Nicholas was relatively fine, just exhausted, with a few cuts and bruises here and there. Markus, on the other hand...
The man was in far worse shape. Blood trickled from several wounds, and one of his gauntlets was sparking erratically, electricity leaping out in frantic arcs as if trying to escape the broken device.
'At least he can't fire air bullets anymore—'
Nicholas's thoughts were cut short by the all-too-familiar click.
Before he could react, a sharp, invisible force struck his left shoulder with brutal precision. Pain exploded through him, and an almost bestial scream tore from his lips.
"ARGH! DAMN!" Nicholas clutched at his shoulder, blood pouring between his fingers. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced, raw and searing, clouding his thoughts. His knees buckled, and he stumbled behind a shattered desk for cover, just as another click rang out.
A second air bullet whizzed past, slamming into the wall behind him with a loud crack.
Nicholas bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the sharp sting grounding him just enough to regain some focus. Every breath was a struggle, his mind a fog of agony. He forced himself to assess the damage. Slowly, his trembling hand moved away from the wound.
The sight was horrifying. The air bullet hadn't gone clean through but left a deep, gaping hole. Blood was pooling too fast for comfort, staining his sleeve and dripping onto the floor.
"Shit..." Nicholas muttered through gritted teeth. He looked around desperately but found nothing useful. With no other option, he tore a strip from his sleeve and pressed it into the wound.
The fabric felt like fire against his flesh as he applied pressure. For a moment, the pain was unbearable, his vision blurring. But he clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep going. Gradually, the overwhelming agony dulled into a more manageable ache.
Breathing heavily, Nicholas leaned against the desk, his mind racing. Markus was still out there, wounded but still dangerous.
Nicholas flexed his free hand, the faint black smoke swirling weakly in his palm. He needed a plan—and fast.
A million thoughts swirled through Nicholas's mind.
'How the hell was he able to fire?' He remembered clearly: Markus had used both hands to fire an air bullet before, but now he'd done it with just one. 'The only thing that makes sense is that he never needed both hands…'
Nicholas peeked cautiously from behind his cover, wincing as his shoulder throbbed.
Markus was on the move again, and Nicholas's stomach dropped.
The man was summoning another whirlwind, but it was inside the building this time. The air twisted violently, whipping papers, debris, and shattered glass into a chaotic vortex. The room darkened as a dense grey cloud began to form, sparks of electricity flickering within it.
Nicholas's eyes widened in disbelief. 'That crazy bastard... is he trying to create a thunderstorm indoors?'
Lightning flashed, casting Markus's silhouette in a ghostly light. Nicholas gritted his teeth and activated his special night vision. The world darkened into its usual silhouettes, but the storm swallowed everything. He was unable to see anything.
Figures, Nicholas thought bitterly, his frustration mounting. 'I guess it makes sense… but to hell with it! As if I care whether it makes sense or not! I need all the help I can get!'
The storm wasn't just dangerous—it was disorienting. With each flash of lightning, Nicholas felt his heartbeat quicken. The erratic flickers made it impossible to gauge Markus's exact position. He crouched lower behind his cover, thoughts racing.
Markus likely couldn't see him either, but that didn't improve the situation. It wouldn't take much for him to remember where Nicholas had been hiding and unleash another devastating attack.
'I need to move. Now.'
Nicholas looked around for an escape route. The swirling wind made running in a straight line nearly impossible, and the lightning only added to the chaos. His eyes fell on a toppled office chair just a few feet away. It wasn't much, but it gave him an idea.
Reaching deep into his reserves, Nicholas focused on the black smoke curling weakly in his hand. With some effort, he shaped it into a thin, sturdy rope. It wasn't perfect, and it shimmered like an unstable shadow, but it would have to do.
Using the rope, Nicholas hooked the chair and yanked it closer. As soon as it was within reach, he tied the rope around its base and braced himself.
'This better work', he thought grimly.
Nicholas hurled the chair into the storm, tumbling noisily across the floor. As he predicted, Markus turned toward the sound immediately, his gauntlet sparking as he prepared another attack.
'Now's my chance.'
Using the brief distraction, Nicholas darted out from his hiding spot, keeping low to the ground. He navigated through the swirling wind, gritting his teeth as sharp debris nicked his skin. His shoulder screamed in protest, but he didn't stop.
Suddenly, lightning cracked just inches from him, and he stumbled, falling to the ground. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. Before he could recover, the whirlwind intensified, lifting him off the floor.
"Shit!" Nicholas shouted as the wind spun him violently.
Through the chaos, he caught a glimpse of Markus standing at the center of the storm, his broken gauntlet sparking ominously. Nicholas gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers. The smoke in his hand flared weakly, but it was enough to form a small, jagged blade.
Spinning with the storm's momentum, Nicholas angled himself toward Markus and hurled the blade with all his strength.
The shadowy blade sliced through the air and struck the other gauntlet dead-on. Sparks erupted as the device crackled violently, the force of the impact sending Markus stumbling backward.
The whirlwind faltered, the dense grey cloud beginning to dissipate.
Nicholas hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop a few feet away. He groaned, forcing himself to his feet as Markus stood, clutching his other now-ruined gauntlet.
"You're tougher than I thought," Markus growled, his voice laced with anger and grudging respect.
Nicholas weakly smirked behind his mask, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "Yeah? Well, I don't break as easily as you'd like."
Before Markus could respond, the floor beneath them groaned ominously. Both men froze, their eyes darting to the cracks spreading across the surface.
With a deafening crash, the floor gave way, and they plunged into the office further below.
As they fell further down, Nicholas's body screamed at him with every inch of descent. His shoulder throbbed, his muscles burned, and his vision blurred momentarily with each jarring impact. He was surprised he hadn't already lost consciousness. A dark thought crossed his mind—it must have been the strange power he had awakened with, keeping him on his feet. There was no way he was this resilient naturally.
Even so, his thoughts drifted to Markus. The man, as far as Nicholas knew, was just a normal human—no strange powers, no supernatural endurance. Surely, the punishment Markus's body had taken was worse than his own.
With a harsh crash, both of them landed in the office below, amidst a pile of shattered desks, toppled filing cabinets, and cracked plaster. Nicholas coughed as dust billowed around him, his chest heaving with each breath. For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Markus groaned, and Nicholas pushed himself up, bracing against the wall as his legs threatened to give out.
Markus was the first to rise fully, his movements jerky and uneven. His gauntlets were wrecked, one sparking dangerously, the other emitting faint wisps of smoke. Nicholas eyed them warily. The air bullets were likely out of commission, but he knew better than to let his guard down again.
A flicker of electricity danced along the sparking gauntlet, forming what looked like thin ropes of light. It looked like dancing electricity. Before Nicholas could react, Markus snapped his arm forward, and the whip-like strand lashed out.
Nicholas barely dodged. The whip grazed his sleeve, the heat palpable even through the fabric. He swore under his breath and rolled to the side as another whip cracked the floor where he had just stood.
The fight devolved into a frantic game of evasion. Nicholas dodged again and again, his body screaming in protest as he twisted and ducked. The heat from the whips was unbearable, and the constant strain on his injuries pushed him closer to his limit. Just as one of the whips came dangerously close, it flickered and vanished, the energy finally spent.
Nicholas stumbled back, breathing heavily. "Finally…" he muttered, only for his relief to evaporate when a desk hurtled toward him.
Markus had begun manipulating the wind again, lifting furniture and debris and launching them with terrifying force. Nicholas dodged the first wave, but a heavy chair slammed into his side, sending him sprawling. He gritted his teeth as pain flared across his ribs. Another piece of debris struck him, then another.
The pain was overwhelming, but something else began to rise within him. A burning sensation—not physical, but emotional.
Anger.
It built steadily with every bruise, every cut, every strike. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Why?
He didn't ask for this fight, for this pain. He was just trying to stop Markus from committing a terrible crime. So then why?
Why, why, why…?
Why did it come to this?
Something inside him snapped. Nicholas let out a guttural growl and launched himself at Markus, his movements were no longer calculated or precise but primal and feral.
The two men collided, sliding across the debris-strewn floor. Unknown grabbed Markus by the hair, slamming his head into the ground with a sickening thud. Markus grunted in pain and tried to roll away, but Unknown's grip was unrelenting.
"Get off me! You psycho!" Markus roared, pushing himself free with a desperate burst of strength. Hair tore from his scalp as he scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He wiped his face with a trembling hand and scowled at the sight of crimson on his fingers.
A primal fear began to creep into Markus's chest as he looked at Unknown. There was something different about him now, something unsettling. The man who had fought strategically, dodging and calculating his attacks, was gone.
This new version of his opponent was unhinged and relentless. Unknown no longer cared about evasion. He absorbed every strike, every blow as if the pain fueled him. All that mattered now was closing the distance and delivering his own brand of punishment.
Markus hurled a chair at him, then a sharp piece of metal. Unknown batted them aside or let them hit him, his pace unbroken. The air around Markus seemed to thicken, wind slicing toward Unknown in sharp currents, but the bastard kept advancing.
When Unknown finally reached him, he tackled Markus to the ground. The two men crashed against the floor, dangerously close to the shattered window. Markus tried to push him off, but Unknown's fists rained down like a relentless storm, targeting his chest, face, and anything else within reach.
With every punch, Markus felt the primal fear deepen. He gritted his teeth and swung wildly, managing to clip Unknown's jaw. It wasn't enough to stop him.
The floor gave way beneath them, and they plunged through the window.
Markus's stomach lurched as they free-fell, the wind whipping past them. He panicked, thrashing against Unknown, but the other man didn't seem to notice—or care—that they were plummeting to their deaths.
Unknown's sole focus was on Markus, his fists continuing their assault even as they tumbled through the air.
'This guy's insane!' Markus thought, terror gripping him.
Desperate, Markus activated his gauntlets one last time, propelling himself toward the roof of a nearby building. He landed heavily, his body aching and drenched in blood.
But his relief was short-lived.
Unknown had also landed on the rooftop, his movements steady despite his injuries.
Markus clenched his fists, summoning the last of his strength. He couldn't run—not from this.
"Fine," he growled, his voice hoarse. "Let's end this."
Summoning the wind around him, Markus began to create a tornado, the air swirling violently as debris lifted into the air.
Unknown stood across from him, unmoving, his mask cracked and streaked with blood.
The final battle was about to begin.
Unknown suddenly slapped himself, coughing violently as he staggered back.
"What… what was that?" Nicholas muttered to himself, his voice trembling. He swayed, struggling to process the whirlwind of emotions. Whatever had taken over him moments ago felt alien, foreign. He had completely disregarded his own safety, consumed by a relentless desire to harm Markus. And some of the things he had done… They left a deep, uncomfortable pit in his stomach.
'Was I trying to kill him?' The thought echoed in his mind, and he shuddered.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke aloud, his tone returned to what it was before the fight began. "Hey… listen. I did some bad things, and I'd like to apologize…" He paused to steady himself. "So, can we stop fighting and—"
Before he could finish, a powerful gust of wind slammed into him, launching him off the rooftop.
"Ah—!"
The word barely escaped his lips before gravity took hold. He plummeted, the world blurring around him. Death seemed to loom over him.
As if!
He gritted his teeth, clinging to the dark emotions that swirled within him as a motivator to survive. Concentrating, Nicholas summoned a tendril of pure darkness, its pitch-black form snaking out from his hand to latch onto the side of a nearby building. The tendril stretched taut, slowing his descent. He shot another one, this time closer to the ground, and braced himself as it absorbed the momentum of his fall.
At the last moment, he released the tendril, letting it dissipate into nothingness as he rolled upon impact, his body screaming in protest.
He slumped against a wall in a dim alleyway, his breaths ragged and uneven. "Still alive…" he muttered, his voice shaky as he quickly checked himself for serious injuries. His legs felt like dead weight, and when he tried to stand, he immediately collapsed again.
"Ah… I… appear to be unable to move my legs," he said with a nervous chuckle, attempting to mask the panic rising within him. He hoped—prayed—that it wasn't permanent.
Before he could dwell on it further, a commotion outside the alley caught his attention. Through the narrow view of the street, he saw Markus descending from the building, atop a tornado.
Nicholas blinked, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "You've gotta be kidding me…"
The tornado wasn't massive, but it was large enough to dwarf the surrounding structures. Markus stood at its top center, his legs seemingly fused with the swirling winds, controlling the chaos like a storm god.
"What the hell am I supposed to do against that?" Nicholas muttered bitterly, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He clenched his fists, the unfairness of it all gnawing at him. Despite everything he had endured, Markus still had another ace up his sleeve.
But then, the distant wail of sirens broke through the storm's roar. The police were finally arriving.
And then it happened—a flash of turquoise light so blinding that Nicholas instinctively shielded his eyes. The brightness illuminated the entire street, cutting through the chaos like a divine intervention.
When the light faded, Nicholas uncovered his eyes to see Markus lying unconscious in the middle of the road.
"It's… over?" Nicholas whispered in disbelief, his voice barely audible.
Had a hero intervened? Is someone powerful enough to end a battle that had dragged on for what felt like an hour in a mere second? His disbelief gave way to bitterness.
"Why the hell did I even bother?" he muttered, his tone dripping with frustration.
Then he remembered. He had saved a life—the life of Benjamin Khybernus, one of the most important people in the city, possibly the world. The thought lifted his spirits, albeit briefly.
His gaze drifted back to Markus, lying battered and beaten in the street. Nicholas felt a pang of guilt. He had wanted to end things peacefully. He hadn't wanted Markus to go to prison. After all, Markus had saved his life once.
The conflict within him grew, swirling like the storm Markus had summoned. What was the right thing to do? What should he feel? He didn't know anymore.
Pain flared anew, sharp and unrelenting, consuming his thoughts and forcing him into silence. His vision dimmed as his body finally succumbed to its injuries.
The last thing he felt was an icy, numbing sensation creeping over him. Was he dying? He didn't know. And in that moment, he didn't even have the strength to care.
Nicholas was shaken awake, gasping as his eyes flew open. Hovering above him was a young Asian woman, likely in her twenties. Judging by her attire—a kimono and a sheathed sword at her waist—he assumed she might be Japanese. However, upon closer inspection, the sword didn't quite resemble a traditional katana. It was completely straight, lacking the iconic curve, and its hilt had no guard.
Her hair was styled in a side ponytail, its color shifting between dark blue and green depending on the light. But the most unsettling detail was her eyes—bright pale green as if they radiated light. Yet, they were cold, devoid of any warmth or emotion. Her expression mirrored her gaze: blank, detached, and deeply unnerving.
After a moment of silence, she spoke, her voice sharp yet calm, and her English startlingly fluent. "You are dying."
Three simple words. They struck him like a blow, though his body barely reacted. Perhaps his body had already accepted what his mind refused to process.
"…I know," he growled, his voice low and rough.
The woman reached out a hand toward him, her movements deliberate and controlled. He wanted to flinch, to pull away, but his body refused to obey. Instead, a soft turquoise light enveloped him, spreading a strange sensation of tranquility through his battered form. The pain vanished, leaving him with a sense of eerie calm, though his wounds remained unhealed.
Frowning, Nicholas shot her a questioning look.
Her expression remained stoic as she closed her eyes for a moment. "I've numbed your pain," she explained, "but without proper care, you will die. So, I ask you: do you wish to die painlessly by my hand, or struggle to survive?"
She opened her eyes again, her piercing gaze cutting into him like a blade.
Nicholas wanted to retort, to ask who in their right mind would choose death, but the words caught in his throat. His body seemed ready to surrender, and his mind wasn't far behind.
He bit the inside of his cheek—a sensation dulled by the lack of pain, yet enough to snap him back to clarity.
Still wearing his mask, Nicholas fixed her with a sharp glare. "Thanks for the offer… but I have to survive."
For a moment, he thought she might strike him down anyway. Instead, she simply shrugged and turned to leave. "Suit yourself."
"Wait," he called after her.
She stopped, glancing back with a raised eyebrow—a subtle but clear indication she was capable of emotion after all.
"What time is it?" he asked. He hadn't brought his phone with him, for fear of it potentially breaking.
"Four in the morning," she replied flatly, before disappearing into the shadows.
Nicholas groaned as he tried to force himself to his feet, his back still pressed against the wall. His legs refused to cooperate, and his body felt like a heap of broken glass held together by sheer willpower.
'What was that?' he thought, recalling the turquoise light. 'She coated me in some kind of energy… and for some reason, I feel like it can be used to heal… So why didn't she?'
He focused on the memory of that strange, peaceful sensation. It lingered faintly, like an ember waiting to reignite. As he concentrated, black mist began to seep from his body, faintly glowing with a blue hue. The mist hovered in front of him, seemingly awaiting his command.
He frowned. "Well? What are you waiting for? Tend to my wounds, will you?" he quipped, half-joking.
To his shock, the mist obeyed, covering his injuries. He could hear the faint, unsettling squelch of flesh knitting itself back together.
'Ugh,' he mentally shuddered, resisting the urge to gag.
After a few seconds, the mist dissipated, leaving his wounds partially healed. The pain was gone, and while his body was far from fully restored, he could move again.
"At least I can walk now…" he muttered, forcing himself upright. He limped through the alley, sticking to the shadows as he made his way home. He'd need to dispose of his bloodied, torn clothes—there was no way he would allow his father to see them.
***
In the police van, Markus sat quietly, his fingers twitching. His eyes were dull and lifeless, staring into the void as though the world around him didn't exist.
Suddenly, the van jolted, causing the officers in the front to glance back nervously. They stepped out to inspect the vehicle, leaving Markus alone.
"Why is it so windy all of a sudden?" one officer muttered.
"I know, right? There wasn't any wind just a minute ago. You don't think the guy in the back has something to do with it, do you?" the other replied, his voice tinged with unease.
"…Nah. The weather's just been freaky these past two days."
In the back of the van, Markus's dull eyes suddenly gleamed as he lifted his hand. A swirling orb of wind formed within his palm; its intensity was ever-present, and tiny cuts started to appear on his hand.
The orb dissipated just as quickly as it had formed.
Markus had awakened.
Yet his expression remained hollow, his eyes turned dull once more. His thoughts were preoccupied with something else…
"Markus!" Unknown shouted. "You don't have to do this! It's not too late to stop!"
Unknown… had called him by his name.
At least he would have something to think about while in prison.