The wolves' eyes gleamed a bright, predatory red as they continued circling him, fast, silent, coordinated. Their movements were so quick that even their shadows lagged behind, smearing into streaks of shifting gray that twisted around Bruce like a living whirlwind of fur and claws.

But Bruce only smiled.

There was no fear. No tension. No pressure.

Just anticipation.

At that moment he thought of something... Ozai's voice saying the word 'burn' ringing in his mind...

Ozai's burn command, annoying back then, slowing his healing because it made enemy cells spontaneously combust to flames, had actually given Bruce the spark for multiple theories he'd been itching to test. He had been itching to test it back when he moved to meet Average Joe squad.

But Joe and his little squad were so weak, so dull, so painfully uninteresting that he hadn't even felt motivated to try. As a scientist, mood mattered. Inspiration mattered. And those three had inspired nothing.

But these beasts?

Their movements. Their coordination. Their timing.

It stirred something in him.

Their teamwork was absurdly tight, better than the lion pride he'd butchered yesterday. Maybe it was the pack size, maybe instinct… or maybe something else. Something in the way they flowed around him, almost like one organism with seven bodies.

He sheathed his daggers with a soft click, rolling his wrist loosely, palms open and bare.

"No better way to test a hypothesis," he murmured. "Than with my hands."

His eyes narrowed. His smile deepened, calm, focused, inviting. "Come."

The response was instant.

SWOOOOSH!!!

They didn't leap. They didn't pounce.

They attacked while running.

Their claws slashed mid-motion, and the air itself split apart, each swipe creating curved blades of compressed wind that launched outward like invisible scythes.

As for how many surrounded him?

Six... Seven. Maybe more or less...

He couldn't count. They were too fast to exist as separate threats, just a storm of motion and killing intent.

And the wind blades?

Faster than their bodies. Faster than his eyes could track. Fast enough to scream through the air before sound could catch up.

Bruce's eyes widened a fraction.

'No dodging that.'

He felt the sharpness before it reached him. Pressure in the air. Vibration against his skin. Each slash hummed with surgical precision, like a scalpel made of wind.

There was no stepping out of that cage. The angles were too tight. The attack net was already closing.

Teeth gritted, he moved on instinct.

Daggers flashed into his hands in a single motion, mana flooding the steel as he slashed at the incoming arcs, breaking their shape and redirecting their flow.

CLANG SHKK!!!

One strike split a wind blade clean in half.

Another intercepted a second one, redirecting the pressure burst harmlessly upward.

But there were too many. Too fast. Too scattered.

He cut the ones aimed at his skull, throat, heart,

his vitals.

The rest?

He let them land.

SHHHK!!

A blade of wind tore across his back, flesh splitting open, blood bursting out in a crimson spray.

SSHHLK!!

Another carved through his left arm, severing his hand clean at the wrist. It hit the dry grass with a wet slap, fingers twitching reflexively as blood gushed from the stump in pulsing rhythm.

His body twisted from the impacts. His coat ripped open. The savannah floor was painted red beneath him.

But Bruce didn't scream.

Didn't panic.

Didn't even flinch.

The pain hit, sharp, hot, electric, but it was familiar. Expected. Calculated.

He straightened slowly, shoulders squaring, eyes sharpening with an almost serene focus.

Blood dripped down his remaining fingers. His severed hand lay in the dirt. Warm air stung the open wound along his back.

And yet...

His smile returned. Calm. Curious. Almost entertained.

Because every wound…

Every drop of blood…

Was data.

And every second he stayed alive?

Was another chance to adapt.

The wounds closed. The missing flesh knitted back. The torn muscle reformed, thread by thread, and the severed wrist grew back, bone first, then tendon, then skin. It was gradual but insanely fast...

Steam rose from his body as regeneration overtook him like a second heartbeat.

[You've healed!]

[You've adapted to High-Velocity Wind Blades.]

Bruce flexed his newly restored fingers, rolling his wrist casually as if nothing had happened. His back stopped bleeding, the skin repairing itself without even leaving a scar.

A calm smile formed at the corner of his lips.

"Now," he said quietly, almost conversationally, "these measly attacks can no longer harm me."

The circling wolves, who had already begun preparing their next barrage, froze.

Their glowing red eyes widened. Their paws faltered. Their entire formation wavered.

They saw him heal.

Instantly.

Effortlessly.

What they'd just shredded into pieces… was already whole again.

And that tiny pause, that brief hesitation, was enough.

Bruce moved.

His body exploded forward like a cannon shot, dashing straight into the wolves' running path. His speed wasn't as fast as theirs, but he didn't need to match them, he simply intercepted.

His hand shot out,

CLAMP!

He grabbed the nearest wolf by the hind leg, lifting it off the ground with one arm as if it weighed nothing.

Light, just like he expected. Built for speed, not weight. Easy to manipulate.

The trapped beast thrashed wildly, claws slashing, jaws snapping, wind blades firing point-blank into Bruce's torso,

but they did nothing.

Every slash healed the instant it landed. Every bite regenerated before teeth even left his flesh.

Bruce didn't even flinch.

"I won't be fighting you directly," he said softly, as if explaining a lesson.

Then, he placed his palm on the wolf's abdomen, and infused regeneration.

Not to heal it. Not to strengthen it. But to force vitality into it unnaturally fast.

A different theory than Restorative Explosion. A new one.

Forced over-healing. Healing cells faster than the body can regulate. Turning life force into overpressure. Restorative detonation doesn't ignite, it can never, it just makes cells overgrow till they burst like balloons... This new theory was based on something different...

A time bomb made of flesh.

Bruce leapt backward and flung the wolf straight into its circling pack.

The beast spun through the air, and then,

FWOOOM!!!

A bright yellow glow ignited from inside its body, pulsing like a lantern filled with lightning.

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