The streets hadn't changed.
Same rot in the gutters. Same wet cigarette stink clinging to brick walls. Same flickering neon signs humming like dying insects. Everything about this place felt like a trap built to look like a memory—It reminded me of Cadmus in some ways—sterile and rotten in different ratios.
I moved through the alley like a shadow, hood up, eyes scanning. I didn't need to rush. Every step was measured. My boots landed without a sound. I wasn't hiding, but I wasn't here to be seen either.
The shadows here were thick, undisturbed. A few broken windows near the ceiling let in fractured slants of moonlight. It caught on the dust hanging in the air, making everything feel suspended in time. Everything was silent, but not the peaceful kind. It was the kind of silence in the breath you hold right before impact.
I slipped in through a side door, careful with every step. The warehouse hasn't changed either, still had the same stank of rust, oil, and something deeper—like sweat soaked into old concrete. Decay lived here. Not the dramatic kind, but the quiet rot of things long forgotten.
Seems like they haven't used this place as a fight club for a while.
I counted five people before I even reached the main door—two on the rooftop, three posted outside the back entrance. None of them were Lou's top guys. Just muscle. Half-aware, half-stoned. One of them recognized me. His face turned pale beneath the grime, and he stepped aside without a word.
Smart.
The back door opened without resistance. I ducked inside, greeted by the familiar mix of sweat, blood, and moldy drywall. The corridor was dim and narrow. Just the way Lou liked it. Forced you to file in, shoulder to shoulder. Made ambushes cleaner.
I remembered every corner.
The psychic hum of Cadmus still echoed faintly in my skull, like a migraine that hadn't quite left. My energy was stable—flickers of gold heat beneath my skin, a steady thrum in my spine. Contained. For now.
I reached the staircase and paused.
Two guards above. Pacing, distracted. Radios clipped to their belts, but no chatter came through. Probably encrypted. I didn't want to go loud. Not yet.
I tested a flicker of kinetic energy from my fingers. A spark danced, fizzled, and sputtered out. Still clumsy. Still not reliable. Not like during the fight with Brick. That had been instinct—raw, fueled by fear and rage. This? This was deliberate, and it felt wrong in my skin.
I hissed through my teeth and backed into a shadowed alcove as one of the guards paused near the top landing. The stairwell light above buzzed. I narrowed my eyes, focused, and this time, a short pulse left my fingertips. The bulb shattered with a dry pop. Glass rained softly.
"What the hell was that?" one of them muttered.
Footsteps scrambled. They rushed down the stairs together. Too fast. Too clumsy.
I crouched low, breath held, timing their descent. One of them reached for his radio.
No you don't.
I exploded forward.
No powers—just a full-bodied lunge. My shoulder slammed into the first guard's midsection, knocking the wind out of him as he staggered. Before he could recover, I slammed a palm into his throat. Something sparked—faint and golden—but it was mostly muscle and rage. He dropped, gagging.
The second one spun around, pistol rising.
I was already inside his reach. I grabbed his wrist and twisted hard until I heard the snap. He screamed—short, sharp. I yanked him forward by his broken arm and drove his elbow into his own temple. He went limp.
Both of them lay at my feet, groaning. I took a breath, checked the stairwell. No more movement.
Still not quiet, not clean. But fast. And effective.
I moved on, heart pounding in my ears like a war drum.
Lou's office was at the top floor—past the catwalk that overlooked the ring. I took a side hallway instead, cutting through the maintenance tunnel. A shortcut I'd found years ago when hiding from a guy twice my size.
Now, I was the thing they needed to hide from.
The tunnel spat me out behind a rusted door. I pushed it open, slow and steady.
And Lou? He was exactly where I expected him to be.
His office hadn't changed much. Smoke-stained walls, old liquor bottles on the shelf, a desk that looked like it had seen a few murders. He was at the desk now, gun in hand, already pointed at the door. Same slicked-back hair, same worn leather jacket he thought made him look important. He looked smaller now. Weaker. The years hadn't done him favors—or maybe it was me. Maybe I'd changed so much that everyone from before felt like they were shrinking.
I walked in slow, each step deliberate, the echo of my boots tapping like a slow, steady drumroll. He was already sitting behind his desk, gun in hand, aimed like he'd been expecting me—but not quite prepared for what I'd become.
"You always had good timing Lucas," he said, a smirk tugging at lips too dry, too cracked. The words came out like he was trying to stay calm, but I could hear the thin edge of nerves fraying in his voice.
I said nothing.
He looked worse than I remembered—puffier around the eyes, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, like the years had soaked into his bones. Still tried to carry himself like a boss, like he ran this place, but the act was stretched thin now. The bravado clung to him like a used napkin—stained and barely holding shape.
"You could've just stayed gone," Lou tried again, his voice a shade too loud now. "You got out. You made it. What is this? You want closure? A thank-you card?"
I let the door shut behind me with a loud, final thud. No wind. No rush. Just me, standing there like gravity had settled a little harder in the room.
He watched my hands. They were empty.
He didn't understand that was worse.
"You sold me," I said, voice low. Even. Like I'd said it a thousand times already in my head and this was just the first time it left my mouth.
Lou sighed, lowering the gun an inch. "It was just business. You were a ghost with a record and a busted future. Cadmus offered good money for angry kids with no one to miss them."
I stared at him, dead quiet. "And you never wondered what they did with me?"
"I stopped wondering after the first check cleared."
A dry laugh left my lips—short, ugly. "That's honest, at least."
Lou shifted in his chair, straightening up like it might make him seem more in control. "So what now? You gonna kill me? You think that fixes anything? Makes you better than me?"
I stepped forward slowly, boots scraping against the concrete floor. My hand came up—not glowing, not crackling with energy. Just a fist.
No golden light. No sparks.
Lou's eyes darted from my face to my hand and back. The gun in his grip dipped ever so slightly.
"You look nervous," I said. "You should be."
His finger twitched, and he fired.
Pain bloomed along my ribs as the bullet grazed me, but I didn't stop. He'd hesitated. He thought the glow made me dangerous. He didn't realize I didn't need it.
I lunged.
Old-school. All weight and rage. My punch landed with a crack that echoed off the office walls. Lou hit the floor, the gun skittering away. He scrambled, trying to push himself up with shaky arms.
I kicked the weapon out of reach and grabbed him by the collar. Slammed him into the wall. Once. Twice.
The kinetic energy came—not controlled, not called. Just raw emotion bleeding out of me. My next strike flared gold at the knuckles as it connected. Lou's head snapped back and he sagged against the wall, coughing up blood.
I didn't stop there. Not yet.
I threw him over the desk, papers and bottles crashing to the floor. He moaned as he rolled, barely coherent. I stalked over, yanked him up by the back of his jacket, and slammed him into the nearest support beam.
Now he was listening.
His finger twitched. And so did the trigger. Unfortunately for him, he was too slow.
I stepped aside, felt the bullet peel past my ribs. A shallow cut. Nothing serious. I closed the distance in two strides.
One punch.
Kinetic energy erupted from my fist like a shotgun blast. Lou flew back into the wall. The drywall cratered. He dropped the gun, tried to crawl.
I stood over him.
"No one's coming," I said.
Lou coughed, blood painting his lips. The fear in his eyes wasn't sharp anymore—it had softened into something slower. Acceptance. Regret. Maybe both.
"You knew, didn't you?" I asked.
He gave the faintest nod.
Before he could speak again, my fist found his jaw. A sharp hook, knuckles cracking against bone. He collapsed behind the desk, cash fluttering down around him like broken promises. Blood smeared the floor as he let out a hoarse groan.
I stalked forward, stepping on his outstretched hand as he tried to crawl away. He screamed—a pitiful, choked sound—and froze. I grabbed him by the collar, dragged him up, and flung him against a nearby support beam. He struck it hard, ribs clacking against the wood. He slumped but didn't fall.
I turned to the desk. His empire—scattered. Notebooks. Receipts. A burner phone blinking with missed messages. Codenames and coordinates. I pocketed the phone.
Behind me, Lou coughed again.
"You think I had a choice?" he gasped. "You think Cadmus lets anyone say no?"
"I think you didn't even try."
He laughed. A wet, broken sound. "You think you're free now? You're just another weapon. That thing inside you—they made it, not you."
He was stalling. Trying to make me question it. But I already had. Every day since I escaped. Every time the energy flickered under my skin like a live wire with no insulation.
I leaned in, voice cold.
"Then let them come."
He looked up at me with one swollen eye. "You're not a hero."
"No," I said. "I'm the consequence."
Then my fist drove into his chest. One final pulse of kinetic force lit up my knuckles like a supernova.
The sound it made didn't echo. It landed and stayed.
Lou dropped. No more words.
I stood there a second, breathing heavy. Not because I was tired—but because I needed to come back down.
Then I turned, scanned the mess he left behind. I took the burner phone. Pocketed a few papers. Evidence. Leads. Ghost trails worth chasing.
Behind me, Lou bled quietly into the floor.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.