Eight hours before his encounter with the Exterminator, Aiden was still sitting in front of his phone screen, the room lit only by the blue glow reflecting in his eyes. Videos played one after another, almost hypnotic. The sound blended with the constant hum of the city beyond the window. Comments appeared and vanished nonstop—an uncontrollable tide of opinions, mockery, and admiration.
Some laughed at him openly:
"Looks like cheap cosplay."
"Is that supposed to be scary?"
Others, however, said the opposite. That there was something different about the way he fought. Raw. That it wasn't elegant or clean, but brutally effective. More than a few agreed on one thing: that strength wasn't human.
There were questions. Many of them.
Who was he?
Where did he come from?
Did anyone know him?
But the suit did its job. The erratic movements, the relentless strikes, the wings flaring amid the chaos—everything made it impossible to see his face clearly. His anonymity remained intact.
Aiden slid his finger across the screen and smiled.
A slow, satisfied smile.
"It worked…" he whispered.
They were watching him.
They were talking about him.
They were turning him into something more than a nobody.
His chest vibrated with an emotion he couldn't quite describe. He jumped up from his seat without realizing it, laughing softly, unable to contain the energy surging through him. The concern that had followed him since the beginning began to fade, drowned out by a dangerous certainty.
This was real.
This was power.
He stood in front of the mirror.
He studied his reflection carefully, tilting his head slightly, evaluating himself. The wounds from the blows he had taken hours earlier—once burning—were now little more than faint shadows on his skin. Bruises slowly fading as tiny golden particles drifted off his body, floating for a few seconds before disappearing into the air like luminous dust that didn't belong to this world.
The exhaustion was still there, which struck Aiden as strange. After thinking it through, he concluded it had to be a side effect—but one that seemed like an acceptable price for what he had gained.
"This is absurd," he thought. "Just absurd."
He looked back at the phone.
The numbers kept climbing.
Thousands more views. New comments every second. Notifications vibrating endlessly. His name didn't exist yet—but his figure did.
"Maybe I should reveal who I am soon," he thought. "It won't be long now."
The idea filled him with quiet satisfaction. He was closer to his goal than he had ever imagined. He felt almost fully recovered, as if his own body refused to remain damaged—ignoring the fact that he had only just received these abilities and had no real knowledge or experience using them.
I need to go out, he decided.
I need to get used to this.
He put on the suit with confident, almost routine movements, as if wearing it was something he had always done. As he adjusted the fasteners, a certainty settled in his mind.
"With this… I don't think anyone can really give me trouble."
He didn't say it with open arrogance, but the thought was firm. Whatever came his way, he would overcome it. It was only a matter of time.
He went out on patrol.
Hours passed without anything truly challenging him. Familiar streets. Dark corners. A couple of guys fighting each other—separated without effort. An elderly woman trying to cross the street, grateful for a quick helping hand.
Everything fine.
Everything easy.
Too easy.
Eventually, he ended up at a pier, the salty air hitting his face as he watched the dark sea stretch endlessly before him. He leaned against the railing and replayed the day in his head.
Nothing worth remembering.
Nothing that pushed him further.
"Helping is fine…" he muttered, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "But this doesn't make me grow."
He stared at the horizon, thoughtful, his wings folded against his back.
With all that power pulsing beneath his skin, a question began to form—uncomfortable, insistent, almost defiant:
Did real challenges even exist for someone like him anymore?
The silence of the pier gave no answer.
But in his mind, the answer already seemed clear.
He turned his head and looked down the long path back toward the city—a wide pavilion with a direct view of the sea. On one side, the dark immensity of the ocean vanished into the horizon; on the other, far away, the city lights flickered like tiny fireflies suspended in the night.
Aiden sighed.
"Guess that's it for today…"
He turned to leave.
Then the air changed.
An unnatural cold closed in around him, as if the temperature had dropped all at once. Before he could even process it, his instincts reacted first. Something inside him screamed with urgency—a primal alarm that left no room for doubt.
Move.
He didn't think.
He jumped backward with all his strength.
His feet barely touched the ground when, a second later, an explosion tore through the pier. The blast shook the entire structure, and the spot where he had stood moments before was engulfed in fire and debris. The shockwave hit him head-on, throwing him several meters through the air before slamming him violently into the wooden planks.
"What… the hell…?" he groaned, struggling to rise, his ears ringing.
He looked up.
Atop a water tower, silhouetted against the night sky, stood a black figure. Motionless. Watching him. A weapon was still aimed in his direction, thin trails of smoke drifting lazily from its barrel. In the darkness, two green glows stood out—fixed, piercing.
"Who the hell are you?" Aiden demanded.
The figure didn't answer immediately.
After several seconds that felt far too long, the stranger leapt from the tower. He landed several meters in front of Aiden with terrifying precision, not losing his balance for a moment. As he straightened, the difference in size became clear: taller, broader—a presence that dominated even in silence.
Calmly, he removed his shirt and dropped it to the ground beside the weapon, keeping only his vest. Every movement was controlled, deliberate.
"I'm here to eradicate you," he said at last, his voice deep.
Aiden frowned.
"Eradicate me? What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped. "I don't even know you."
The man clenched his fists. His knuckles cracked with a dry, unsettling sound.
"You're everything I hate," he spat. "I saw you in that video… and all I felt was disgust. I can't stand you."
He studied Aiden closely.
"Tell me something," he continued. "What's your motivation? Why do you fight?"
Aiden didn't hesitate.
"I want to become the biggest influencer," he replied flatly.
The Exterminator's jaw tightened. His expression hardened even further.
"As I thought," he said. "A lost cause."
That was enough.
Irritation surged through Aiden in an instant. Something in the man's tone, in his contempt, ignited him. Even though part of him warned that this man was dangerous, his confidence—bloated, intoxicated by newfound power—smothered any caution.
"You're asking for it," Aiden shot back. "I shouldn't have much trouble with this strength."
He launched himself forward in a powerful leap.
"Here I come!"
He threw a straight punch, no technique at all—pure brute force concentrated in his fist.
The Exterminator barely moved.
He twisted his body at the exact moment, dodging the attack with minimal motion. Using Aiden's momentum, he pulled his fist back—
—and countered.
The punch slammed straight into Aiden's face.
The world exploded into white.
Aiden's body was sent flying backward, skidding across the ground before coming to a stop as pain tore through his face with an intensity he had never felt before.
Not like the other hits.
This one…
hurt.
As his head pressed against the wood, it took him several seconds to understand what he was seeing.
Under the yellow pier lights, the figure in front of him seemed to split into three. Three overlapping silhouettes, slightly out of sync, all walking at once. He blinked hard, gritting his teeth. The image wavered, distorted… then slowly merged back into one.
His vision stabilized.
The impact had rattled his brain against his skull, leaving his sight warped and heavy, as if the world hadn't fully decided to settle back into place.
Aiden struggled to his knees, bracing one hand against the damp wood. A dull, deep pain pulsed through his face. He spat a thick mix of saliva and blood onto the ground, wiping his mouth with his forearm.
"Who… who the hell are you…?" he growled, his voice broken.
The man didn't stop.
He kept walking toward him, calm, deliberate, as if there were no urgency at all. The pier lights cast long shadows behind his figure.
"They call me the Exterminator," he said at last. "Because of the work I do."
Aiden forced himself fully upright. The pain still throbbed, unlike anything he had felt before. It wasn't just pain—it was weight, precision. As if that blow had been designed to break something more than bone.
This is nothing like before… he thought.
If I land one hit… one should be enough.
He lunged.
He rushed forward violently, unleashing a rapid series of strikes—one after another, no pause, no thought. Fists, elbows, wings flaring wildly in a desperate attempt to overwhelm him.
But the Exterminator barely moved.
A minimal twist of the torso.
A short step to the side.
A slight tilt of the head.
Every attack missed.
Aiden felt the air slice past his knuckles again and again.
What…?
Why can't I hit him?
Desperation seeped into his chest.
"Why can't I land a single hit?!" he roared, throwing another punch in rage.
The Exterminator deflected it with his forearm as if brushing aside something trivial. In the same motion, he grabbed Aiden by the throat.
And slammed him into the ground.
The wood cracked beneath the impact.
"I know your kind," he said calmly.
A sharp punch to the face.
"You only care about yourselves."
A precise strike to the ribs stole the air from Aiden's lungs.
"Rats."
A brutal uppercut lifted him slightly off the ground before slamming him back down. Aiden was left stunned, his head ringing, the world spinning.
This is bad…
At this rate… he's going to kill me.
He tried to counterattack on instinct, throwing a clumsy, desperate punch.
The Exterminator crossed him effortlessly, trapping his arm and locking him in place. A knee slammed into his abdomen once—twice. The pain was instant, paralyzing. A kick to the face sent him staggering several steps backward.
Then it happened.
A green flash crossed Aiden's vision.
His eyes burned.
For an instant, the Exterminator's movement slowed—not his body, but something deeper. Trajectories. Angles. Rhythm. An invisible order began to form before him.
What… what is this?
A pattern…?
He understood in a flash.
"Is it… a style?" he thought. "The way he fights…?"
But he had no time to process it.
Another blow ripped him out of that vision, as if someone had flipped off a switch. The world returned to chaos and pain.
The Exterminator observed him with almost clinical calm.
"You're a resilient insect," he admitted. "But this won't take much longer."
He stepped closer.
"I don't care how you got those abilities," he continued. "I don't care about your origin."
He looked down at him.
"You're about to be eradicated."
Then, coldly:
"Sleep."
He gathered all his strength into his fist and charged.
Aiden reacted on pure instinct. He deployed one wing just in time. The impact was brutal. The punch crashed into the hardened membrane, sending vibrations through his entire body like a sledgehammer. The air itself seemed to explode.
The Exterminator stepped back.
His expression changed.
Anger.
"Oh, yeah?" he growled. "You're going to use that?"
He straightened, glaring at him with contempt.
"Then I'll use my toys too."
He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a whip. The dark leather fell to the ground with a sharp sound, heavy with promise.
Aiden watched him, breathing hard.
"Great…" he muttered. "Like this couldn't get any worse."
He tried to move, to assess the situation. The pier. The water. The pain ripping through his body. Every muscle screamed. Every breath hurt.
Running isn't an option.
With his speed… and in this state… I wouldn't make it ten meters.
All I've got left… is a distraction.
The whip hissed through the air.
Aiden tried to shield himself with his wings, but the leather changed trajectory at the last second, coiling around his legs—the only exposed parts left.
The yank was violent.
He crashed onto his back against the pier.
Before he could react, the Exterminator was on top of him.
A direct punch to the face.
Everything went white.
A kick sent him flying several meters farther. His body bounced awkwardly before coming to a stop. The pain was no longer localized—it was total. One eye began to swell shut. He could barely focus.
I can barely… move.
He looked at himself, gasping.
Maybe…
maybe I should use everything I have left.
Gathering the last scraps of strength, he staggered to his feet.
"All of it," he thought. "All my hopes… in one strike."
He ran.
Feinted. Changed direction at the last second. Aimed straight for the Exterminator's face.
It didn't work.
The Exterminator pivoted with perfect precision and lifted him by the throat with one hand. Aiden dangled helplessly, feet off the ground, air gone.
Their gazes met.
"Kid," the man said gravely. "The world doesn't work like that."
Aiden struggled uselessly.
"You can't expect hope to solve everything," he continued. "If you didn't put in the effort before… if you didn't give your life for it…"
His grip tightened.
"Nothing is free. Everything requires sacrifice."
His fist sank into Aiden's side.
The sound was dry.
Crushing.
Something inside Aiden gave way. A deep, internal crack. Pain exploded—absolute, overwhelming. Aiden let out a strangled cry, barely audible.
He collapsed to the ground.
When he touched his torso, he understood without thinking.
His ribs were shattered.
The pain crushed him—no air, no strength, no thoughts.
The Exterminator turned away.
He walked a few steps calmly, crouched, and picked up the grenade launcher he had left behind. He turned back toward Aiden and aimed without emotion.
"Rest in peace."
He pulled the trigger.
At the last second, a wing unfolded.
The explosion was deafening.
The blast hurled Aiden's body through the air, ripping him off the pier and throwing him into the water in a storm of fire, splinters, and smoke.
The Exterminator stepped to the edge.
He crouched.
Stared into the dark sea. Inhaled deeply, searching for a trace.
Nothing.
No scent.
He straightened calmly.
"The job is done."
He turned and walked away.
The pier fell silent again.
Seconds passed.
Then a wounded hand emerged between the rocks separating the ocean from the boulevard. Fingers clawed desperately at the wet stone. A violent gasp shattered the stillness.
Aiden dragged himself out of the water.
He collapsed onto his back, utterly broken, his chest rising and falling erratically. The pain was unbearable. The world spun.
He stared at the sky.
And for the first time…
he didn't think about numbers, or fame, or power.
Only about surviving.