He pushed open the door, his entrance unnoticed amidst the men’s leering conversation. Spotting a loose brick on the ground, he picked it up, channeling a surge of energy into his arm. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he sent the brick hurtling through the air.

It struck one of the men squarely on the shoulder, eliciting a howl of pain. Their conversation abruptly ceased, their attention snapping towards Mark like a pack of startled wolves.

"Ow! What in the—?" The injured man clutched his shoulder, his face contorted in pain.

"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.”

His eyes narrowed. “This is your last chance, kid. Just fucking walk away.”

“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.

Another man charged at him with a roar. Mark easily blocked the wild punch. He countered with a swift knee to the man’s gut, followed by a sharp jab to the throat, dropping the man to the ground, gasping for air.

"And that's two," Mark announced, his smirk broadening.

This was almost 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,” Mark said lightly, tilting his head. “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,” Mark admitted, his smile widening. “You see, the thing about guns is.…they are a bit passé."

“Seriously, kid, what’s wrong with you?” the leader said, incredulous. “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?” the leader sneered, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “The one who always wants to save the damsel in distress.”

“Let’s not do something rash.”

“Aww, 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 conciliatory. “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 the unconscious woman’s 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. He couldn’t grasp the man’s words, the meaning behind them. All he knew was that this guy wasn’t leaving without the woman, and that unsettling realization spurred him to act.

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.

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.

He stared down at his hand, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“AGHHHHHH…….”

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 he wait for the police? He didn’t know what else to do.

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 God! This kid… he attacked us! We were just coming to see you, like you asked, and he…”

Elia silenced him with a raised hand, 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! He took my damn finger off!”

Elia’s brow arched over the rims of his sunglasses. “Is that so?” He took a few steps towards Mark. “You got a reason for interfering?”

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

“Concerned citizen, huh?” Elia chuckled, a humorless sound. “Listen, kid, we just need to talk to her for a few minutes, then we’ll be on our way.”

“Right,” Mark scoffed. “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… elusive. "

“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.

The man stammered, “We just thought… since we had some time before the drop… we’d have a little fun…”

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

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The next few moments were a blur of motion. One second Elia was standing beside the whimpering bald man, 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.

The bald man 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.

“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.For a fleeting moment, the image overlapped with another memory - his parents, lying lifeless in their living room, the stench of blood heavy in the air.

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

“You killed him.”

“He wasn’t much use anyway,” Elia replied with a shrug. “Besides, loose ends are messy. Best to tie them up quickly.”

He turned towards Mark. “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 respond. He couldn’t shake the image of the dead man, the casual brutality of Elia’s actions.

Tapping into his reservoir of power, Mark lashed out, a bolt of lightning, a white-hot arc cutting through the dim warehouse air toward Elia.

Elia vanished in a shimmer of displacement, reappearing several feet away. “Woah there, Sparky,” he chuckled, unfazed. “That’s a bit aggressive, don’t you think?”

The bolt struck a wooden bench, splintering it into a shower of smoldering debris. The air filled with the acrid scent of ozone and burning wood.

“Now this,” Elia said, his smile widening, “is going to be fun.”

He disappeared again, the warehouse falling silent.

Mark’s senses went on high alert. He scanned the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Boo,” a voice whispered from behind him.

Mark spun around, throwing a punch, but Elia flickered out of existence a heartbeat before impact. He reappeared on Mark’s other side, a predatory grin on his face. He swept his leg out, hooking it behind Mark’s ankles, sending him crashing to the ground. Mark twisted mid-fall, rolling to avoid a follow-up blow that slammed into the concrete where his head had been a moment before.

He scrambled to one knee, adrenaline surging through him. Elia’s grin widened, and then he was gone again.

“Damn it!” Mark cursed, scrambling to his feet.

***

Mark unleashed a barrage of lightning bolts, each one aimed at the flickering figure. But Elia moved like a phantom, appearing and disappearing out of air, his laughter echoing through the warehouse as he effortlessly evaded each attack.

“Come on, Sparky, is that all you got?” Elia taunted, his arms outstretched. “You’re going to have to do better than that!”

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

Shit!

Mark’s gaze shot upwards just as Elia materialized, dropping from a steel beam like a spider. Mark rolled to the side as Elia’s foot slammed into the concrete.

Mark scrambled to his feet, launching at Elia with a roar. He landed a solid punch to Elia’s gut, feeling a satisfying crunch. But instead of reeling in pain, Elia grinned, catching Mark’s wrist before he could retract his arm.

“Feisty,” Elia chuckled. “I like that.”

He twisted Mark’s arm, the pain shooting up to his shoulder. Mark retaliated with a knee to Elia’s ribs, forcing him to release his grip. Mark followed up with a flurry of punches, each one fueled by a mix of anger and desperation.

Elia, still grinning, deflected each blow with ease. He moved with a speed that defied human limits, his body a blur, his reflexes lightning fast. He seemed to anticipate Mark’s every move, countering with effortless grace.

Shifting tactics, Mark launched another attack, this time aiming for the spot where he anticipated Elia would reappear. But Elia was one step ahead, materializing directly in front of Mark, his body a blur of motion as he launched into a spinning roundhouse kick aimed at Mark’s head.

Mark barely had time to react, his arms coming up instinctively to block the blow. The force of the impact sent a jolt of pain through his forearms, his body staggering backward.

Before he could regain his footing, Elia was upon him again, twisting aside to deflect Mark’s retaliatory punch with the palm of his hand. He stepped in close, his elbow slamming into Mark’s jaw with bone-jarring force.

Mark reeled, his vision blurring, his legs turning to jelly beneath him. He stumbled backward, barely managing to stay upright.

“Seriously, kid?” Elia chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You call this fighting?”

He disappeared again before Mark could mount a comeback, leaving him swinging at air and grappling with his disorientation.

The warehouse morphed into a whirl of shadows and flickering light as Mark unleashed a desperate torrent of lightning, his attacks growing more erratic with his mounting frustration and adrenaline. Elia danced around the assaults with ease, his laughter mocking from the shadows.

He materialized behind Mark again. “You’re getting predictable, Sparky!”

Whirling around, Mark threw a punch, only to hit air as Elia phased out just in time. He reappeared a few feet away, still smiling.

“You gotta be quicker than that.”

Rage surged through Mark, hot and consuming. He launched another bolt of lightning, this one aimed at Elia’s legs.

Elia shimmered, but this time he was a fraction of a second too slow. The bolt grazed his thigh, a hiss of burning cloth filling the air. He stumbled, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

“Feisty little shit aren’t you?” he snarled, clutching his singed leg.

Seizing the moment, Mark intensified his attack, channeling his energy into continuous arcs of lightning that swept through the warehouse like serpents of pure energy.

Elia, no longer nonchalant, was forced to dodge and weave, his movements more frantic, his smug grin replaced by a grimace of concentration.

They moved in a deadly dance, Mark’s lightning illuminating the darkness, Elia a phantom shadow flickering in and out of existence. Mark landed a solid punch to his gut, the impact reverberating through his own hand.

Elia grunted, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he vanished once more.

Mark felt a sudden, excruciating pain explode in his back as Elia's knee crashed into his spine. A sharp cry escaped him as he hit the ground hard. Frantically, he rolled, trying to evade and regain his footing, but Elia was relentless, his silhouette a blur of motion as he delivered a rapid succession of strikes. Mark barely saw the blows coming; one slammed into his ribs and another jarred his jaw with brutal precision.

This isn’t working! Mark thought, his vision blurring. I need to…

With a desperate effort, he rolled away from Elia's next onslaught, scrambling to his feet. Facing Elia head-on wasn't an option—the man's speed and unpredictable movements were too much. Mark knew he had to switch tactics.

As Elia lunged forward again, Mark raised his hands, not to attack, but to defend. Channeling his magic, he conjured a shimmering barrier of energy. It materialized just in time, intercepting Elia's punch. The impact sent a shockwave through the barrier and jolted Mark's arms, but the defense held firm.

Elia recoiled, surprise flashing across his face. "What the..."

Mark seized the opportunity, channeling his magic into his legs. He lunged forward, his enhanced speed propelling him toward Elia with the force of a battering ram.

Elia, caught off guard, didn’t have time to shimmer away. Mark’s shoulder slammed into his chest, sending him crashing into a pile of debris. He coughed, struggling to regain his breath. He glared at Mark, his eyes burning with rage. “You little…”

Mark pressed his advantage again, but just as he was about to strike, Elia vanished once again.

“Damn it!” he swore, his eyes scanning the warehouse.

Elia reappeared a few feet away, then vanished again, his movements unpredictable, his form flickering like a phantom. He landed a few glancing blows, a punch to the ribs, a kick to the leg.

The hits were fast, almost taunting, and frustration gnawed at Mark.

Think, dumbass, think!

He needed a new strategy. He glanced around the vast, open space of the warehouse.

This place is working against me.

He spotted a section of wall relatively clear of debris and sprinted towards it, putting his back against the cold concrete. He drew in a deep breath, the fight draining his reserves faster than he anticipated.

Mark’s gaze remained fixed on the shimmering figure of Elia, his mind working overtime. Predicting the exact location of his next appearance was impossible, but he could anticipate the timing. The intervals between each flicker were remarkably consistent. It was a small advantage, but it was all he had.

He spread his legs, grounding himself, his stance wide and firm. His hands crackled with energy, a network of blue-white veins of light tracing across his skin, the air buzzing with anticipation. He focused his intent, channeling his power, the warehouse seeming to hum in response to the surge of energy within him.

Just need to time it right…

He uttered a single word, his voice low and resonant.

“Fulminis.”

A web of lightning erupted from his fingertips, arcing through the air in a chaotic, unpredictable dance. It wasn’t a focused bolt, but a storm of crackling energy, a net of searing light designed to ensnare its prey. The warehouse hummed with the raw power; the scent of ozone thick in the air.

Elia reappeared, his mocking laughter dying in his throat as he was caught in the web of lightning. A strangled cry escaped his lips as the energy coursed through him, his body spasming. He stumbled back, smoke curling from his scorched shoulder.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He lunged, slamming into Elia’s midsection, driving him back against the wall. He climbed on top of him, pinning him down, his hands glowing with a faint white light. He slammed his fists into Elia’s face, again and again, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate need to end this fight.

Elia struggled, pushing back against Mark. He was strong, but Mark’s enhanced strength held him in place. Just as Elia managed to shove Mark off, his body shimmering, preparing to vanish, Mark grabbed the lapel of Elia’s coat.

***

The world twisted around Mark, a nausea-inducing carnival ride of blurry colors and distorted shapes. He landed hard, his stomach doing backflips. His vision was a kaleidoscope gone wrong, colors swirling and shapes shifting like a bad acid trip. As his senses struggled to catch up, he realized he was staring up at the night sky, a million stars twinkling down at him. The roof.

He was on the damn roof of the warehouse.

A sharp crack snapped him out of his daze. He turned just in time to catch a fist aimed at his face. Pain exploded in his skull, sending him reeling backward.

“Fuck!” he spat, staggering to regain his balance.

Before he could recover, Elia launched a brutal kick at his hip, sending him sprawling across the rooftop.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mark pushed himself onto his knees, his hands sparking with pent-up magical energy, ready to strike.

But Elia was gone. Again.

He reappeared in a heartbeat, a jagged shard of glass glinting menacingly in his hand. With a swift, brutal movement, he thrust the shard towards Mark’s chest.

Instinctively, Mark summoned a shimmering barrier, the glass shard met it with a sharp crack.

Unfazed, Elia quickly shifted his attack, slashing at Mark's shoulder, the glass tearing through fabric and flesh. Mark roared, a primal sound ripped from his throat.

Pain was a distant hum compared to the rage that surged through him. He slammed his forehead into Elia’s face, a headbutt brutal enough to make his own skull rattle.

Elia staggered, the smug grin wiped clean off his face. He shimmered, that damn disappearing act, but Mark was ready this time.

Channeling his fury and pain into his hand, Mark felt his magical energy surge, crystallizing into a solid form. A blade, glowing with a bluish hue, materialized, extending from his palm as if it were a natural extension of his body. With a guttural cry, driven by instinct and desperation, Mark drove the blade forward, plunging it deep into Elia's left eye.

“AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH! MM--…MY EYE!”

A raw, agonizing scream tore through the night as Elia clutched his face, staggering backward, the blade embedded deeply.

Mark, ignoring the throbbing ache in his shoulder, yanked the glass shard free. He winced as blood welled up from the wound, staining his shirt crimson.

“You little shit!” Elia roared; his voice laced with venomous rage. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking tear you limb from limb!”

“Give it your best shot.” Mark retorted, adrenaline coursing through his veins, keeping the pain at bay.

“You’re dead!” Elia shrieked, his one good eye burning with hatred. "I’m going to kill you! I’ll tear you apart! You, your family, everyone you’ve ever loved—they’re all going to pay for this!”

“Try it. See how far you get.”

Elia, his fists clenched, his body trembling with rage, took a step back. He began to shimmer, preparing to vanish. But this time, something was different. His form flickered erratically, his body partially phasing in and out of existence, but he couldn’t fully disappear.

“What the…” He muttered, confusion and fear mingled in his voice.

“Don’t bother,” Mark said, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He cracked his knuckles, ready to end this. But then, a distant wail cut through the night. Sirens.

Mark cursed under his breath. Of all the times… He hesitated, weighing his options. The sirens were getting closer, and the thought of explaining this scene to the police… it was more trouble than it was worth.

With a sigh, he lifted his hand, focusing his will. He clenched his palm, and the blade embedded in Elia’s eye vanished, reappearing in his hand a split second later.

Elia howled, the pain sending him to his knees. Blood gushed from the empty socket, staining his face crimson. He glared at Mark, his one good eye filled with a mixture of pain and hatred.

“What… what did you do?”

Mark simply stared back, his expression cold and unyielding. The sirens wailed, their sound growing louder with each passing second.

Finally, with a last venomous glare, Elia shimmered, this time vanishing completely, leaving behind only the echo of his rage and the metallic scent of blood.

Mark hurried to the far end of the roof, finding a rusty fire escape ladder leading down into the shadows. He descended quickly, his muscles aching, his mind spinning.

From a broken window, he watched as the first responders arrived, their flashing lights painting the night in a kaleidoscope of red and blue. He saw the officers gather around the unconscious woman. He saw one of them checking her pulse, calling for paramedics.

Then, without a backward glance, Mark slipped away, melting into the darkness, leaving the chaos and the consequences behind him.