The Samsaras exchanged glances after hearing Fenric's words.
"Then, Lord Shura, please—handle it as you see fit."
Fenric's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you? What are you waiting for?"
"W-we're waiting for the rest of our people to arrive," one explained quickly.
Fenric gave a faint nod and said nothing more.
So they waited.
They, for their companions.
Fenric, for the arrival of the T-1000.
From the shadows of a dark alley, the air stirred.
A sudden gust of wind tore through, followed by crackling arcs of electricity that writhed like serpents in the air.
Space twisted. A time-wormhole ripped open, and a figure emerged.
A man. Naked.
Not heavily muscled, but built with sleek, perfect symmetry.
He raised his head slowly, and his gaze was revealed—cold, lifeless, mechanical.
At that moment, a patrolling police cruiser rounded the corner.
The officers noticed the strange phenomenon and pulled over to investigate.
One patrolman stepped out, gun drawn, cautious with every step. He soon spotted the fence nearby—its barbed wire had been melted open into a smoking arc-shaped hole.
Inside was an abandoned factory.
Probably a thief trying to sneak in, he thought, raising his walkie-talkie to call for backup.
But then—footsteps. Behind him.
Whirling around with his weapon raised, the patrolman froze. A man stood there—completely naked, without him ever noticing his approach.
"Hands up! Now!" the officer barked, weapon aimed steady. "Put your hands where I can see them and comply!"
The stranger ignored him, expression blank, and walked forward.
"Stop! I'll shoot!"
Still no reaction.
Grinding his teeth, the officer fired a round at the man's leg.
Bang!
The bullet struck true—but the man didn't stumble, didn't scream.
"Oh God…" the officer gasped.
The wound showed no blood. Instead, dull silver gleamed beneath the torn skin.
And before the officer's eyes, the bullet hole closed, knitting itself seamlessly back to perfection.
"…Impossible!"
The man's expression never changed. His arm twisted, flesh reshaping into a long, gleaming blade.
Without hesitation, he drove it through the officer's forehead.
Pfft!
The patrolman dropped dead instantly.
The T-1000 crouched, stripping the body of its clothes and pistol before dragging the corpse to the nearby river and discarding it.
Moments later, the man re-emerged dressed in a police uniform, expression unchanged.
Sliding into the patrol car, he brought up the onboard terminal. Fingers moved swiftly as he entered his query: John Connor.
The screen flashed with the file:
Name: John Connor
Age: 13
Record: Theft, fraud
Mother: Sarah Connor
Father: Unknown
Guardian: Todd and his wife
Current address: 116 Sixth Street Bridge
The T-1000 started the engine. The mission was clear—terminate John Connor.
And he was not alone. In other parts of the city, more T-1000 units were arriving.
Back at the arcade.
More Samsaras had gathered.
The burly man leading them approached Fenric, bowing his head politely. "Great God Shura, everyone is here now. What are your plans?"
Fenric leaned back, unbothered. "Plans? I have none. I only need to capture one Terminator."
The burly man's eyes flickered. Only capture one?
He knew Shura's reputation. Whenever this man moved, the results were godlike. Could it be Shura had some method to replicate Terminators after capturing one? To farm them endlessly for evaluation?
After wrestling with the thought, he finally spoke, cautious yet hopeful. "Lord Shura… I, too, chose the hunting mission. If you would allow, perhaps I could join you? Of course, I wouldn't let it go unpaid. You would have my full gratitude and rewards."
Fenric's reply was cold and dismissive. "No. My methods are dangerous. They only work for me."
The man's face fell, disappointment flashing, but he dared not press further. Against Shura, silence was survival.
At that moment, the arcade doors swung open.
A man in a police uniform stepped inside.
Every Samsara assigned to protect John Connor felt the same prompt flash across their minds:
[Warning: Target identified! Terminator T-1000 approaching plot-critical character: John Connor.]
"Leader!" one of the Samsaras rushed to the burly man's side. "The Terminator is here!"
All eyes turned toward the entrance.
Fenric saw him instantly. The aura gave it away—the icy, inhuman presence.
And those eyes—locked onto the boy at the arcade cabinet.
John Connor.
A sharp grin tugged at Fenric's lips. "Finally."
He rose to his feet, his voice calm but absolute. "This Terminator is mine. Handle the rest as you please."
Leaving those words behind, Fenric strode forward, unshaken, cutting through the crowd straight toward the T-1000.
The Samsaras made no move to interfere.
They wouldn't dare.
Instead, they watched in silence, hearts pounding.
After all—they were about to witness how Shura, the living nightmare of Samsara, would face down the liquid-metal monster.