Along with excruciating pain came a murderous intent that burned like wildfire in the robed man's chest. Michael's punch had ignited every ounce of his fury. Michael, however, didn't stop at one punch; he followed up with another equally fierce blow.
This time, the robed man was ready. He dodged, scooped up some loose dirt, and flung it at Michael. A gust of wind carried the dirt, obscuring Michael's vision. Dirt clung to his lashes and hair, momentarily blinding him.
The robed man let out a low, menacing laugh. Seizing the opportunity, he lunged, blade aimed at Michael. But despite his temporary blindness, Michael relied on his heightened senses, tracking the man's movements by the shift in air and the faint sound of his footsteps.
The sound of metal hitting the ground rang out as the blade fell. Michael's iron grip clamped down on the man's wrist, holding him fast. "Got you," he said.
With a sharp shake of his head, Michael dislodged the remaining dirt from his lashes, slowly opening his bloodshot eyes to look at the robed man. A smile curled his lips. The robed man struggled, but Michael's grip was unyielding; escape was impossible.
But the robed man couldn't give in. He had unfinished business. Years of meticulous planning culminated in this moment, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If he missed this chance, he would never find the mythical island. He tightened his jaw and raised his right hand.
When Michael and the surrounding agents saw what the robed man held, their expressions changed instantly. "Captain Cortez, watch out!" someone shouted. In the robed man's palm was the last C-explosive.
"Do you want to go down with me, Captain Cortez?" The robed man laughed coldly, gambling on this one chance. He bet Michael valued his own life too much to risk mutual destruction.
But Michael simply chuckled. He clicked the other end of the handcuff around his own wrist and, with a casual flick, tossed the key into a nearby thicket. "Go ahead. Detonate it. If I can't bring you in, I'll gladly go down with you," Michael said, his tone steady and indifferent. His dismissal of the threat was chilling.
Fear was absent from his expression. This utter disregard for his own life made Michael a terrifying adversary; there was no weakness to exploit. The robed man's movement faltered, his expression souring.
Michael seemed to read his mind, pressing, "Go on. Detonate it. Get it over with. If not, then sit tight while I arrest you."
The robed man's palm was slick with sweat. He wasn't as fearless as he pretended; deep down, he was terrified. The explosive felt heavier than ever. He was trapped. However, all that ended when someone shouted, "Captain Cortez, Pete Camell has escaped!"