THE FOOTWORK TECHNIQUES
Among both the Order of Exodus and the Mercenaries of the Iron Altar, two forbidden footwork arts existed.
These techniques were spoken of only in hushed tones and taught exclusively to those deemed truly worthy.
They were known as the Double Step and the Triple Step.
Both were ancient.
Both were lethal.
And both existed to shatter the limits of human perception and reaction time.
THE DOUBLE STEP TECHNIQUE
The Double Step was the more versatile of the two.
It was a high-speed footwork system that granted its user overwhelming mobility and combat efficiency through rapid spatial repositioning.
When executed with perfect form, the user initiated two consecutive steps that ruptured the opponent’s visual perception range and line of sight.
At full activation, the body achieved complete motion blur, leaving no afterimage and no residual kinetic trace — only absence within the opponent’s sensory field.
It was the most commonly employed technique in prolonged engagements.
It allowed the user to maneuver, reposition, and deliver strikes at blinding speeds multiple times within a single exchange, effectively multiplying attack opportunities while minimizing exposure.
However, the Double Step carried an inherent limitation.
When two equally matched users both possessed mastery over the technique, combat devolved into a battle of attrition.
Victory was no longer decided by raw speed alone, but by precise timing, tactical awareness, depth of Ancient Art integration, and the specific properties of the weapons each combatant wielded.
In such encounters, the deciding factor became painfully simple: who initiated first, and who possessed superior understanding of the technique’s activation windows and recovery frames.
THE TRIPLE STEP TECHNIQUE
In contrast, the Triple Step was an overwhelmingly destructive technique designed not for prolonged combat, but for absolute termination.
The user had to initiate three consecutive steps before activation.
Once completed, the technique generated an immense propulsive force that collapsed the spatial interval between the user and their target.
Distance became irrelevant.
Evasion became statistically meaningless.
Upon impact, the resulting kinetic transfer was so catastrophic that it could obliterate the surrounding environment, reducing everything within the effective radius to structural ruin.
Nothing survived its wake.
Bodies disintegrated under extreme pressure.
Structures collapsed from shockwave propagation.
The battlefield was left scarred beyond recognition.
Yet for all its destructive output, the Triple Step was deeply flawed.
Its three-step activation sequence created a significant wind-up period that rendered it inefficient in sustained combat.
The immense energy draw also limited its use to once, or at most twice, before leaving the user in a critically vulnerable state with depleted reserves and slowed recovery.
Against a Double Step practitioner, this weakness became fatal.
Two steps would almost always outpace three.
Thus, in direct confrontations, a Double Step user was statistically more likely to prevail, not through raw power, but through superior adaptability and shorter engagement cycles.
The only known counter to the Triple Step lay in an exceedingly rare ability: the extension of consciousness, the capacity to perceive several seconds into the future.
Even then, applying such foresight effectively in the chaos of high-speed battle was nearly impossible due to cognitive overload and reaction lag.
For this reason, the Triple Step was most effective when initiated outside the opponent’s perception field, functioning as a surprise execution rather than a frontal assault.
[AT THE PARK — WHERE THE BATTLE COMMENCED]
Reagan did not evade the attack completely, but he successfully distorted its outcome.
Before her blade ever reached him, Reagan had already initiated the first phase of the Double Step.
One step backward, clean and decisive.
Only one more step was needed to complete the activation.
That was the problem.
There was no time.
The Iron Lady had already initiated her final step.
She had moved first.
By the time Reagan could commit to his second step, she would have already closed the distance, her blade descending in a single, flawless arc meant to sever his head before his perception could catch up.
Reagan understood the timing disadvantage instantly.
As he stepped back, he forced his head sharply backward, synchronizing the motion with his retreat.
It was reckless, an instinctive maneuver meant to steal a fragment of distance where none should exist.
A sliver of space.
An instant.
Just enough.
Her blade passed his throat by the width of a breath.
In that stolen moment, Reagan’s foot struck the ground.
The second step landed.
The Double Step activated.
His body vanished backward at blinding speed, the world snapping violently out of sync as he narrowly escaped decapitation.
The gamble succeeded — but not without cost.
The pressure wave of the strike alone tore into him.
A shallow cut opened along the side of his neck.
Blood surged up his throat as he staggered, coughing violently.
He spat blood onto the ground.
His breathing came heavy and uneven as he clutched his neck, pain radiating through his skull.
“What’s taking so long…? They should be here by now.”
Her voice carried calmly through the mask.
“Interesting. So you are familiar with the Double Step. That explains how you survived just now.”
Despite the pain, Reagan smirked.
“They don’t call me the Kraken of Zall for nothing,” he replied, his voice strained beneath labored breaths.
For the first time, his expression hardened.
“I don’t have a choice anymore…”
He inhaled deeply.
Then exhaled.
His stance shifted.
His guard rose.
And as his eyes sharpened, something else caught his attention — her blade.
“Why didn’t I notice it earlier…?”
Reagan’s gaze locked onto the weapon.
Sigils ran down its length like veins of molten gold, pulsing faintly.
It was unmistakable.
“That blade… It can’t be… it actually exists?”
The Talisman of Annhul — an ancient relic spoken of only in fractured records and forbidden scriptures.
A blade forged not merely to kill, but to divide existence itself.
A weapon said to have split heaven from earth in an age long erased from history.
But why does she have it?
And how did she even acquire something like that…?
His fingers slipped into the inner lining of his coat, reaching for the weapon hidden there.
This is going to be far more difficult than I anticipated.
His jaw tightened.
I’m not just facing someone nearly as powerful as him… She also wields the Annhul.
If that blade were to touch—
The thought never finished.
The Iron Lady moved.
Her form blurred as she initiated the Double Step.
The air snapped violently in her wake.
Reagan’s instincts screamed as space itself seemed to collapse between them.
He tried to draw his weapon, but it was already too late.
She was on him.
Yet in that fraction of a heartbeat, Reagan noticed something.
“She’s repeating the same opening…”
He reacted on instinct, ducking just enough for her blade to carve through the space where his neck had been moments ago.
Steel sliced through the air.
“Why repeat the same attack—?”
Realization struck too late.
He had taken the bait.
By ducking, he had shortened his reaction window, and her follow-up was already in motion.
Her fist drove forward like a falling star.
It struck his solar plexus.
The impact detonated.
The ground beneath them shattered outward in a violent web of fractures.
Stone erupted as a thunderous shockwave tore through the park.
A violent gust exploded from the point of impact, flattening trees, ripping debris from the ground, and distorting Reagan’s form as he was launched skyward.
His body became a blur as he was hurled through the storm, punching straight into the murky clouds above.
The Iron Lady stood still, blade lowered, mask tilted upward.
She watched calmly as his silhouette vanished into the darkness.
Waiting.
Waiting for gravity to reclaim him.
Waiting to deliver the finishing blow.
But something was wrong.
The clouds above began to move.
Not drift — but form.
A deep, unnatural squeal echoed across the city, low, vast, and boisterous.
A sudden pressure surged outward, sending violent winds roaring through streets and alleyways alike.
Windows shattered.
Vehicles rocked violently.
People were lifted off their feet.
The storm escalated instantly.
What had once been a brewing tempest now felt alive.
Citizens barricaded themselves indoors, convinced the world itself was coming undone.
Those caught outside were dragged screaming by the wind, while others dropped to their knees, praying to survive the night.
And then people looked up.
Those who did froze in terror.
The clouds were no longer formless.
A colossal silhouette stretched across the sky, vast and beyond comprehension.
A shape so immense it dwarfed the city beneath it, descending slowly and inexorably like a god of ruin awakening from slumber.
Inside the storm, Reagan felt it.
He had stalled long enough.
If he continued holding back, if he refused to use the Art he was forbidden to ever use unless it was a matter of life and death, then he would die here.
“This is it.”
Before gravity could claim him, before his momentum faded, Reagan spread his arms wide and formed a precise hand seal — index and middle fingers tightly joined, overlapping one another; little fingers touching; thumbs meeting to complete the ancient hand sign configuration.
Power surged.
His voice cut through the storm, commanding and absolute.
“And now… release.”
“Ancient Arts of Zall —”
“…Initiate the Eighth Command…”
The clouds convulsed.
“…The Kraken of Tempest.”