Raizen moved.
It wasn't a desperate lunge; it was the calculated explosion of a man who had accepted his death and turned it into a weapon. His fire ability was a nightmare of engineering, not a standard combustion but a terrifying hybrid that incorporated the Legion's primordial frequency calibration.
This wasn't the orange, flickering warmth of a campfire; it was a deep, structural heat, a silent, invisible distortion in the air that operated on a register far beyond conventional thermal damage.
The first strike erupted from his right hand, a focused lance of compressed, frequency-calibrated combustion. It didn't look like fire; it looked like a ripple in reality itself.
The lance slammed into Rex's right shoulder. There was no roar of flame, no scorched fabric, no spray of embers. Instead, there was a disturbing, deep vibration that went straight through Rex's armor and clothes, hitting directly at the inside of his body.
