Xiao Feng clung to Baibai's snow-white back, wrapping his arms tightly around the creature's neck, his voice resolute: "No—I won't leave."
Baibai let out two low whimpers and immediately dashed toward the camp.
The Black Dragon shouted at Ares, "Don't let him get away...!"
Ares furrowed his brow, his eyes fixed on Xiao Feng and Baibai. Golden light began to pulse from both of his clenched fists, and with a surge of power, he lunged toward Baibai.
But just then, on the back of the earth-hound facing away from Ares, a section of armor covering most of its back suddenly split open. From within emerged two rows of missiles, each larger than a human head. One of them launched straight at Ares.
Ares saw it with his own eyes—the missile blazing forth from the earth-hound's back. His brow twitched, and he immediately abandoned his strike, choosing instead to prioritize his own safety.
As Baibai, bearing Xiao Feng, leapt past Ares—who had just dodged aside—the Black Dragon was nearly driven mad with fury. He bellowed, "Damn it, Ares! What the hell are you doing?!"
Ares cast him a glance but gave no reply. Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted after Baibai.
At that very moment, a jeep appeared at the end of the street. Behind the wheel was the portly Blada. In the passenger seat sat Rice, and standing in the back was Old White.
Rice saw Baibai racing toward them and immediately felt a surge of worry. When they saw Xiao Feng slumped on Baibai's back, the hearts of all three men sank—heavily. Concern for Xiao Feng overtook them in an instant.
Turner and Ivy had just been killed. If something were to happen to Xiao Feng now, Old White and Rice would be consumed by regret.
Baibai vaulted clean over the jeep, continuing toward the military camp.
Suddenly, Ares appeared in front of Rice and Old White, blocking their path.
Rice shouted, "Blada—run him down!"
Blada replied, "Hold on tight..." Then he slammed the accelerator to the floor, sending the jeep hurtling straight at Ares.
But Ares neither flinched nor moved. He braced himself, his right fist tightening like steel. As the speeding jeep bore down on him, that golden-glowing fist struck the hood with terrifying force.
In an instant, the jeep flipped forward. Rice and Old White froze, stunned—not by the crash, but by the radiant glow erupting from Ares' fist.
"The Light of the War God..." Rice muttered in disbelief.
He knew what that light meant. It was the mark of one of the Seven Gods—Ares, the War God. That golden energy surging from his fists granted him overwhelming might. A single punch had crushed the jeep's front. There was no doubt now: this was the power of an eighth-level Esper. And not just any Esper—one of the Seven, stronger even than Hades himself.
The impact sent the rear of the jeep skyward, flipping it over. The entire vehicle rolled forward violently.
Blada, securely strapped in, was unharmed. But Rice and Old White were both thrown from the vehicle.
In midair, they stabilized themselves and landed hard on the ground. Without hesitation, the two exchanged a glance and charged straight at Ares.
Old White's strength-based Esper ability was formidable—perhaps not on the level of Ares, but still strong enough to crush a truck. With a thunderous roar, his fist collided with Ares' own.
A sickening crack rang out.
The immense force of the collision generated a powerful backlash, and Old White's arm shattered under the pressure—bone crushed beyond recognition.
The agony brought the burly warrior to his knees, clutching his arm and crying out in pain.
Seeing Old White taken out in a single blow, Rice became even more cautious. Two blazing fireballs ignited in his hands, which he hurled toward the War God Ares.
But to Ares, the fireballs were painfully slow. With a flicker, he appeared in front of Rice and swung a monstrous punch. This strike was even more powerful than the one that had destroyed the jeep. It would surely have ended Rice's life—had it landed.
Yet the fist stopped.
Just three centimeters from Rice's left cheek, Ares' golden fist froze in place, unable to advance a fraction further.
He felt it clearly—his fist, as if caught in an invisible vice, immovable. But there was nothing there. No rope. No hand. Nothing.
Ares scowled. "Bastard. Who is it?"
He knew—another Esper. A powerful psychic.
At that moment, Rush dropped from a nearby rooftop, his arm still wrapped in bandages. Since his injury, he hadn't seen Xiao Feng. The man had been frantically busy. If Xiao Feng had just taken a moment to heal him, Rush's wounds would have been trivial.
But for Rush, limbs didn't matter. His power came from his mind.
Facing the War God, Rush smirked coldly. "The elusive Seven Gods... suddenly quite active, aren't they? One after another, showing up uninvited. So tell me—what's the grand plan? To kill Xiao Feng? I'm afraid I can't let that happen. He's my client. I only get paid if he stays alive. If he dies, I might just have to go down with him. So listen closely: I won't allow you to lay a single finger on him."
Ares strained to move but remained locked in place, frozen mid-strike. "Who... who are you?" he growled. "How can you possess such formidable psychic power?"
Rush threw his head back and laughed. "Just a nobody, too small to catch your divine attention. But hear this—if you dare harm Xiao Feng, I'll make you pay. Tenfold."
Ares sneered. "Xiao Feng said the same thing before. Look at him now—on the brink of death, nearly torn to pieces by Black Dragon."
Rice turned to Rush, shouting, "Hurry and finish this bastard! They've already injured Xiao Feng badly. We don't know how serious it is—he might not make it!"
Hearing this, Rush's jaw clenched tightly. His right hand extended toward Ares, and in an instant, a colossal wave of psychic force engulfed the War God.
Ares froze.
He hadn't expected Rush to attack without hesitation—and with such overwhelming power.
Even he, the War God Ares, was left shaken.