CHAPTER 153: [152]

The mist around the ruins began to part, as if nature itself made way for two forces about to collide.

Trek walked forward calmly, blood still dripping from his fingertips, marking a red trail behind him. His rock-hard muscles moved slowly beneath his dark skin, glowing faintly in the light of embers still smoldering.

"Well..." Trek finally spoke, his voice deep and heavy like an earthquake rising from the earth. "Normally I’m not one to talk a lot. But honestly, you’re intriguing. You took down a whole battalion I sent—barehanded, no magic. Ha, Gorthar the god of battle must be proud."

The name—Gorthar, the legendary god of duels and combat, celebrated across the continent as an entity who would challenge and be defeated, only to rise again and challenge more enemies. He was the embodiment of persistence, honor, and madness in battle.

Ren remained still for a moment, adjusting his stance.

"I’m flattered," he replied flatly, "but unfortunately I’m not handing anything over to you. Not the Kitsune. Not the tigers. Not anybody."

Trek sneered, baring sharp fangs. "Come on... Those Kitsune, from the start—they were mine. Merchandise. Property. And that penal tiger family of yours... yeah, I’m considering ’adopting’ them."

Ren exhaled, controlled but cold. The words that came from his lips sounded like metal being drawn from a sheath.

"In that case..." he said softly, "you just made the worst choice of your life."

"Heh," Trek chuckled. "Actually, it should be you feeling that way."

Without warning, they sprang into action.

Ren planted himself firmly, unleashing propulsion from the Pulse Gauntlet beneath his feet, sending himself forward like a bullet. His right fist lifted, ready to strike Trek’s chest.

But...

CLANG!

His fist was caught. Not blocked. Caught.

Trek lifted a single hand and stopped the punch as easily as holding a cotton ball. The gauntlet flashed, pressure systems activated, sonic vibrations rippled—but nothing happened. Trek didn’t budge.

Ren barely registered disbelief. He somersaulted backward, spun, attempting a kick to the side of Trek’s head. Trek tilted his head slightly, letting the kick glance by, before countering with a horizontal swing.

WHAM!

Ren’s body snapped back, slamming into the ruin wall with bone-cracking force. Stone shattered. Dust exploded.

"A punch, was it?" Trek mocked, his manic laughter echoing across the night.

Ren slowly rose. Pain radiated from his shoulder. The stabilization system in the gauntlet flagged internal pressure had exceeded safety limits. Ultro activated emergency cooling.

[Warning: Gauntlet efficiency down 43%. Enemy muscle mass and durability exceed predictions. Recommendation: avoid direct physical engagement.]

Ren wiped blood from his lip. "Thanks for this extremely late

heads-up, Ultro."

Trek advanced again, turning predator. "Nice toy on your wrist there. Too bad... useless."

Ren clenched his fist, channeling reserve energy into the Pulse Gauntlet. The blue lines flared brighter than before. He lunged again, unleashing a flurry of strikes—punch to the gut, elbow to the jaw, a rotating knee to the ribs.

Trek took every hit. Steadfast. Unmoved.

And when he retaliated...

BOOM!

A single blow to Ren’s abdomen. He flew back five meters, crashing across the ground for three painful rolls before coming to rest. Wind knocked out of him. Vision blurred.

"So easy," Trek murmured, his voice that of an unsated predator.

Ren struggled upright; his knee trembled. In that moment, he realized: This isn’t a typical one-on-one. This is a clash of classes.

"No one will save you tonight," Trek snarled, his words hammering the earth like a divine blow. "And once I finish tearing you apart... I’ll hunt them—those children. That little tiger family. One by one. I will rip them apart, just like their mother."

Ren’s face was bloodied. Split lips, one eye nearly shut by swelling. Yet his gaze burned on. No fear—only unwavering resolve.

And then, against all reason, he smiled.

A smile no one standing on the brink of death should wear.

"I don’t need to win..." he whispered, his voice drifting out with the wind through the ruins.

Trek narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"...I just need enough time."

KSSSSSHHH!

A soft hiss erupted from beneath their feet. In an instant, a thick, gray smoke burst from capsules hidden beneath rubble, enveloping the battlefield in a chemical fog. Trek lunged forward, trying to seize Ren before he vanished into the haze.

But he was too late.

BAM!

A brutal impact blast hit from the side—hard, violent, and completely unexpected.

Trek was flung into the air, his massive body sailing across the ruins like a giant ragdoll caught in a storm. He slammed into a solid brick wall a meter thick with a thunderous BOOM!

Stones flew, dust soared, and for the first time that night... Trek looked surprised.

When the smoke cleared, a gleaming metal form burst through—Ren’s van, the heavily modified tactical vehicle. It raced forward autonomously, remote‑controlled by Ultro.

Inside the system, Ultro’s calm digital voice sounded:

[Master, rarely see you in trouble]

Ren gave a faint smile. He wasn’t surprised—this was all part of his backup plan.

From the start, he knew Trek wasn’t an enemy he could defeat head-on. Even the Pulse Gauntlet—advanced gear blending alien and human tech—wasn’t enough to overcome the raw strength of the Eks Champion.

Ren didn’t wait for a second prompt.

"Okay, then... we’re getting out of here!" he shouted, voice blending exhaustion and resolve.

He vaulted into the rear of the moving van, landing with a heavy thud on the metal floor. Around him, emergency gear rattled from the shifting van and shifts in air pressure. Indicator lights flickered on the side panels—automated drive systems engaged.

[Initiating evacuation maneuver.]Ultro’s even-toned voice echoed inside the cabin, accompanied by a low engine hum.

The tires bit into muddy ground and the van surged forward, tearing the ground beneath it. Dust and mist trailed behind as it sped into the forest, leaving the ruins—and the figure standing amid smoking rubble—behind.

Behind them, Trek’s massive silhouette reemerged from broken brick and debris. His wounded body steamed hotly from open wounds and porous skin. Blood slathered his face, yet his eyes burned like embers. His chest heaved—and as he roared, the sound rattled the night sky:

"You think you can run from me, kid?!"

Trek crouched then slammed both feet down into the earth.

The ground shattered beneath him.

Then he ran.

Not just running—charging, like an ancient beast unleashed. Over two meters tall, with curved horns and volcanic skin, he bulldozed through underbrush, rocks, and trees, cutting through everything in his path like an angry bison at war.

"Oh, shit!" Ren ducked in the cabin, glancing back through the rear window. "He’s gone full minotaur!"

[Wasn’t he always like that?] Ultro answered calmly, with a faint air of sarcasm.

Ren rolled his eyes. "In that case, remind me never to underestimate the dungeon boss of this world again!"

The van veered sharply left, nearly slipping when a wheel hit a slick rock—yet the auto‑balance system corrected instantly. Trees sped by on either side, forming a shifting dark corridor.

WHAM!

Behind him, a tree shattered and crashed. Trek wasn’t just running—he was bulldozing through the forest. A full-grown tree thicker than a human cracked in half, crashing down behind him to define his destructive path. His silhouette loomed ever closer—and faster than allowed.

"Ultro, check distance!" Ren yelled, grabbing a control panel on the side.

[Estimated pursuit: 180 meters. Enemy speed increasing. 140 meters... 100 meters. Heat signature spiking.]

Ren tensed. "Is he using—what? Rage mode or something?!"

[Highly probable. Recommendation: terrain obstacles.]

Ren punched the red button on the emergency control panel.

At the van’s rear, an automated launcher deployed a series of adhesive mines and electrostatic smoke grenades into Trek’s path.

BOOM! BOOM! CRACK!

Explosions erupted in rapid succession. Thick smoke swallowed the chase route. Electrical arcs jumped from tree to tree, forming a visual and energy barrier.

Trek let out a furious roar—this time out of frustration, not anger. His massive frame slammed into a still-standing tree, shaking the forest with a thundering clap. The trunk cracked, yet didn’t fully fall—and the impact staggered Trek briefly.

Yet in a fight governed by speed and distance, every second mattered.

[Distance to enemy now increasing: 120 m... 160 m... 180 m...]

Ren exhaled in relief, chest heaving. "That’s it... keep going."

Before he could savor a small victory, the van’s navigation display turned red and alarms shrieked.

[Warning: Terrain unsafe. 90 meters ahead: ravine detected. Depth approx. 60 meters. No bridge or stable route.]

Ren pivoted quickly to the display, eyes widening. "Seriously..."

[Recommendation: U‑turn. Alternate route available 400 meters south.]

He glanced ahead. The van’s headlights illuminated a yawning chasm in the distance—a wide ravine shrouded in mist, almost beckoning death.

He gripped the steering wheel and gave a grin.

"Ultro, who said we’re turning back?"

[...Input does not comply with safety protocols.]

Ren tapped the steering wheel twice, a habit born from old routines—like telling himself this was a crazy idea, and he’d do it anyway. He leaned back in his seat, body taut, yet his expression relaxed, filled with a kind of absurd confidence only someone too familiar with death could have.

"Time to go full Dominic Toretto," he murmured, grinning.

His fingers pressed the special button on the right side of the dashboard—a blue triangle logo glowing faintly. Instantly, a hiss sounded from beneath the vehicle.

Repulsor Nos System: engaged.

Under the rear of the van, near the modified exhaust outlet, an ion-powered repulsor unit glowed bright blue. Sparks erupted as compressed gas and thrust began to push the van harder than ever. The engine roared, suspension groaned like it was screaming in protest at its driver’s reckless decision.

The ground trembled. Speed spiked. The ravine loomed closer.

[Warning: insufficient ground clearance. Estimated rough landing success: 68%.]

"Just give me 32% luck, Ultro," Ren whispered.

The van raced toward the edge of the ravine. The front wheels lifted off the ground faster than predicted. For one moment that felt like an eternity, the world froze. The headlights shone blankly into blackness, lighting up nothing but emptiness.

Then...

They flew.

Not gliding. Not falling. But truly flying—launched by the mini-repulsors, the van soared across the twenty-meter gap between the two cliff edges. The cabin rattled violently. Bones beneath Ren’s flesh had their own rebound.

Night air howled outside.

And in that absurd silence... Ren laughed softly.

"This... is my life now..."