority[1], right? I heard she built the Joji network."
"Yunno, now that you mention it, I've seen the other guy on the news taking down those Dogma beasts."
"Shit… it actually is them. I thought P.A.R.T. was made up."
"Apparently not. Look—there's three of them, literally, plain as day."
One of the Paladins stepped forward to intercept Jeenah. "Ms Obidiah. What brings you here today? Had we known you were coming, we would have prepared a private sector for your arrival."
Offering a breezy smile, Jeenah waved off his concern. "Oh, no worries. I'm not here to see my dads. I'm here for her." She gestured toward Ratelsi. "Our newest recruit needs her HoloSmart calibrated right away."
The Paladin looked Ratelsi up and down, then caught Torenn's confirming nod. Leaning in, the guard lowered his voice. "So your presence implies… this test requires discretion?"
"Uh-huh," Jeenah nodded.
"Understood. Right this way, then." He gestured toward the front of the queue, where a pair of Paladins flanked the evaluation room door. Just then, the entrance slid open, and a Peculiar stepped out. The defeated slump of his shoulders said everything: he'd failed. But then, as the Paladin escorted the operatives past the queue, mutinous grumbles began rippling through the waiting crowd.
"Just great. Some of us been waitin' here for hours, but these brats get to waltz right to the front just cuz they got fancy outfits on," a disgruntled voice shouted, backed by immediate nods and jeers. Not everyone was willing to risk it, though. "Have you got a death wish? That's P.A.R.T.!" someone hissed nearby. "Bitch, I been here two fuckin' hours. I don't give a flyin' fuck who they is!"
The rising anger stopped the Paladin and the operatives in their tracks as the crowd hemmed them in a thick wall of Mercs, weary factory workers, mothers—some breastfeeding, and agitated teenagers.
Ratelsi clicked her tongue in annoyance at the bodies choking her personal space. As if deliberately trying to piss her off, a random hand lashed out from the press, smacking her right across the cheek. Glowing malachite eyes flared brighter. She clamped onto the broken wrist, unleashing a wave of suffocating arcane pressure. The air instantly vanished from the immediate vicinity, leaving everyone except Jeenah and Torenn choking or gasping for breath. Coughing fits echoed through the sector as people dropped to their knees or scrambled away from the epicenter where the creeping energy was heady. The Paladins whipped around, alert yet bewildered, before their eyes landed on a whimpering Peculiar whose arm was locked in Ratelsi's iron grip. Cautiously raising their weapons, they watched as the Mawborn glared down at the kneeling man with irritated, glowing eyes.
"You should watch where you throw your limbs," she said.
"S-sss-sorry!" the scaled, forked-tongue man hissed, terror wide in his yellow eyes.
Ratelsi frowned, raising a brow. "Why are you apologizing to me? You're the one with the broken wrist." She released her grip, letting his arm drop.
"Ah…" The man stared down at his limb. His forearm was twisted into an unnatural bend, the bone canted to the left. A wave of stunned murmurs washed over the room.
"Wow, it really snapped."
"But how? All he did was hit her in the face, and she barely moved!"
Even Torenn and Jeenah exchanged a wide-eyed glance, caught off guard by the Mawborn's effortless durability as she stood tall above the broken man.
[1] "Model Minority" is the official public title conferred upon Peculiars who have successfully completed training at the Praesidium