Old Fists: Destiny

The army that appeared over the plateau created a sinister atmosphere among the cadets. One by one, they began to retreat. If they made no sound, the monsters wouldn't advance. Dante found it strange that they were all backing off now. This is a test to evaluate our capabilities. Why are they retreating?

He took the opposite path. He didn't want to be the protagonist—his mother had told him that before he left. What would she say if nothing was done? Would she be proud of a son who couldn't even defend others?

Everyone there had a mission. They wanted to show results. A good life. Adventure. Helping their peers. Each individual mission could only be accounted for if they passed the test.

"I'll need help," he muttered. "How many can I take down before I overload? Which one will attack those behind me? What's the best way to take out as many as possible?"

The blue number in the sky dropped to 28%. Dante cursed under his breath.

"They outnumber us, old man."

A young man stopped beside him. His hair was slicked back, perfectly combed, and his gaze was focused. His gear was high-quality—you could smell its newness—and he wore a red coat draped over one shoulder.

"Work with me, and we can reduce them to dust." From the young man's hand, a sphere of water formed and morphed into a spear. "Can you keep up?"

Dante let out a loud laugh, making the Felroz tilt their heads in his direction.

"Of course I can, kid."

"My name's Tommas." With a sweep of his arm, the spear struck the ground, creating a makeshift support. Tommas leapt over it, propelled forward. "Don't fall behind."

Dante jumped and leaned forward the same way.

The creatures leapt upon hearing human voices again. Dante leaned in closer, closing the distance to about six meters. Tommas looped back, firing nearly ten spears into the air.

They struck the creatures' chests but didn't penetrate. Tommas cursed, seeing his quick attack fail, and looked for the old man. In that brief lapse, Dante punched the air rapidly, his fists angled toward nothing but the void.

That fighting style was the same used by Combatants. Suddenly, the air shifted in several directions, an explosion that sent over ten Felroz flying backward. Dante used the water support to spin and pushed off with his legs. He descended spinning, grabbed the disk, and threw it like a boomerang.

Dante laughed and leapt toward one of the Felroz. The sheer number approaching could wipe out an army, yet the old man dove in as if nothing could truly harm him. The baton in his hand spun, deflecting an attack to the side. He crushed the creature's neck with a powerful blow and thrust his hand forward.

The air took about two seconds to strike, but the old man was already moving forward, facing more enemies. The weapon spun, blocking and redirecting attacks, the deflections becoming more audacious as the Felroz closed in from the sides, leaving him no escape.

"Old man, get out of there now!" Tommas shouted, rushing toward him. "Old man!"

A tremor in the ground. Everything vibrated at once. An earthquake? Tommas froze, watching as the Felroz were thrown backward, all together. Dante stood with his hands clasped near his chest.

The young man was incredulous.

"Was that a palm strike?"

Dante used the temporary reprieve to leap back to Tommas. Landing, he dusted off his clothes.

"Well, I thought they'd take less time to try and corner me. They're really trying to kill us — you can feel it. Sure, they're slower compared to a sword, but the sheer number is overkill."

"Makes sense why this is a group exercise." Tommas hid his surprise but was still stunned by how the old man had handled such numbers and emerged unscathed. "We can't just charge in without a plan. We need to gain ground—that's the test's objective."

"If we fought, it would take too long. Even if they're easy to fight, they still have the advantage. I can provide support. I don't know how your ability works, but if we move forward, I need to be sure that—"

"No." Tommas was still staring at him. "I'll be your support. Tell me how you want to advance, and I'll make it happen."

It wasn't hard to imagine why people respected strength. Within the hierarchy, strength was paramount. Tommas didn't care how or why, but his instincts told him that if this old man was attacking, he should provide the support.

The inertia and air expansion also intrigued him. He was old, yet his body reacted faster than Tommas's own. Should a man of his age have such reflexes? Such offensive power?

Was his ability purely physical?

"Do you know Hog Combat?" Dante asked. "The kind where you hit and run. If we draw them inside, we can use that tactic."

"What about the other cadets?"

Dante glanced back, momentarily forgetting about the others.

"Oh, right, them. I don't want to think they'll just get in the way." He scratched his face, looking slightly dejected. "What do you think?"

Tommas found him genuinely intriguing. Despite his age, he didn't carry the arrogance or pride typical of veterans in the Capital. No raised chin, no quick retorts. Nothing like that. He asked with humility and calm.

Where did this guy come from?

"Let's keep them occupied. Unfortunately, we can't do much for the others. How long can you hold the front line?"

"As long as I keep moving. Give me the support you think is necessary, but let me handle things my way." Dante started walking toward the creatures. "I've waited so long for this. To test what I'm truly capable of. If I falter, you can pull me out. I just need more time."

How much time, how many days, how many years? All the training with Render had fueled his relentless desire to understand his enemies, to fight them, to grasp why humanity had been destroyed.

Even though those around him could act, they were still weak. They needed time, resources, courage. Dante no longer wanted to think that way. The ability he'd been given was meant to propel him forward.

Even during years of training, he had often heard his father say:

"The taste of defeat is more familiar to us than victory. If you can win, win. Don't hesitate to do what's right."

Dante clenched his hand once more and laughed.

"So that's what he meant." He pulled his arm back, alternating one leg forward and the other back, twisting his shoulder. The stance for a straight punch. "I've waited so long to test this. So long to see if I'm truly strong."

Tommas listened, intrigued. An old man who seemed like a seasoned fighter. He wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything.

Energy gathered once again in Dante's arm, flowing and intensifying. Vick warned him in his mind to control it more, but Dante didn't care. He'd fire off one shot at a time.

Then, he released his fist in a straight line, and the air moved with it.