The sudden, imposing appearance of Jett on the front lines had caused two immediate, devastating things for the Billion Bloodline group holding the courtyard.
The first was pure, paralyzing fear. Having just witnessed firsthand how the military-grade stun guns didn’t even make the giant flinch, the frontline defenders couldn’t help but nervously wonder what exactly would work on a monster like him. If thousands of volts of electricity only made him smile, he seemed practically invincible. The grim reality quickly set in: if they were to mistakenly get in his direct path and he was to attack them, they weren’t ever getting back up to join the fight. A single blow from him was a death sentence.
The second major issue was his suffocating overall presence. Because of how built he was, and how terrifyingly casual he was about the violence, the other defenders were becoming dangerously distracted. While desperately trying to focus on the swarms of Gilt Rats and Black Hounds they were currently dealing with in the melee, it was almost as if the Bloodline fighters were constantly looking over their shoulders, terrified and wondering if Jett was going to suddenly be standing right behind them.
"Haha! What is this? I honestly thought you guys were a hell of a lot braver the last time I came here!" Jett roared, his booming voice echoing over the clash of steel and fists. "Or maybe it’s the simple fact that now you actually have more of an idea of what I can do to you, so you’re not stupid enough to get in my way anymore!"
Looking around the chaotic courtyard, however, Jett wasn’t interested in slaughtering the low-level grunts cowering from him. He was actively trying to see the specific, high-value targets he had fought against previously.
He was hunting for those arrogant leaders wearing the colored jackets, or the two heavily muscled Fortis guards he had gone against that were actually rather tough for him to fight. He wanted a real challenge.
"I guess I’ll just do exactly as I need to for now. I’ll clear a bloody path straight to your front entrance," Jett grunted, rolling his shoulders as he walked ahead.
He figured that if he personally crushed the bulk of the defensive fighting line that was holding the courtyard, then the thousands of syndicate members trapped outside would be able to freely move forward and flood the Fortis building.
But as he confidently continued to walk ahead, something else was occurring in the churning crowd of fighters—something rather interesting that caught his eye.
"Move. Let me through!" a sharp, commanding voice shouted over the din of battle.
The surrounding groups continued fighting, completely ignoring the command. One of the overzealous Gilt Rat thugs, seeing a clear target, wildly swung a metal pipe to attack the man who had just spoken.
The man didn’t even break his stride. He smoothly pivoted his body to the side, effortlessly dodging the lethal swing. With a fluid, practiced motion, he grabbed the thug by the back of his shirt collar, used the man’s own momentum against him, and violently slammed him face-first into the concrete ground.
Immediately, another Black Hound enforcer charged forward to avenge his fallen comrade. The man simply leaned back, letting the wild punch graze the air in front of him, before snapping a brutal, pinpoint counter-punch right into the enforcer’s chin. The attacker’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he even landed.
Methodically, the man carved his way through the sea of people until he broke past the frontline skirmish and could clearly be seen by everyone standing in the open space.
"Ah, that damned Red Jacket. I recognize you very well," Jett said, a psychotic grin spreading across his face as he started to loudly crack his knuckles and stretch out his thick fingers.
"I owe you a lot for last time," Stephen said, stepping over a groaning thug and fixing his signature red jacket. "You did quite a nasty number on me back on that ship."
"Right, right! I remember now," Jett laughed, his chest heaving. "Back then, even though there were two of you little jacket-wearing punks coming at me at once, you still weren’t able to do absolutely anything to stop me. And now you boldly decide to step out here on your own? Did you get beaten so badly last time that you lost some of your brain cells?"
"Haha, a lot of things have happened in that short amount of time," Stephen said, his expression completely devoid of fear as he dropped into a perfectly balanced fighting stance. "I am not the exact same person I was before."
This arrogant line couldn’t help but make Jett chuckle darkly.
"Do you honestly, truly think you could have improved so much in such a ridiculously short amount of time?" Jett asked, shaking his head at the sheer delusion.
Although he confidently said these mocking words out loud, a tiny sliver of doubt crept into the back of Jett’s mind. They had already done this specific dance once before. The very first time Jett had gone against them—those that wore the colored jackets and their allies—he had defeated them with absolute, undeniable ease. He had confidently claimed they were nothing to ever worry about.
But then, when he met them again for the second time, they had improved dramatically. Their combat awareness and Qi refinement had spiked to a point where it was practically unimaginable for standard street fighters.
Although it had happened once, Jett simply couldn’t imagine that such an explosive, exponential leap in power would magically happen again a second time. Human biology had limits.
"You sure can talk a lot for a giant," Stephen said, his eyes narrowing, perfectly focused on Jett’s center of mass. "Your group was so powerless against our rapid expansion that look at you now—you’ve had to pathetically join up with the Gilt Rats just to stand a chance. But it doesn’t matter who you bring. We’ll still deal with you all the same."
Regardless of all the talking, Jett had heard enough. He stretched out his hand, and the thick, cable-like muscles could be seen visibly bulging in his forearms, the thick veins running up them pulsing with dark energy.
He then walked over, his heavy footsteps thudding against the pavement. It was quite clear now to everyone watching: the ones that were wearing these special colored jackets were substantially higher up in the Billion Bloodline ranking, and were the most talented, lethal fighters among the entire group.
If he brutally executed this Red Jacket right here in front of everyone, then the fragile morale of the rest of the defenders would quickly shatter, and the gates would fall.
"I’ll take you out in one single hit!" Jett roared as he exploded forward, charging like a runaway freight train.
"I’m going to do the exact same thing to you!" Stephen shouted back, his eyes flashing as he instantly activated the unique, supernatural powers of his Vow.
Stephen could immediately feel the familiar, electrifying tingling sensation pooling in his feet. The world around him seemed to slow down as he shot off the ground, moving incredibly, blindingly fast.
Stephen’s specific Vow meant he could still only move one single part of his body at a vastly faster speed than usual at any given time. But that strict limitation didn’t matter right now, because he had secretly brought something else to this fight. As he closed the distance in a fraction of a second, completely bypassing Jett’s guard, he threw his right hand out.
Beneath the sleeve of his red jacket, the hydraulic servos of his newly acquired exoskeleton gauntlet whined with maximum output. He punched Jett directly in the center of his thick stomach.
The sheer, supernatural speed of the Vow’s strike, perfectly combined with the , raw kinetic power of the mechanical exoskeleton, created a devastating shockwave. The metal knuckles dug deeply into Jett’s hardened stomach muscles, instantly folding the giant in half. The explosive upward momentum physically lifted Jett’s frame completely off the ground.
With a sickening crack, Jett’s body was sent flying violently backward through the air. He soared entirely back through the ruined front doors of the compound, flying right past the stunned faces of his own men, until his body crashed catastrophically into the hood of one of the parked armored vehicles, caving the metal in completely.
Inside the fortified building, standing safely in the training room, Wolf couldn’t help but smile widely as he saw the entire, spectacular confrontation unfold perfectly on the security cameras.
"Well," Wolf said, crossing his arms with a look of absolute pride. "That right there is our new S-rank."