From an outsider's perspective, it might have seemed like Thomas missed. His massive fist, capable of crushing mountains and halting bullets mid-flight, appeared to fall short. But to believe that was sheer naivety. Only someone in his line of work could see the truth. His slowed movements were deliberate, orchestrated to bring about this very moment. He had forced Elsa Greinhiert to shift, swapping their positions. Now, with her repositioned, Thomas had full control of the battlefield, standing exactly where he intended-between the civilians and danger.
The assassin had been too close to the innocents, far too close for hostiles. Thomas fixed that. His calculated strike made her dodge, forcing her to recoil while his body followed through, deliberately maneuvering her away from the vulnerable people. If he'd unleashed his strength little more, he would've destroy her, and hurt people he trying to save.
A fraction of his power could send shockwaves through the area, endangering the people behind him or even leveling the building. It wasn't just the damage to property he was concerned about, though he could easily pay for that, if it was back home.
But, in the middle of nowhere like this, recources were scarce. It was like that time he followed Thor into Bifröst, and because something wrong with it, ended up trapped in Álfheim
But as always, there was always a need for someone to stand as a shield for the innocent, and Thomas was damn good at it.
Civilians were the priority, no matter what. If the threat was a villain, he'd neutralize them before they had a chance to cause harm. If the attack was already in motion, he'd draw all attention to himself and pull the danger away from the bystanders. He'd done just that. Now, with the civilians safely behind him, he could finally tap into more of his power and deal with the monster in human skin standing before him.
Elsa Greinhart-"The Bowel Hunter"-had earned her name for a reason. Her intentions prove it.
Her beauty was undeniable, but to him, she was revolting. A creature that would slaughter everyone in this room without a hint of remorse, and with nothing but sadistic glee. There could be no mercy for a killer like her. The rule was simple: no forgiveness for those who murdered the defenseless, especially the elderly and children. Children were the future, the fragile flowers of life, and respect for the elders had been drilled into Thomas since his first life He couldn't allow monsters like Elsa to roam freely.
He'd intended to help the elderly man to safety, but Elsa were blocking his path before. Now, though, the tide of the battle had turned in his favor. Victory was within reach, though there was still the old man to worry about.
Thomas briefly glanced toward the civilians..
The first figure caught his eye—a young, beautiful girl with striking silvery hair. A small flower rested delicately near her temple, its petals shimmering like snow kissed by the early morning sun. Her pale skin held a soft flush, not sickly, but healthy, and her eyes—those were really interesting. Purple irises with blue pupils, a combination he'd never seen before. Her outfit was equally strange, a flowing white dress tinged with shades of purple, matching the colors of her eyes and skin.
Despite the dirt and grime smeared over her because of the fight with Elsa, he could tell she'd be stunning when cleaned up. His enhanced vision picked up another detail—the pointed ears. They weren't just for show; they were real. Elvish, or something close enough. He'd heard about Elves having long ears, and through his glasses, there was no mistaking it. She was very interesting, to say the least.
Next to her stood a boy, probably around 17 or 18, likely the same age as the girl. His jet-black hair slicked back, with a tuft sticking up like a peacock's tail, gave him an odd but distinctive look. His sharp brown eyes held an intensity that made his young face stand out in an unexpected way. His features hinted at an Asian descent, though Thomas couldn't pinpoint exactly which. He hadn't interacted with enough to tell them apart. Unlike the girl, this boy had normal, human ears. His attire—a tracksuit—seemed out of place. Was he an outsider like Thomas? Others in room here wore clothes that reflected an old-world culture, while this boy's modern style stuck out, much like Thomas's own. There was something to figure out here, and perhaps one of them could help him locate Subaru Natsuki.
Behind the pair stood a younger girl, maybe 14 or 15. Her golden hair glowed in the fading sunlight, making her seem almost otherworldly, though the bloodstains and knife wounds tarnished that image. Her clothes—if you could call them that—were shabby and far too revealing for someone her age. No girl should have to walk around like that, but considering this place—out in the middle of slum—it was likely not by choice. Perhaps it was. Thomas didn't know the details, but he intended to fill those gaps once he handled the killer at hand.
What struck him most about this girl was her eyes—vivid red, like burning rubies. There was a fierce determination in them, a readiness to defend at any cost. She stood protectively beside a large old man, her small frame barely reaching his waist, but there was no fear in her stance, only defiance. She was ready to fight, claws out, like a kitten protecting its territory.
She looks like him. The same red eyes, the same golden hair. They looked like they could be family. She could easily be mistaken for his daughter, and the resemblance was striking, almost unsettling. He glanced back at the girl again, and there was no doubt. If someone were to see them together, they'd believe them to be father and child.
So small, yet so fiercely protective. The old man she stood in front of was huge-smaller than Thomas, but still towering at over two and a half meters. His dark skin was marked by age and covered with cuts, but that wasn't what made him stand out. It was the strange details. Balding, with eyebrows so long they could hold beads, and a chest full of hair as thick as wool. But what caught Thomas's attention most were the old man's arms-abnormally large and long, stretching down almost to his knees, as though his limbs belonged to someone twice his size. A strange mutation, but Thomas had seen far stranger things in his time. By the man's side lay a massive wooden mace, more of a thick branch than a crafted weapon. Simple, brutal, effective.
They were an odd group, no doubt. But Thomas knew this was only the beginning-he had a feeling he'd be seeing much stranger things before this was over.
His brain processed the scene in seconds, scanning the civilians. Elsa waited, patient but poised, her predatory eyes watching for any opening. The three younger ones shrank under Thomas's gaze, but the old man studied him carefully, sizing him up. Thomas didn't miss how the elder's eyes flicked to Felt several times, checking her as if making sure she was still safe. Perhaps the old man shared Thomas's protective instincts toward the girl.
"First aid for the elder, now," Thomas ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. "Someone needs to find a real medic. Quickly."
At last, the group snapped out of their daze.
"Y-yes!" the silver-haired girl stammered, rushing to the old man's side. Thomas noticed something forming in her palm-some kind of magic, no doubt.
He turned to the boy next. "You, do you know this area?"
The teenager lowered his head. "N-no, I'm kinda new here..." His voice was quiet, almost ashamed. Not from around here then. Thomas would figure out the details later.
"I know the area! I'm fast!" The younger girl's voice cut through the tension, her tone both desperate and determined. She lifted her head, trying to meet Thomas's gaze, but faltered at the sight of his dark glasses and stern expression. "But... I can't leave Grandpa..." Her voice broke, tears welling in her eyes as she knelt by the old man's side, clutching his arm. The love she had for him was obvious, a bond beyond words. She wasn't ready to leave him, even if it was the right thing to do.
Thomas couldn't help but respect that. She wasn't his blood-he could see the differences in their features-but the old man had likely raised her from a young age, and the connection between them was real, maybe even stronger because of it.
The old man's voice was weary, but firm. "Felt, go bring the knights. I can manage for now. The half-elf's ice will hold the bleeding. Do what you've been told."
"B-but Grandfather..." Her voice cracked, torn between obedience and fear.
His gaze hardened just enough to silence her protest. "Go."
Felt hesitated, her eyes darting between her grandfather and Thomas. Reluctantly, she nodded, though the worry was still clear on her face. "Be safe, Grandpa... I'll be right back..." Her voice was quiet, thick with emotion. She glanced once more at Thomas, clearly uneasy about leaving her grandfather in the hands of a stranger. But there was no time to waste.
As she stepped past the half-elf and the boy, she couldn't resist one final warning. "Listen to me. If anything happens to Grandpa, you'll regret it, do you understand?" Her voice, bold beyond her years, shook with both fear and determination. She trusted the others, but this towering man in front of her-despite the fact he'd come to help-still made her wary. The sight of her wounded grandfather clouded her mind with worry, and she couldn't shake it.
Thomas simply smiled. "It's my duty to keep innocent people safe."
The monster in human skin finally revealed herself, speaking with a mocking tone, "That's all nice, but I'm afraid I can't allow it~" She shook her head, her voice dripping with arrogance, clearly unaware of the man standing before her.
That made Thomas laugh, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the room. "Then let's make it allowable," he replied, eyes locking onto hers with cold amusement.
Elsa's smug expression faltered, but she twisted her head back to glare at him. She had no idea what she was dealing with, and Thomas already liked the boldness of the girl, Felt, standing behind him. Her fiery attitude was reminiscent of his own. He had a feeling she'd spring into action the moment Elsa was sent flying.
And she would be flying.
Elsa opened her mouth to respond with another caustic remark, but she never got the chance.
Because in the blink of an eye, Thomas's enormous fist collided with her stomach.
*POW*
*BOOM*
The speed with which Thomas moved was nothing short of monstrous—far beyond what anyone in that room thought possible. The air cracked as he crossed the distance in a split second, his fist driving into Elsa's abdomen with the force of a freight train. The impact was catastrophic. Elsa's body crumpled, her breath stolen before she could even scream. She was sent flying like a rag doll, her frame smashing through the floorboards as if they were paper.
The walls groaned and splintered as her body rocketed backward, tearing through the front door in an explosion of wood and debris, creating an exit where there hadn't been one.
The room fell into stunned silence. For a second.
"W-WOW…"
"H-HOLY…"
" HUH?!"
Every face around him was frozen in shock, eyes wide, jaws slack. No one could comprehend what they had just witnessed. Elsa Granehart, the infamous "Bowel Hunter," reduced to nothing more than a sack of flesh hurled through the air by a single punch. Felt's eyes were practically bulging out of her head, while the silver-haired girl gasped, hands clasped over her mouth in disbelief. Even the old man, despite his injuries, looked astounded.
But Thomas didn't give them a moment to recover. He turned to Felt, his voice steady, like this was just another day in the office. "Let's go."
Felt, startled out of her shock, snapped to attention. "Y-yes!" She bolted from her seat, leaping into action. Her legs carried her at incredible speed, each jump faster than the last, her small frame darting toward the slum's exit. It wasn't normal human speed—there was some kind of ability at play—but it wasn't fast enough to be truly supernatural. Still, it was impressive.
She moved carefully, taking a wide arc to avoid Elsa's crumpled form lying in the mud outside. Thomas, meanwhile, turned his attention to the two remaining teens.
"Watch over the elder," he said, his voice firm but calm.
The boy's response came with a mixture of fear and fury. "Sure, but please—finish that bitch off!"
Thomas smirked, his lips curling in a small, satisfied grin. Without a word, he strode toward the shattered door, the weight of his steps leaving cracks in the floorboards beneath him. The ruined door swung on broken hinges, remnants of Elsa's destruction littering the ground. He'd fix the door later, somehow repay the old man for the mess. But right now, there was something far more important to deal with.