THE THREE-AGAINST-ONE HANDICAP.
Victoria had finally gotten the duel she had been desperate for. Norris still couldn't fathom why she felt the need to prove herself by challenging him. To Norris, her determination made no sense at all.
Even if the heavens themselves placed a wager on her in a full head-on confrontation, she stood no realistic chance of victory. But Victoria did not care about chances.
Yet, Norris was the sole obstruction blocking her path to Undercity, and she needed him out of her way.
The terms of the engagement were set: Norris would face Victoria and her two fully capable Kingsguards in a three-against-one match. The rules were heavily stacked against him, but to Norris, the disparity changed nothing. He could easily dismantle them even if Victoria quintupled the number of guards at her disposal.
One particular condition, however, deeply annoyed him. According to the stipulations, he would face immediate disqualification if he utilized any offensive pneuma attacks. This restriction effectively stripped him of his primary arsenal, leaving him with only defensive pneuma techniques and pure hand-to-hand martial arts.
Turning his attention back to Victoria, he decided to review the terms one last time before the main event.
"Let me get this straight, Peanut," he said, crossing his arms. "I lose immediately if I use offensive attacks, but I win the moment I defeat all three of you?"
"Oui, Monsieur," she replied playfully.
"Alright, troublemaker, let's get this over with." Norris gestured impatiently. He had unfinished business waiting for him back in his hotel room. "Let's wrap this up, people. I've got some leftover takoyaki and sukiyaki that need to be consumed with grace and tranquility."
THE PRICE OF SUKIYAKI.
"SUKIYAKI?!" Victoria shouted, her eyes widening in surprise at the mention of the sweet Nihon cuisine. "WHY ARE YOU BEING A GREEDY GLUTTON? Do you honestly plan to feast on such a delicacy all by yourself?"
Norris answered with graceful shamelessness. "Yes, of course. I intend to dine alone, Miss Royal Menace."
"I, Victoria Novachronos, command you not to touch that food until I can join you!" she declared authoritatively. "Any act of disobedience will be officially treated as insubordination and mutiny!"
"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Wu Zetian, but you're not getting your way this time. Just the duel, and then we are done," Norris stated, making his position crystal clear. "My dinner is strictly off-limits, Ohime-sama."
"I don't intend to back down, especially when it comes to you," she shot back. "When I want something, I get it, geezer."
"For crying out loud, I'm only fifty-four," he reminded her.
"It doesn't matter. You're still ancient to me," she countered bluntly.
Norris smirked. "And that right there is exactly why you still don't have a boyfriend, Peaches." Norris shot back, mocking her single status.
Like a delicate ceramic vase subjected to sudden, intense heat, Victoria's pride cracked and shattered. It was a stroke of emotional damage at the absolute pinnacle of ridicule. Flushed with rage—though entirely devoid of actual malice toward her master—she let out her frustration.
"I will definitely make you take those words back," she vowed, trying to salvage her bruised ego. "And not just take them—you're going to eat them!"
"La, la, la, la, la," Norris sang out, covering his ears with both hands and swaying childishly just to taunt her further.
After that ego-crushing exchange, still stung by the petty banter, Victoria turned to her guards and began explaining Norris's defensive abilities, effectively giving them a head start. Norris was not pleased. Victoria was clearly arranging everything in her favor. For a duel that was supposed to be fair, she was putting far too much effort into stripping him of every possible advantage.
Still, he did not care.
He simply wanted to finish the fight and return to his hotel room to enjoy his takoyaki and sukiyaki in peace.
Once she had shared the critical information, Victoria turned back to Norris with a dead-eyed, serious expression. The playful teasing was gone, replaced by a serious, dead-eyed stare.
A CULINARY CRUSADE.
"Master, don't deny me this opportunity to eat with you," she said.
Norris remained nonchalant and utterly unbothered. "If you like, let your eyes shine and sparkle like diamonds or radiate brighter than the sun. It won't matter. Your eyes cannot bring me to my knees." He was telling her plainly that her gaze held no sway over him.
"I am simply tired of Lucianan cuisine," she continued, launching into a lengthy explanation. "I have embarked on a culinary journey to sample the diverse flavors of different nations. Why, just two months ago, I tried some Nubian and Ashanti dishes. It was a bit tumultuous for my stomach, admittedly, but it was well worth the experience."
"I only pray you don't end up hospitalized for food poisoning simply because your taste buds perceive anything in your line of sight as edible," Norris remarked dryly, offering a genuine warning for her health.
"Too late, Master, the hospital has already made me a VIP patient." She burst into laughter—hahahaha.
"I'll be damned," Norris muttered, shaking his head in quiet amazement. No matter how often he thought he had seen everything she had to offer, Victoria always managed to spin some new wonder.
THE UNEXPECTED PLUS-TWO.
Jayce, Boomer, and Skyler finally arrived at their destination—a hideout concealed beneath a soap factory in the Wasteland District of Undercity. By the time they got there, the rest of the crew was already waiting.
However, no one had expected Jayce to bring his siblings along.
Ryce and Floki exchanged puzzled looks, clearly thrown off by the unexpected addition. They had not accounted for this.
"I thought this was a rescue mission, not a family outing," Ryce barked, stepping forward to block their path. "Why the hell are your siblings here, Jayce?"
Jayce didn't so much as blink. "Cool your jets, Ryce. It's a long story—one I'm not interested in telling." His tone was steady and controlled. "What's the current status of my brother's location?"
Ryce's eyes narrowed as his expression darkened. "Are you deaf, or do you just enjoy being a retarded dumb fuck?" He stepped forward until the two men were face-to-face, staring each other down like boxers in the ring before the first bell.
Jayce held his ground, matching Ryce's intensity without flinching. "I recall you graciously accepting a hefty advance. What's the matter? Your boat is suddenly short on space for two more?"
"And who the fuck are you to dictate how I run my operation?" Ryce shot back.
"The same question applies to you, dimwit—who the fuck are you to complain about such a minor adjustment?" Jayce challenged, his voice steady and fearless. "Are you incapable of handling a real op, or is the scale of this mission just way over your head?"
He paused briefly, then added coldly, "And let's be clear—you're not doing me any favors. I paid for your services. If you decide to chicken out, I'll gladly take a refund."
Ryce's face twisted in disgust. "Come get your boy, Floki," he called out, "before I rearrange his face into sculptural art like a professional ceramist."
"I would love to see you try, Big Man," Jayce dared him, unflinching.
"Alllllllrrrright, boys!" Floki shoved his way between them, his heavy palms hitting both their chests and forcing them apart. "That's enough dick-measuring for one day. Break it up. This is neither the time nor the place to be throwing fists."
THE PRICE GOES UP.
Ryce rolled his shoulders, still visibly agitated. Then, almost as an afterthought, he spat on the dirt floor, adjusting his jacket. He pointed a finger at Floki. "And before I forget, tell your buddy there's been a change in the menu. Prices just went up."
Jayce snapped. "ARE YOU SHITTIN' ME RIGHT NOW?!" He surged forward, attempting to lunge at Ryce.
Floki immediately threw his arms around Jayce, straining to hold him back as the young, angry man tried to tear into Ryce.
"Yell all you want," Ryce continued, unfazed. "You dickfaces conveniently forgot to mention that our rescued client is being held hostage by uniformed military and heavily armed mercenaries! You omitted vital intel, so the price goes up."
We dropped an advance, and now this bastard wants to talk trash about an increment? That's the exact thought burning in Jayce's head. Jayce's mind raced with fury, his muscles tense against Floki's grip.
"Calm down, Jayce," Floki said, his grip firm but his voice steady. "That part's on me. Look, I believe that's my honest mistake for excluding that info. I'll cover the extra fee out of my own pocket. Let's just get this done."
"Now that we're all on the same page," Ryce said, his tone shifting to a businesslike one. "If you care to listen, here's the brief from my men's reconnaissance."
He began outlining the details gathered from the survey mission—the risks involved, the level of difficulty, the challenges ahead, and what he believed was the most viable approach to success.
As he spoke, the tension in the room shifted from hostility to focus.
Jayce, Floki, Boomer, Skyler, and the rest began weighing in—offering suggestions, questioning assumptions, and proposing alternatives. What began as a briefing turned into a long, intense strategy session.
It quickly became clear that this was no simple rescue but a serious and delicate situation.
The deeper they dug, the more dangerous the situation appeared. There were too many unknowns—especially concerning the uniformed men and whatever objective they had forced upon Nyx.
By the end of their deliberation, one conclusion stood firm: Acting blindly would be a mistake.
Intervening without understanding the full scope of the mission could put everything at risk—including Nyx's life. And that was a risk none of them were willing to take.
They had to be smart. They had to wait for the perfect window.
THE FLAMBOYANT GUILDMASTER.
The stage was set.
Both Kingsguards stood ready, armed to the teeth, their presence unyielding. Their mission was clear: force Norris to the brink—push him far enough that he would have no choice but to abandon his defenses and unleash his offensive pneuma techniques.
Norris, however, radiated the effortless confidence of an impenetrable wall. Looking across the arena at his opponents, he realized he didn't even know their names. It would be unfair to defeat them as total strangers, he reasoned.
Ever the initiator of courtesy and respect—whether necessary or not—he began with introductions.
It was entirely redundant, even though the entire nation of Luciana already knew exactly who he was—Norris decided to introduce himself first. The information was entirely unprompted, but the guards had no choice but to play along.
Frolicsome and blithesome as ever, Norris wasted no time; he launched into it without hesitation. A rhythm began—not in the world around him, but within his mind. Like the rhythmic clacking of hyoshigi wooden clappers, the hollow resonance of a mokugyo, and the deep, rolling thunder of taiko drums.
He stamped across the stage, one foot after the other, approaching Victoria and her guards with exaggerated, melodramatic Kabuki postures.
Like a ceremonial announcer heralding a grand entrance, he pronounced his entry—
"From the respectful and quiet realm of Setagaya, in the prefecture of Edo!" He spun, three sheets to the wind, carrying himself with the staggering bravado of a man drunk on excessive victory. "Out of her precious heart, Lady Tama raised her hand and beckoned to me!"
The tempo of the imaginary music in his head intensified. Basking in his own benevolent charisma, Norris began to pose, shifting his weight into the heavily exaggerated, melodramatic postures of a traditional Kabuki actor.
"I accepted her invitation without knowing the evil she saved me from!"
He halted abruptly, freezing in a classic Kabuki pose. His head rolled slowly in a circular motion, his long hair tracing the movement like a living extension of the act.
"As the beautiful Gotokuji Temple welcomed me in, Death struck—but missed me!" He threw his head back, unleashing a burst of uncontrollable laughter. "Instead, history births forth a legend!"
Instantly, the imaginary drumming in his mind halted. The music went dead silent. Silence fell. His expression grew as calm and still as deep water. Then, like a bolt from the blue, he roared.
"AND HIS NAME IS SHIROGANE NORRIS!"
For a moment, no one moved; silence hung over the arena.
Then, from the sidelines, a lone stagehand gave a hesitant, solo round of applause. As he continued clapping, from the sidelines—sharply, enthusiastically. The sound drew the attention of others, though their faces reflected only confusion. Realizing the situation, the man's applause faltered, slowing awkwardly and painfully to a single clap per second before dying out entirely.
A GRAND REGAL ENTRANCE.
Aside from Victoria, who had endured her master's eccentricities for years, everyone present was completely at sixes and sevens, unsure how to process what they had just witnessed. The two Kingsguards exchanged blank glances, utterly unsure how to react to the bizarre theatrical performance the Guildmaster had just staged.
Victoria, however, responded in kind.
Graceful, intelligent, and composed as ever, Victoria merely smiled. She stepped forward. Without the exaggerated theatrics, she decided to match her master's energy. Yet carrying an even greater presence, she began her own introduction—Victoria chose a grander, more operatic scale in mind. In the swelling cadence of a Western classical opera, she narrated her own entrance.
"Before this majestic, blessed land became a unified country under the heavens, legend spoke of a man who would become the ancestral king of kings," she proclaimed, her voice climbing with authority. "The earth tested the might of men, but they failed—none possessed true worthiness."
"And the prophetic challenge declared: 'Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all Luciana.' When all men had tried and given up, there appeared the legend who changed the entire course of history—pulling the sword from the stone."
She paused, plunging the arena into a few seconds of tense silence.
Suddenly, her clasped fists began to glow. Norris and the guards watched in surprise as a piercing light erupted from her hands, growing brighter by the second.
"With this simple act, the foundation for kingship was established," she said softly, building up to her finale. "The lineage of royalty was no longer bound by birth alone but opened to every worthy son and daughter of Luciana." The imaginary operatic score reached its crescendo and snapped shut.
Dropping into a flawless knight's stance, ready for a showdown, her eyes blazed. "By the right bestowed upon me and the pure blood passed down from the House of Novachronos…"
Her grip tightened on the light, her voice rising to a commanding battle cry—she roared, "...EEEEXCALIBUR!"
A blinding, silver-white icy sword materialized instantly in her hands, bursting into existence as her fists locked around the newly conjured hilt. Its blade is humming with power. The aura radiating from her was so immense that the sheer pressure sent a shockwave across the platform, visibly shaking the massive stage.
Norris stood stunned. He was genuinely impressed; he had never expected such power, not from Victoria. Not from someone who had once abandoned all formal pneuma training years ago, and he had never expected her to scale such heights on her own.
"I thought I heard you right," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You claimed you never benefited from my training or lectures?" Norris asked, staring at the overwhelming output of power rolling off the blade.
"I never did, Master," she replied easily, keeping her stance. "Just the basics, if you even want to count that. Diana was always the one who benefited most."
"That's because you were slow as a snail in adolescence," Norris said. "How did you make up for it? Your parents found you another teacher after I left, didn't they?"
"Yes, they did," she admitted. "But unfortunately for me, Diana still became the main beneficiary of those lessons too," she said, a trace of playful disappointment slipping into her voice.
"My goodness," Norris sighed, shaking his head. "You really are a helpless child."
Victoria scoffed lightly. "Look on the bright side, geezer—I turned out fine. I realized I actually do a lot better self-taught… especially when no one's breathing down my neck."
She laughed, then grew serious as Excalibur began to hum with pneuma.
IT'S SHOWTIME, SO IT BEGINS.
The Excalibur in her grasp began to pulse with pneuma energy, glowing brighter. At that cue, her two guards stepped forward, introducing themselves as they prepared to join their princess in a three-against-one duel.
"The name is Wang, representing the East Wing of the Kingsguard Corps," the first guard announced, drawing a pair of twin blades that immediately crackled with energy.
"Name's Bradley," the second followed without hesitation, unsheathing his own twin blades—"representing the East Wing of the Kingsguard Corps." Unlike his comrade, Bradley's blades could attach and detach at will.
Both guards' weapons began to vibrate, a low, resonant hum filling the air as they coated their steel in dense pneuma. They had clearly taken Victoria's tactical advice to heart regarding Norris's true capabilities.
The umpire stepped between the two sides, looking back and forth to gauge their readiness. Receiving a sharp, silent nod from both parties, the official raised a hand and dropped it.
"Are you ready?"
A nod from each party. That was all it took.
The duel roared to life, and Victoria's team lunged forward in unison.
The clash had begun. Princess versus Master. Who would emerge triumphant?
AN UNEXPECTED REUNION.
Meanwhile, deep within the Undercity's subterranean maze, a shadowed figure emerged from the gloom. Cloaked by the city's dim, oppressive atmosphere, he approached what appeared to be the entrance to a racketeering den. He raised his hand and knocked—low, steady, and deliberate.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
It was the rhythmic signal of a man looking to purchase illicit drugs.
Almost instantly, the peephole slid open with a faint scrape. A pair of cautious eyes peered through, inspecting the visitor without a word. After a brief pause of recognition, satisfied, the slot snapped shut again. Footsteps retreated.
Minutes later, the peephole slid open once more. This time, the heavy metal door followed, creaking as it gave way.
"He is waiting for you," the guard directed clearly. "Take a left after the first curve, then go straight. It's two doors before the dead end. Take the door on your right—the one with the bird inscription. It will take you down to the basement. He's expecting you."
The stranger gave a slight nod and proceeded without hesitation. He followed the directions precisely—turning at the curve, walking the narrow stretch, and stopping at the marked door. Pushing it open, he descended the stairs into the basement.
Found a door leading to what looked like an office. Before he could knock, a voice called out from behind it.
"This way, my friend!"
He pushed the door open. A wave of warm, familiar words crashed over him like a tidal surge against coastal rocks.
"By the heavens… I must not be dreaming—it's really you!" the den boss exclaimed, rising from his seat with visible excitement. "You look good, my friend. Like a mighty oak—you refuse to wither."
"And you don't look bad yourself, Kazeem," Benzo returned the compliment.
"BENZENOOO! How many years has it been, my good friend? Six years?" Kazeem asked, excitement written across his face.
"Eight, actually," Benzo corrected calmly. "Eight years, to be exact."
Kazeem stood up and came around the desk to greet him with a hug. "Do you still retaliate with a punch whenever your fellow man wants to hug you?"
A mild smile crossed Benzo's face. "It's been eight years, Kazeem. I can definitely let this one slide. Besides, I'm an adoptive father now," he revealed, spreading his arms to accept the embrace.
They embraced tightly—an unspoken acknowledgment of time, distance, and survival. The years apart were melting away in that single moment.
THE CONTENTIOUS FATHER.
"Adoptive father, eh?" Kazeem asked as they released each other, raising a brow. "So the rumor is true—you did start a mini orphanage. Hahaha!"
"I wouldn't call it an actual orphanage. It's just five kids," Benzo clarified. "Well, four now. One left after a legitimate relative came to pick him up—after thorough scrutiny on my part, just to be sure."
"Aww… look at you, that's so touching of you. A real 'save the children, heal the world' type of shit. " Kazeem snickered, walking back to his seat. "I never pictured you as the father type, given our previous line of work." He sat down and continued, "Doesn't that contradict fatherhood—the whole giving or saving lives madness? You know what I mean, right?"
Benzo sighed and pulled up a chair. "Speaking of fatherhood, my friend, that's my primary reason for disturbing your bee nest." Sadness sat on his face like a hamstring on an athlete.
"Oh no! Don't tell me you're my dad." Kazeem raised his hands in feigned mockery. "If you're here to come claim me as your son. I'm happy here already, Papa. Please don't take me with you."
"Ah-ha. Looks like that old habit of yours never died," Benzo shot back playfully. "I'm four years older than you, you fool. I can't be your father."
"How can I be of service to you, Blue Lynx?" Kazeem smiled and waved for his men to leave them in privacy.
A DIRE PREDICAMENT.
"As I said earlier, Kazeem—'fatherhood.'" Benzo's voice dropped, heavy with worry. "Charles and Klause have my son in their possession."
The revelation hit Kazeem like a boxer's uppercut. "Did you just say Klause and Charles?" His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Yes. Your ears aren't deceiving you. Charles and Klause—you heard right, old friend," Benzo affirmed.
Kazeem leaned forward, disbelief etched across his face.
"What type of shit did your son pull to end up in the grip of both Charles and Klause?" Kazeem asked, his mind visibly blown. He began tapping his fingers rhythmically on the desk. "And come to think of it—Charles, I understand, because he can be reasoned with. But Klause is dangerous. How did the kid escape Klause unscathed?"
"He didn't exactly come home unscathed. He came back wrapped up like a live mummy, covered in cuts and bruises. Signs of torture and interrogation," Benzo explained grimly.
RETURNING THE FAVOR.
Kazeem let out a short, incredulous laugh. "And here you are, accusing me of old habits." He leaned back, shaking his head before looking at Benzo again.
"Alright, Benzy," he said, his tone shifting to something more grounded. "How can I help an old friend? Besides, I do owe you one. It's high time I returned the favor."
Benzo began to explain the dire situation, laying out everything he knew to the best of his knowledge. Kazeem nodded along, listening intently to every detail as the two old friends embarked on a reunion neither of them had expected.
BATTLE ROYALE.
The stage was set for an unequal dance.
The arena thrummed with anticipation as the decisive clash unfolded. Victoria stood resolute at the edge of the battlefield, flanked by her two elite Kingsguards. Three against one duel.
Victoria's presence is deliberate, almost ceremonial. Excalibur burned in her grasp, its pneuma surging in radiant waves that shimmered through the air like heat rising from steel. The light did not merely illuminate her—it framed her, casting her as something resolute and unshaken amid the tension gathering across the arena.
She did not advance.
She did not need to.
Everything was already in motion.
At her silent command, her two Kingsguards moved—not with reckless urgency, but with disciplined intent shaped by understanding. They knew the man they faced. Against the formidable Guildmaster Norris, they had chosen not to charge headlong into oblivion.
They know Norris's defensive ability. A full frontal assault would be suicide and a fool's errand. His first line of defense is built to crush heavy linear projectiles and block direct melee charges. Long-range attacks? Useless. Their only path to victory is to follow Victoria's lead, without question.
Wang turned to his partner, offering a sharp, silent nod. Instantly, Bradley's twin blades ignited, enveloped in a humming, vibrating sheen of pneuma. Whirrrrr.
Returning the gesture, the two guards split; they exploded into motion—racing in opposite directions. Moving with practiced synchronization. Wang sprinted clockwise, a blur of motion, while Bradley tore counterclockwise. They circle Norris like wolves around a cornered beast.
Norris tracked the perimeter movements with a cold, analytical eye as his gaze traced their orbits. Yet, it was Victoria's eerie stillness that gave him pause. Why wasn't the princess joining the fray? The roaring energy of her blade suggested a lethal threat, yet she remained anchored to the spot. Posing stayed perfectly still, her newly summoned Excalibur blazing in her grip, its blade roaring with volatile pneuma that crackled like lightning across a storm-swept sky.
Suspicion flickered through the Guildmaster's mind. Deciding it best not to overextend into an unknown trap, he remained planted, watching the two Kingsguards spiral outward rather than commit to a forward charge.
I knew it, Norris thought, a grim smile touching his mind. Tinker Bell briefed them on my kinetic deceleration. They're avoiding a direct forward approach, using a spiral motion to cheat the vector tracking. Nice job, brat. You did your homework.
Without breaking his silence, Norris braced himself.
CHAOS OF CLONES AND STONE.
Wang's fingers flickered through a rapid sequence of hand signs. "Clone Technique: Multiplication Madness!" he muttered calmly.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Like bubbles from a struck surface, clones of Wang manifested.
Out of thin air, identical copies of Wang materialized and multiplied by the dozens. A tidal wave of duplicates cascaded down upon Norris in a dizzying, tightening spiral.
Within seconds, the entire stage is flooded with Wang's clones.
Simultaneously, Bradley strikes the ground with his twin blades. Crash. Smash. The flat topography shatters into debris with each thunderous impact. Boulders fly. He doesn't stop. With one blade, he breaks the earth. With the other, he scoops and flings the boulders toward Norris, all while keeping his circular path.
Norris couldn't yet see the point of these maneuvers; he hadn't activated his Kinetic Deceleration or Asymptotic Slowdown, and he couldn't fathom why they avoided a direct approach. When the first volley of boulders arced in, he watched the incoming barrage, entirely unfazed. He simply punched through them—thunk, crunch—and strode through the debris.
The rocks irritated him, but the clones presented a new nuisance. As the flying rocks began to test his patience, the Wang clones escalated the theater of war. They began grabbing each other, physically launching their fellow duplicates through the air to bridge the gap. Norris was suddenly engulfed in a chaotic swarm of close-quarters combat.
Thwack! Bam! Crack!
Kick, kick, punch, uppercut, punch, punch, smack. He went full martial arts, a masterclass in lethal choreography.
A heavy sweep of his leg, Kick!, sent three clones careening through the air. Punch! Uppercut! Fists cracked against ethereal forms. He snatched two more by their collars, slamming their heads together before utilizing one as a makeshift shield to deflect an incoming fist.
Spinning on his heel, he delivered a devastating flying kick that sent a third duplicate rolling across the dirt like a soccer ball, colliding into a group of oncoming clones in a chaotic domino effect. He drove one of the collar-held clones straight into the dirt—SMASH!—where it vanished into white mist—poof!—before executing a flawless roundhouse kick to the head that dissolved the other.
Poof! Gone.
Still, the tide of duplicates kept coming, endless and maddening.
THE DYNAMIC DEFENSE.
Despite the effortless display, irritation began to prick at the Guildmaster. This was supposed to be a walk in the park. Fine, he thought. If they want to play a game of attrition, I'll just exhaust their pneuma.
With decisive force, Norris stomped his feet hard against the ground—Thump!—with absolute, shattering finality.
The ground buckled. Instantly, five concentric layers of shimmering, transparent rings rippled outward from his body like a heavy thermal shockwave.
Each layer was spaced ten feet apart, the innermost forming a ten-yard radius around him. The sheer kinetic force of the deployment blasted everything away: tearing through the frontline of clones, boulders, and debris, carving a clear zone in the chaos.
But Wang's rear clones, untouched by the epicenter, reacted instantly. They threw themselves forward, interlocking arms to form a massive wall of living meat shields. The shockwave slammed into the clone wall, the duplicates absorbing the brutal impact and the flying debris to shield Princess Victoria from the blast.
For the first time, they witnessed Norris's asymptotic slowdown in raw combat. As the dust settled, the true nature of Norris's defense revealed itself. The five-layer boundary warped the air, camouflaged perfectly against the environment like a scorching desert heatwave.
Victoria's voice cut through the tumult, fierce and commanding. "STAND YOUR GROUND! Do not be intimidated!"
She pressed on, breaking down the technique for her guards. "The Asymptotic Slowdown isn't some invisible curse of nature. It's layers of rings that camouflage themselves, mimicking heat haze. Focus your pneuma around your eyes!"
Taking heed, the kingsguards channeled their pneuma, focusing the energy directly into their eyes. The world shifted. The invisible became visible. Before them stood the unmistakable structure of Norris's god-tier defense: five glowing, concentric rings, perfectly spaced, defining the absolute surface area of the Guildmaster's dominion.
Driven by pure tactical curiosity, Wang directed a nearby clone to test the barrier. Getting to the edge of the shimmering circumference. He places his palm on the visible light-like wall. Slowly, the clone extends a hand.
At first, it yielded like a permeable mist. The other clones watched in awe as the hand sank through—then, without warning, the surface hardened like a non-Newtonian fluid. The harder the clone pushed, the more resistant it became. A sudden jolt of electricity surged through the contact, hurling the clone backward with catastrophic force, as if it had been a test dummy struck in a high-speed collision, before it dissolved into nothingness.
Watching the experiment unfold, Victoria subtly turned toward the real Wang, careful not to expose his position. "I believe you all understand what we're dealing with, Wang. Stay focused. Follow my lead. This show-off defense won't be a problem."
Norris chuckled despite himself, unable to contain his admiration for her unyielding confidence. "I don't know if I'm to call it just overconfidence or intoxicated hubris," he muttered, bemused by her poise.
She smiled faintly, Excalibur steady in her hands, posing like a knight-errant on the eve of legend. "You shouldn't worry about what to call it. Concern yourself instead with defending your glory."
The air turned cold. The playing was over.
Silence tightened into purpose. Wang drew another set of hand signs—this time with words threaded through the motion. He intoned, calm and measured, "Pneuma to Pneuma, by the Covenant, I decree... Kia!"
FWOOM!
Brilliant light flared across every clone. Instantaneously, all of Wang's clones brightened as their attributes surged. Strength, agility, and speed surged through them in an instant. From every angle, the empowered duplicates rained down punches, kicks, and strikes upon the barrier.
They shifted attack vectors constantly, striking from above and testing seams for weakness. Under the barrage, the defenders discovered a new truth: the Asymptotic Slowdown wasn't merely concentric rings; it was a dome, a curved shell enclosing Norris.
Meanwhile, Bradley chanted his own invocation amid the frenzy. "Pneuma to Pneuma, I decree…Kia!"
The outer layer of the asymptotic slowdown groaned under the relentless barrage. Wrecking-ball punches and kicks hammered from all directions, throwing the mechanism into disarray. Priorities fractured; sections desynchronized, leaving exploitable vulnerabilities.
The Guildmaster noticed immediately: the outermost ring was failing in places. They're serious. Team Victoria wanted this duel; they meant to win. He straightened, the fight transitioning from experiment to contest.
THE MOVING FORTRESS.
Norris's eyes narrowed with deadly seriousness. He scans the clones, searching for the original Wang among the chorus of duplicates. Victoria, ever perceptive, spotted the shift immediately.
"WANG! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T GIVE OUT YOUR POSITION!" she shouted. "The old geezer is scanning everywhere for you!"
"Tsk. Darn you, Tinker Bell." Norris is annoyed. His pet daughter just warned Wang to stay hidden.
He can't find the original.
Any deviation would betray the real Kingsguard. Frustrated, the Guildmaster abandoned his anchor point and waded into the clones with ferocious efficiency—kick, kick, smash, punch, flykick, jab, punch, and slam—his combinations were brutal and efficient. For every three clones he vaporized, four more respawned in their place. He can't use offensive pneumonia attacks—Victoria's rules forbid it.
He was locked into a purely defensive framework, forced to rely solely on martial prowess and his selective defense.
He tore through the ranks like a heavy tractor plowing through a cornfield, dropping duplicates like flies with single, brutal strikes. Yet, because Norris was the literal anchor of the Asymptotic Slowdown, the entire five-layered dome shifted dynamically with his footsteps. As he lunged forward from point A to point B to crush an enemy, the boundaries moved with him, momentarily trapping clones within his personal space while the rest battered the exterior, trying desperately to breach the anti-approach matrix that stretched distance, drained momentum, and turned close contact into a one-way capture trap.
For clarity: the Asymptotic Slowdown Field is a five-layer defense that converts incoming motion into a delayed, weakened approach while allowing Norris selective adhesion to grip and immobilize foes. It stretches distance, saps momentum, and turns close contact into a one-way capture advantage.
In one line, Norris Defense is a layered anti-approach system that stretches distance, drains momentum, and converts close contact into a one-way capture advantage.
The battle raged on, a grand theatrical spectacle of light, power, and unyielding wills—each side probing, adapting, and refusing to yield an inch.