"Archangel? What did you mean by that?"
Nemor's voice came out rough, throat scratching with each syllable. He held his abdomen where pain pulsed in waves—as if someone had stuffed embers inside his ribs and they burned from the inside out.
A voice echoed in his mind—it wasn't Sasha. It was higher-pitched, loaded with sickly excitement that made his skin crawl even through the agony.
"What a wonderful thing. I'm so excited to deal with this child."
A pause that seemed to last an eternity.
"Does sir wish for me to appear?"
Nemor clenched his jaw so hard he felt his molars grinding:
"Sasha, can you stop talking in that tone of voice?!"
The formal voice he knew emerged immediately:
"Whatever you just heard, sir, it wasn't—"
The world exploded in speed.
Nemor's eyes widened when he realized—Yuna was there. Millimeters from his face. So close he could see the little girl's fine eyelashes trembling slightly. Her hair floated around her head like a black halo, undulating with the pressure of the impossible speed she'd just used.
He tried to retreat. Legs preparing to push, muscles contracting.
Useless.
His body simply locked—as if invisible ropes had wrapped around each limb, immobilizing him completely. Then he felt it. It wasn't a physical blow. It was something much worse. Like a giant, invisible hand had closed around his chest and squeezed.
The impact ripped all the air from his lungs in a single violent gasp. Ribs protested—didn't break, but bent under absurd pressure that shouldn't exist. He was thrown backward so fast the world became a blur of colors.
When his body hit the building wall, the concrete exploded. Pieces flew in all directions like grenade shrapnel. The wall didn't stop him—it simply disintegrated around him as he was launched through it. He landed inside the abandoned building, sliding five meters across dust-covered floor before stopping against a pile of rubble.
Every nerve ending in his back screamed. He felt something warm trickling—blood, probably from dozens of superficial cuts where concrete fragments had torn his skin through his clothes.
Outside, the street remained strangely silent. Birds hadn't even stopped singing. As if that brutal violence were normal.
Yuna stood on the sidewalk, small figure wrapped in a dress too large and red. Her big, innocent eyes swept the empty street, searching.
"Huh... where are you, mister?"
---
Nemor pushed the rubble away, concrete fragments falling from his back with muffled sounds. He stood up, staggering. Hot blood filled his mouth—metallic and nauseating taste sticking to his tongue. He spat on the dusty floor, leaving a dark red stain.
"What kind of ability is this?"
He remembered the exact moment. Yuna was close. But she didn't touch him. Didn't raise her hand. Didn't make any gesture at all. She was just there. And yet he was crushed like a soda can.
The wind changed.
No—it wasn't the wind. It was pressure. The air around vibrated so intensely he felt it in his teeth, reverberating through his skull bones. Dust covering the floor exploded in a cloud, swallowing everything.
When it settled, she was there. Two meters away. Big, empty eyes staring at him like a porcelain doll.
Nemor's body trembled involuntarily—primitive instinct screaming to flee.
The child's thin voice cut the silence:
"Oh, mister... you made her escape."
Three seconds of absolute silence. Nemor could hear his own heart hammering against his bruised ribs.
As he watched her, he felt something he'd never felt before. It wasn't power—he was used to that. It was the quality of the power. Like being near a poorly contained nuclear reactor. Energy emanated from her in almost visible waves, making the surrounding air distort slightly, like a mirage on hot asphalt.
She continued, voice maintaining that disturbing innocence:
"I think... I'll have to kill you."
Her left arm rose. Small. Delicate. Index finger pointed to the right.
Nemor's body was yanked in that direction before he could process. It wasn't pushed—it was pulled, as if invisible hooks had dug into his muscles and bones, dragging him. He tried to resist, feet trying to plant on the ground, but it was like trying to hold back a moving train.
The finger went down.
Gravity multiplied. His body was crushed against the ground with force that made the floor crack in a spiderweb. The impact took all the air from his lungs again. He felt something pop in his shoulder—didn't break, but partially dislocated. Sharp pain shot through his entire arm like lightning of flesh and bone.
The finger went up.
He was launched upward so violently he couldn't even scream. He hit the concrete ceiling with his back. More cracks spread. Pieces began to fall—some small like pebbles, others large like bricks.
He fell along with them.
He landed on his side, concrete fragments raining around him. One hit his already injured shoulder. Another grazed his cheek, opening a thin cut that began bleeding immediately.
Muscles trembled uncontrollably—not from fear, but from physical trauma. Every muscle fiber protested, microscopically torn by successive impacts. Vision blurred at the edges, dark spots dancing.
He forced his eyes to focus. Yuna was approaching. Small, slow steps. There was no hurry. She knew he wasn't going anywhere.
Through the pain clouding his thoughts, he murmured:
"This power... gravity manipulation?"
Sasha's voice cut through his confusion:
"Sir, correcting—it's not gravity manipulation."
He frowned, the movement making the cut on his cheek burn:
"What do you mean?"
"Her power is called Devotion."
"Explain properly!"
But Yuna was already too close. Three meters. Then two. Then one.
The finger pointed left—toward the rotted wooden staircase leading to the second floor.
BOOM.
The explosion of invisible force hit Nemor like a god's hammer. He was thrown sideways, body spinning out of control. He flew through the air and hit the staircase head-on.
The entire structure exploded. Old wood shattered into a thousand pieces. Rusty nails flew in all directions. Half the staircase collapsed in an avalanche of debris.
Nemor fell in the middle of it. Wood fragments embedded in his back. A nail tore a piece of skin from his forearm. Blood gushed fresh and hot, soaking the torn sleeve of his shirt.
He coughed. Blood sprayed from his mouth—not just from his bitten tongue, but from deeper. Something internal was injured. Lung, maybe. Or fractured rib piercing soft tissue.
Sasha's voice echoed, urgent:
"Sir, I managed to analyze the Devotion ability."
"Speak... now..."
Each word was an effort. His throat scratched as if he'd swallowed ground glass.
"This power grants complete control over human bodies."
The world seemed to stop.
"...What?"
Yuna kept approaching. Twenty steps. Then fifteen. Then ten.
Sasha continued, neutral voice contrasting with the horror of the information:
"Whatever she thinks as an attack... the victim's body automatically obeys."
A chill ran down Nemor's spine—not from fear, but from understanding. It wasn't telekinesis. It wasn't gravity. It was much worse. She didn't control external forces. She controlled him. His own body betraying, muscles and bones responding to her commands instead of his.
"So... if I resist..."
"Impossible, sir. There is no resistance. There is no defense. The human body simply obeys."
Yuna stopped five steps away. She raised her finger again.
Nemor felt it before it happened. His left shoulder was crushed—as if someone had placed a ton of weight on that specific point. It wasn't pushed. The muscle and bone themselves gave way under pressure coming from within.
He was thrown backward, going through what remained of the staircase and hitting the opposite wall. More cracks. More pain. More blood.
He stood up trembling. Every movement was agony. He whispered through clenched teeth:
"Can you heal my injuries?"
"Of course, sir. But my healing doesn't restore physical energy."
"Just... do it..."
Golden light exploded from his body. It started in his chest and spread like waves—warm, comforting, soothing. Bruises covering his skin like purple and yellow stains disappeared. Cuts closed, skin regenerating until smooth again. Even the dislocated shoulder returned to place with a satisfying pop.
But the exhaustion remained. Muscles heavy as molten lead. Difficult breathing.
"There's no way around it..."
He planted his foot on the ground—concrete cracking under pressure.
Red energy exploded around his body like liquid flames. It started at his feet, rising through his legs, enveloping his torso, arms, until his eyes ignited in incandescent red. The air around distorted with heat. Loose pebbles on the ground began to float before disintegrating into ash, burned by the absurd temperature.
Yuna stopped, watching.
Sasha's voice carried a warning:
"Sir, at your current level, this amount of energy will overheat your body."
He ignored it.
Then he moved.
VROOMM.
The sound was like concentrated thunder. Nemor crossed the distance in a fraction of a second—so fast he left a trail of red energy in the air like a comet's tail.
Yuna tried to follow with her eyes. She couldn't.
When she realized, the fists wrapped in red energy were already connected with her small abdomen. The force of the impact created a shockwave that made the air explode around them in a circular blast.
Yuna coughed once—a thin, sharp sound. Then she was thrown backward like a cannonball. She went through an entire wall, concrete exploding around her, and disappeared in a cloud of dust on the other side.
Nemor planted his feet, trying to stop the momentum. He left two deep grooves in the ground.
The red energy died instantly.
He almost collapsed. His legs trembled violently. Vision darkened at the edges. Every muscle in his body screamed—fibers torn, tendons stretched beyond limit, bones vibrating with microscopic stress.
He didn't even have time to breathe.
Yuna was already beside him.
He didn't see her move. Didn't hear any sound. She was just there, as if she'd teleported.
The finger began to rise.
Nemor screamed—voice tearing his already injured throat:
"THAT'S ENOUGH, YOU WEAKLING!"
The finger stopped in the air.
Yuna blinked. Then slowly widened her eyes. On her forehead was something new—a thin scratch from which a single line of bright red blood trickled. The first mark anyone had managed to leave on her.
She touched the wound with small fingers. When she saw the blood on her fingertips, something changed in her expression.
"Why..." Her voice trembled. "Why did you call me a weakling?"
She screamed, tears already forming in the corners of her eyes:
"YOU WEAKLING!"
Nemor forced his body to stay upright even with protesting muscles. He couldn't show weakness. Not now.
"You're too weak. I won't waste time with a weak child."
Yuna's small fists closed so tight her nails dug into her palms. She began repeating like a desperate mantra:
"I'm strong... I'm strong... I'm strong..."
"I just beat you up. Look at your state—you even bled." He showed his own healed body. "And me? I'm perfect."
"LIAR! You're lying! I beat YOU up! I'm strong!"
Her voice rose so much it echoed off the cracked walls.
"Hate to inform you, but I'm stronger."
"SHUT UP! I'm stronger!"
He thought quickly: If she continues, I'll pass out. I can't take anymore.
But he maintained his mask of confidence:
"Train more. Maybe one day your blows will cause a scratch on me."
Yuna fell to her knees.
She held her own face with both hands.
Then she exploded.
The crying was so loud it made the entire building seem to tremble. It wasn't the cry of a defeated warrior. It was a spoiled child's tantrum—shrill, desperate, inconsolable.
She sobbed between screams:
"I'm strong... sob ...I'm very strong... sob..."
Tears ran between her fingers, falling on the dusty ground and leaving dark stains.
Nemor froze. Confusion mixed with unexpected guilt squeezed his chest.
He approached staggering and held her shoulders carefully:
"You are strong." Softer voice now. "Just not stronger than me. But you can evolve. You have potential."
He thought: What am I doing? I should run now.
Yuna wiped the tears with the backs of her hands, sniffling loudly. When she looked at him, her eyes were red and swollen:
"I'm hungry."
Nemor blinked:
"...What?"
"When I cry, I get very hungry." She sniffled again. "When I eat, I'll get stronger and defeat you."
He looked at her, incredulous:
"You want me to give you food... so you can come back and fight me?"
She crossed her arms:
"No."
"But I'm hungry..." Her voice began to tremble again, threatening new tears.
He sighed defeated:
"I'll give you food if you promise not to fight me after."
"If it's just for today... I accept, mister."
"Fine. Come on."
---
He helped Yuna stand. They left the destroyed building, stepping over rubble.
They walked down the empty street. Nemor could barely walk properly—each step sent waves of phantom pain through his legs. Yuna followed beside him, wiping remaining tears and sniffling occasionally.
"WAIT!"
He turned. Hana was running toward them, silver hair bouncing.
"Why did you come back? I told you to take your friend."
Panting:
"I did! To the hospital. By taxi." Pause to breathe. "But I came back because... because..."
She looked at Yuna. Fear crossed her face like lightning—pupils dilating, skin paling, breathing accelerating.
"Calm down. Everything's okay now."
Hana trembled but maintained some composure:
"I want answers. I want to know what's happening. EVERYTHING."
"I'll tell you. My house is there."
He indicated the nearby construction. He needed to sit before his legs gave out completely.
As they walked, he looked at Yuna:
"How old are you?"
"Eleven."
His stomach tightened. Eleven years old. And this power...
"Did someone send you to do this?"
Yuna nodded affirmatively:
"He said I have to bring her." She looked at Hana. "It's important."
Nemor's eyes widened:
"You mean this 'he' knows what the Extermination is?"
Hana just followed in silence, not understanding anything but feeling the deadly weight of that question.
Yuna didn't answer. She just held Nemor's hand like any child looking for food.
But the question hung in the air like a sword of Damocles.
Who was "he"? And what did he really want with Hana?
**END OF CHAPTER 9**