With a roar, the last white-armored monster charged Stoneheart. Calmly, Stoneheart raised his hands and narrowed his eyes, putting his thumbs at a ninety-degree angle to his index fingers, thumbs overlapping. A rectangular hole opened up in front of the monster. The monster dug in its claws, struggling to stop in time.

The second it slowed, a blast pierced it from overhead, cutting a small round hole through its heart. The monster cried out and slumped, sliding lifelessly into the hole.

Overhead, Six Shooter blew a whisp of smoke off his finger gun and grinned, tipping his hat to Stoneheart. “Thanks for making a coffin for ‘im, pardner.”

Stoneheart’s lip twitched. His eyes flicked to Amythyst, beside him. “One of these days, I’m going to put a stone right through that stupid hat of his.”

Amythyst snorted, tossing her purple hair. “Honestly.” She looked Stoneheart up and down, taking in the suave gray suit he wore, his swept hair, the shiny leather shoes. “I didn’t expect you to be a Rainer Drift fan.”

Stoneheart looked down at himself and snorted. “I’m not. I was supposed to meet Isabelle for lunch. The bitch ditched me.”

“Damn, harsh words for your girlfriend.”

“What am I supposed to say? The love of my life jilted me? My girlfriend fucked off and abandoned our plans, and threw all that money I paid to reserve that table right out the window?”

Amythyst put her hands up. “Jeez, man. Whoa.”

Stoneheart shook his head. “You have no idea. This was the Molliere. The Molliere! God, if I heard one more word about it, I was going to stab myself. I mean, it was nonstop. For weeks. Molliere this, Molliere that, ‘have you ever tasted escargot’ and ‘you can’t imagine the foie gras.’ And then she ditches me. Not even a word. Not even a call. It’s like she doesn’t even think of us as a thing. Doesn’t think of herself as my girlfriend.”

“The Molliere. Fuck. Okay. Yeah…” Amythyst muttered.

“Not only that, she had David call me. David. Her personal assistant. Like I’m some fucking… obnoxious agent or clingy fan or something. I just hung up. Couldn’t even answer the phone. I mean. The absolute… just… She’s my everything. Am I nothing to her?”

Amythyst shook her head. “But hey, you were nearby when the attack kicked off! Saving citizens, that’s what we’re supposed to do, right?”

Stoneheart twisted his lips. “I have a life, too. If not for her dumb idea to visit that overhyped trendy café, I wouldn’t have had to come out here and beat up some mooks for absolutely zero money on my day off.” Walking over to the nearest hole, he stomped, and the stone pushed back up, leveling with the rest of the floor. The monster laid atop the rectangular cutout in the stadium floor, and he kicked its body, turning it over. It flopped over. The bloodied remnants of a Rainer Drift t-shirt clung to its underbelly, slick with blood.

“It fell on someone. Disgusting. And look at this pathetic mob of a monster. It went down in one hit from Six Shooter, of all people, with what, fifty points in PWR and nothing else, so it’s low rank. No higher than fifth rank, so the body isn’t worth anything.

“If we’re talking harvestables, it has no fur, no scales, even the claws just look like chitin. No one’s going to buy this useless hunk of meat, not to mention that there was no bounty for it. I’m working overtime, for shit all,” Stoneheart grumbled.

“Well, aren’t you cheerful today,” Amythyst teased.

Stoneheart rolled his eyes. “I’m in a bad mood. I don’t need to be patronized by a hundred-pointer like you.”

“I’m not…patronizing…” Amythyst sighed. “I’ll leave you to it.” She turned, pushing her purple hair over her shoulder, and strutted over to the side of Six Shooter and the other heroes.

Stoneheart watched her go. His upper lip twitched. “Asshole.”

The clack of fine leather shoes hurried up behind him. “Ian! Ian, thank goodness.”

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Ian turned. A cold gaze landed on the frazzled young man hurrying his way. “David.”

David reached his side and doubled over, bracing himself on his thighs. After a few moments, he caught his breath and looked up, tears glittering in his eyes. “Ian, please. Isabelle… I think she’s in danger.”

Ian gritted his teeth. He marched past David, loosening his tie. “Sure she is. Typical. She has to make up some kind of bullshit drama to explain how she couldn’t make it. Sure. And I’m sure it wasn’t her fault. It’s never her fault.”

“Ian, this is serious,” David insisted, hurrying after him. “Isabelle—she said she was fighting some vagrant, and then… and then the phone went silent, and a male voice…”

“A male voice?” Ian’s voice sharpened, his eyes turning dangerous.

“Please. I was afraid to go alone. I’m not Awakened, I—”

Ian held up his hand. His gaze firmed, brows furrowing. “Take me there.”

David nodded. He hurried away from Ian, leading the way out of the stadium.

Ian followed him out, gazing straight ahead. Bodies laid here and there, some people gasping for breath, bloodied and torn, others lying deathly still. He ignored them all, striding past with confidence. Through the tunnel out of the stadium, he stepped over the fallen civilians.

A battered man reached up, grabbing for his ankle. He shifted, revealing a young girl protected beneath his body, though the girl was pale, her chest motionless. “Please—my daughter—”

Disgusted, Ian jerked his foot out of range. He hurried on, jogging away from the man.

Sirens sounded as he left the stadium, the first wave of paramedics running in. David glanced back, then led Ian on, winding through the streets. “She said it was that building, the one under construction around here…”

“Up ahead, on the right? The one she was using to store villains’ bodies?”

David nodded.

Ian tensed. He marched toward the building. Through his tension, he muttered to himself, “This had better not be an act to get me to take her most recent kill into Old Town.”

Down the street and around the corner, leaving the sirens behind. The construction site loomed, plastic sheets wafting in the wind. Pink blood mixed with water spilled down the ramp, and Ian sighed. “Left the body right at the gate? Ugh. Isabelle, come on—”

He pushed open the plastic.

An empty concrete pad greeted him. In the distance, plastic blew gently on the wind, swaying like ghosts. Streaked over the slick surface all the way to a kiddie-pool-sized puddle, lurid blood splashed crimson onto the otherwise monochrome grey palette. A second, smaller puddle, this one diluted with water to a swirling pink, laid further into the space.

Ian’s eyes tracked to the first puddle, the larger one. Not far from it, a pair of women’s shoes laid abandoned, tossed into a corner. He walked over and picked them up, disbelievingly. Written in the heels, in a familiar hand, Isa shone in a metallic red sharpie.

“What…Where did she go?” he muttered, half to himself.

“To heaven. Or hell, I reckon.”

Ian and David startled. Ian lifted his hands, and the concrete in the building rumbled.

From behind the plastic, a man emerged, his hands up in surrender. He held a phone in one hand, and offered it to Ian. “I sawed it happen. Don’t reckon they paid me no mind. Here. Here’s what I saw.”

Moving warily closer, Ian lifted his chin to get a better angle on the phone. Instantly, his eyes widened.

Isabelle laid in a puddle of water, her jaw gaping wide, body splayed on the floor. She would have stared at him, but her eyes were ruptured, face cut open so deeply her brains spilled out. A boy crouched over her, his back to the camera, pink staining the top of his shirt. In the shot, he reached over Isabelle’s body, holding a phone face-down over her chest.

Ian stumbled back. He stared. “Is… Isabelle…”

David gasped. He grabbed his phone and dialed quickly. “Hello, police?”

The man put his hands up. He retreated, taking his phone with him. “That’s all I sawed. That’s all. No more.”

Ian gestured. Stone twisted around the man’s ankles, locking him in place. “Stay here. You’re going to talk to the police.”

The man chuckled. He shook his head. “No I ain’t.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I done helped you. Don’t you hurt me now,” the man said. He snapped his fingers and vanished in a flash of light, leaving the stone boots behind, but nothing else.

Ian cursed. “Fucking…washed up supers, just fucking die!”

David glanced at him. “The police are on their way. It’s a matter of minutes.”

Ian’s jaw tightened. His hand balled into a fist. “They dared? My Isabelle? Kill her? How? Who? They…”

His voice petered out. His eyes locked onto the puddle of blood, his pulse pounding in his temples, breath short and shallow. He reddened, whole body tensing.

“Yes, we’re right here, at—”

A wave of calm washed over Ian. The red vanished. Raising his own phone, Ian dialed a different number.

“I don’t do this anymore.”

“I don’t care. I need a team of killers. The best ones you know.”

There was a pause. A tongue click.

Ian’s lip lifted. “Do this, or I drop the police a hint to your little hideout’s location. Don’t forget who’s been keeping your secrets.”

From the other end came a disinterested grunt. “Fine, but you’d better make it worth my while.”

Ian laughed lightly. His eyes landed on Isabelle, and his body tensed again, his heart racing with fury, face burning a vicious red. Mine. My Isabelle.

No. I won’t let them get away with this.

The laughter stopped. His voice went cold, and his eyes narrowed. “Oh, I will. This is personal.”

Another grunt. “Tomorrow, noon. Central Square. You know the place.”

“Perfect.” He hung up and slid the phone away.