D'Amico Building, Lobby
The man in the white suit grinned, his confidence absolute. Flames roared from his hands, spiraling into two dense, swirling fireballs.
"Burn!" he shouted.
He thrust his palms forward. The twin infernos roared across the lobby, turning the air into a shimmering heat haze, aiming to consume Light Inksworth in a torrent of elemental destruction.
Light didn't flinch. He didn't look bored; he looked focused. His eyes tracked the trajectory of the flames, noting the color and intensity.
'Orange core, shifting to red at the edges,' Light observed calmly. 'Temperature is high, but not plasma-level. It's standard pyrokinesis.'
He calculated the velocity. It was fast, but readable. He didn't bother dodging. He raised his right hand, clenched it into a fist, and punched the empty air.
[Monstrous Power: 10% Output.]
BOOM!
It wasn't just a punch; it was an atmospheric event.
The kinetic force compressed the air in front of his knuckles, creating a visible shockwave. The thunderous crack of the sonic boom shattered the remaining windows in the lobby.
The pressure wave collided with the fireballs, extinguishing them instantly like candles in a hurricane. But the force didn't stop there. It plowed forward, an invisible wall of destruction slamming into the gang of thugs behind the mutant.
"ARGH!"
Bodies were tossed like ragdolls. They slammed against the reinforced glass walls, spider-webbing the surface before crashing to the marble floor in broken heaps.
The pyrokinetic mutant stood in the center of the devastation, his white suit hanging in tatters. His skin was lacerated by the high-velocity air currents. He coughed, spitting blood onto his expensive shoes.
"Who... who are you?" he wheezed, terror replacing his arrogance. "How can a human do that?"
He knew mutants. He knew power. But to generate a sonic boom with raw physical strength? That was Hulk-level nonsense.
"Who am I?" Light chuckled softly, walking forward through the debris, his demeanor calm and assured. "Ask Frank. Or better yet... ask him in hell."
HUMMM.
Light didn't punch again. Instead, white energy began to bleed from his body. It coalesced into five hovering spheres of pure, unstable light—the Vaccine Man Skill Fragment, [Energy Ball] activated.
They hummed with a menacing, high-pitched vibration.
"Go."
The spheres shot forward like guided missiles.
One struck the mutant in the chest. It didn't burn him; it carried him backward with tremendous force before detonating.
KABOOM!
The lobby turned into a slaughterhouse. The spheres exploded with the force of high-explosive grenades. The remaining gangsters didn't even have time to scream before they were reduced to a grisly spray of mist and shrapnel.
Silence fell over the ground floor, broken only by the settling dust and the groan of shifting rubble.
From behind a concrete pillar, Big Daddy and Hit-Girl stepped out. Damon Macready was shaking, his eyes wide behind his tactical mask. He had prepared for a gunfight, not a massacre.
Light glanced at them. His eyes were alert, scanning their equipment and stance.
"You two," Light said, his voice even. "Clear on the right?"
Damon tightened his grip on his shotgun, wary but nodding. Mindy stepped forward, her eyes shining with morbid admiration.
"That was awesome!" she chirped. "Are you going to kill Frank?"
"That's the plan," Light said, wiping a speck of dust from his coat. "Do you know where he is?"
"Top floor," Damon said, his voice gravelly. "Penthouse office."
Light nodded and walked toward the elevator. The doors were dented but functional.
Damon and Mindy exchanged a look, then silently fell in step behind him. They weren't going to miss the finale.
The Penthouse
Frank D'Amico paced behind his mahogany desk. The gunfire downstairs had stopped abruptly. He tried radioing his pyrokinetic enforcer, but there was only static.
"Russo," Frank barked at his remaining lieutenant. "Go check the hall."
Russo, a lean man with a scar over his eye, nodded nervously. He cracked the heavy oak door, peering toward the elevator bank.
DING.
The elevator doors slid open.
Light Inksworth stepped out, flanked by a man in a Batman costume and a little girl in a purple wig.
"Frank!"
Damon roared the name like a curse. Seeing the man who had destroyed his life, the man who had framed him and driven his wife to suicide, ignited a volcanic rage in his chest.
If not for the terrifying young man walking in front of him, Damon would have charged in blindly.
Frank froze. He looked at the trio. His eyes locked onto Light.
"Who are you?" Frank demanded, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. "Who sent you?"
His hand drifted under his desk, pressing a silent button.
It wasn't a police alarm. Frank owned the police. This was a direct line to his "strategic partners"—an ancient organization that valued money and power above all else. The Hand.
"You send a killer to my house at noon, and by dinner, you don't recognize me?" Light walked into the room, his gaze sweeping the perimeter, noting the exits and the hidden safe behind the painting. "You need better intel, Frank."
Frank's eyes widened. He made the connection. The carnival video. The missing crew in the alley.
"It was you," Frank whispered. "You killed my men."
"Action and reaction," Light said simply.
"Russo! Kill them!"
Russo raised his submachine gun.
Light didn't break stride. He raised a finger. A beam of white energy the size of a pencil lanced out, piercing Russo's shoulder. The lieutenant collapsed, screaming.
"Mutant..." Frank hissed, backing away until he hit the floor-to-ceiling window. "You think you've won? You can't kill me. I have protection you can't imagine."
"Frank!" Damon couldn't wait any longer. "I'm going to carve your heart out!"
Damon charged, a combat knife in his hand. He lunged across the desk, aiming for Frank's throat.
SWISH.
A black blur cut through the air.
Damon's instincts screamed. He twisted in mid-air, barely avoiding a shuriken that embedded itself in the mahogany desk. The steel star glistened with a purple liquid. Poison.
Damon rolled back, standing beside Mindy. "Contact front!"
From the shadows of the room, figures materialized. There were twelve of them. They wore blood-red gi and hoods. Their faces were masked. They held katanas and kusarigama chains.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Ninjas," Light noted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed their gear. "Red gi. The Hand?"
He recognized the attire.
"Who are you?" Damon asked, backing up. He could feel the lethal intent radiating from these men. These weren't street thugs; they were elite assassins.
The ninjas didn't speak. They stood perfectly still, their eyes fixed on the intruders with dead, soulless stares.
Frank let out a breath he had been holding. "The Hand. Finally."
He looked at Light with renewed confidence. "I admit, you're strong, kid. But these are the Five Fingers' best. If you walk away now, maybe—"
"Quiet," Light interrupted, his focus entirely on the assassins.
Frank's face twisted. "Kill him."
The ninjas moved in unison.
Three of them blurred, closing the distance to Light in a heartbeat. Katanas flashed in the dim light, aiming for his neck, his heart, and his kidneys.
Light stood still. He watched their movements. Efficient. No wasted energy. But purely physical.
He wondered if they possessed the mystical arts often associated with their order. Any signs of Chi? Resurrected flesh?
CLANG. CLANG.
The blades struck Light's skin.
Sparks flew. The sound was like a hammer hitting an anvil.
The katana aiming for his neck stopped dead, the steel vibrating from the impact. The ninja's eyes widened above his mask. He had put his full strength into the swing, expecting to cleave bone. Instead, he felt like he had struck a diamond wall.
Another ninja threw a kusarigama. The weighted chain wrapped around Light's arm, and the sickle blade struck his chest.
SNAP.
The tip of the sickle broke off.
Light looked down at his coat, which was now ruined. He looked back at the ninjas, his expression contemplative.
"No Ninjutsu?" Light asked, genuinely curious. "No elemental seals? Just sharp objects?"
He grabbed the katana blade with his bare hand.
"Nani?" the ninja gasped.
"Disappointing," Light said. "Let me show you real power."
[Monstrous Power: 20% Output.]
BOOM!
Light punched the air directly in front of him.
The sonic boom was contained within the office. The pressure wave was catastrophic.
The three attacking ninjas were blasted backward as if hit by a freight train. They slammed into the back wall, their bodies crunching with sickening wet thuds.
The shockwave continued, hitting Frank. The crime lord was lifted off his feet and pinned against the reinforced glass, screaming as the pressure threatened to crush his ribcage.
The office was a wreck. Papers, furniture, and expensive art swirled in the vortex of Light's power.
Light walked toward the pile of groaning ninjas. The white energy orbs appeared around him again, crackling with lethal intent.
ZAP. ZAP. ZAP.
Precision strikes. The orbs flew into the remaining Hand assassins. There was no contest. Against a being who could tank missiles and punch through steel, ancient martial arts were useless.
Blood misted the air.
Light stopped in front of Frank. The drug lord was slumped against the cracked window, bleeding from his nose and ears.
"Well," Frank coughed, looking up at the monster in the shape of a young man. "I... I have money. Switzerland. Millions. Take it."
Light looked at him. Then he looked at Damon.
Big Daddy was standing there, staring at Frank with a hunger that was terrifying to behold.
"I've done my part," Light said, turning away.
"What?" Frank blinked, hope flaring in his eyes. "You're letting me go?"
Light walked to the elevator. "I'm not the one who needs this kill."
He pressed the button. As the doors opened, he looked back at Damon and Mindy.
"He's all yours."
Frank's face went pale. He looked at Damon.
Damon Macready stepped forward, pulling a fresh magazine from his belt and loading his pistol. He wasn't smiling.
"Frank," Damon said softly. "Remember my face when you burn."
"No! Wait! NO!"
BANG.
Light stepped into the elevator. The doors closed, muffling the sound of the execution.
...
Damon walked out of the building ten minutes later, holding Mindy's hand. He was covered in blood, none of it his own.
He looked at the sky. The weight that had been crushing his chest for five years was gone. Frank was dead. The empire was burning.
"Big Daddy?" Mindy asked, looking up at him. "Where are we going now?"
Damon looked down at his daughter. She was a weapon. He had made her into one to help him kill Frank. But now... the war was over.
"Mindy," Damon said, his voice choking slightly. "We're going to try something new."
"What? A new mission?"
"No," Damon smiled, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face. "You're going to school."
"Huh?!"
_______________________________
Word count: 1821
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