Chapter 3: The White Flash
The forest clearing, once filled with the peaceful drone of insects, was now suffocatingly silent. The nine cloaked figures stood as still as ancient trees, their shadowed hoods creating pockets of absolute darkness from which unseen eyes watched. The bandit leader's mocking question—"a human radar?"—hung in the air, a tangible thing.
Fayrouz, however, remained utterly unphased. The corner of her lip curled in a faint, dismissive smile. "A Minma-based camouflage that refracts light," she stated, her voice as crisp and cool as winter air. "It's a boring power, really. It signals a user who prefers to hide. In my experience, such people are, more often than not, cowards."
A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from the leader's chest. He took another step forward, his heavy boots crushing dry leaves on the forest floor. The sound was unnervingly loud in the stillness. "Big words for a little girl who can't see. We do what we must to survive. The world isn't kind to those without a home or a name. Hiding is just another tool for the hunt."
"Survival doesn't explain your synchronicity," Fayrouz countered, her head tilting with analytical curiosity. "For nine individuals, clearly not related by blood, to all manifest the exact same rare Minma ability… the odds are astronomically small. It's impossible, unless…"
"Unless what?" the leader growled, his amusement fading into irritation.
"She's smart, boss," a wiry-looking man to the leader's right hissed, his voice a raspy whisper. "And that sense of hers… she detected us through the shimmer. We could use that. We should recruit her."
The leader's gaze lingered on Fayrouz, a new, calculating glint in his eyes. He saw not a child, but an asset. "The boy is right," he declared, his voice smoothing over into a deceptively reasonable tone. "You have talent, girl. Wasting it on the self-important Knights is a tragedy. Join us. The Nine Spider-Feet could become Ten. We offer true freedom, a real family. Say yes, and we'll even let your quiet friend here walk away unharmed."
He extended a large, gloved hand, an invitation and a threat all in one. The forest held its breath, waiting for her answer.
Fulan did not wait.
Before Fayrouz could even form a reply, the air around him exploded. It was not a sound, but a feeling—a sudden, immense pressure that displaced the very air. A faint, pure white aura, like heat haze made of moonlight, flared to life around Fulan's body. In the span of a single heartbeat, he went from standing still to being a blur of motion.
He erupted from his spot, the ground cracking under the force of his departure. He crossed the ten-foot distance to the leader in an instant, his fist drawn back. The bandit leader's eyes widened in shock, but he had no time to react, no time to even raise a hand.
Fulan's punch connected with a sickening crack that echoed through the trees. It was the sound of cartilage and bone giving way. The leader's head snapped back, and his entire body was lifted from the ground by the sheer, kinetic force of the blow. He flew backwards, tumbling end over end through the air before crashing into the dirt a dozen feet away, a motionless heap.
The white aura around Fulan did not fade. Without pausing, he pivoted on his heel. One of the bandits to his left was just drawing a short sword, his face a mask of disbelief. Fulan's leg swept out in a low, powerful arc, catching the man behind the knees and sweeping his legs out from under him. As he fell, a second, vicious kick to the temple sent him into darkness.
Two more bandits lunged, one with a dagger, one with his bare hands. Fulan moved between them like a phantom. A spinning back-kick caught the dagger-wielder squarely in the chest, sending him gasping into a tree trunk. The last man was met with a simple, brutal side-kick to the ribs that audibly fractured bone and left him crumpled on the ground, wheezing in agony.
Four down in less than three seconds.
The remaining five bandits reacted not with a charge, but with fear. The air around them warped, shimmering with that oily, soap-bubble iridescence. In a blink, they were gone. Vanished.
The clearing was suddenly empty again, save for Fulan, Fayrouz, and the four unconscious bodies littering the ground. The white aura around Fulan receded, flickering out like a snuffed candle. He stood in the center of the carnage, his chest rising and falling heavily, his black eyes darting around, searching for an enemy he could no longer see.
A sudden, sharp whistle cut the air past his right ear.
Fulan threw himself to the ground, rolling as a thin line was sliced into the bark of the tree where his head had just been. He came up into a crouch, his muscles coiled. He couldn't see them, couldn't hear them approach over the sound of his own ragged breathing.
Swish.
A blade of wind, or perhaps a real one, sliced through the air, aimed for his legs. He leaped backwards, the unseen weapon cutting a deep furrow in the dirt where he had been standing. A cold dread washed over him. This was no longer a fight; it was a hunt, and he was the prey.
Another invisible attack came, this time from his left. He didn't see it, didn't hear it. He felt it. A sharp, electric prickling raced up his spine, a primal instinct screaming of imminent danger. He twisted his body, and a dagger materialized from nowhere, its tip grazing his tunic and tearing the fabric before its wielder vanished once more into thin air.
From her position, Fayrouz stood as still as a statue, her head turning slowly, tracking movements only she could perceive. He is fast, she thought, her mind racing with calculations. His Minma manifests as a physical enhancement—a burst of incredible speed and power. But it's temporary, a flash of output that seems to drain him quickly. Against a visible target, he is devastating. But against these five, he is blind. He's relying on pure instinct, a raw danger sense. It's remarkable, but he can't dodge forever. An instinct can be fooled. A body can be exhausted. He cannot win this alone. She clenched her fists at her side. I need to act. But how? If I move rashly, I become a liability he must protect. I need to find a way to reveal them. To make the unseen seen.
Fulan's mind was a whirlwind of frantic strategy. He was a rock in the middle of a deadly, invisible stream. They're circling me, he thought, his eyes scanning every rustling leaf, every dancing shadow, for a clue. They're testing my reactions, trying to wear me down. I can't keep this up. Dodging is a losing game. I need to change the field. How do you fight an enemy you can't see? Do they disturb the ground? Kick up dust? Is there a flaw in their technique? He crouched lower, his entire body a tensed spring, waiting for that next cold prickle of instinct that would signal the next lethal, invisible strike.
~ More Chapters;
Patr eo n. com/salamandar