A branch creaked slightly under Rael's weight — nothing loud enough to alert the chaos below. His cloaking system purred quietly, masking his presence as he shifted position, eyes tracking the bandits with cold precision.
"Plasma rifle set to silent fire," Nyra whispered. "You are green to engage, Commander."
Rael didn't respond.
He lined up his first shot. One of the bandits — barking orders, unaware that death had already taken aim — dropped the moment Rael squeezed the trigger.
PHFFT.The plasma round burned clean through the back of the skull. The corpse hit the dirt without a twitch.
No one noticed.
Rael shifted again, boots gripping the soaked bark of a nearby branch. Rain had begun to fall — light at first, now turning to sheets. It helped. His cloaking shimmered in the downpour, bending light and motion.
He was the storm.
Two more bandits below — harassing the cat-eared rogue.
He dropped.
Mid-air, his right wrist snapped forward — SHHHNK — energy blade extended.
The first bandit didn't even register the blow. The blade carved straight through his torso, sizzling through organs and armor. The second spun, too slow. Rael pivoted — blade reversed — and opened his throat with one smooth slash.
Before the bodies hit the mud, Rael was gone again. Cloak active. Rain hissing against his armor.
At the clearing's edge, a monstrous black serpent burst from the brush — fanged and massive, coated in glistening armor-like scales. It hissed, its jaw opening wide enough to snap a man in two.
The adventurers faltered. The tiger beastman bled from his arm. The elf ranger fumbled an arrow. The human girl in robes crawled backward on her knees, staring up as the beast loomed over her.
And then — it stopped.
A flash. A blur.
Rael's silhouette slammed into the serpent's back. His energy blade surged down in a precise arc, slicing through the skull. The monster dropped in a shuddering, twitching mass.
The battlefield froze.
And then they saw him — or… part of him.
Standing atop the serpent's corpse in the pouring rain, cloaking field damaged by the kill, a towering figure slowly emerged from the distortion. Seven feet tall. Power-armored. Bulky. Every inch glinted faintly with matte steel and menace.
Two glowing red eyes pierced through the gloom.
His helmet visor bore a painted human skull — grinning death — faintly visible beneath the rain-slicked shadows.
Steam hissed off his shoulders. He did not speak. He did not move.
Only the robed girl saw him fully — and even she couldn't breathe.
She was frozen. The rain pouring down her face. Her eyes locked on the specter above.
And then — with a soft shimmer — he was gone again.
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