The silence that followed the deactivation of the Suppressor was not peaceful; it was the breath a predator takes before it lunges. Inside the heart of Ouroboros, the air felt electric, charged with the sudden return of thousands of suppressed auras.
Nicolai stood in the center of the server room, his head tilted back, a manic grin stretching his face. He could feel his blood singing. The "heaviness" was gone. He was no longer a bird with clipped wings; he was a hurricane.
Across from him, Elias Thorne didn't move. His trench coat was tattered, and the wound on his shoulder from their previous encounter had bled through the fabric, but his eyes were like flint. He raised his hand, and the air between them warped.
"You think because you turned the lights off, you've won?" Thorne's voice was a low growl. "I don't need a machine to ground you, kid. I am the ground."
"Too slow, grumpy man! Way too slow!" Nicolai laughed.
Pop.
Nicolai vanished. He reappeared behind Thorne, his blade aimed at the detective's kidney. But Thorne didn't turn. He simply clenched his fist. A wave of kinetic pressure exploded outward in a 360-degree radius. Nicolai, caught mid-air, was slammed against the reinforced wall with the force of a speeding truck.
"Ugh!" Nicolai coughed, sliding down the wall. He wiped a trail of blood from his lip, his eyes glowing with a feral light. "That... actually hurt! Do it again!"
A mile away, atop the tower, Sigma watched the prison exterior. On his screens, thousands of red lights began to blink as cell blocks were remotely unlocked.
"The gates of hell are open," Sigma whispered into his comms. "Fyodor, the diversion is complete. The Regulators are being overrun by the Tier-1 inmates. The chaos is reaching its peak."
"Good," Fyodor's voice responded from the sanctuary. He sat in the darkness of the church, his fingers interlaced. "Chaos is a ladder for those who know how to climb it. Sigma, begin the 'Reclamation.' Target the high-value assets in Block Omega. I want the pyromancer and the gravity-shifter. Tell them they have a choice: eternal imprisonment or a seat at the table of the new world."
"Understood," Sigma replied. He tapped a command, and the prison's internal intercom system hissed to life.
Inside the prison corridors, the world had turned into a nightmare.
Doors slid open simultaneously. Thousands of men and women, who had been treated like lab rats and forgotten by society, stepped out into the hallways. For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, a roar erupted that shook the very foundations of the island.
"FREEDOM!"
The Regulators, once the masters of the facility, found themselves facing gods. A man whose skin had turned to diamond walked through a hail of bullets as if they were raindrops. A woman with hair made of living shadows reached out and pulled the guards into a void.
Fire leaped from cell to cell. The sterile white hallways were painted in crimson and soot. It wasn't just a riot; it was an apocalypse in miniature.
Amidst the screaming and the explosions, Fyodor's voice began to broadcast through every speaker in Ouroboros. It didn't sound like a man talking; it sounded like the voice of the building itself—heavy, omnipresent, and terrifyingly calm.
"Children of the old world," the voice echoed. "You were discarded. You were feared. You were chained because they could not understand your glory. But the Triad has looked upon you and seen your worth."
A giant of a man, known as Vulcan, paused his rampage of melting a steel door to look at the speaker.
"Today, justice is not served by the law," Fyodor continued. "It is served by power. Follow the shadows. Follow the one who blinks. Those who stand with the Triad shall never be chained again. Those who stand against us... shall be judged."
Back in the server room, the fight between Nicolai and Thorne had become a blur of violence.
Nicolai was blinking ten times a second, appearing at every angle, his knives leaving silver arcs in the air. Thorne was a mountain of resistance, using his kinetic nullification to freeze Nicolai's movements just as they landed. The room was being torn apart—servers were crushed into scrap metal, and the ceiling was cracking under the sheer pressure Thorne was exerting.
"Give it up!" Thorne roared, his face red with effort. "You're just a kid playing with fire! You don't have a cause! You're just a broken toy!"
Nicolai appeared three feet in front of him, standing perfectly still for the first time. His playful smile was gone. His eyes were hollow, reflecting a void that Thorne couldn't understand.
"I don't need a cause," Nicolai whispered. "I have a playground. And you... you're trying to take my toys away."
Nicolai lunged. Not with a blink, but with raw, human speed. Thorne raised his hand to nullify him, but at that exact moment, a tremor hit the room.
From miles away, in the St. Jude sanctuary, Fyodor had stood up. He reached out and touched a candle on the altar, snuffing the flame between his fingers.
In the server room, Thorne felt a sudden, inexplicable coldness in his chest. It wasn't a power he recognized. It was as if the possibility of him winning had simply vanished. His heart skipped a beat. His kinetic field flickered—just for a millisecond.
It was all Nicolai needed.
Nicolai's knife plunged into Thorne's thigh, and another slashed across his chest. Thorne gasped, his concentration breaking completely. Nicolai didn't stop. He kicked Thorne in the chest, sending the detective crashing through the server racks.
Thorne lay among the sparking wires, gasping for air. He looked up to see Nicolai standing over him, his blade held high, ready for the kill.
"Stop."
The command came from the earpiece. It was Fyodor.
Nicolai froze, his blade inches from Thorne's throat. He pouted, his childlike persona returning instantly. "But Boss-man! He's almost broken! Just one more poke!"
"No," Fyodor said. "The Hunter must live to tell the tale. Let the world know that even their best could not stop the Triad. Besides... he is far more useful as a witness to the dawn than a corpse in the dark."
Nicolai sighed, retracted his knife, and patted Thorne's cheek mockingly. "Lucky you, grumpy! Boss-man says you're a witness. Don't forget my good side when you tell the story!"
Sigma's voice interrupted. "Nicolai, the extraction point is hot. Vulcan and the others have reached the yard. We have five minutes before the military sends in the air-strikes. Get out of there."
Nicolai turned his back on the defeated Thorne. Pop. He appeared in the main courtyard, where the riot was at its peak. He stood in the center of the chaos, a small figure in a bright hoodie surrounded by monsters and fire. He raised his arms as if embracing the destruction.
"Hey, everyone!" Nicolai shouted over the alarms. "The bus is leaving! Who wants to go for a ride?!"
As the first military jets appeared on the horizon, a massive black transport helicopter—stolen by the Triad's disciples earlier that day—descended into the yard. Nicolai, Vulcan, and a handful of the most dangerous inmates leaped inside.
As the helicopter ascended, the Ouroboros prison exploded behind them. Not from a bomb, but from the sheer combined power of the inmates who were left behind to cover the escape.
From his tower, Sigma watched the helicopter fly into the sunrise. He closed his tablet. "Phase One is complete. We have the assets. We have the reputation. And we have the fear."
Back in the church, Fyodor looked at the snuffed candle. The red light from the window had faded, replaced by the grey light of a new day.
"The Triad of Sin is no longer a secret," Fyodor whispered. "Now, the world will truly begin to pray.