SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 248: Demolition Instinct

The muzzle flash burned itself into my vision.

Pain tore through my thigh like a blade dipped in acid. My leg buckled instantly, the strength cut out from under me like someone had flipped a switch. I crashed onto the tile, barely catching myself on one elbow before momentum slammed me sideways. My shoulder cracked against the floor. Blood pulsed warm and fast down my leg, the exit wound gushing like an open faucet.

I clamped down on the scream threatening to tear from my throat.

Sienna screamed for me instead.

"Down!" Alexis shouted. In one fluid motion, she seized Sienna by the arm and yanked her behind the nearest bedframe. A second shot rang out—sharp, controlled—just as my head dropped. The bullet shattered a wall-mounted monitor inches above me, spraying drywall splinters and glass across the floor.

I rolled, one-armed and half-blind, dragging myself toward a nearby crash cart. My wounded leg trailed uselessly behind me, leaving a wet smear across the tile. I sucked in air through clenched teeth. A third shot struck the cabinet edge above me with a high-pitched clang, showering sparks across my back.

This wasn’t a scout.

He moved heavier. More deliberate. Trained for suppression. Not a warning shooter—he was walking the line between restraint and execution.

I risked a glance.

The guard stepped into full view—tactical gear matte-black, plating molded to his frame like body armor designed for war. No insignia. No rank stripes. Helmeted, visor down. His stance was textbook. Low. Rifle tight to the shoulder. Every step calculated. Every pivot covered a new angle.

Not reacting.

Hunting.

No shouted warnings. No identification. Just methodical, practiced movement—like we were vermin already tagged for removal.

I checked my leg. The wound was a mess. My thigh throbbed with each heartbeat, muscle spasming under torn skin. Muscle Reinforcement tried to kick in—but my body rejected it. The skill flickered, sputtered out again. My System still wasn’t stable. Too many short-outs. Too much instability.

"Alexis," I hissed, pressing my palm to the bleeding. "Flank him on my signal."

She didn’t hesitate.

I reached for the nearest object—an IV pole leaned against the wall, still hooked to an empty saline bag. I yanked it down and chucked it full-force toward the far corner of the room. It clattered off the tiles and slammed into a metal tray stand, sending it crashing to the floor.

The guard pivoted instantly, rifle snapping toward the sound.

"Now!"

Alexis burst from behind the bed like a live wire, low and fast. She hit him at the waist, shoulder-first, momentum carrying them into the corner. The guard grunted, backpedaling—but didn’t fall. He twisted, shifted his weight, and anchored one boot behind him like he’d been trained in this exact kind of impact.

Still—he wasn’t ready for the follow-up.

Alexis ducked his wild elbow swing and swept his legs. He stumbled sideways. She reached for his rifle—

But he turned with ruthless speed and drove his elbow into her temple.

The crack of it made me flinch.

Alexis hit the floor hard, arms limp for a half-second too long.

I crawled. Teeth gritted. Fingers tearing grooves into the tile as I dragged my useless leg behind me. My lungs burned from the effort. Every motion fired pain like a voltage spike up my spine.

I had to distract him.

He leveled the rifle toward Alexis. She wasn’t moving.

I didn’t even get the chance to scream.

Because that’s when she rose.

Sienna.

She moved like nothing I remembered.

No hesitation. No limp. No confusion from the sedatives. She stood tall, her auburn eyes were dark and locked on the man in black.

There was no pain in her face now.

Just focus.

She crossed the distance like a storm given legs.

The guard turned just as she reached him.

Too slow.

Her fingers slammed into the side of his rifle—not to grab it, not to shove it—she struck the weapon at a point near the ejection port and the frame. The gun cracked, then split, breaking apart like it had been assembled from child-safe pieces. The lower barrel fell to the floor. The upper slide popped loose. Screws and fragments scattered across the tile.

He staggered back, eyes wide beneath the visor.

She wasn’t done.

Sienna’s hand snapped upward. She gripped his helmet—not with brute force, but with precision, like a technician dismantling a machine. Her fingers worked beneath the armored seams. Clips popped loose. The helmet came apart in three clean segments and dropped to the ground at her feet.

His face was pale. Shocked. He reeled, swung with the butt of the remaining rifle handle—

She ducked, countered with a hammering punch to his lower spine. He dropped to one knee, gasping.

Then she swept his legs with a single kick that hit with the sound of concrete fracturing.

He hit the ground hard.

Still, he tried to recover.

Sienna stomped onto his wrist, pinning it between heel and tile. She bent down, grabbed the remains of the rifle—and disassembled it mid-motion. Her fingers blurred across the casing, stripping pieces from the lower receiver, peeling the mechanism like fruit. The spring launched free. The trigger assembly clicked apart in her palm.

I could hardly follow it.

She knew exactly how to take it apart.

Alexis stared from the floor, dazed. "What the hell—"

Sienna didn’t answer. She mounted the guard’s chest, slamming her knee just under his sternum with perfect placement. The breath fled his lungs like a balloon popped underfoot.

Then, with two fingers, she struck a nerve junction in his neck—just beneath the jaw.

His limbs twitched once.

Then stilled.

Alive.

But completely unconscious.

Silence fell like a curtain.

Only my breath, ragged and shivering, filled the space. My leg throbbed with each heartbeat.

Sienna swayed slightly.

Then exhaled.

Her shoulders dropped, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were already glassy again, muscles twitching from overuse.

She knelt beside me.

"Let me see."

Despite all this, I was confused...She shouldn’t have been able to do that.

Job didn’t enhance the body. They sharpened the mind. Ignored fatigue. Boosted intuition. Focused instincts.

Not this.

Not this kind of strength.

And yet.

She had taken apart a fully reinforced Ministry rifle and neutralized a trained guard while still recovering from sedation. Her coordination. Her accuracy. Her power.

I looked at her hands.

Not shaking.

Her pulse, steady.

Then it clicked.

Me, Mark, 3830, 3829. The common factor between us is a job title, that’s what allows people to physically be enhanced by skills and jobs.

My mind was trying to catch up with what I’d just seen.

Alexis knelt opposite her, shaking her head. "I... I didn’t know you could do that. I thought you were Construction Worker, A-Rank. How the hell did you—"

Sienna didn’t look up. "I am. Sort of."

My voice came out hoarse. "You got a job title didn’t you? What is it?"

She hesitated. "Job Inverter."

Silence.

She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to.

I understood.

A Construction Worker’s job was to build.

Hers was now to unbuild.

To break down. To dismantle. To undo.

And not just conceptually. Physically.

They experimented on her.

That’s why she was here. Why she’d been alone in this room, sedated, barely kept alive.

They gave her a title they weren’t sure they could control.

And she survived it.

Alexis was still frozen, watching Sienna like she didn’t know her.

She probably didn’t.

Not anymore.

I didn’t say a word.

But something inside me had already started to burn.

The second fire.

The second time rage took root.

Not because of pain.

Not because of fear.

Because they touched her.

And whatever they did—they were going to pay for it.

Every last one of them.

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