E-Rank or SSS-Rank: I Awakened a Skill That Shouldn't Exist-Chapter 157: The Master’s Orders

Chapter 157

Buster stood silently before a swirling, structureless mass of fog—an eerie fusion of deep purple and blood-red hues, pulsing with flickers of shadow. Two pitch-black eyes hovered within the mist, void of any emotion, yet filled with a suffocating presence.

Brandon, known widely as Buster, stared at the entity for a long moment. This was their third meeting, yet each encounter chilled him to his core. Their communication was always silent—done directly within Buster’s mind. And though the entity had gifted Buster the means to grow powerful beyond reason, empowering him with strength and abilities that had turned him into a nightmare on the battlefield, Buster never truly accepted it as his master.

At least, not until the day he had foolishly tried to attack it.

That day had nearly cost him his life.

The entity hadn’t retaliated in rage—but in terrifying precision. It dismantled him mentally and physically within seconds, leaving Buster shattered and trembling. Then, without a word, it had spared him.

From that day on, Buster had learned one thing with absolute clarity:

Always show respect.

Now, standing once more in front of the foggy mass, Buster bowed deeply.

The chilling voice echoed inside his head.

"I have a mission for you."

Buster’s eyes narrowed slightly. A mission? That was rare. The entity seldom gave him direct orders. Whatever this was, it had to be important.

"I want you to erase two families," the voice said flatly.

"Wipe them from the surface of the world."

Buster blinked. Nothing unusual for someone like him. Assassinations. Massacres. War. It was all the same.

"Which families?" he asked casually.

The answer came swiftly.

"The Steele family."

Buster nodded. He didn’t need a reason. The orders were the only justification he needed. He carried them out without hesitation. At first, he met resistance—but after manipulating the rival family that had long opposed the Steeles, he crushed them efficiently.

By the time the smoke cleared, the Steele family was gone.

All except for one.

A child.

Buster reported back to the entity, expecting closure, but instead, the voice grew colder.

"There is one left. Prioritize his death."

That struck Buster as strange. A child? What threat could a mere boy possibly pose? Still, he knew better than to question orders. He searched and found the boy—hidden away, protected by a woman whose family Buster had already exterminated. She had been training the Steele child in secret. It didn’t matter.

Buster killed her.

As for the boy, Buster could have ended him right there. Crushed his skull, choked the life out of him.

But he didn’t.

No—he had a better idea. A slower death. Starvation. Torture. Isolation.

When that didn’t kill the boy, he threw him into the depths of the Dark Forest alongside several other captives. No one ever survived the cursed forest. It was a death sentence.

Yet... when Buster returned, the bodies of the supposed gatekeepers were found—torn apart. But the Steele boy was gone. Missing. Vanished.

Deep down, Buster had a hunch. As impossible as it seemed, he believed it—the boy had killed them.

Still, it didn’t matter to him. Alive or dead, the difference was trivial. He returned to the entity and lied, reporting that the final Steele had been dealt with.

How wrong he was.

---

Back to the Present...

Buster coughed violently, a thick spray of blood painting the ground beneath him. His eyes, wide with disbelief, locked onto Ronan—his expression as calm and emotionless as death itself.

He had underestimated the boy.

So many had come for revenge before... and all had failed. Yet this one—this boy—had succeeded.

How...? Buster wondered as his vision blurred. Is it his skill? His bloodline?

No. It was something more. Something the Master had feared all along.

Is this why the Master was so desperate to see the Steele bloodline erased?

A creeping realization slithered into Buster’s dying mind.

Wait... there was a second family...

---

Flashback...

Back during that meeting with the fog, right after receiving the Steele family’s name, Buster had asked the obvious question.

"You mentioned two families. Who’s the other?"

The air had grown heavier. The fog pulsed violently. The entity’s tone dropped into something vile—something venomous.

"Once the Steele are gone... hunt down those white-haired pests."

The hatred in the entity’s voice was palpable, trembling the air itself.

"Erase the Trystan family."

---

Back to Now...

Buster’s heart slowed. That was the name... Trystan.

Wait... isn’t that fire god a Trystan? he thought. Wasn’t he with the Steele boy...?

A dry, bitter chuckle escaped his bloody lips.

Master’s going to be furious...

The two families he had tried to destroy—now fighting together.

How ironic.

And with that final thought, Buster’s vision went black.

He was dead.

Ronan stood over Buster’s corpse, sword in hand.

As he sensed the life leave Buster’s body, Ronan slowly pulled his blade free—and it slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. His hands trembled. Until this very moment, his body had been moving on autopilot—driven by rage, grief, and vengeance. He had fought relentlessly, without thought, without pause. But now...

Now it was over.

I did it, Ronan thought, his breathing ragged. He’s really dead.

His expression shifted—no longer a mask of fury, but one of quiet, aching relief. Sadness. Fulfillment. Redemption.

Buster had plagued his existence for as long as he could remember. The monster who had slaughtered everyone he cared about, who had burned down his past and turned his future to ash. Ronan had lived every day for one purpose alone—to kill Buster.

And now... that purpose was fulfilled.

Images flashed across his mind like a flood. His mother and father. Jaime. Jane. His brothers. His people. His city. His master. His best friend, Pio. So many lives lost. So many voices silenced.

His eyes welled up as he whispered, "Everyone... I’ve avenged you. You can rest in peace now."

A bitter smile formed on his lips, weak but genuine. For the first time in years, the crushing weight on his shoulders felt lighter.

Ronan took a step forward.

Then another.

And collapsed.

He had lost too much blood. His body, pushed far beyond its limits, finally gave in. But even as he hit the ground, the same faint smile remained.

His voice, barely a whisper, escaped his lips.

"I did it... I really did..."

Ronan lost consciousness.

---

Elsewhere in the City...

Explosions rang out through the battered ruins of Marinua as two figures clashed in a brutal storm of speed and power. Shockwaves rippled in every direction, tearing apart the terrain.

On the right stood a man clad in black armor, his crimson hair wild and matted with blood. A malicious grin twisted across his face as red lightning crackled violently around him, distorting the air.

Across from him was another figure, younger—his hair split perfectly down the middle: one side black, the other white. He was far less injured but brimming with fury. Silver lightning sparked around him, rising and falling like waves of power.

Han and Striker.

They had been fighting for hours, locked in a relentless duel. Han had the upper hand—his mastery of lightning, fire, and the unique jungle art gave him a terrifying versatility. But Striker’s battle instincts were razor-sharp. His counters were precise, unpredictable. He had endured blow after blow, finding ways to stay alive, to keep Han from landing the final strike.

How the hell is this guy still standing? Striker thought sweat dripping down his brow. He forced a strained smile, but inside, he was nearly spent.

I’m running on fumes, he thought grimly. Once my energy ran out, he’ll kill me.

Then—the earth trembled violently beneath them.

Both men paused, turning as the ground roared like a wounded beast. The very foundation of Marinua seemed to be tearing apart.

Han’s brow furrowed.

The city... it’s collapsing.

Before he could react, his danger sense spiked.

A blinding beam of condensed energy shot toward him from a distant airship. Han spun just in time, catching the blast with crossed arms before deflecting it into the ocean with a roar of effort.

But he had no time to recover.

A hailstorm of red lightning rained down on him immediately after.

Han growled, summoning both fire and silver lightning to shield himself. The two elements roared to life around him, colliding with the attack in a flash of thunder.

When the smoke cleared—Drake and Striker were gone.

Han’s eyes snapped up, spotting the retreating ship in the distance.

He was about to pursue when the city shook again—more violently this time.

Han’s heart sank.

No... someone’s tampered with the mechanism that keeps Marinua afloat.

One of the cursed, no doubt.

He glanced toward the city, toward the people who hadn’t yet been evacuated.

"Damn it..." Han muttered, tightening his fists.

He had to make a choice—chase the enemies... or save the innocent.

Elsewhere in the far end of Marinua...

Clara stood alongside Laura, Rin, Xin, Kira, and several others—Aiden now among them. They were gathered near Zom, waiting anxiously for Han and the remaining members of their group to arrive so they could take flight.

Clara adjusted her tech goggles, scanning the area for threats. Her eyes narrowed as a sudden danger alert flashed across the display—a red arrow marked an incoming object. Her heart skipped a beat.

She followed the trajectory—and saw it.

A ship, cloaked in shadows, hovered in the distance. Standing atop it was a man. His dark armor suit fluttered in the wind, his glowing third eye locked directly on Clara from afar.

"One more to erase," the Third-Eyed Man muttered, voice devoid of emotion. His gaze burned with eerie intensity as the third eye on his forehead began to glow—bright yellow, blinding and furious.

The moment stretched.

Then—

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" a voice shouted.

Someone yanked Clara to the side just as a beam of searing yellow energy blasted through the air.

It struck Kalen square in the head.

She stumbled.

Her eyes met Clara’s—soft, warm, and strangely peaceful.

"Thank you..." Kalen whispered faintly. "Thank you... for giving me back my humanity."

FWOOM. PAH.

Her head erupted in a flash of light and gore.

Her lifeless, headless body crumpled to the ground with a hollow thud.

Kalen was dead.

The last of the Smashers had fallen.

To be continued...

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