[ Afghanistan ]
The vehicle tore across the barren land, but inside, the soldiers were still grumbling about Daisy's paranoia. Lions and tigers might rattle them in theory, but when rifles were in their hands, they scoffed at anything with a heartbeat. No mortal body, they thought, could stand against lead and fire.
To them, he was just an elderly man who could float. Some already fantasized about making him unrecognizable, of trampling him in the dirt like a fairground target.
Daisy heard their bravado and said nothing. She offered no reassurance, no argument. Silence was her only reply—deadlier than any warning.
The third encounter came faster, too fast. Mandarin appeared again. His voice was the same—"Who are you?"—but his face twisted in rage. This time, he wasn't here to listen.
She saw it—just a flicker—light refracting off the ring on his left pinky. A gleaming shard of frost. The air tightened, dipped in temperature. The Ice Ring was primed. Her voice sliced through the comms: "Fire."
The response was immediate—automatic weapons lit the air like a storm. Rockets shrieked through the sky, gun barrels flashed, and every soldier fired with the kind of desperate hope only firepower could feign.
The soldiers erupted in cheers as the Mandarin vanished beneath a hailstorm of metal, even drawing a rare smile from Rhodes. Only Daisy remained still. That kind of assault? For someone like Mandarin, it was nothing more than a breeze.
She was right. The barrage had merely bought them a moment. As the gunfire ceased, smoke still curling through the air, a shimmering shield emerged—an energy dome, like an eggshell, untouched by the chaos. Then came a skeletal left hand, rising slowly, five slender fingers each crowned with a gleaming ring. The pinky finger flared, and from the ring, a translucent mist—fluorescent white—erupted.
Wherever the fog touched, it hardened instantly. Soil, stone, and shattered debris froze over, forming a jagged ice wall five meters high and thirty wide.
The white mist surged ahead, devouring the battlefield like a silent avalanche of death.. Behind it, the ice wall followed like a closing jaw, swallowing everything in its path—bearing down on the three armored vehicles like a monstrous maw made of frost.
Even diluted by distance, its temperature sliced through the air like broken glass. The chill was so deep, it seemed to freeze thought itself.
"Incendiary bombs!" Daisy commanded, her voice sharp, cutting through the shocked soldiers like a blade.
The supernatural display had shattered the soldiers' confidence. Their bravado dissolved. Now they moved like machines—mechanical, empty—clinging to her orders like lifelines.
She had chosen well—flames to counter ice. But the cold wasn't ordinary. The incendiaries turned to lifeless blocks mid-flight, frozen solid before they could even ignite.
"Gasoline on the road. Then burn it." Her orders came again, unshaken, already adapting, already thinking ten steps ahead.
Obedient and trained, they responded. Three vehicles surged forward. Two men on each dumped fuel behind them. The rest lit the path with fire.
She scavenged through supplies, found a flamethrower, and drenched the frost-lined ground in roaring fire as they fled.
Eventually, the frost's power waned. But so did theirs. One-fifth of their fuel gone. A third of their weapons used. The exchange had cost them dearly.
"Interesting ants." The Mandarin hovered above, eyes wild with delight, as if watching insects learn to dance before death.
He soared, right hand clasped behind his back, wind wrapping around him like a throne. His posture calm, yet soaked in menace.
He watched them flee, not with rage, but amusement. The mind-control ring on his left hand shimmered, idle. He never even considered using it on "barbarians." If he had, he would definitely discover Daisy's K'un-Lun psychic ring.
After all, anyone who carries anti-mind control artifact on them isn't just some ordinary person.
The Mandarin slowly raised his left hand—this time his middle finger ring starts to glow.
Within seconds, a concentrated sphere of dark blue electricity gathered between his fingers, the air crackling with tension and threat.
Tiny arcs whispered through the atmosphere, a soft, chilling "crackling," like the chirping of hundreds of birds.
He closed his fist, molding the energy into a gleaming spear of lightning, and hurled it with disturbing calm in Daisy's direction.
Unstable didn't mean unintelligent. His mind might be frayed, but the cruelty remained precise, calculating—his unpredictability only amplifying the danger.
He'd noticed how they countered his previous strike. This time, he aimed not at them—but in front, where the road lay. The blast would cripple their momentum and finish them off like livestock in a pen.
Daisy pulled the driver, Barbara, aside and took the wheel herself. Barbara blinked in surprise. She wasn't exactly light—at least 130 pounds—but in Daisy's hands, she may as well have been weightless. It felt less like being moved and more like being lifted by a gust of wind and placed gently in the passenger seat.
Barbara barely registered the disorientation. Daisy had already gripped the wheel and begun calculating lightning spear trajectory like death on a timer.
"Second car left. Third right. Now." Her tone cut the air sharper than the arc itself.
Whatever passed for a road here had long been pulverized by war. They were gambling on dirt and desperation.
At the moment the spear kissed the ground, Daisy swerved hard, spinning the vehicle into a controlled arc, dodging annihilation with an elegance that mocked the gods.
"Smoke bomb. Interfere with his visual tracking." The lightning blast had disrupted radio signals, forcing Daisy to abandon stealth for volume. She shouted the order, knowing full well the Mandarin might understand English—but doubting the soldiers could handle anything else.
"Barbara! Tear gas! Let's see if his shield can handle it!" Multitasking became survival. While weaving the vehicle forward, Daisy kept one eye on the aerial threat and another on her scattered troops.
Smoke bombs, standard issue for pacifying locals, were now repurposed into a temporary curtain. Soldiers moved fast, deploying canisters in layers. Soon, the entire road dissolved into a dense chemical haze.
From her mirror, Daisy observed the fog wrapping around their convoy. Visibility dropped, but onboard navigation kept them aligned. Speed didn't falter. More smoke trailed from the windows—rolling cover in retreat.
The Mandarin, suspended above the chaos, became a ghost in the mist—neither seen nor deterred. It was an illusion of safety, not substance.
The tear gas missed the target entirely. No effect, no feedback. A wasted attempt.
"Split up?" Rhodes offered, still believing in textbook tactics.
"Denied." Daisy's refusal was immediate. Separate them, and the others would be hunted down like cattle.
"Such spirited fleas," Mandarin's voice sliced through the smoke like a blade. He dispersed the smoke with a gust of wind and descended again, his tone mocking. His index finger lifted. The crimson ring ignited, flames coiling into a focused inferno.
Before Daisy could compute the trajectory of death, salvation finally appeared—late, but armed. Reinforcements had arrived.
To Be Continued...
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[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]