Price of power

The soldier, Ray, stood motionless, his thoughts muddled as he contemplated how he had lost his arm. He was certain that Azrael hadn't unsheathed his sword or even moved an inch, so how was it possible? Ray's thoughts were interrupted by Azrael's footsteps as he approached, each step sending a chill down his spine.

"Suppressing your ki and disguising as low rank soldiers," Azrael said, his voice low and menacing, as he slowly advanced towards Ray. "Still as cunning as ever," Azrael continued, his eyes fixed on Ray.

"What are you doing, Ray? Attack him!" one of the soldiers urged, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen. "My hand..." Ray murmured, his voice barely audible.

"It's cut," he continued, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Your hand is right there," one of the soldiers said, pointing to Ray's hands which were firmly attached to his body. "But just now..." Ray's words trailed off as he looked down at his hands again, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Before he could say more, Azrael's hand was around his neck, lifting him off the ground. Ray choked, gasping for air as his eyes bulged in terror. "Wait!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, realizing the gravity of the situation. They knew Azrael would not hesitate to kill Ray.

"We can talk and consider letting..." the soldier tried to reason, but Azrael cut him off with a cold voice. "Too late," he said as a sickening snap followed suit, coming from the neck of the soldier which Azrael held. The remaining soldiers looked on in horror as their comrade fell lifelessly to the ground.

"Fuck," one of them exclaimed, as he watched his fellow soldier die again. "All of you attack at once!" he shouted, signaling to the others to attack. They all drew their swords, their ki suddenly rising as they charged towards Azrael with murderous intent.

Their swords gleamed in the sunlight, as they shouted insults and curses, hoping to intimidate Azrael. But he stood there, calm and collected, as they approached.

Azrael's eyes narrowed as he watched the group of soldiers charging towards him, their swords drawn and ki unleashed. But he remained unfazed, not even bothering to unsheathe his own sword.

As they closed in, Azrael's body seemed to blur, moving with incredible speed and precision. The soldiers swung their swords at him, but Azrael dodged their attacks with ease, his movements almost too quick for the eye to follow. In one fluid motion, Azrael spun around and delivered a powerful kick to one of the soldiers, sending him flying across the plain.

Another soldier charged at him, but Azrael simply stepped aside and grabbed the soldier's arm, twisting it until it snapped. The soldiers were no match for Azrael's skill and strength.

He moved with an almost supernatural grace, dodging and weaving through their attacks as though they were nothing more than clumsy amateurs. With each blow he landed, he sent them reeling, their swords clattering to the ground.

As the battle raged on, it became clear that Azrael was not just defeating the soldiers - he was annihilating them. His attacks were precise and deadly, striking with such force that bones shattered and blood spilled freely.

One by one, the soldiers fell to the ground, their bodies broken and lifeless. Azrael showed no mercy, no hesitation. He was a force of nature, a being of pure power and destruction. In the end, there was no one left standing.

The ground was littered with the corpses of Azrael's enemies, their blood staining the grass. Azrael stood alone, his eyes gleaming with a cold, inhuman light. He had satisfied his urge, but there was no joy in his victory, his face could not be seen but his eyes remained emotionless.

Azrael stood tall, his figure looming over the lifeless corpses strewn about the ground. The only thing left in the wake of his relentless fury was death and destruction. He didn't even unsheathe his sword, yet the soldiers fell to his effortless strikes. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood and the echoes of battle.

"Let's go," Azrael said in a low, unemotional voice as he turned and walked away from the carnage. His footsteps echoed through the silence, each step ringing out like a hammer in the vast green plain. The remaining desert mercenaries watched in shock as he bearded the carrier, leaving them to pick up the pieces of the devastation he had wrought.

"You heard him, prepare to depart!" Sung barked, snapping the other mercenaries out of their stunned stupor. He quickly went to release the binds that had been placed on Marc and Dan, while the two men stared at the scene in disbelief.

"What just happened?" Dan asked, still trying to process the gruesome sight before him.

"What did I tell you, huh?" Sung said with a smug grin. "I told you I had an eye for people."

"That's impossible," Marc murmured in disbelief. The thought of someone being able to take out so many skilled fighters without even using their ki was unfathomable.

"I didn't sense any ki," Marc continued, looking at Sung with fear and terror clear in his eyes.

"What?" Sung asked, taken aback by Marc's statement.

"That man," Marc said, referring to Azrael. "Didn't use any ki."

"Yes, I didn't sense any ki from him either, but there must be a reason, right? It can't be possible," Dan added.

"His ki is probably just suppressed," Sung offered as an explanation.

"No, even if so, he would still need to release his ki to fight," Marc explained, his mind racing with theories.

"We're done, boss," one of the desert mercenary workers said to Sung, signaling they were ready to depart.

"Let's go," Sung said to Marc and Dan, ushering them back to their seats. The once lively chatter of the mercenaries that followed was now absent, replaced by an eerie silence.

Azrael sat quietly as the journey continued, lost in his thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of conflictions, his humanity fading away with every life he took. He had killed fifteen men, and it didn't bother him in the slightest. He couldn't help but wonder, was this the price of unfathomable power?