CHAPTER 93: CHAPTER 10.21 : A CLASH OF SHADOWS AND AUTHORITY

The battle once again spiraled into an escalation with the sudden appearance of two overwhelmingly powerful figures. And once again, Al was saved by what could only be described as his "plot armor"—yet not to preserve his life or grant him victory in combat, but rather to safeguard the fragile veil of his hidden identity.

"Arghhh... what in the world is this thing?!" Rudi growled in frustration. His entire body had been ensnared in a sticky, snow–white web, and now he hung plastered against the cracked wall, completely unable to break free.

The adhesive threads clung mercilessly to his skin and clothing, shimmering faintly as they caught the flickering glow of the unstable ceiling lights. His breathing was ragged and uneven, his chest heaving up and down violently as if each inhalation was filled with anger and helpless despair.

"Oi! Wake up already! Get over here and help me rip this damned thing off!" he bellowed toward Jogo.

But no answer came.

Jogo still lay sprawled on the cold floor, his chest pinned beneath the casual but unyielding weight of a man’s boot. The pressure was deceptively light, yet enough to render him completely immobile. A strained hiss slipped between his clenched teeth as he endured the pain, his trembling hands clutching desperately at the stranger’s ankle in a futile attempt to push it away.

"Ughhh... who the hell are you people?" Jogo forced out hoarsely, straining both arms to shake the intruder’s foot, but it would not budge even an inch. It was as if the limb was fused to the ground, immovable and immovable like iron.

"Ohoho, still got some strength left to struggle, huh?" the man sneered. He was tall, about one hundred and eighty centimeters, with jet–black hair streaked with striking yellow tips at the back. His tanned skin glistened faintly under the dim light, and his attire—a pair of fitted black leather pants paired with a blue shirt worn completely unbuttoned—showcased a well–built torso riddled with battle scars across the abdomen. His eyes gleamed sharp and predatory, his lopsided smirk radiated sadistic amusement, and the aura he exuded filled the entire room like the presence of a predator toying with helpless prey.

"What do you think, Ira?" the man asked casually, turning his head toward his companion.

The woman, evidently named Ira, stood with a height close to one hundred and seventy centimeters, her posture alluring and dangerously composed. She possessed dark brown hair that gleamed almost black, and skin so pale it contrasted her figure sharply.

She wore a crisp white shirt layered under a navy blazer, paired with sleek black trousers, and topped it off with a stylish gray hood resting on her head. Raising her left hand ever so slightly, she revealed a faint glow of ominous black–tinted white light, accompanied by a substance of sticky, slime–like texture that oozed from her palm. Each droplet hit the floor with a muted plop, producing a grotesque sticky sound that amplified the sinister atmosphere in the room.

"You’re being far too rough on him. He’s still just a kid, Bojes," Ira spoke, her voice cool yet soft, like an elder sister’s admonition. But beneath that gentleness was an unyielding sharpness, the hidden edge of someone who could kill without hesitation.

Devy, tense and alert, observed the duo with narrowed eyes. Both radiated intimidating strength, but her gaze lingered more on Ira, who unmistakably wielded the powers of a magician. Instinctively, Devy’s hand lifted slightly, her trembling fingers curling as if preparing to unleash a spell should the situation escalate further.

Ira met Devy’s eyes briefly. It was a silent exchange—two spellcasters scrutinizing one another, silently assessing, weighing, measuring. Yet no further words passed between them.

"Whoever you are, do not interfere. Stand aside at once—this is a matter strictly under police jurisdiction," Prabowo declared with force, addressing Bojes and Ira with an authoritative tone. His voice rang with official weight, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the unease he was struggling to suppress.

Bojes looked at him with a long, indifferent stare before finally speaking.

"Special police, huh? And you mean to tell me... you don’t even know who we are?" he asked flatly, one hand lazily prodding at his ear with his pinky finger as though bored. His dismissive gesture made it clear how little importance he placed on Prabowo’s bravado. The contrast between his casual demeanor and the suffocating pressure in the room only deepened the soldiers’ unease as they glanced anxiously at their commander.

"Who... are you people?" Prabowo repeated, this time with his tone subdued, lacking its previous sharpness. He turned desperately toward his squad, silently hoping one of them would recognize the intruders. But no—every single subordinate shook their head or shrugged helplessly, their nervous whispers echoing faintly through the ranks. Shuffling feet scraped uneasily against the ruined floor.

He shifted his gaze back toward Bojes.

Before he could speak again, Ira casually tossed a small object across the air toward him—a rectangular badge, no larger than a pocketbook, glinting faintly as it spun.

Prabowo caught it and scanned the engraved insignia. His eyes widened in genuine shock, his expression instantly softening into reluctant deference.

"Y-You’re from..." he muttered, trailing off. Quickly regaining composure, he bowed his head slightly in apology. "Forgive my earlier rudeness. But... why are you here, in this place?" His tone was polite now, almost respectful, as he gestured for one of his men to promptly return the badge to Ira.

Ira accepted the emblem and answered with a cold gaze.

"This matter falls under the jurisdiction of our division. You and your men should withdraw immediately. We will handle everything from here." Her words fell slowly, each syllable laced with authority so oppressive that it allowed no room for argument.

Prabowo restrained himself, though the reluctance was obvious in his eyes. He still wanted to resolve this case on his own, yet deep down he understood—his unit specialized in counter–terrorism, and this incident far exceeded their scope. With heavy hesitation, he exhaled and nodded in reluctant agreement.

"...Would you require any assistance from us?" Prabowo asked carefully.

Ira shook her head. "Unnecessary. The two of us are more than enough."

"But... they are three in number," Prabowo insisted, attempting to subtly frame Devy as one of the culprits responsible for the disturbance.

"She already said it. We do not need you," Bojes snapped, his irritation seeping into every syllable. His aura flared, pressing like a storm against every person in the vicinity.

Prabowo froze under the invisible weight, unconsciously stepping backward. Realizing he no longer had the authority to remain, he finally issued his order.

"The area is secured. Suspects are in custody. All units—withdraw immediately!" he barked with commanding force.

The officers obeyed swiftly, evacuating the damaged building while carrying their injured comrades. Their hurried footsteps echoed loudly, accompanied by the metallic clatter of weapons as they moved.

Prabowo himself took the rear of the retreating line, but just as he reached the exit, Bojes’s voice halted him.

"Wait."

Prabowo turned.

"Looks like you forgot one," Bojes said mockingly, pointing toward the shadowed corner of the room. "That boy over there—still not evacuated."

All eyes turned.

There stood Al—frozen, awkward, and exposed. His body stiff, shoulders raised as though bracing to flee, while his fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of his shirt. He had forgotten he was no longer cloaked by stealth, though fortunately his black combat attire had already retracted back into the dimensional ring.

The soldiers stared, suspicious and bewildered. For a moment, the room fell utterly silent, the weight of their gazes burning into Al’s skin.

From within the protective ice sphere, Yura gasped. She had assumed Al had already left the place.

"Al... you’re still here!" she shouted, her voice sharp, echoing against the fractured walls.

Even Devy was taken aback—she had lost track of his presence entirely, and now here he stood, revealed in the corner.

But the ones most shocked of all were Rudi and Jogo.

"You!! Hahaha! You actually dare to show yourself again! Foolish brat, I thought you had already run away from this place with your tail between your legs!" Rudi roared with a manic laugh. His bulging eyes widened further, veins protruded and pulsed along his neck as he strained with fury, even though his entire body remained thoroughly entangled within the sticky webbing.

The unease gnawing at him from being unable to break free of that suffocating web was, at least for a moment, overshadowed by the sudden reappearance of Al. He was not delighted because Al had come to his rescue. He was delighted because the prey he had been cursing for slipping away had now revealed himself once more before his eyes.

Jogo, who still could not free himself from under Bojes’s crushing foot, experienced that very same rising tension in his chest. Their target had reappeared.

Unfortunately, both of them were immobilized, their bodies restrained and powerless. And deep in their thoughts, they realized grimly that there was no possible way for the two of them to overcome the overwhelming presence of these two terrifying individuals, let alone with Devy’s existence adding yet another enormous threat to the battlefield. In their desperation, they clung to only one grim possibility: even if they were destined to perish here, at the very least, they could drag Al down with them.

"Boy, get out of this place. This place is too dangerous." Prabowo’s stern command resounded, his deep voice reverberating with an authority so heavy it resembled the admonition of a father who left no room whatsoever for disobedience.

Al stood there awkwardly, his body stiff, his expression caught between confusion and embarrassment. Under the harsh weight of every gaze, he suddenly became the center of attention, the spotlight of the moment—but in truth, he resembled more like a guilty toddler caught red-handed in the middle of a mischief, being scolded harshly by a stern mother.

"Al, get out quickly! Join the others and wait for us outside!" Yura shouted urgently. She pressed her palm firmly against the curved surface of the protective ice sphere encasing her, as though she yearned to step closer to him, but was helplessly restrained by that barrier.

Al’s eyes swept across the room, meeting the stares of all present. Then, something glimmered faintly in the corner of his vision. A tiny flicker of light from beneath an overturned table caught his attention. Lowering his head, he crouched down and retrieved the object.

"I came back inside because I was searching for this," he said, holding the object up. It was none other than the card Yura had entrusted to him earlier.

"A card?" Bojes muttered, his tone laced with honest curiosity. His head tilted slightly to the side, one eyebrow rising as his eyes lingered on the small item.

"Ah... this... th-this card was given to me... by someone. Someone truly... special to me. Haha... There’s no way I could abandon it. That’s why I... came back to look for it." Al stammered awkwardly, cobbling together an excuse. Thankfully, he managed to find a light, harmless reason to justify his return without drawing suspicion.

For a fleeting instant, Bojes looked impressed by Al’s explanation, touched by the notion of someone willing to risk himself merely to retrieve a single card. That fragile admiration, however, was instantly shattered the moment Yura shouted again.

"Al! Don’t be foolish! Don’t endanger your life over money that isn’t even worth that much!" Yura’s voice cracked as she yelled, a sharp mixture of anger and desperate worry bleeding through every syllable.

Both Ira and Bojes turned their gazes toward the card, inspecting it more closely, and quickly realized it was nothing but a simple bank card. Their fleeting admiration soured in an instant into open disgust. In their minds, Al was reduced to nothing more than a greedy child being pampered under the patronage of some wealthy woman.

"Haha! You’re still so young, yet already corrupted like this," Bojes mocked with a coarse laugh. His laughter was deep and gravelly, echoing harshly like a scornful jeer meant to slice at pride.

Al, however, did not appear to care much. He simply scratched his head, giving a sheepish nod.

Yura, despite having scolded Al so fiercely over that card, could not stop her heart from secretly blooming with warmth again at the moment she heard Al refer to her as someone special. She did not realize that his words were nothing more than a flimsy excuse meant to divert suspicion and appear normal.

Bowing slightly, Al excused himself and began following Prabowo and the police unit out of the building. His steps were slow and heavy, weighed down by tension. He clearly wished to escape from everyone’s attention as quickly as possible, yet at the same time tried to move in a manner that did not seem suspicious.

"Don’t you dare leave, you bastard! Hey, you orphan brat! Get back here right now!" Rudi bellowed furiously, unwilling to let Al walk away so easily. Every single disaster he had suffered tonight had been because of Al. Straining and struggling, he fought desperately against the confining web, causing the sticky strands to vibrate violently. The fibers stretched taut, snapping with sharp creaks like brittle branches breaking under pressure.

Jogo, too, clenched his trembling hands tighter, attempting to wrest his body free from beneath Bojes’s crushing foot.

Both Bojes and Ira immediately sensed the resistance.

But instead of breaking free, Jogo was struck down once more. Bojes lifted his leg and stomped mercilessly on Jogo’s body with tremendous force. The floor itself quaked from the impact, a violent tremor shuddering through the building. Pain consumed Jogo as he writhed helplessly, incapable of fighting back. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the sharp crack of stone fracturing resounded loudly through the chamber.

At the same time, Ira extended her hand and launched another wave of webbing toward Rudi. In an instant, Rudi was completely engulfed, transformed into something that resembled a grotesque cocoon. His entire body was smothered in the suffocating sticky threads, leaving not even the smallest gap for a fly to crawl through.

Al could not help but feel a pang of pity for the two of them—foolish children who had chosen to dabble recklessly in the corrupting darkness, driven only by blind love and petty grudges. He shook his head faintly, then turned away, his gaze briefly brushing past Devy and Yura before fully averting as he began walking out of the ruined building.

But then—

SHUSHHH!

A sticky thread lashed out and struck his right hand, pinning it against the wall with a wet smack. The adhesive sound clung harshly, like raw flesh slapped forcefully against cold metal.

Ira advanced, her eyes narrowing. She had sensed something strange emanating from Al’s right hand. And indeed, the faint ripple of energy she detected confirmed her suspicion. It was the same hand that had earlier summoned forth the uniform from his mysterious dimensional ring.

Al stared at his hand glued tightly to the wall, irritation flashing across his face. Everyone’s attention swung back toward him once again. Bojes’s expression twisted with bewilderment, while Ira strode forward with a suffocating aura radiating around her. The very air itself seemed to grow heavy, pressing down oppressively on every chest in the room.

A new stage loomed ominously ahead, and the possibility of an imminent battle—Al standing alone against the combined might of Ira and Bojes—was now closer than ever before.