Zeke stood face to face with the gang member—a tall, bald man clad in a cheap, wrinkled suit that barely fit his broad frame. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes glinted with arrogance.

“I advise you to leave peacefully,” Zeke said, his voice calm, steady.

“Why would I?” The gangster scoffed, cracking his knuckles. “All I have to do is beat a few overrated nobodies.”

The smirk had barely formed on his lips when Zeke moved. His palm struck the man’s temple in a single, fluid motion, faster than his opponent could even react. The gang member dropped like a sack of stones, collapsing onto the ground with no resistance.

“Help him,” the Novatech representative commanded, gesturing to his guards.

As the guards moved toward Zeke, Nolan’s voice thundered through the chamber.

“Enough!”

A deep tremor echoed above, and then, in an instant, hundreds of perfectly square stone pillars erupted from the ceiling of the cavern, driving down like spears through the building’s dome. They twisted and coiled like living creatures, ensnaring the guards in an unbreakable grip, locking them in place, unable to move.

The Koribon representative’s face drained of color. “How did you—?! This building was designed out of reinforced metal, and the ceiling of the cave was calculated to be far enough so that your magic wouldn’t be able to reach here!” he stammered in disbelief.

“I improved,” Nolan replied, his voice low, his expression dark with barely restrained fury.

Fredric sighed.

And then, before anyone could react, he was gone from his spot—appearing suddenly atop the table directly in front of the Novatech representative.

The representative’s breath caught in his throat. Around them, thousands of LED screens shattered in unison, sending sparks cascading through the air like a dying constellation.

For a fleeting moment, the man was awestruck. The figure before him seemed unreal, divine—an embodiment of something greater than human. His heartbeat slowed, the sound distant, fading, as if he were ascending toward something celestial.

Fredric’s hand moved.

“One rotten fruit spoils the whole bunch,” he mused, plucking the representative’s head clean off his shoulders.

Blood splattered in every direction as Fredric lifted the severed head, holding it at eye level. The dim, glassy eyes stared into his own as their fading consciousness flickered. He studied it for a moment, tilting his head.

“What a foul thing,” he muttered before letting the head slip from his fingers. It rolled across the pristine floor, leaving behind a thick crimson smear.

Zeke inhaled sharply.

And then, the past returned.

The head rolling across the marble blurred in his vision. For the briefest of moments, he saw something else entirely.

Elaine.

Her head.

Zeke’s breath hitched, his hands trembling. His body froze, locked in place as his mind reeled.

"Zeke!"

The voice pierced his thoughts—a grotesque, screeching weep of agony.

His eyes snapped shut, the hallucination vanishing in an instant.

Elaine... why must you torment me, even now?

His fists clenched as a tremor coursed through his body. His breathing grew erratic, his chest tightening. And then, from deep within, something cracked.

A shift.

A response buried in the deepest recesses of his mind—one forged in the impossible battle against the dragon.

Rage.

It bled into him like molten iron, saturating every nerve, every vein. It was a fire both suffocating and invigorating, expanding and contracting with the beat of his heart.

His hands curled into shaking fists.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Zeke roared, his voice raw, ragged.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Fredric cocked his head, blinking. “Me?” He pointed to himself, feigning confusion. “I’m teaching these arrogant Corpos a lesson.”

“Why did you kill him?” Zeke’s voice trembled with fury.

Fredric flicked a droplet of blood off his fingers. “Because it was within my jurisdiction to do so.”

“Zeke…” Nolan whispered, his voice low, warning.

Then he snarled.

“You are too soft!”

The room shook.

A stone pillar twisted and slithered down from the cavern’s ceiling, its smooth surface spiraling downward with a dreadful grace.

And then it struck.

Like a snake sinking its fangs into prey, it passed straight through the heads of every restrained guard, popping them like overripe fruit. Blood splattered the walls, painting the room in grotesque streaks of red.

“No!” Zeke screamed, his arm outstretched.

But there was nothing he could do.

The bodies sagged, lifeless, as the crimson pooled beneath them.

The Koribon representative’s face had turned pale, his lips trembling. “Do you not understand what you just did?” he demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “If you continue this path, you will start a war between the corporations and the Undercity! Is that what you really want? It’s still not too late to—”

“Jason,” Nolan interrupted, his voice cold, unrelenting. His fiery eyes locked onto the Koribon representative. “You don’t understand.”

He took a slow step forward.

“The war has already begun.”

A storm raged within him, years of pent-up fury clawing their way to the surface.

Fredric chuckled darkly, crouching beside the Heartmend representative. “You representatives made a mistake when you assumed the Guardians were powerless.”

Across the room, Isaac, Hanna, and Antonio stood frozen, their eyes wide, their breaths shallow.

Terror.

That was what they felt.

This wasn’t just violence.

It was something beyond.

Fredric and Nolan—these were men who had long since abandoned their humanity.

Zeke moved.

With a guttural growl, he lunged at Fredric, aiming to strike.

Fredric sidestepped effortlessly.

“Ah, right,” Fredric mused, grasping his chin. “The two of us never actually had the chance to fight.”

Zeke’s eyes burned with fury. “I will not let you kill anyone else!”

Fredric sighed. “You’re barking at a wolf, pup. But fine.” He cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see how long you last.”

Zeke attacked again, his strikes coming fast, precise, but Fredric moved like a whisper in the wind—always just out of reach, never fully retreating.

Zeke grit his teeth, swinging again, only for Fredric to counter in an instant, sending Zeke crashing to his knees.

Before he could rise, Fredric grabbed him by the hair and tossed him effortlessly to the back of the room.

“Now be a good boy and wait until we’re done.” Fredric sighed.

Nolan exhaled deeply. “My boy,” he muttered. “Your intentions are true.”

His fingers curled into a tight fist.

“But what you lack…”

He inhaled sharply.

“Is conviction!”

His fist drove straight through the Koribon representative’s head, crushing it in an instant.

The Heartmend representative jolted upright, panic overtaking him. He turned, sprinting toward the elevator.

Too slow.

Fredric blurred into motion.

A flash of movement.

A sharp crack.

The representative’s leg shattered as Fredric’s kick connected, the sheer force tearing the other clean off. The severed limb flew across the chamber, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

The representative screamed in agony.

Fredric didn’t give him the chance to breathe.

He stepped down.

The skull caved in like a crushed fruit.

“How brutish,” the Harvest representative murmured, his voice calm despite the carnage around him. He made no effort to move, his hands resting idly on the table.

Fredric tilted his head, intrigued. “Well, you seem rather composed, considering what just happened.”

The old man exhaled slowly. “What can I do? If someone like you has decided I must die, then I will die. Whether I cry, beg, or sit here in silence, the result remains the same.”

Fredric chuckled, but it was Nolan who stepped forward, his gaze steady, piercing. “What you can do,” he said, lighting a cigar, the flickering ember casting a brief glow against his face, “is give us a reason not to kill you.”

The Harvest representative leaned back slightly. “By agreeing to your demands?”

Nolan took a slow drag of his cigar before nodding. “Mhm.”

The old man sighed, his gaze unwavering. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. To you, they may just be punks and gangsters, but to me, they are colleagues. They may be brash, reckless, and sometimes foolish, but I have seen them grow. Some have chosen to change, to become farmers, to contribute in ways beyond violence. If I were to comply, I would be discarding that potential entirely. I cannot allow it.”

Nolan exhaled a thick plume of smoke. “Then you will die.”

A stone pillar twisted downward like a serpent, its surface grinding as it coiled toward the old man, its intent unmistakable.

The Harvest representative didn’t flinch. Instead, he posed a single question.

“You can kill me,” he said, his voice steady. “But what will you do when Harvest stops supplying the Undercity with food?”

The room fell into silence.

Then, Nimid’s representative adjusted his glasses, a smirk playing at his lips. “I have a solution to that problem,” he said smoothly. “Seeing as war is inevitable, how about this? When you reclaim a piece of land or a factory from the other four corporations, you sell it to us. That way, we will be able to provide the Undercity with whatever it needs.”

Nolan’s lips curled into a grin. “Deal.”

And with that, the pillar surged forward.

“Fuck!” The old man’s hand shot toward his coat, retrieving a silver revolver in one fluid motion. He fired—a single desperate shot aimed directly at Nolan’s head.

The bullet struck true.

And did nothing.

The round flattened against Nolan’s skin as though it had struck an immovable wall. The old man barely had time to register his failure before the pillar reached him.

A sickening crunch echoed through the chamber.

The Harvest representative was reduced to nothing but a smear of blood and crushed bone.

Isaac felt his stomach twist, barely able to swallow as the tension in the room shifted. His gaze darted to the side, where he saw Antonio and Hanna, both struggling to maintain their composure. Hanna had a hand over her mouth, her skin pale, her breaths shallow.

The room smelled of blood, gunpowder, and death.

The meeting was over.

Without a word, the group turned, lifting Zeke’s unconscious form and carrying him toward the elevator. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, with the weight of the decisions made here.

As they exited, Nolan paused just long enough to slip a small card into the receptionist’s pocket, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He was in need of a new one, after all.