The warehouse creaked with silence.
Dilapidated steel walls, flickering lights overhead, and the eerie glow of the stones embedded in the floor created the kind of atmosphere that made even criminals sweat. But not these criminals.
They were seated or leaning casually, like coiled beasts pretending to be at ease.
Vernon Slade, muscles bulging under a torn hoodie, cracked his knuckles.
Vera, perched on a steel crate, absentmindedly traced a knife along her palm, the cut already healing from her newfound ability.
Harry Two, brooding in the corner, leaned against the wall with arms crossed, half his face masked.
Elaine, eyes closed, whispered to herself as if praying to some unseen god.
Miguel, short, wiry, but dangerous, flipped a crowbar between his fingers like a magician's wand.
I Crow stood before them.
The black mist curled at my feet like smoke searching for a throat.
I spread my arms.
"Are you all ready to fight me?"
