POWER OF A TIER V PRIME

Three minutes?

The people were immediately alarmed, seeing the headless body of the old woman slowly fall to the ground and then the odd smile still plastered on the face of the young man as blood dripped from the tip of his dagger.

Torn between the urge to make a desperate escape and the unknown horrors that awaited them beyond, the captives felt trapped. The choice, though seemingly binary, was clear: submit to the mad and ruthless beliefs of the Divine Movement of Zod or face swift and merciless death.

As the seconds ticked away, the people's desperation manifested in pleas and bargains, each one a desperate attempt to secure their freedom. A mother, clutching her child, offered to join the religious cult in exchange for her child's safety. A middle-aged man, with a hint of desperation in his eyes, promised untold wealth if only he could escape this nightmare. And a young woman, dressed in office attire, offered herself in exchange for her freedom.

But the trio of captors remained unmoved by these desperate propositions, their unwavering cruelty evident in their eyes.

With each passing second, three minutes became two, then one minute and twenty seconds, a cruel reminder of their impending doom.

Doush, who had been unusually quiet since the attack, feebly leaned close to Stare's ear.

He was quite surprised by the collected behavior Stare had been portraying ever since the beginning of the attack, in fact if not for the occasional frowning of his face he would have suspected him to have been expecting the attack before now.

"Have you got any plans?" He asked in a whisper.

Stare could only look at his friend with a defeated expression. Doush's face had become very pale now, and his eyes were extremely red as though he would break down in tears at any moment.

"Oh…so this is it then." Doush muttered in a dispirited tone, with his head facing the ground.

Stare saw the dispirited expression on Doush's face and could only feel demoralized as well.

Maybe If only the captors were as unskilled as the thugs from before, or maybe if he had gone through necessary training or maybe if he hadn't recovered his memories then maybe, just maybe we might not have been in this situation.

As the countdown clock approached the one-minute mark, the anxiety among the captives grew palpable. Some, driven by fear, chose to relent and convert to the Zod fanatics, reluctantly accepting their harsh embrace. Others, however, remained resolute, clinging to loved ones or simply closing their eyes, ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead.

Doush held Stare's hand with newfound courage, and his voice broke the silence. "Well, if this is it, at least I get to face it with my best bro. And yeah, I didn't say earlier Happy Birthday—"

Doush's words were cut short by an abrupt change in the atmosphere. A frigid, inexplicable sensation swept through them.

"Can you feel that?" Doush suddenly asked.

Stare, still bewildered by his friend's sudden change, suddenly experienced a chilling sensation course through him.

Before they could fully comprehend the source of this eerie coldness, their attention was drawn to a peculiar phenomenon. A dense, misty gray gas began to gather before them, gradually taking on a human form. The gas quickly condensed, revealing an elegantly dressed woman in a form-fitting red gown that enhanced her beautiful figure.

She exuded a cold yet enticing temperament that made her attractive yet unapproachable.

Cascading locks of platinum blonde hair resembling freshly fallen snow framed her extremely fair and beautiful face while her eyes of crystalline blue reflected an inner depth as profound as the arctic ocean.

The captives of course knew exactly who this captivating and elegant figure was—Frost-Flames, one of the three legendary Tier V Primes known to humanity, a renowned hero.

Doush, caught in her presence, mumbled in a daze, "My lucky day indeed."

He added, his words imbued with a poetic touch, "Who knew something as beautiful as this could emerge from such a disaster?"

Stare, feeling the gravity of the moment, simply shook his head and nudged his friend to maintain his composure.

Meanwhile, Frost-Flames paid no heed to the awe-struck gazes fixed upon her as she elegantly approached the trio.

The masked man on the right, clutching the E.T. Disrupter, attempted to take action, raising a portable hand beam blaster with deadly intent. Before he could act, Frost-Flames flicked her wrist, and an icicle emerged, beautifully piercing through his skull.

He collapsed, lifeless, in a pool of his blood.

The unmasked young man and his last remaining comrade, filled with alarm, distanced themselves from this newfound adversary. The eerie smile that had graced the young man's face faded, replaced by dread.

Without hesitation, they launched a counterattack. The flames-wielding Prime unleashed his fiery assaults from the flank, while the unmasked man advanced with his chained Tier III daggers in hand.

Frost-Flames maintained her stoic demeanor despite the combined assault. With one hand, she effortlessly deflected the flames, extinguishing them as if they were mere sparks. These same flames had reduced a man to ashes moments ago but now were rendered harmless.

The captives, witnessing the power of a Tier V Prime, pondered in awe at the vastness of such abilities.

With her other hand, Frost-Flames conjured ice walls that effortlessly thwarted the unmasked man's attacks. Her movements were a harmonious blend of power and grace, leaving the captives mesmerized by the spectacle.

The futile assault persisted until the assailants, drained of energy and hope, initiated a tactical retreat. However, Frost-Flames was swift and unrelenting. Extending her fingers, she encapsulated the flames-wielding Prime's head in a dense ice cube.

The Prime struggled, attempting to melt the ice with his fiery powers, but the ice remained impervious to his flames. In mere moments, the ice-encased his head entirely, and he fell lifeless to the ground.

The unmasked young man, terror in his eyes, shifted his gaze between his fallen comrade and the formidable foe before him. The tension within him reached a breaking point when he realized Frost-Flames had seemingly vanished.

Abruptly, an icy hand clamped around the back of his neck. Frozen to the core, he felt an otherworldly coldness infiltrating his body through his pores. His senses dulled, his blood slowed, and an inner chill seized him. He struggled to move, to cry out, but his body betrayed him.

His heart, slowing with each passing moment, seemed to freeze entirely.

Death itself had come to claim his soul, and it was a bone-chilling experience.

In his final moments, he managed to utter, "For… Lord Zod."

His words, punctuated by agony, hung in the frigid air as he succumbed to the inexorable grasp of Frost-Flames, his expression etched with torment.