It's now.
This time, I'm going to witness a battle of abilities.
A battle of Words. A real clash.
Mercenary… versus Slow.
I must not miss a second.
I have to understand. Learn.
And finish off the survivor before he captures me.
Nero speaks. The tone is sharp, but calm.
— Mercenary's Mission. I have five minutes to kill.
Five minutes. Not one more.
It sounds like an ability of his Word. The mission has begun.
His body hardens.
Muscles taut, skin seeming denser.
His energy overflows.
The Word Mercenary alters his constitution: speed, endurance, resilience… everything climbs.
This is a war-state. His Word energy seems to spill lightly from his body, almost visible.
— Mercenary's Weapon.
A black revolver materializes in his hand.
The steel looks worn. Not a divine weapon. Field gear. Concrete.
Across from him, Kairo doesn't move.
His gaze is empty of emotion. His posture loose.
But I know he's calculating.
— Matter… slow.
Not a sentence.
A Word. An order.
Nero slows at once. As if the air around him thickened.
Every motion grows heavy.
He aims. Fires. Slowly.
But already, he adapts.
Little by little, his body forces the effect. He fires faster, pushes harder.
He breaks the slowdown with the brute surge of his Word energy.
Bullets streak.
His revolver behaves like an automatic.
— You'll have to do better to stop me.
Kairo answers, calm:
— Show me what you're worth.
Slow. Matter. Shield. Slow.
He slows the matter around him. An invisible field.
The bullets approach.
They crush against that slowed wall.
They drop at his feet.
Some touch him.
But none wound.
— This is only the beginning, Nero says.
I've got five minutes. Let's see how long your shield holds.
He chains his assault.
Two new revolvers. He fires. Discards.
A submachine gun. A shotgun. An assault rifle.
No reloading. He summons, fires, throws away.
Each weapon is real. Solid. Precise.
He knows their cadence. Their reach. The Mercenary has trained on everything.
It's a wall of fire and steel. A continuous avalanche.
If it were me facing that… I'd already be dead. Several times.
But Kairo stays steady.
The field slows everything.
Bullets fall.
Some smack the ground like wingless insects.
— You can't slow me and defend yourself at the same time, Nero says.
So either you attack, or you block.
He changes strategy.
Grenades. He tosses them in an arc.
A rocket launcher. He fires. Discards. New one. Fires.
Three rockets. Near-simultaneous.
— You slow the projectiles. But once they explode… you'll be dead.
I scrutinize Kairo.
And I see it.
A discreet smile.
Then a shiver tears through me. Brutal.
He speaks. Serious. As if the Word itself weighed heavy.
— Slowing of Time.
It's no longer targeted.
It's a zone.
Even I… am caught in it.
The air grows dense. Each heartbeat slows.
Even my thoughts turn viscous.
An extension of his power. A superior application.
Kairo slows time within a perimeter, and I'm inside it.
He becomes the only one moving normally.
I watch the rockets lag in midair.
Then he dissolves everything.
His power withdraws in a snap.
The explosions resume. Late.
Too late.
I'm flung backward by the shockwave.
I tumble several meters.
I raise my head.
I see Kairo.
He has crossed the chaos.
His fist is buried in Nero's face.
Dead center.
Nero flies, hurled without resistance.
It's not just a strike.
It's a transfer of Word energy.
Pure. Total. Mastered.
Kairo's fist wasn't merely powerful.
It was charged. Saturated with a flow I recognize now:
The energy of Words.
This energy…
It isn't visible.
But it imposes itself.
It makes the air vibrate.
It marks the flesh.
It's what the Awakened use when they understand their Word.
Not just speaking it.
Feeling it. Incarnating it.
Kairo does it.
He funneled his Word energy into his muscles, into his breath, into his fist.
He didn't speak.
But the Word was there, in the impact.
A perfect strike.
Silent. Precise. Inevitable.
Kairo doesn't tremble.
He stands, eyes resting on Nero.
He masters his Word.
But above all…
He masters the energy of his Word.
He knows how to make it circulate.
How to amplify it.
How to drive it into the adversary at the exact instant.
I lower my eyes to my hand.
I clench my fist. Hard.
Can I… too?
I focus.
I reach for that thing he seems to control flawlessly.
That energy of Words.
I try to rouse it.
A shiver runs through my arm.
Heat.
A pulse.
I feel it.
Raw. Unstable. Barely born.
It climbs along my veins.
Gathers in my palm.
But I don't know what to do with it.
I don't hold it.
I don't steer it.
So it dissipates.
Like a breath exhaled too fast.
I lift my head.
Nero rises.
He staggers, but his gaze burns.
Kairo remains still.
He waits.
He gives him time.
Not out of pity.
Most likely because he doesn't like moving much.
And I…
I'm pinned in place.
I've just seen what mastered Word energy can do.
And it leaves me with three things:
Fascinated.
Terrified.
But above all…
Intrigued.
I have to learn more.
Even if everything in me says to stay away…
I'll have to get closer.
I move. Slowly.
My heart pounds as if it wanted to haul me back.
Nero spits on the ground. Flicks his cigarette away, still lit.
— Nice hit… So you know how to fight.
Kairo barely shrugs.
A gleam crosses his eyes, almost imperceptible.
Maybe… a hint of motivation.
— Let's say you deserve that I take my hands out of my pockets.
Let our fists speak.
They advance.
Nero's frame looms over Kairo's.
But me… I'm betting everything on the small one.
The fight begins. Brutal. Dark.
Nero strikes. Short blows. Sharp.
He wastes nothing.
His Word energy runs through his whole body. You can see it. You can feel it.
Each attack is precise, calculated, meant to kill.
But Kairo…
He slips past them.
With an almost aggravating fluidity.
As if danger didn't exist.
I think he's simply fast. Very fast.
An instinct for survival honed to the edge. A dodge monster.
But no—wait…
I look closer. I force my eyes. I lock on his motions.
And then…
I understand.
He isn't moving fast.
He moves just before inevitability.
Because he slows.
Not Nero's body.
Not the air.
Not the field around him.
He slows the moment.
The fraction of time when the blow would land.
Just that micro-shift… enough to slide out of danger.
His shoulders tilt, his hips turn, his footing slides,
and Nero's fist cuts through empty air.
It's insidious, surgical, perfectly measured.
I had never seen that.
It isn't evasion.
It's absolute mastery of the time of blows.
And then, he counters.
Again, perfect.
He slows the zone he's chosen. In advance.
He decides: liver.
He decides: chin.
He slows.
And when his fist arrives, Nero's guard is already too slow.
He hits less hard than Nero.
But he lands.
He lands every time.
And I…
I stay there.
Breath short. Eyes wide.
I don't blink.
I don't think.
I am…
Stunned.
And afraid.
This isn't a duel of strength.
It's a duel of intelligence, timing, absolute reading of a fight.
Kairo doesn't dominate because he's stronger.
He dominates… because he controls the reality of movement.
In attack and in defense.
And I understand, at that exact instant…
that I am nothing before this level.
But Nero absorbs it. Endures. Keeps searching. He doesn't yield.
Then, without warning, he seizes Kairo's arm.
His fingers clamp down. His gaze locks.
— Mercenary's Contract: Slowing of Time.
The world crushes.
Not a sound.
They both become slow.
Kairo no longer moves. Nero holds him.
They're caught together, in the same trap.
A contract invoked. And time broken.
It looks like…
one of his abilities lets him use his opponent's power.
Now it's a fight in slow motion.
Kairo jumps.
His feet leave the ground in slow motion.
His muscles draw tight, slowly. Too slowly.
As if every gesture had to pass through water.
Nero strikes.
He too, slowed.
Everything is fixed, distorted, suspended.
But Kairo moves better.
Even inside the slow, he remains fluid.
He is the master here.
He pivots in the air.
Turns. Positions.
Not a wasted motion.
He slips above Nero.
His legs lock around the neck.
A clean choke. Implacable.
And then—
Sound arrives. Tardily.
Crack.
A slow crack.
Deep.
Irreversible.
Nero's body wavers.
He falls.
But the ground takes him softly, as if hesitating.
Kairo touches earth again.
He straightens.
In a single motion.
No Word.
No glance at the body.
No ego.
Just… done.
He puts his hands back in his pockets.
Then he turns.
And he walks.
Toward me.
Unhurried.
As if none of this…
had ever existed.