Chapter 17: A 'Predator's' Pride
He liked the sound of broken pride.
The man's name was 'Aqua'-or at least, that's what the world called him after he awakened his [Source]. Real name long forgotten, long buried. The world didn't need it. A name was only power if others screamed it.
Now they just feared it.
As he sat in the darkened back seat of the van, watching the trembling girl through the divider window, he felt it.
The thrill. The chaos. The payback.
Tarazune Akeshi. That bastard's name gnawed at his mind like broken glass in a wound.
"I was respected before you showed up. You humiliated me in front of everyone."
That mall-the day of his downfall. He remembered the scent of blood and concrete, the shocked gasps, the sound of his body slamming against the ground. All eyes on him. All fear gone. Stripped bare by a single boy.
A boy who dared to fight back.
Now, he would take something precious. Something that couldn't be undone. That girl-Amanika Nino-was his trophy. His message.
The ride to the villa had been smooth. His men knew the drill. They kept quiet. The girl? Crying, pleading, breaking.
"You brought this on yourself," he had whispered.
But deep inside... he knew it wasn't about her.
.
.
.
.
.
.
[Source] Users-the cursed blessed.
They started appearing a decade ago, after a storm of falling stars riddled Earth's atmosphere. The fragments carried anomalous energy-some called it divine, others alien. Humanity labeled it Source.
Abilities bloomed in some. Powers that shouldn't have existed.
At first, the government tried to control them-catalog, contain, weaponize. But the moment the [Inhumans] emerged-twisted beings born from corrupted Source radiation and a whole another dimension-the balance shifted.
Suddenly, the world needed monsters to fight monsters.
And so, the [Source] Users were given freedoms. Too much freedom.
Laws bent around them. Special privileges. Immunity from certain charges. Some called it diplomacy. Others called it fear.
For people like 'Aqua'-who came from the lament, it was a blank check.
.
.
.
.
.
Back in the villa, he paced.
The girl sat on the bed, wrists free now, but only because he wanted it that way. He wanted her to try escaping. Hope made the despair richer. He had tied her heart in knots.
He approached her slowly, like a hunter.
She tried to hit him. Her punch stopped midair-ropes of shadow coiled from his fingers like snakes, locking her limbs in place.
"I am a [Source] user, darling. Call me... Nightwing. Not very creative, but it gets the job done."
Her eyes widened. He tasted the fear blooming in them. Every broken movement, every tear she tried to hold back -it was the proof of his control.
She dropped to her knees. Her body trembled, her spirit flickered.
'Aqua' crouched before her.
"No one's coming to save you. Not your precious tarazune. Not your family. Not even God himself."
He reached for her chin, tilting her head up.
"You should've known what it means to humiliate me. You should've-"
"Just like the last time."
A voice.
Calm. Detached. Impossible.
Feminine.
'Aqua' froze.
He turned sharply. No one behind him. No shadow. No presence. Yet he felt it.
Something cold spread across his left shoulder. His muscles locked. Nerve endings sparked like live wires. He couldn't move.
He tried to lift his arm. Nothing.
His breath caught in his throat.
"What...what the hell-?! Who said that?!"
The girl hadn't moved.
But the room no longer felt like his.
The control slipped.
Something... someone had entered. Not by door or window. But into the very moment.
'Aqua's' hand trembled. The shadows around his fingers-his Source power-started to unravel like smoke in the wind.
"No. no, I had this. I had this.."
But the moment was no longer his to own.
And in the silence, only one truth remained:
Predators forget. But the hunted… never do.
.
.
.
.
'Aqua' stood motionless, breath ragged.
His arm-still dead. His shoulder-numb. The remnants of his Source ability frayed at the edges like string burning in slow motion.
'What the hell was that voice?'
He scanned the room, a fever of paranoia in his veins. Nothing. No shadow. No hidden figure. No breach. But something had definitely spoken. Something had pressed its presence into his skin like frostbite.
And then he turned.
His gaze fell upon her.
Nino lay slumped at the edge of the bed, motionless. Silent. Her hair tangled, face turned away, her clothes in disarray-torn, loose, violated.
'Aqua's' stomach twisted. His mind recoiled.
He stepped forward as if pulled by a magnet of emotion's.
His hands reached out, almost shaking, brushing her shoulder.
She flinched.
Her breath was shallow. Her eyes stared somewhere beyond him. Not at the wall, not at the ceiling. Through it.
"l... did that?"
The memory was there.
The heat. The force. Her cries muffled by the pounding blood in his ears. The hunger for revenge. The blind need to erase Akeshi's name from her lips.
He had broken her.
Or so he thought.
But now?
Now he wasn't sure when it happened. Or if it happened at all.
His breath hitched.
"I did... didn't I?"
The room was deathly still. The air was thick with silence -too thick. Like time itself was pausing to watch him squirm.
The image of her wouldn't fade, nor would the chilling echo of that voice:
Just like the last time.
Last time?
There was no last time.
Was there?
'Aqua' staggered back, panic gnawing at the edge of his mind. He needed to get out. Needed to end this. Clean it up. Erase the trail.
"I need to cover this up... no, maybe-maybe they'll understand. Maybe I can explain. Maybe..."
He turned and grabbed her bag, fumbling with the zipper. Hands slick with sweat, shaking fingers pulled the phone free.
No password.
How convenient.
He hated how easy it was.
He opened the contact list. Thumb hovered over a number labeled:
"Dad."
His lips parted, dry and cracked.
And then he pressed it.
Ring...
Ring...
'Aqua' stood in that gilded, haunted villa, bathed in moonlight and shadow. Surrounded by silence. Haunted by a voice he couldn't place and a girl who wouldn't scream anymore.
The phone connected.
"...Hello? This is Amanika's Koji speaking."
'Aqua' opened his mouth to speak.
And yet—what came out was not pride.
Not even fear.
Only a single sentence.
"Come... get your daughter."