Cloaked Motorcycle

When he smashed through the thirteenth rocky mountain, Sparta could feel that the Alien Warrior who had been clamping his neck from behind had lost all signs of life.

He stopped flying, and the Alien Warrior's arms went limp as he slid off Sparta's back.

The last Alien Warrior looked at his dead companion, then at Sparta, whose eyes now flashed with murderous fury.

Without another word, he turned and fled.

Seeing this, Sparta quickly gave chase, vengeance blazing in his eyes.

The Alien Warrior flew ahead, glancing back at Sparta from the corner of his eye.

As time passed, the distance between them steadily shrank, and terror appeared on his face.

The poor played with cars, the rich played with watches, and the truly wealthy played with warriors—run!

His efforts paid off. Sparta grabbed the Alien Warrior by the back of the neck with his left hand and yanked his head backward.

His right-hand fingers plunged into the Alien Warrior's back, seized his spine, and pulled hard.

The spine was ripped out along with blood, flesh, and nerves, and the Alien Warrior's body instantly went limp.

His left hand, gripping the back of the man's neck, suddenly tightened. With a sharp crack, the neck separated from the head.

The head and body fell from the sky, blood raining down upon the earth.

Sparta hovered in midair, tightly gripping the spinal bone whip in his right hand as thick red fluid dripped from it.

"Huff—! Huff—!"

He casually tossed aside the spine. His chest heaved violently, each breath carrying wisps of heat.

He had won. He had successfully survived the encirclement of thirty Alien Warriors.

Before he could make a victory declaration, an invisible wave of weakness spread through his body, accompanied by uncontrollable tremors.

Sparta swayed as he descended from the sky, then dropped onto the gravelly ground, hunched over with his head lowered, looking utterly spent.

A light breeze stirred the fine grains of sand, yet he sat motionless on the ground.

Only the occasional twitch of his body showed that he was still breathing, still alive.

Ten minutes later, Sparta struggled to his feet. Though the wounds on his body had not healed, they had stopped bleeding.

That was the Viltrumites' absurd healing ability—no stats, just pure skill.

"Tsk—this hurts a little."

"Thirty people ganged up on a Viltrumite kid who'd just come of age. Forget about fighting fair—they even hit that hard."

"Good thing I'm a mechanical genius, or I really would've died here."

Sparta touched the edge of the wound on his chest with his fingertips, baring his teeth in pain.

After recovering some of his strength, he looked toward the sky. A violent gust erupted from where he stood, and he vanished beyond the horizon.

Sparta raised his scarred arm.

He glanced at the wristband strapped to his wrist, then accelerated toward the coordinates of the nearest green dot displayed on it.

Before long, he returned to the place where he had been separated from his companions.

Sparta returned to the original battlefield, sweeping his gaze across the surroundings.

Luke was hunched over, his limp arms stretched before his chest, looking as though he were riding a motorcycle.

Two other Viltrumites were cosplaying as space junk.

As for the others, their battles had not yet ended.

However, every one of them bore wounds of varying severity, with Alien Warriors surrounding them on all sides.

Jayce in particular still had more than ten Alien Warriors surrounding him.

Jayce had already been reduced to passively taking blows, without even the strength to strike back.

Seeing this, Sparta ignored his own injuries and rushed toward Jayce to support him.

He charged into the encirclement, punched through an Alien Warrior trying to ambush him, then hovered beside Jayce in the air as they faced off against the remaining Alien Warriors.

Blood flowed from Jayce's nostrils, and the little mustache beneath his nose had long been stained red, clumped into strands.

He turned to look at the equally miserable Sparta and said wearily:

"Did you take care of them?"

Sparta clenched his fists and nodded lightly.

"Of course."

Jayce stared at the Alien Warriors before him, a cruel smile curling his lips.

"You seemed to be having a great time beating us up just now?"

As long as Sparta could hold back half the Alien Warriors here,

Jayce was confident he could kill the other half in ten minutes... no, five.

"Kill!!!"

The Alien Warriors shouted as they charged forward.

Jayce and Sparta clenched their fists as well and rushed to meet them.

Sparta grabbed an Alien Warrior by the wrist and tore off his entire arm with a backhanded wrench.

The Alien Warrior opened his mouth, but before his pained howl could escape, Sparta jammed the severed arm in his hand into the man's throat.

The Alien Warrior was still frozen in disbelief at having to eat his own hand when Sparta punched him in the face again.

Half his face caved in, and an eyeball popped from its socket.

Sparta turned and continued toward the second Alien Warrior.

In less than four minutes, Sparta slammed a fist into the crown of the last Alien Warrior's head.

His cervical vertebrae snapped, and his entire head was buried in his chest.

After eliminating all the Alien Warriors surrounding Jayce, he turned his gaze toward the other recruits' battlefields.

With Jayce's help, all the Alien Warriors were quickly wiped out.

Sparta flew over to Luke, who was still riding his Cloaked Motorcycle, and raised a hand to straighten him.

Luke's eyes were lifeless. Some sharp weapon had carved a bowl-sized gash in his neck, leaving his windpipe and cervical vertebrae clearly exposed.

"Sleep. Just sleep, and it'll be fine."

Grief filled Sparta's face as his fingers gently brushed over Luke's unclosed eyes.

He then silently flew over to the other two companions cosplaying as space junk.

The goddess of luck had not favored them. Their bodies had long since gone cold.

One had a bluish face, having suffocated to death after his brain lost its blood supply. The other had been cut in half at the waist, his lower body nowhere to be found.

Looking at their corpses, Sparta let out a heavy sigh.

This was the first time their squad had suffered deaths. Even Luke, who had once helped him stand up to Clayton, was dead.

Just then, Jayce placed a hand on his shoulder.

Sparta turned his head and heard Jayce say:

"This is a necessary process every Viltrumite Warrior must go through."

"Don't be sad. Death is a warrior's finest destination."

Sparta gathered himself and nodded lightly.

"Yes, sir. You're right."

Before his words had even faded, a rather piercing, mocking voice entered his ears.

"I said it the moment we joined the Recruit Company. What's so great about being tall?"

"See? You died before I did."

Anger appeared on Sparta's face as he turned toward the source of the voice in his mind.

There, the wounded Clayton hovered beside Luke's corpse, stroking his chin as he inspected the body with great interest.

Jayce angrily spoke up to stop him.

"Clayton, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"You should show your comrades the most basic respect, even if Luke is already dead!"