The guards clench onto their weapons. Holding themselves back from going against their queen's orders. So instead, they stood side by side forming a wall to save time when anything unfavourable happened. Which 'might' give them the upper hand against the man who single-handedly blocked the large mana blast. 

  Another message was relayed, "It would be a shame for the royalty, but this is a beloved treasure of my nation. It would be an embarrassment and an insult to the ancestors of my race who have fallen protecting this crown. So, reconsider your choice."

  "I apologise, Empress, but I don't tend to repeat myself. May this be a reminder of our next encounter in the future, " Styril said as he gave a short bow. 

  "Get him!" The guards were given a green light, so they swiftly lifted the bow and aligned it towards him. A total of 80 people were aiming for each of his body parts. 

  One of them fired a white long ray of mana, travelling at the speed of a bullet. Despite its deadly capabilities, it was blocked by the small barrier in Styril's palm as he tightened it into a fist, smoking. 

  "Be more patient, will you? I swear elves these days are becoming more barbaric," Styril lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Followed by an instance of melody, a translucent small coffee table and chair formed in front of him. He took a seat and placed a small plastic bag. Pulling out a bag of biscuits, he opened it and took a bite under the rain. 

  He noticed some of the guards' eyebrows twitched at his actions as he continued to munch on the biscuits under his helmet. So, he held one and asked, "Oh, how impolite of me, do you want some biscuits?"

  "He's trying to make fun of us, the elven royal guards! Fire!" The leader of the guards roared, eyebrows knitted together. All of them released the strings of their bow simultaneously, firing a volley of white mana rays. 

  Styril kicked the coffee table by its legs to the air before slamming it down as a barrier. Stuffing the bag of biscuits under his attire, he eats as he enjoys the bright firework-like scenery of the rays blocked by his barrier. It moved along as he walked forward, protecting him from the never-ending barrage. 

  Whistling with a wave of his hand, he formed pockets of sound waves in the surroundings reaching to the guards. Constantly rotating and floating. Barely visible to the untrained eyes, unless otherwise. 

  "There's no need to rush, I have biscuits for everyone, one for each person. So, keep your mouths open wide and be surprised, these could hurt… a lot," He spread his arm wide as if he was welcoming them. He slides his finger together revealing a biscuit between each one of them. 

  He threw them into different directions like projectile weapons. Each biscuit ricochets in the area by using the pocket sound waves as reflective platforms. Changing trajectory every second. 

  The guards showed no fear against the flying biscuits since it is merely food. Though, they did not consider the type of biscuits that were thrown, which were made for hard bites. 

  Like a pinball machine, tons of biscuits flew at high speed and were drenched under the rain. Each one of them hitting the eyes of the unfortunate guards, as the guards yell in pain at the sudden mushy impact. Blinding them and hurting their vision. 

  "Guards, carry on with melee approach!"

 

  Casually step by step, he shortened the distance between them. With the translucent chair hidden behind his back, he grabbed it and proceeded to bash the head of the first guard he engaged with. Dead or not, as long as no one blocked his way. 

  The guards folded their bows and detached them into two, turning them into dual blades. One in each hand, they rushed towards him with vigour. The sharp edges glowed brightly in white infused with mana, known for its ability to cut through the likes of steel. 

  "Insolent fool! Anyone who threatens the Empress shall bleed to death!"

  Falling from above, the guard swung his blade down towards Styril's head. Its edges glinting along with his fierce eye and hands gripping tightly to the handle. As if he was carrying a mountain at 12 knots. 

  Another group of guards headed in, aiming for his torso. While others were eyeing his legs, all together working to immobilise him which seems rather overkill. 

  Swarming but organised, they encircled Styril like hunters trapping prey for supper.  Each one of them was eager to take the kill. In their eyes, it could have taken a lunge to finish it off— if only Styril was ordinary. So they had to finish him off in one go. 

  Guards covering from front to back, armed to the teeth and ready to kill. It was impossible to escape unless a miracle happened. 

  The next moment, tons of blades glimmered from all directions. A dome of sharp edges, one which guarantees death. Glimmering, hungry for blood. 

  A golden shine, the trims on Styril's attire gleamed in all its glory. He reached out and grabbed onto the closest blade, palm enforced with barriers. Gazing deeply into the eyes of the guard with a smile underneath his helmet. 

  A burst of sound waves booms forth, knocking away the guards instantly. Highly condensed, to the point the waves were sharp as blades. Multiple cuts appeared on the guards due to the sudden intensity. The scene seemed to bend before their eyes as their bodies flew across the street, painting it red while some ended up crashing into buildings. Most were heavily injured and possibly dead. 

 

  Decorations such as signs, balloons and posters were left forgotten. Some piled up as patches of trash messing the red street. The pedestrians have left some time ago, while few stay for certain reasons. 

  The electric cables were busted and cut off. The lights on the street and stores were no more, as darkness filled under the raven sky. Leaving a speck of golden light glimmering among it— Styril. 

  The intense brightness from his golden trims had glimmered, which corresponds to the usage of his power. He stood with his only arm at his back, with no injuries whatsoever. The rain droplets washed the blood off him. 

  Puddle after puddle, a handful of water splashed as he continued walking. Quiet and tense, the few bystanders watched while trying to avoid doing anything that could catch his attention. 

  Styril turned his attention to one of them, catching them off guard as they stumbled and ran away. He chuckled while knowing it was for the best. 

  A hand gripped onto his ankle, stopping him from moving forward. His smile curved, as he looked down and saw the leader of the guards, soaking wet with blood. 

  "I'm not letting you go any... further," The guard muttered with tears leaving his eyes. His body was swollen with bruises and cuts. His right arm had twisted beyond the capabilities of a human. While beneath his armour, a photo of a family of 3 could be seen, drenched under the rain. 

  Styril forced his ankle out of the guard's grip. Crouching down, he grabbed the guard's right arm, stepping it with his foot— and twisted it further. With a sickening crack, the guard bawls in pain as more tears stream down. 

  Unfazed by the soulful cry, Styril grabbed the guard's head and forced the guard to look at the right arm— it was fixed, no more disfigured. 

  "Wh-"

  "I ask the questions, and you answer … Now then, the Empress or your family?" 

  Agitated, his lips quivered as he gazed back at the man. The helmet, masking Enos, whoever the person is, the guard could feel the intense gaze behind it. As if he was looking at a madman's dilated pupils. 

  "I give you 3 seconds or your right arm would be twisted back like before, and I don't like to repeat myself, " Styril added, pressuring the guard as he tightens his grip onto the right arm. Their faces are now an inch apart. 

  As each second passed, the longer the guard felt, the more sweats rolled down his face. His eyes fidgeted from left and right. He could feel Styril's fingers digging into his skin after each moment wasted. 

  "Family! I choose family!" 

  Styril sighed, as he released the guard's right arm. He looked at the guard's eyes again, before knocking him out cold with a knuckle, "Lucky goodman." 

  Stepping away from the unconscious guard, he reached the large antique car where the Empress resides. Opening the door with ease, she was sipping on tea. 

  "Oh, Enos. You're here, care for some peach tea?" The Empress invited with a smile, seeming unaffected by the current situation. 

  Noticing something was off, Styril immediately raised his palm enforced with a barrier and narrowly blocked a long sword. Which was a few inches away from his neck, "I would love to, but, I have some matter to take care of at the moment. 

  Styril barely can keep up with the strength behind the blade. Glancing from his shoulder, he saw a familiar face, one he could never forget. 

  "Enos, meet Enyo the Wind, my nation's hero."