“No.”
It was all Melmarc could think to say. In fact, there was no need to even think about it. It was the default answer, as simple and correct as blinking. You didn’t even need to think about it.
“Why not?” Veebee asked, confused. “It is necessary. I personally—can I stop talking like this? Please.”
“Is there anything else that might need explaining for me to understand?” Melmarc asked.
“Yes,” Veebee answered.
“Then you’ll need to keep talking like this for me to understand.”
“Veebee misses talking the other way,” Veebee grumbled. “It was so smooth, and fun. And you were nicer.”
Melmarc looked at it, confused. “How am I not nice right now?”
“Well, I gave you a perfectly understandable reason to do a perfectly normal thing and you said no.” Veebee folded its arms. “No is not a good response to reasonable things.”
Melmarc sighed. “Veebee. I am not killing someone innocent. That’s murder. And I am definitely not drinking their blood. That’s just…” he shivered visibly. “I’m just not.”
“But it will make you more powerful,” Veebee protested.
Sacrifices, Melmarc thought. It had only been moments ago when he’d looked at what Caldath had become, what the Demi-god had sacrificed to become it. All those faces on the wall.
“I don’t want to be a murderer, Veebee,” he told it, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be that person. It’s not…” He looked up, met Veebee’s eyes. “I don’t want to go that far.”
“Sentients,” it said, “don’t have the luxury of choice, Melmarc.”
It hurt to hear that. “But you said that I’m not a sentient.”
“And right you are.” Veebee perked up, the solemnity of the situation gone like the wind. “As an [August Intruder] there will always be alternatives. Veebee just has to find them.”
Then it froze, turned perfectly still where it hovered in the air.
Melmarc waited while it did so. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he was fully aware of the fact that Veebee was actually thinking about their current predicament.
So, while Veebee thought, Melmarc took in the scenery once more.
There was nothing much to the place. There was also nothing out of place.
Melmarc had been to enough business districts for enough reasons that he could say that this entire place was simply normal. The building was as tall as any skyscraper. A mimicry of the tower of Babel trying to pierce the heavens, Ark had once called them.
It was all glass, and with the absence of light within and the cacophony of lights outside, it was a clean mirror that showed Melmarc everything on his side of this world but nothing on the other side of it.
He finally got to see what he looked like, and even he was terrified.
His hair was an unkempt mess that now fell down to his shoulders. It was surprising since it had still been short when he’d been fighting Caldath.
His shirt was torn and bloodied. It gave him the look of someone who’d been in one too many fights in some jungle and had just dragged themselves into civilization. It was like staring at the protagonist from a very brutal action movie with the blood and gore and explosion.
Once upon a time, he’d looked like a healthy tall boy who looked timid enough to be bullied for different things, including his height. Now, he looked like he was more likely to do the bullying.
He ran a hand through his long hair, then took a fistful and pulled it up. It was long and very black. It was glossy, as if a lot of hair products had gone into it. He attributed that to the rain.
Letting the fistful of hair go, he used both hands to pack the hair up. He held it there in one style and checked himself in the mirror. There were no pedestrians or passersby around so he didn’t have to worry about how he might’ve looked to other people.
However, the action stung his hand and he almost dropped the hair. He winced, knowing the pain came from the hole in his hand. There was also a dull pain in his side.
I could put it up in a ponytail, he thought, his mind going through hairstyles.
He packed it all the way back, so that it stretched at the front. Maybe a tight wolf’s tail.
After a moment, he let the hair down then scattered it into a pseudo mess. It gave him to movie star look, the one the stars with long hair carried when they just got out of bed and still looked like models fit for a magazine cover.
Or this. He bent his head one way then the other, checking himself in the mirror. He stopped for a moment to give Veebee a look and found the creature still standing motionless in the air. It’ll probably need some more time.
When he turned his attention back to the mirror all his interest in different hairstyles just seemed to fade away. He ran his hand through his hair once more, cancelling out all the different styles.
Or I could just cut it. A simple hairstyle as always.
With a sigh, he dropped his hands. It had been fun for a short while to forget about everything that was happening and get lost in the fun of thinking up hairstyles. But the fun had come to an end. It was time to snap back to reality.
He was in another world while an extradimensional creature was trying to convince him to murder some random guy and drink his blood because it would make him more powerful.
Wait, isn’t that just vampirism?
The thought of vampirism brought another thought to mind. Just how much of what had happened to him was he even allowed to tell Delano and Eroms. He obviously couldn’t say anything about Oaths.
But I can tell him about being an [August Intruder], right?
Then again, when he’d been given the buffs of [Intruder] and [August Guest], Uncle Dorthna had been quick to silence him from talking about everything. Once upon a time he’d thought Uncle Dorthna had done it for the sake of being careful. Now, however, with everything he knew, what if there was more to what uncle Dorthna knew than just being careful.
If Melmarc was being honest, once upon a time his uncle had been the biggest enigma in his life. Then there was the thing with the color of his indicator. Caldath’s indicator had been a perfect copy of it as well.
Melmarc had identified a lot of people since he’d gained [Knowledge is Power], seen countless indicators. Caldath and Dorthna’s were the only two of a kind.
What were the chances that Uncle Dorthna was a Demi-god?
It wasn’t out of place to think so.
Maybe he’s an Oath?
For some reason, Melmarc couldn’t reconcile that answer. Uncle Dorthna just didn’t strike him as an Oath or a Demi-god. He didn’t have that feel to him.
Then what feel does he have?
Melmarc had no answer to that question. Uncle Dorthna just gave off the vibe of a jovial uncle. That was all there was to it.
As the thoughts and questions rose, more came to being. If Caldath had been the Oath of Madness, did it mean that Oaths, like his father, could find a way to become Demi-gods? And what did it say about Demi-gods? He didn’t want to believe that they were all bad. Then there was the question of how exactly Caldath had come to become a Demi-god.
I should’ve asked it.
“Got it!” Veebee exclaimed suddenly, a bright look on its face.
“Alright,” Melmarc said. “What do we do?”
“All we need is to get it to use its powers,” Veebee said enthusiastically. “If it does that, then I can serve as a conduit to draw its mana.”
There was just something significantly odd about hearing Veebee use a word like ‘conduit.’ Having listened to it talk like a child for so long, the word just felt a little too complicated for Veebee’s vocabulary.
Melmarc shook away that line of thought. Veebee, from how terrified Saxi had been of it, had to be a powerful creature. There was no way complicated human words would be an issue for it. Besides, it had said with its own mouth—metaphorically speaking—that it only spoke that way because it liked speaking that way.
What are the chances that it only spoke that way so that you would understand it better?
The possibility did not elude Melmarc, after all, the first time he’d met Veebee, it had claimed to speak that way because there were creatures that spoke that way that people liked.
Regardless, that was unimportant.
“How would that work?” Melmarc asked. “You being a conduit to draw its mana.”
“Veebee just has to be there to feel the mana in its skill and draw on it.”
“And his blood?”
Veebee shrugged. “What about it?”
“I thought we needed it.” Melmarc gave it a pointed look. “That’s why you wanted me to drink it, wasn’t it?”
“Oh. No.” Veebee looked up suddenly, then ignored whatever it saw. “Veebee wanted you to drink its blood because the highest concentration of mana in a sentient being is in its blood.”
“Oh. What of a Sapient being?” Melmarc asked, curious. He was a Sapient being, after all. It wouldn’t hurt to know where the concentration of his mana was.
Veebee waved the question aside as if it was unimportant. “Sapient beings don’t have a concentration of mana. It is part of the reason they establish their presence in existence and not in their world. At least powerful sapient beings like you.”
Melmarc certainly didn’t feel powerful. Not in the way Veebee was insinuating it.
“But I have mana,” Melmarc pointed out. “It has to be concentrated somewhere.”
Veebee lowered itself to his eye level very slowly. It came down as if it was about to give him the ultimate secret of the universe.
“You are [August Intruder],” it said gravely. “You don’t have concentration of mana. You don’t have mana. You are mana.”
That gave Melmarc pause. “I am mana? You mean I am made of mana, right? Like Its in my skin and bones and flesh or I’ve converted my skin and bone and flesh into mana.”
He wasn’t very sure which one was more terrifying to think about. That he was no longer a physical form but mana masquerading as a physical form or that he had so much mana that it practically made him a mana source.
Thoughts of how that could be a terrible thing if specific people in the world discovered it started to plague his mind. Things like Gifted experiments came to mind. There were, after all, powerful Delvers and Gifted that didn’t really have good reputations.
Even organizations.
“Veebee did not explain properly,” Veebee said in an apologetic tone. “You are not mana. Veebee only said you are mana because Veebee thought it would be easier for you to understand. Sentient beings draw mana from their world to replenish their mana. Sentient beings like your species draw it into their hearts and move it through their blood to fill their bodies. They need an external mana source to replenish their mana. It’s like breathing.”
“Okay,” Melmarc said, giving it a sign that he was following.
“Sapient beings learn to become their own source of mana by turning themselves into mana,” Veebee continued. “Their flesh and blood and bone becomes mana that simply looks like flesh and blood and bone… in a way.”
That was a worrying thought. It made them seem as if they were no longer human since they had somehow lost their physical form. Melmarc was sure that there was more to it, but he just couldn’t look past that aspect of it.
I would be worried if that is what I’ve become.
“But you,” Veebee continued. “You are not that.”
“Then what am I?”
“You are energy. Your very being is a source of energy. Not infinite but powerful and potent. You draw on yourself to replenish your mana. You draw on…” Veebee’s face brightened as if it had just found the word it was looking for. “The fact that you exist is your source of mana. Each time you need to replenish your mana, you draw on your own existence. That is your source of mana.”
Melmarc’s brows furrowed. “So, my mana is infinite?”
“In the same way a Sentient being’s mana is infinite.” Veebee shrugged. “A sentient being draws the mana in its blood to channel a skill. You just draw out your skill since you are the source. But your mana will finish. The difference is that a sentient being will have to draw mana from around it by instinct to replenish itself but you don’t.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“And how exactly does that work?”
Veebee scratched its head and Melmarc was beginning to feel a little less intelligent than he knew he was.
“Veebee not explaining well,” Veebee muttered.
Or maybe I’m just slower than a creature like you.
“If mana regeneration speed is two percent per second for a sentient being in its world,” Veebee said. “Then in a different world it is less than one percent a second. Because it is drawing mana from the world. Since another world is not its world, drawing mana will be harder. If sentient being is an [Intruder] then it will be less than that because the world is against the sentient being.”
“I understand this far,” Melmarc said, happy that he did.
“Good. But if your mana regeneration is ten percent per second in your world, it is ten percent per second in any world. Even in path between worlds… No… maybe stronger in path between worlds for some reason.”
“Since I’m not drawing from the world around me but my… existence,” Melmarc said.
Veebee nodded. “If sentient being enters place without mana, sentient being cannot replenish mana. If [August Intruder] enter place without mana, [August Intruder] can still replenish mana. If [August Intruder] cannot replenish mana, then it is because someone or something is actively stopping [August Intruder] from replenishing mana.”
It’s talking this way because it thinks I’m dumb, Melmarc thought. It has to be.
Veebee had dropped its lexicon a step closer to its babyish speech when Melmarc had pointed out that he wasn’t understanding. Melmarc had noticed it. Although, there was also the possibility that it had just done that because it had seen a chance and taken it.
“So, I’m still human,” Melmarc asked for confirmation.
Veebee shrugged. “You are still human. Peak existential human. Human that is more… Human because you decided to be human.”
Melmarc didn’t remember deciding to be human but he left that alone.
“So how do we get up there?” he asked, instead, changing the subject and looking up.
Above the building, all the way in the sky, he saw what looked like a helicopter approaching from very far away. Melmarc didn't know so much but it looked as if the helicopter was taking its time. Was whoever they were here to ambush about to leave?
“We use door,” Veebee answered, then hovered up to the door.
It touched the surface of the door, paused, then looked back at Melmarc. “Sentient being on the other side. Prepare to attack.”
Melmarc couldn’t see what was on the other side, so he took a combat stance, prepared himself. “Veebee, I still don’t have a lot of mana. I just finished fighting a Demi-god. I don’t think I can keep fighting every time.”
“Sentient being on the other side not have mana,” Veebee said casually. “Is alright.”
Melmarc felt a little nervous at that piece of information. He definitely didn’t want to accidentally kill some innocent person.
“No.” Veebee paused. “Sentient being have mana, just very weak. F-rank.”
That helped with Melmarc’s nervousness but not a lot. “Do you know if they have something like a security feature?
Veebee nodded.
Melmarc returned the nod. “Ready.”
Veebee pushed the doors, but they didn’t open inwards. Instead, they shattered as if something had blasted them inward.
Melmarc didn’t have the time to hesitate, he didn’t allow himself. Time in the tower hadn’t just taught him the risks of hesitation, it had ingrained it into him. His flesh. His bones. His muscles.
His eyes picked out a space and he darted into the building through it. His speed was so great that the world blurred around him. His perception, it seemed was lacking in comparison with his speed now.
He wondered how much perception the [Speedster] class had.
Melmarc came to a skidding halt in the center of a massive space. It was a reception area. A place where people simply walked around, it seemed.
His eyes catalogued everything at once. He picked out five guards. All five were hulking men. Two as tall as him and three maybe a few inches shorter. All five were double his size in muscle.
Desk, he thought, spotting one of them behind the only really large desk in the room.
His first thought went for the [Rings of Saturn]. He discarded the thought immediately. From everything he’d done with the skill, it felt like a skill that could easily kill someone that wasn’t strong enough.
“Hey! You!”
The voice that called to him carried a very intimidating baritone. Melmarc ignored the voice and made for the desk. If there was going to be a security button here somewhere, he was betting on the desk.
The man behind it saw him coming and staggered back.
At least one of them is F-rank, Melmarc thought as he charged. If Veebee was to be believed, then the remaining four were normal humans.
With no way to tell, he would have to take it easy with all of them. Then again, even if he could tell, he still had to take it easy with all of them. An F-rank was a Gifted but it didn’t necessarily make them powerful.
Melmarc came to a stop in front of the table and his hand shot out across it. The man behind tried to lean away from his reach but he wasn’t fast enough. Melmarc grabbed him by the face with the hand with a hole in it. He winced but the pain was not enough to deter him.
In a single action he pulled the man over the table and sent him flying into the middle of the room.
He turned and was already moving. Instinct flared before his first step, and he ducked to the side. The explosive sound of a gunshot filled the room and Melmarc froze only for a second.
“My god!” the man pointing a gun at him exclaimed. “He’s just a kid.”
“Fuck that!” another man spat. “He’s a supervillain. Child or not.”
Melmarc frowned. He had just learnt something new about himself. He did not like being shot at.
[You have used skill Knowledge is Power]
The last thing he wanted to do was get a bullet wound in the middle of an unknown world. As the mana blasted out of him, he charged the man with the gun.
Unfortunately, that man wasn’t the only one with a gun. Three shots rang out.
[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]
[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]
…
[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]
[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]
…
[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]
[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]
Pain flared in Melmarc’s back. To his surprise, it wasn’t as painful as the time Jude had shot him.
With his size, he was an easier target than most people. It meant that dodging wouldn’t be as easy.
Getting to the first man, he grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off the ground. His other hand snatched the gun, keeping its aim away.
Another pain flared in his back and his frown deepened into a scowl. He turned and held the man up between him and the other shooters.
[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]
[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]
They were at a stand off and he watched someone’s eyes dart towards the desk. It told him that he’d been right. The desk was important.
Curious of his skill’s effect, Melmarc slammed the man he was holding into the ground with as little force as he could muster. He flung him down, sideways, made sure his head was what connected with the ground.
He was pleased when the man’s head bounced off the ground and the man ended up motionless.
One of the men paled. “We need help!”
Melmarc was on him next. Everyone was still within the range of [Knowledge is Power]. The moment he appeared in front of the man, he drove a kick into the man’s chest. It sent him flying into the wall where he didn’t get up.
[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]
[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]
Nobody had taken a shot.
I’m too fast for them, Melmarc realized.
With the realization, he turned and darted for the next man. That man got a spinning kick that sent him head first into the ground.
[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]
[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]
[Knowledge is Power] had begun its return. Its static mana was clear as it approached.
Melmarc continued on his onslaught. By the time the skill had come to a conclusion, only one man was left standing. Everyone else lay unconscious on the ground or up against a wall. Judging from the color of the last man’s skin, grey as granite, it was safe to assume that he was the one that was Gifted.
That and the icon with a red indicator over his head.
[Lesley Brown (Basher)(F)]
“Alright, kiddo!” the man growled. “I don’t know what you want here, but I’m willing to bet you’re one of those after Mr. Norman. So I ain’t going down without a fight.”
The man was right about one thing. Melmarc was here for Mr. Norman.
The man charged Melmarc and Melmarc didn’t stand down. Lesley blitzed forward with a fist cocked back. Melmarc tightened his stance, kept both feet planted firmly to the ground and readied his uninjured hand.
Lesley met him. His fist shot forward, but Melmarc’s did not meet it. Instead, Melmarc leaned into the blow, turned, caught the man by his thrown arm and swung him into a shoulder throw. The man slammed into the ground with the force of a falling boulder, bouncing once.
Holding onto the man was like holding onto a statue. But the moment he made impact with the ground, sending a spider web of cracks spreading along it, his grey exterior shattered as if he’d shaken off flakes of it. He let out a weak and tired sigh.
Melmarc looked down at the man, saw the pain in his eyes. The man opened his mouth to say something, but Melmarc wasn’t ready for a conversation.
A well-placed downward blow to the jaw silenced him. One strike was all it took to knock him out.
Melmarc released the man’s arm he still had trapped and stepped away from him.
Veebee came to hover next to him.
“No killing?” it asked.
Melmarc nodded. “No killing.”
Something about Veebee’s demeanor seemed saddened by his response. “Killing fun,” it said. “Killing give [EP]. [EP] useful.”
Melmarc looked at it. “What even is [EP]?”
“Existence points. Everything alive has it.”
Melmarc nodded. It made sense in a way. “Where next?”
Veebee gestured with both hands. “Elevator or stairs?”
…
Pain was a staple part of Norman’s life. He had lived with it for years on end. It was now his only true constant. It wasn’t always terrible, but it was always there a steady thrum in his side.
He sat quietly in the office the Hecates guild had gotten him. It was a wide office with an amazing view. Its aesthetics was on the darker side of things with black furnishing and dark colors. Even the plants were black. According to them it was a variety of plants that could only be found in the infested zones of Antarctica.
Still stupid, he thought.
What was the point to getting plants from such a dangerous place? It wasn’t like they had anything going for them apart from their color.
As for the office. It was large enough to have its own set of couches complete with a black center table between his desk and the entrance. That was where he could handle more relaxed meetings.
As for the walls, they were all reinforced glass that gave the office the skyline as its backdrop. In the night, it cast the city’s nightlight all over the office.
It was aesthetically pleasing.
Still, Norman had his office lights on. It was white and gave the space good illumination.
On his gaming laptop, Norman was currently engaging himself in a good game of Elden ring. The game had come out the same year the whole world had gone to shit. The same year they’d gotten their first Chaos Run and companies that sold products for the purpose of leisurely entertainment had taken a break.
The world had returned to some form of normalcy, but things still weren’t the same. The gaming companies had gone back to creating games and Norman was doing his best to catch up with the games he still hadn’t played.
“You’re supposed to be working,” he grumbled to himself but didn’t stop gaming.
The game helped sometimes. Like right now, he could focus more on not dying to the simple basic monsters around him. It helped him ignore the pain he was sure was coming from his liver.
He still remembered the source of the pain. He still remembered where his loss came from. It was funny to think that it was a fight he had won.
The Oath of War. A boss monster he hadn’t killed in one of the portals he’d been in a few years ago.
The encounter had left him in a terrible state after the drugs he’d used to help him win the fight had worn off back home. He’d been to every Healer and doctor, Awakened and not. Science and magic had not been able to save him.
From what he knew, he had suffered too much damage. The drugs had kept him from feeling pain during the fight while increasing his healing attributes, but it had come at a cost. He’d pushed himself too far to achieve that victory.
All his organs were weak, dying. He could keep himself alive with routine medical care, but his days of pushing himself to a hundred percent were over. Eighty was the best he would ever go from now on.
At level two hundred and two, he wasn’t as strong as his level. It wasn’t just his inability to push himself to a hundred that hindered him, it was the fact that while he couldn’t push to a hundred, his pain still kept him from keeping a steady hold on his current peak.
He was weak.
Norman sighed as he died to a random monster in the video game. He took his hand from his mouse and keyboard and leaned back against his chair. On nights like this, he wondered if that fight all those years ago had been worth it.
When the thoughts became too heavy, he reminded himself that despite what the world had forced him to do since the first portal, he could at least beat his chest and say he remained a good man. Power had not corrupted him.
Despite everything, he had fought with some modicum of honor. He had not taken advantage of the Boss’ reaction to the presence of children. He had also protected the children.
He knew Players who cared nothing for NPC’s anytime they entered a portal.
Sometimes he would lay awake at night and live in his own imagination. He would imagine that the world was real and hadn’t just disappeared after they were done with the portal. He would pretend that the Boss had eventually gotten better, that she had healed—unlike himself—and raised her kids.
He would pretend that they grew older, went to school, made friends, got strong and healthy. It was always all in his head. He knew this. But sometimes it helped him sleep at night. It helped him forget his pain.
Closing his laptop, Norman closed his eyes once more. He would sleep in the office today, and he would dream of children who grew up after watching him almost kill their mother.
He would dream of being forgiven.
And when he finally died one day, he hoped those would be the last thing he would imagine as he was lulled away into sleep.
Maybe I can be forgi—
The door to his room exploded, dragging him from his own thoughts. Norman shot to his feet immediately, already alert. His interface flashed in front of him as he channeled his skill into existence.
[You have used skill Weight of Jupiter]
Norman felt his weight increase exponentially, so much so that the ground beneath him cracked just a tiny bit.
[You have used skill Rings of Saturn]
[Remaining uses: 11/13]
Rings of mana appeared above him, each one hovering just above each shoulder. He could hold up to eight at the same time. At a hundred percent, he could hold up to ten. At least he thought so. But this skill made him formidable.
He focused his attention on his shattered door, waiting for what would come.
Standing there, where his door had once been was a hulking figure. The person was tall, at least a head taller than Norman. He was wide too, but not in a way that said he was trying to be Mr. Olympia or something.
His hair was a deep black that shined in the light. It was wet. And it fell over his face. It took Norman a moment to realize the reason the man wasn’t on the large side. It was because it wasn’t a man.
His assailant was a boy. A child.
A Dark Hunter? Norman worried. They were among the people who went around intimidating the powerful. They had their own rankings from what he knew and were obsessed with facing the powerful. And not all of them were grown.
Norman couldn’t afford any serious injuries at this point. Not with the category eight portal that had opened in Kyoto a few hours ago. Which meant he couldn’t treat his opponent as a child.
His assailant stood at the door in torn clothes, covered in injuries. He watched Norman with eyes too covered by his hair for Norman to see their color. One of his hands seemed to have a hole in it.
He was as young as they came. However, there was something about his mere presence, something powerful. It was less about raw power and more about the potential for power.
Norman took a combat stance. He knew better than to give less than his all against an enemy like this.
I could die here today.
Still, if the guards downstairs had succeeded in reducing the man to his current state, maybe he wasn’t really that strong. Maybe Norman could—
Light flashed to the side. Norman’s assailant turned his head to look at it and so did Norman.
Just outside, a helicopter hovered a little too close to the glass. Its light glared at Norman and a dark silhouette stood at its door. It held its hand out and Norman had a strong feeling of what was about to happen.
The glass shattered inside, and Norman leapt back and away from his table. He grabbed his laptop on instinct and his table was blasted away. His second assailant, the one standing at the door, took a hesitant step inside but no more.
Worry colored Norman’s face. They’d planned it well. If he was forced to fight two powerful opponents right now, he would not make it.
The man in the helicopter jumped into the building, landing with a heavy thud. The lights were still on, though they flickered chaotically. But Norman could still see the face of his new opponent.
“Shockwave,” he muttered under his breath with a frown.
It had been a while since a super villain came looking for him.
“Hello, Norman,” Shockwave answered with a feral look in his eyes.
He stood in clothes that almost looked like spandex. They were dark colors that fit him a little too snug, mixes of black and grey with a black mask over his mouth like one of the ninjas from Mortal Kombat. The costume left an obvious bulge in his groin area.
Norman understood why the heroes wore flashy colors and spandex—to inspire those that looked up to them—but he could never understand why the villains did it.
Norman didn’t let his worry show on his face when he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be dealing with superheroes?”
“I’ll get back to that soon enough,” Shockwave answered. “For now, I’m here for you.”
“Let me guess,” Norman sighed. “You’re trying to show off for your sidekick. Where’d you get this one, the back of a milk carton?”
Shockwave was known for turning up with one new sidekick every now and again.
Even with the mask over the lower half of his face, Shockwave gave a confused look. “What sideki—”
He turned abruptly, movement lightening fast, and caught a blow aimed for his face in his hand. The sound of the impact exploded in the room as if someone with big, muscular hands had just clapped with all his might.
Shockwave’s confusion turned into a deep seething rage. “Who the fuck are you?”