marionettes

When his mind entered full concentration, his body became an afterthought.

The stronger the telepath grew, the less he needed flesh. Muscles slackened. Reflexes dulled. His movements took on the hollow rhythm of a marionette" legs dragging, arms slow to respond. He did not see with eyes or hear with ears. The air itself became his vision. Every vibration, every displaced molecule formed a living map "an expanded mana network through which he touched the world.

That was how he reached the enemy base.

He passed through resistance like weather through stone. By the time he reached the command chamber, bodies lay where they had fallen, frozen in the final moments of fear or defiance.

Then he saw the commander.

The hero’s left arm lifted.

Instantly, the entire room locked in place.

Soldiers froze mid-motion, weapons suspended, bodies rotated by an unseen force and forced to face forward. Their commander rose from the floor, limbs rigid, breath shallow. The hero’s legs still dragged uselessly across the ground, but from the waist up his posture straightened" mind fully engaged.

His right hand lifted.

Slowly, deliberately, it began to close.

The commander screamed.

“He’s "he’s crushing my organs!” His voice broke into panic as his body convulsed in midair. With each tightening motion of the hero’s hand, something inside the man failed. He floated backward, inch by inch, pulled toward the wall as though reality itself obeyed the hero’s will.

As the hero advanced, his vengeance sharpened his control. His legs began to move normally again, steps steady now.

“She was my wife,” he said.

His voice was distant, layered, augmented by power.

His hand tightened again.

“They were my children.”

Another invisible pressure. Another scream cut short.

Some of the soldiers tried to look away. The hero noticed.

“No,” he said.

The commander slammed to a halt inches from the wall. The hero’s head tilted slightly.

“You will watch.”

The soldiers’ eyelids tore open under psychic force. No one screamed "not anymore. Shock had stolen even that.

The hero drew his right arm back, feet planting as if bracing against something massive. His entire stance shifted, focused, final.

“They were my family.”

He thrust his arm forward.

The commander’s body crushed flat against the wall, armor folding inward, the sound dull and final. The room went silent except for the forced breathing of the men who remained "locked upright, eyes wide, witnessing the cost of following him.

The hero lowered his arm.

The strings went slack.