Chapter 7

Mark pushed open the door, his entrance unnoticed amidst the men’s leering conversation. Good. He spotted a loose brick half-buried in the dusty concrete near his feet, picked it up, and sent a surge of energy thrumming through his arm. The air crackled, ozone stinging his nostrils.

He sent the brick flying with a flick of his wrist.

“Ow! The fuck—” The brick connected with a sickening thud, and one of the men— lean, a jagged scar marring his cheek— clutched his shoulder, howling in surprise.

Their conversation abruptly ceased, their attention snapping towards Mark like a pack of startled wolves.

“Sorry, didn’t see a doorbell,” Mark quipped, his tone light but his stance alert as he moved further into the shadowy space.

One of the men, a hulking brute with a shaved head and a tattoo snaking up his neck, stepped forward. “Who the fuck are you, kid? You trying to be a hero?”

“Nah, but you should leave her alone.”

“This ain’t your problem,” another man growled, his hand hovering near his waistband.

“Funny you should say that,” Mark replied. “See, I already made it my problem. Dialed 911 on my way in. They should be here any minute.”

A flicker of unease crossed their faces, but the one with the shaved head, just laughed. “You think cops scare us? We’ll be long gone before those clowns even find their patrol cars.”

Mark shrugged. “Suit yourselves. But maybe think about the lovely mugshots they’ll be taking. You boys aren’t exactly winning any beauty contests.”

“Get the fuck out,” Leather Jacket growled. “Last chance.”

“Tempting,” Mark said, tilting his head. “But I think I’ll stick around for the show.”

Bald head’s patience snapped. “Screw this! Just fucking break his bones.”

One of the men, a wiry guy with a jagged scar across his cheek, lunged at Mark, a switchblade glinting in his hand. Mark felt a surge of adrenaline, his body humming with power as he channeled magic into his limbs. He waited until the last possible second, then sidestepped the clumsy attack. He grabbed the man’s collar, using his momentum to spin him around and slam him into the concrete wall.

The impact echoed through the warehouse, the man crumpling to the floor, groaning in pain.

“That’s one,” Mark said almost cheerfully.

Leather Jacket charged, a guttural roar vibrating the stale air. Mark stepped aside, barely registering the whoosh of the punch as he drove a knee into the man’s gut. A satisfying oof followed. Before the man could recover, Mark’s fist connected with his throat, a precise jab, dropping him to the floor. Gasping. Out.

“And that’s two,” Mark announced, his smirk broadening. This is too easy.

“Tch,” a voice spat from behind him. Mark turned to see the bald man, now holding a handgun, his expression murderous.

“Useless pieces of shits!” he snarled, glaring at his fallen men.

“No need to be so harsh on your friends. They just need a little ... motivation.”

“You think this is funny, kid?” He snarled, raising the gun to point it straight at Mark.

“A little bit. You see, the thing about guns is ... they are a bit passé.”

“Seriously, kid, what’s wrong with you? When someone points a gun at you, you’re supposed to piss yourself and beg.”

“Guess my mom skipped that lesson.”

His lips curled into a sneer. Suddenly, he pivoted, aiming the gun at the unconscious woman on the floor.

Mark felt a surge of adrenaline, his muscles tensing instinctively. He looked at the woman, her form curled, her mouth gagged, her wrists bound.

“Ooh, the hero type, huh?” He sneered, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “The one always gotta save the damsel?”

“Let’s not do something rash.”

“Awww, where’d all that spunk go?” he mocked, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Suddenly it is not so funny, is it?”

“We can all still walk away from this,” Mark said, his voice firm but appeasing. “Just let her go, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “You think I’m stupid?”

“It’s the smart move,” Mark countered. “Think about it. The cops are on their way. Your men are down. This is your chance to cut your losses and run.”

“Shut the fuck up!” He crouched down, bringing the gun closer to her head.

Mark’s pulse quickened. He took a step forward, his jaw clenched.

He whipped the gun back towards Mark. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

“Just let her go,” Mark repeated, his gaze unwavering. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“Can’t do that, kid,” he replied. “See, she’s the one I’m supposed to deliver. She’s valuable, and you’ve just messed up our plans.”

“Valuable? What do you mean?”

“Yeah, she’s our ticket,” the man sneered. “Was supposed to be a fun evening, but you ruined it.”

Mark stared at him, utterly bewildered. What the hell is this guy talking about? He couldn’t make heads or tails of the man’s words. All he knew was that this creep wasn’t leaving without the woman, and that realization set off every alarm bell in his head.

The man continued to rant, a stream of curses and insults aimed at Mark, blaming him for ruining their plans.

Mark tuned him out, his focus narrowing, his mind racing. He reached deep within himself, tapping into the familiar wellspring of power. He pulled on it, cautiously at first, then with a surge of desperate resolve. Focus, Mark. You’ve got this.

In an instant, the murky interior of the warehouse was illuminated by a piercing, white light. The energy crackled audibly, echoing off the cold concrete and steel, casting sharp, elongated shadows against the walls. The man’s tirade was abruptly cut off as he stared in disbelief and horror at his hand.

“AAAARRGGGHHHHH...”

He dropped the gun, his body crumpling to the floor as he clutched his hand, his face contorted in agony. The index finger on his trigger hand was gone, cleanly severed, leaving a smoking, cauterized stump.

Mark rushed to the woman’s side, kneeling beside her. He checked her pulse, relieved to find it steady. She seemed unharmed, though still unconscious.

The bald man continued to howl in pain, clutching his mangled hand.

What now? Mark thought, glancing around. Should I stick around for the cops?

Just then, he sensed a shift in the warehouse’s stale air—a presence that felt like a cold draft slicing through the tension. He turned towards the entrance and saw a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway.

The man was imposing, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He had dark, close-cropped hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and mirrored sunglasses perched on his face, even in the dimness of the warehouse. He wore a long black coat that seemed to absorb the shadows, giving him an aura of quiet menace.

Something’s not right. A shiver of unease ran down Mark’s spine.

The newcomer surveyed the scene with a chilling calm. “Looks like I missed all the fun.”

The bald man, desperate for salvation, blurted out, “Elia! Thank fuck you’re here. This kid— he just—attacked us! We were just coming to see you, like you asked, and he...”

Elia silenced him with a casual wave, his gaze fixing on Mark. “You took down all three of them? That easily?”

The bald man howled, “He’s got powers, Elia! Just like you! Cut my damn finger off!”

Elia’s brow arched over the rims of his sunglasses. “Is that so?”

He moved, not with speed, but a measured glide, closing the distance between them in just a few, deceptively casual steps. Mark took an involuntary step back. Every instinct urged flight, but damn it, this girl, she needed—

“Care to explain why you’re getting involved in things that don’t concern you?”

Mark kept his voice neutral. “No reason. Just being a concerned citizen.”

“Ah. Public service.” Elia inclined his head, the smirk widening, and there was something predatory about that casual gesture. “Look, we just need to have a little chat with her, then we’ll be on our way. You can have your civic duty medal, I won’t rat you out.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Damn, kid.” His tone remained casual, almost playful. “Just what exactly do you think was happening here?”

“I don’t know. Seems like you’ve got some insane crush and she rejected you?”

“Ouch,” Elia said dryly. “First, I don’t roll like that. Second, we just need a little chat, that’s all. She’s a bit ... evasive.”

“Right,” Mark scoffed. “And the best way to chat is to knock her unconscious and tie her up?”

“What were we supposed to do?” Elia shrugged. “She’s a slippery one. Believe me, we tried asking nicely. Sometimes you gotta get creative.”

“Creative?” Mark’s eyes narrowed. “I heard your buddies talking. They weren’t planning a tea party.”

“Now, now, boys will be boys. A little harmless fun, that’s all.”

“Harmless?” Mark stepped closer, his voice tight with anger. “They were going to rape her.”

Elia’s gaze flicked to the bald man, a silent question hanging in the air.

Nico stammered, “We just thought ... since w-we had ... some time before the drop ... we’d ... h-have a little fun...”

“Nico ... Nico ... Nico,” he sighed, his voice laced with a chilling disappointment. “I explicitly told you, ‘Just the girl. No funny business.’ Can’t you clowns follow simple instructions?”

And then everything blurred.

One second Elia was standing beside the whimpering Nico, the next he was beside the discarded knife on the floor, the blade now clutched in his hand. Before Mark could even register what was happening, Elia was back beside the bald man, his arm a blur of motion.

He swept the blade across the man’s throat in a single, swift movement.

Nico choked, his eyes widening in disbelief as he clutched at the gushing wound on his neck. He crumpled to the ground, his body wracked by violent tremors.

Elia, his face impassive, wiped the blood from the blade on the dead man’s shirt, his movements calm, almost method.

The silence that followed the death rattle was a thousand times more disturbing than the howls just moments before.

“There,” he said, his voice light, as if he’d merely swatted a fly. “All taken care of. Now, why don’t you run along? Pretend you never saw any of this.”

Mark stood frozen, the warehouse suddenly feeling colder, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. He hadn’t expected the night to escalate so quickly, so violently.

His gaze fell upon the lifeless form of Nico, the blood pooling around his body. The guy had been a monster, intent on violence, and yeah, maybe the guy deserved whatever brutal fate had delivered him— but the sheer ease, the cold detachment in Elia’s actions...

He saw another body then. Not Nico’s, but one he’d carried with him all his life. His father— shirt soaked crimson, the empty stare mirroring his own horrified disbelief as the blood, his blood, pooled and spread across the living room carpet.

“Never seen a a man die, kid?” Elia’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Don’t worry. It happens.”

“Y-You ... killed him.”

“He wasn’t much use anyway,” Elia just shrugged. “Besides, loose ends are messy. Best to tie them up quickly.”

What the fuck...

“Listen, you seem like a decent kid. Wrong place, wrong time, that’s all. Just walk away, forget you saw any of this. It’s better for everyone.”

Mark didn’t think. He just acted.

Tapping into his reservoir of power, Mark lashed out, a bolt of lightning, a white-hot arc cutting through the dim warehouse air. A wave of heat blasted him back a step as the bolt, aimed true, connected with— nothing.

Elia vanished in a blur of displacement, reappearing several feet away, those damn sunglasses somehow still perfectly in place. The smirk on his lips remained, as if this were a game. And dammit, the asshole found it amusing.

“Woah there, Sparky! A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He gestured at the smoldering bench where the bolt had connected, splintering it into a shower of smoldering debris. The air filled with the acrid scent of ozone and burning wood.

“I don’t think so.”

Elia’s eyes glinted behind those damn sunglasses, assessing. “Oh, this”—that subtle smirk transformed into a genuine smile— “is going to be fun.”

He disappeared again, the warehouse plunged back into an unsettling quiet. Mark’s vision sharpened, pupils dilating, searching the shadows as adrenaline poured into his veins. He could hear his blood roaring in his ears, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of his pulse.

“Boo.”

Mark whipped around, not a calculated move but pure instinct, fueled by fury and fear, his fist connecting with—nothing.

Elia flickered into existence on Mark’s other side, laughter dancing in his eyes as he swept a leg out in a motion so fluid, so expertly delivered, it took Mark’s breath away even as his world tilted, his feet swept from beneath him, gravity slamming him down onto the unforgiving concrete floor.

Mark twisted mid-fall, rolling to avoid a follow-up blow that slammed into the concrete where his head had been a moment before.

“Damn it,” He scrambled to his feet, tasting dust, knowing, as Elia vanished once again, that he was in way, way over his head.

The air crackled. The warehouse echoed with the sizzle of Mark’s lightning as he lashed out— again, again, those white-hot arcs searing the dusty air, aimed at the shimmering phantom of Elia darting between shadows. But the man moved like a goddamn ghost, appearing, vanishing, his mocking laughter echoing with each near miss.

“Come on, Sparky,” Elia taunted, his silhouette appearing near a towering stack of pallets, then dissolving before the bolt connected. “That all you got?”

Mark gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. He couldn’t land a single hit. Every bolt of energy met only empty air, Elia vanishing a split second before impact.

Shit!

He unleashed another barrage— chaotic arcs that lit up the warehouse, illuminating dust motes and peeling paint, but striking only empty air. Elia had made this his game now.

And Mark hated playing by someone else’s rules. His gaze shot upwards just as Elia materialized, dropping from a steel beam like a spider. He didn’t have time to think, only to react. He threw himself sideways, tumbling across the gritty concrete, his back screaming, just as Elia’s boot slammed down where his head had been.