CHAPTER 95: TAG-TEAM TAKEDOWN

The masked figure laughed—light, mocking, amused. With a flick of his wrist, the geyser of flame vanished, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. At the exact moment Aveline’s fist sailed through the air, his form shimmered—and disappeared.

Both Marcus and Aveline froze mid-motion.

Their eyes scanned the battlefield in tandem, instinct buzzing.

"Where the hell—" Aveline muttered, spinning to check their flank.

But it was too late.

The masked figure reappeared behind Marcus, silent as a phantom, already twisting into a flying kick meant to drive straight into Marcus’s ribs.

"You’re the only one keeping distance..." he sneered mid-air. "So you must be weak up close!"

It was a simple assumption.

And dead wrong.

Marcus smirked—he’d seen it coming.

With perfect timing, he caught the masked figure’s leg with both arms, his boots grinding against the cobblestones as he absorbed the kinetic force.

"Good guess," Marcus said coolly. "But also a bad one."

His grip tightened.

In one fluid motion, he reversed the momentum, pivoting his body and channeling the force into a fierce counterattack. His leg rose like a piston, his boot cracking upward in a high-arched kick that collided clean with the masked man’s chin.

The air snapped.

BOOM!

The impact sent the figure sailing through the sky, a dark blur against the early evening light. He crashed into the side of a building, stone exploding on contact, rubble and smoke bursting outward in a cloud.

A crater formed in the wall where his body struck.

Dust billowed.

"Impeccable form," the masked man’s voice rang out faintly from within the haze. "But not quite enough to deal lasting damage."

He emerged slowly, brushing stone from his shoulders, still smiling despite the impact. "Seems like that girl hits harder than you."

His feet dug into the cobblestone as he lunged forward—this time at Marcus—eager to test him in close combat.

"Really now?" Marcus grinned, cracking his knuckles.

’Thanks for the reminder, mystery creep.’

His thoughts raced as the system UI flashed in his mind’s eye.

Strength: 15 (C)

’Time for a quick investment.’

The system chimed in immediately:

[Use all EXP?]

Most would hesitate.

Dumping all your hard-earned EXP into a single stat was reckless.

But Marcus wasn’t most.

’Of course!’ he responded without pause.

The light-blue interface pulsed once—and in the span of a heartbeat, all the EXP he’d earned from the Wyrm and Cynthia’s trial surged into his Strength stat.

Strength: 60 (S)

Mana flooded his limbs.

His blood ran hot.

’Hope I don’t regret this later.’

The masked figure reached him, unaware of the stat spike, grinning as he prepared a casual punch-to-punch trade.

Marcus met him with a straight right.

The masked figure raised an arm to block, expecting another weak blow like before—

WHAM!

The punch landed—and the air behind the masked man detonated.

A shockwave burst outward from the force of the impact, rattling windows and cracking stone. The man’s arm jerked back unnaturally, his stance shaken.

"Huh...?" the masked man blinked, baffled. "Did I—miscalculate?"

He didn’t have time to dwell.

Marcus moved again—fast.

A sidestep, then a left hook, fierce and low.

The figure twisted, barely dodging. The movement was less graceful this time—more reactive, less cocky.

He spun into a roundhouse, aiming to kick Marcus square in the face.

But before the blow could land—

"Pay attention!"

Aveline returned like a whirlwind, sliding beneath the figure’s arc with practiced ease, her Raven Sword gleaming. She swept the blade across the same leg that had nearly struck Marcus.

The edge kissed flesh.

An arc of blood trailed behind the swing, delayed for a heartbeat before it bloomed.

The masked man hissed, the cut shallow but real.

"He’s more durable than I thought..." Aveline muttered, narrowing her eyes. The blade had bit, but barely. "Be careful."

Her warning was subtle, but Marcus caught the cue.

The masked figure stumbled slightly, one leg trembling—subtly betraying pain.

But Marcus gave no room.

"No time to breathe!" he roared, his gauntlet-clad fist rising once more.

This time, he aimed for the back of the knee.

CRACK!

The sound was unmistakable.

The punch hit home, and with it came the echo of bones breaking. The figure collapsed onto one knee, eyes wide with disbelief.

And yet—he grinned.

Even now.

"The boss... needs to hear about you kids..." he laughed weakly, his voice strained but oddly pleased.

Then, in a blur of movement, he vanished again.

"Damn it," Aveline growled, shifting her stance as she tightened her grip on the sword. Her eyes darted across rooftops and alleyways. "Be careful, he might pull the same move again!"

This time, the air rippled with strain before he flickered back into view—his voice drifting down from above, distant and labored.

"I’ve had enough for today. I’ll spare you—for now."

He reappeared atop a rooftop, limping, one leg clearly broken, his balance unstable.

"We’ll meet again, and next time I—"

SPLAT.

The masked man didn’t get to finish his sentence.

A blur dropped from the sky—a second cloaked figure, flailing like an airborne ragdoll—and landed directly on top of him with a bone-jarring thud.

The pair crumpled into a heap, bouncing off the rooftop before slamming into the cobblestone below in an ugly, tangled roll. Limbs flailed. A groan escaped someone’s throat—unclear whose.

A pause stretched across the battlefield.

Marcus blinked. "Did he just—"

"He got body-slammed by his own guy," Aveline muttered, lowering her sword. "I almost feel bad. Almost."

A shadow moved in the street, calm and unhurried.

Cynthia stepped into view, adjusting one of her earrings. Behind her, at least six unconscious assailants were strewn across the street like laundry blown off a line—stacked, sprawled, one even jammed upside-down into a barrel.

She looked pristine. Not a scuff on her clothes.

"What’d I miss?" she asked sweetly, brushing off a nonexistent speck of dust from her shoulder.

Marcus let out a low whistle. "Okay, that’s one way to end a monologue."

"Can I finally join in now?" Cynthia asked, her smirk sharpening.

Aveline laughed. "You already did."