The two elite troops stood in silence for a few moments, their unreadable visors concealing their expressions. The one with the glowing blue accents—the more composed of the two—finally spoke first. His voice was deep, calm, and firm, carrying the weight of authority without the aggression from before.
"We're not fully convinced of his identity," he stated plainly, his gaze flicking between Stella and Keon. "Regardless of your testimony, protocol requires that we take him in for verification."
The red-accented elite, who had nearly escalated the situation earlier, crossed his arms. "We're not leaving loose ends. If he's clean, he'll be free to go. If not…" His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.
Stella clenched her fists, her posture tense. "Keon isn't—"
The blue-accented elite raised a hand, cutting her off. "This isn't a negotiation." He turned slightly to the side, issuing a silent command through his visor interface. Within moments, a second squad began moving toward the area, weapons drawn but not raised.
"We'll restrain him and bring him back to the city for further assessment," the blue-accented elite continued. "Meanwhile, I'll stay behind to eliminate any remaining mutated Beasts in the vicinity."
The red-accented elite gave a small nod. "Understood. I'll handle the escort."
A subtle but heavy tension filled the air as one of the soldiers stepped forward, producing a pair of high-tech handcuffs. The device wasn't ordinary—it emitted a faint, pulsating glow, indicating its Esperia-suppressing capabilities. These weren't meant for simple restraint; they were specifically designed to block and nullify any ability use.
Keon eyed the cuffs with mild curiosity. If he were a normal Esperia user, this would have been a nightmare. But his abilities weren't derived from Esperia. They came from the Immortal Rift System.
In other words, these cuffs wouldn't do a thing to him.
Still, he had to play along.
"…You guys really know how to make someone feel welcome," Keon muttered with a forced sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No sudden moves. I get it."
The soldier clasped the restraints around his wrists, and the glowing bands locked in place with a soft mechanical click. The moment they activated, a wave of static energy pulsed outward—a sign that any Esperia abilities should have been completely suppressed.
Keon felt nothing.
Stella frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but she held her tongue. She had already pushed back as much as she could.
The red-accented elite turned slightly, motioning toward their transport. "Let's move."
Keon glanced at Stella, flashing the smallest, almost playful smirk as if to say, Guess I'm getting a free ride. Then, without resistance, he followed them toward the waiting transport, his hands still cuffed but entirely unaffected.
As the group prepared to leave, the blue-accented elite turned away, activating a scanning interface on his visor. The battlefield still held lingering dangers, and his mission wasn't over yet.
Mutated Beasts weren't known for leaving survivors.
And he wasn't known for leaving threats alive.
As Keon walked toward the towering space carrier, his pace steady despite the restraints, a strange noise caught his attention—a low, crackling whoosh that rapidly intensified. It wasn't the usual hum of energy weapons or the mechanical whir of drones. This was something raw, something alive.
Curious, he glanced over his shoulder.
The two soldiers whose weapons he had previously stolen using his Rift Barrier now stood near the scattered corpses of mutated beasts. Their arms were engulfed in vivid blue flames, stretching out like twin flamethrowers. The fire roared as it surged forward, incinerating the remains in controlled, sweeping motions.
Keon's eyes flickered with intrigue. Damn. Some Esperia are actually cool.
The flames weren't just ordinary fire—they had an unnatural sharpness, as if infused with something beyond simple combustion. The moment the blue inferno touched the beast corpses, they didn't just burn—they disintegrated in eerie silence, reduced to nothing but glowing embers in mere seconds.
Keon raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Not bad."
One of the flame-wielding soldiers turned slightly, catching Keon's gaze through his visor. Though his face was hidden, there was an air of smug satisfaction in the way he adjusted his stance, as if silently boasting, Impressed?
Keon chuckled under his breath. Esperia abilities were flashy, no doubt. But despite their destructive potential, he couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of detachment. None of this is mine. None of this affects me.
The system was his true power, something beyond this world's logic. These flames, these restraints, these laws of nature—they had no hold on him.
Still, as he turned back toward the waiting space carrier, he admitted one thing to himself.
If he ever had to fake being an Esperia user, blue flames wouldn't be a bad choice.
Inside the space carrier, the atmosphere was sterile and clinical, a stark contrast to the chaotic battlefield they had just left. Bright overhead lights cast a cold glow over the interior, where soldiers moved with swift precision.
Keon and Stella were led to a designated area where several figures in different-colored suits—clearly medics—were already at work. Unlike the combat units, these soldiers had streamlined armor with white and light blue patterns, their helmets sleek and equipped with advanced scanning visors.
One of the medics immediately focused on Stella, carefully scanning her for injuries with a device that emitted soft, pulsating light. Keon, meanwhile, stood still, observing with feigned indifference until another medic approached him.
This one had a slightly bulkier suit, her helmet bearing additional insignias. The visor flickered as she scanned him briefly before a calm but firm female voice spoke from inside the helmet.
"Remove your cloak."
Keon's expression remained neutral, but his mind instantly went on high alert.
Not happening.
This wasn't just any cloak—it was the Cloak of Disguise, a critical piece of his deception. Removing it, even briefly, was a risk he wasn't willing to take. He had no idea what kind of detection technology they had, and revealing even the slightest abnormality about himself could lead to unnecessary complications.
Instead of outright refusing, he tilted his head slightly, feigning mild annoyance. "Is that necessary?" he asked, keeping his tone calm but firm.
The medic's visor flickered again, and she crossed her arms. "Standard procedure. We need to check for injuries, infections, or hidden weapons. Your cloak interferes with our scans."
Keon didn't react outwardly, but internally, he noted that last part carefully. So they can't scan through it? Good to know.
He exhaled lightly, shifting his stance. "I feel fine," he said smoothly. "No wounds, no infections. If I had any, I'd be the first to ask for treatment."
The medic hesitated. Clearly, she was trained to deal with stubborn individuals, but Keon's relaxed demeanor—paired with the fact that he had been compliant so far—made her pause.
After a brief moment, she spoke again, this time more analytical. "Your biometrics are stable, no signs of injury… but protocol requires a manual inspection."
Keon subtly tightened his jaw. He needed to steer this away without drawing suspicion.
"I get it, protocol and all," he said with an easy shrug, "but look—" he gestured toward Stella, who was still being treated, "she actually needs your attention. I don't."
A slight silence.
The medic seemed to weigh his words. Then, after a few more seconds, she let out a small breath.
"Fine. But if anything seems off, we'll check again."
Keon gave a small nod, hiding his relief behind his usual unreadable expression.
Crisis avoided.
Or so he thought.
Just as the medic was about to turn away, another soldier approached, holding a tablet-like device. "Final scan report shows slight inconsistencies in his readings," he said, handing it over.
The medic glanced at the data, then looked back at Keon. "Take it off. Now."
Keon clenched his teeth.
He considered pushing back again, but at this point, refusing further would only escalate the situation. He could feel the weight of multiple gazes on him—soldiers, medics, all watching.
With a slow exhale, he gave up.
Wordlessly, he reached for the clasp of his cloak, hesitating for the briefest moment before finally pulling it off.