Atticus was becoming all too adept at changing the nature of his movements depending on the need.
As soon as he evaded the showering bone spikes, once again, Atticus’s movement changed.
Like a crashing wave, Atticus surged forward, leaving a trail of water in the air.
He closed the distance swiftly. Like a surging current, his leg surged upwards, hitting the shocked Luther beneath his chin with swift and brutal force.
“H-How…?” Luther only had time to mutter those words before a blitzing punch followed.
Luther felt everything as though it happened in slow motion. From the break in the tall bridge of his nose to the crack that followed in his teeth, to the way his skin deformed beneath the weight of the strike before the force of the punch acted upon him, and his figure shot backward at dizzying speed, hitting the wall beside the staircase.
The whole area descended into frightening silence. From the basement where Atticus currently was, to the entirety of the coliseum where millions of students were watching his screen with rapt attention.
The situation was far from over, and it seemed that Atticus was just starting to find this out.
Atticus’s steps that were initially approaching the figures of Lucienta and Luther, who were struggling to stand up, abruptly stopped, his gaze narrowing.
His eyes were currently fixated on one thing: the blinking red light on Lucienta’s wrist. Atticus could stand here all day thinking about the function of that light, but considering the situation and everything that he had deduced about it, only one thing came to mind when he saw that light: a call for help.
Atticus’s thoughts spun, his mind oddly clear. His next actions were swift and without hesitation. He didn’t even need to ponder his next course of action, for them to call for help would mean that there was backup; the building was surrounded.
He couldn’t allow himself to get boxed in.
The air around Atticus suddenly became heavy and humid, a swirling tornado of water forming around him, spinning with intense power.
Akin to a rising wave, Atticus surged upwards, breaking through the sturdy bone-made ceiling with remarkable force, leaving a cascade of water droplets in his wake.
Atticus continued upward, breaking through the ceiling and entering the upper floor of the building, his perception ramped up into full swing.
Atticus didn’t sweep his gaze around the room to look for who he had come for, Aurora; there was no need to.
He was still controlling the water inside her suit and could feel every single movement she had made, even when he had been in the basement.
Every single one of the men in the room had their backs turned from the middle of the room, each of them about to run out the door, moving with urgency, having felt the disturbance below.
The last thing they were each expecting was the figure of Atticus, covered in a swirling water tornado, bursting through the middle of the room, a wave of water in his wake.
His presence didn’t even last for 1 second, none even having the time to understand what was going on. As soon as he burst through the room, the figure of one of the supposed soldiers at the back line of the group suddenly shot towards Atticus as though propelled by an invisible force.
And then, just as he had come, his momentum continued undisturbed, bursting through the ceiling of the room and out the roof of the building.
It was then that Atticus’s gaze finally swept the area.
The world seemed to slow as Atticus’s perception operated at full throttle.
Three things came to Atticus’s head at that moment.
The first, his assumption had been right.
All around the building and in every single direction were the figures of men clad in tight white suits with cloaks.
These men were the epitome of elite, their posture erect and demeanor austere, radiating a sense of seriousness and disciplined focus.
Their gazes were unwavering, fixed directly on the building Atticus had just burst out of.
Suspended in the air and around the building were the forms of a significant number of hover cars, each of them facing the building.
And just below, at the front of a small number of them, was the figure of a young boy. He was clad in the same attire as the other men, and one would be quick to dismiss him as insignificant. But such a person would be a fool. And Atticus wasn’t a fool.
Out of everyone present in the area, only the gaze of the boy was able to react and follow Atticus’s movement as he burst out of the building. This small fact brought about the second thought in Atticus’s head.
The boy had awakened his perception, which means he was at the very least an expert-rank.
Atticus didn’t even care to wonder who the boy was. In fact, not even a second had passed since he had burst out from the building.
As soon as Atticus came to that conclusion, the third and last thought came naturally.
He had to escape.
Just as naturally as the thought flowed, his movements also followed.
Atticus’s hands moved like lightning, rapidly tapping his artifact and unlocking his currently most powerful element, fire.
It was a power that Atticus had been using for years now; it was already a part of him. Atticus didn’t feel any surge of power nor did he need time to get used to it.
As quickly as it came, Atticus let go of every single one of his thoughts about water, his entire being focusing on one thing: fire.
It all happened in an instant.
The swirling tornado surrounding both Atticus and Aurora began to bubble, the temperature in the area spiking to staggering levels.
The water evaporated with startling speed, a surge of steam suddenly engulfing the whole area.
Before any of them could react to their vision getting clouded, a nuclear blast-like explosion suddenly shook the entire area, the ground trembling.
A streaking figure suddenly shot out of the steam-engulfed area, moving at breakneck speed towards the gates of the city, leaving a fiery blaze in his wake.
