Some invaders screamed in defiance, projecting jagged psychic spikes outward in blind retaliation.
They shattered before the spike could fully form.
Soul Shatter did not contest.
It did not grapple or struggle.
It bypassed.
It struck only what did not belong.
And Bruce remained unseen.
Even when he stood inches away. Even when his palm hovered above their sternum. No premonition flickered in the host's mind. No survival instinct screamed. Their bodies never twitched in warning.
They died unaware.
In a northern fortress overlooking a glacial ravine, three possessed captains leaned over a long table, studying projected formations of troops and supply lines. Their voices overlapped in strategic debate, calm and deliberate.
Bruce entered without the door moving.
Three palms struck in seamless sequence.
Three fractures rippled through layered souls.
Three invaders dissolved simultaneously, their foreign signatures collapsing into nothingness as though erased from a ledger.
