The raindrops muffled the crowd's screams.

Drugs, nightclubs, and fighting rings? Abigail didn’t understand what the theme of Diego’s boss, who was apparently called Mister Garcia, was. And when she asked Diego, the aforementioned man laughed at her.

Apparently, this is just the standard adult entertainment package, along with brothels.

The girl thought it was pathetic. To lose themselves in drugs and pleasure, and to stagnate one's growth for indulgence and hedonism. Perhaps, Ghost Girl was unto something when she vocalized her displeasure with mankind.

Albeit, Abigail couldn’t say that she disliked watching some strong guys punch each other. But one thing was the occasional entertainment, and the other was to be a slave to your own arousal.

Abigail was situated upon the most elevated row of chairs, knees bent and hips lowered close to the ground—a squat, if you will—and two security grunts were behind her. She was looking directly at the metal cage where blood and sweat filled the ring, in which men fought themselves.

There were few rules in this remake of the old Roman gladiators, where men punched, kicked, and bled until the other could not continue to carry on anymore. All to entertain the viewers in a brutal showdown.

They had just finished dragging away a young man who had taken quite the beating. She felt unsure if the guy would survive, and a blond girl that looked like his twin followed him with tears flowing freely from her eyes.

“This one sees opportunities here.”

It was Ghost Girl who spoke, to her ears and her ears alone, and it made the girl raise an eyebrow. The ghost usually respected her desires to not be engaged in public.

“I am working. I would appreciate it if I were to be left alone for now.”

“In work, you may be. But your eyes are more prone to the vulgar spectacle, than to the entries that you ought to protect.”

Abigail grunted, uncaring of the minions behind her that had started to squirm lightly and look into each other's eyes. It was not the first time that she had talked to Ghost Girl in the last three weeks that they have been working together, so their thoughts about her allegedly hallucinations were old by now.

“Fine. Explain.”

“Broken men, wander around these lands, seeking fortune or glory; it matters not. Many exuded despair.” The girl was sitting in the air, her legs crossed as if on an invisible throne, and she waved a hand. “Those are servants, free for you to gather. Unless thy will to pretend indifference, continues to be upheld?”

“No. I do need two or three.” She bit her lower lips. “I will recruit later; you are right.”

Ghost Girl's expression stayed unchanged, as always, which the teenager knew despite not being able to describe her face.

“I always am.” And with that said, the ghost would speak no more for the remainder of the night.

In the time when they talked, Abigail attracted more than the grunts eyes; a few of the clients below her were now staring at her with uneasiness. After all, talking alone is not considered a healthy habit in this society.

Funnily enough, most people believed her to be the daughter of some underground boss and her coworkers to be her bodyguards. The notion was quickly dismissed with a glance at her crimson eyes, such a revealing color it was.

Empowereds reputations these last few days have been… different. Less of funny local news to something more dreadful after the Miami incident.

While Ascalon's actions were undisputedly being praised, there was still a large amount of caution when someone looked at an Empowered now. After all, some of her kind did attempt to destroy a city, killing thousands in the process. And not to say, good intentions or not, the amount of power that a hero like Ascalon held was inherently frightful; the man can kill every inhabitant of a metropolis in seconds.

Less of a man—not even an Empowered man—but a god in flesh and bone.

Abigail felt very thankful that Ineria City's own hero was the Clifford policeman; if he were as strong as this Ascalon guy, well, the girl would have a very precocious retirement. There was no illusion flying around her mind of her own ability to combat the Miami hero.

But the events seeded doubt in Abigail's mind; it was an unprecedented tragedy in the lifetime of her country, and while her powers did save her life, and she was grateful, she was now considered a different type of human, an Empowered one. And what their destinies from here on out would be was unknown, but history was never kind to the different.

Rightfully so, she believed, you can’t expect to mix confronting heritages and expect a peaceful coexistence, but she would rather not be hunted—

A loud thump announced the destruction of the double door at the entrance. A blue metal door flew and crashed, sliding through the ground in a path of detritus and sparks.

Abigail frowned, displeasure on her face, as she slowly moved her face in the right direction to stare at the wet, Empowered man. It seems that the rain muffled not only their party but also the movements of the police.

The thing about the Ineria City hero is that he was granted autonomy over his own division of the police corps; therefore, bribes and threats proved insufficient to prepare the criminal world for his movements. That advantage allowed him to cause a fair bit of trouble to Mister Garcia, she was explained.

It is remarkable what a little bit of debureaucratization can do against corruption.

“You are all under arrest; peacefully submit yourself.” Came a distorted voice from a megaphone outside.

And in panic, the crowd started to shout.

Well, that won’t do at all.

Abigail spoke without removing her eyes from the Empowered. “Minions, you deal with the evacuation; I will hold back the police and the hero. Support will be appreciated, but focus on the safety of our guests foremost.”

They moved to obey her commands without losing time with a reply. She liked that; it was a good feeling.

The girl stood up from her position to jump, landing closer to her enemy. “If you don’t mind, can you wait for a few minutes, please?”

She was sure that the man recognized her, but unlike last time, he didn’t try to talk. The too-muscular man stood as other officers entered the place.

He smiled then. “I don’t mind.”

Tsk.

Abigail occupied herself by attacking the police instead of the hero; they were using batons and shock shields instead of guns, for most people here are civilians. As such, there was no risk of getting shot, which was a relief for the girl, who was not in a hurry to discover how well she recovered from bullets.

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However, Clifford Elwes, the superhero, would not let a girl that he saw bend steel with bare hands punch someone. He positioned himself in front of the running girl and punched her straight in the face.

She blocked, her right forearm dampening his attempt, and she did a low kick aimed at his right knee.

He stepped back, not daring to test her strength, and stomped her knees. Abigail lifted her free leg, letting her body fall to the ground, making the hit a miss.

Around them, the armed men started to engage in combat, his police against her grunts. Which worried her, for the security at the fight club was here to deal with a rowdy crowd and unruly participants, not trained law officers.

She needed to end this fast.

Before the man could touch the pavement, the teenager Empowered shoved her hands at the floor and tried another blow at him. A kick was aimed at his torso.

She was faster and stronger than the man; that much was clear, and he did not have nearly as good reflexes as her. But she was a fifteen-year-old girl, and he was a thirty-three-year-old veteran who had at least a decade of fighting experience even before he gained his powers.

Therefore, she failed; his torso moved out of the way with a small jump, and her action put her body in an indefensible position.

Clifford did not hold back, his previous punch giving him an idea of how durable the girl was, and he hinged her belly with his boot.

Abigail's eyes teared up, and she almost puked. It has been a good time since she was hurt enough to feel.

His attack made her body fly towards the broken door, which gave her an idea. When she was above the deformed metal, she punched the ground with such strength that it was pierced; her hand found itself underground, and her momentum completely stopped. Abigail felt, and heard, her shoulder dislocate. The girl breathed sharply from the pain as inertia punished her reckless plan.

But her body didn’t follow the laws of nature as closely as it should anymore, and before her shoes touched the ground, her shoulder had moved to its proper position again.

Then, the girl grabbed the door with both of her hands, bending the metal slightly to have a better grip, and ran straight towards the black man.

Running, perhaps, wasn’t the adequate verb. She was kicking the ground to boost herself further, flying more than sprinting. Each of her steps made a small crater, and they were far heavier than they should be. The unconfined sound was of a giant monster, not of a girl, for such was the impact.

And she was too fast for the hero to react properly; his eyes widened as she came closer and closer to him, her movement unaltered by the burden of her weaponry.

Abigail swung the metal straight toward his abdomen. It was his time to fly, and unlike her, his main power was not regeneration.

At least, that was the girl's plan.

Her attack hit him, but instead of flying as she desired, his body didn’t move a single centimeter. He grunted heavily at the impact, feeling the pain from the wound behind his clothes, but when he punched her back, Abigail knew what her mistake was.

His self-momentum manipulation works with outside forces.

“Fuck—”

A loud thump was echoed once more. And her head met the ground once, twice, thrice, as her body bounced from his added strength. She did not hold back, neither did he.

The world sprang. Abigail could taste blood in the back of her throat, but what worried her was the feeling of her skull unbending from his impact. Did the hero believe that she was invulnerable? A similar attack would have killed him.

On her, though, it wasn’t even a scratch. A few seconds passed before she was fully healed. Abigail stared at the now-paler man, and smirked.

He made no following move; her attack hurt him more than he was showing.

Following her original plan, she feinted her next movement, pretending to go for a blow, before running straight towards a cop. She was faster than the hero; therefore, all that she needed to do to complete her job was get rid of the rest.

She punched. A shock shield broke. She grabbed. A neck stopped breathing. She slammed. A policeman fainted.

Rinse and repeat.

The closest woman was the next target; she used a taser on Abigail, but to no avail. The younger lady ripped the shield out of her hand, breaking the older woman's fingers in the process, before throwing a punch at the cop's jaw.

Another note of cracked bone waved inside her ears, adding to the symphony of war orchestrated around her.

The woman hit the ground, her mandible grossly dislocated, likely to never be able to eat normally again. Abigail almost felt bad, almost, because she wouldn’t pretend to not feel justified in beating someone from the police.

By the time the superhero reached her, four of his troops had been dealt with. And his face was furious.

It mattered not; he was much slower, and tanking her attack to rebound it at her was a miscalculation on his part. He was wounded, and she could see a little blood on his lips.

And now he was angry, and when he moved to punch her, instead of grabbing as he should, she inhaled deeply, prepared herself for the pain, and let him hit her cheek.

It hurt, and burned, but she was used to worse. Using the opportunity, Abigail did what Clifford didn’t; she grabbed both of the man's wrists and started to kick him repeatedly, all the while pressing her grip hard.

He was not nearly as resistant to damage as her, even ignoring regeneration. Her fingers pierced his squashing meat, going freely towards his bones, which were soon holding four small holes.

But before the girl's fingers could finish touching her palm again, the impact of her legs was demonstrated. The first strike, at the abdomen, made his mouth split blood; the second, at the tights, made him kneel.

The third made his hips shatter, and their reddened white showed themselves to the world, still glued to his body.

He was not dead, as a physical type Empowered, he would even have a relatively fast pace to recuperate. However, their fight was over.

She let the man go, bloodied hands sliding off his wrists, and turned around, giving the back to him as his face finished falling.

Unsatisfied, Abigail paced herself to finish her quest, but she took only a single step before she felt a hand gripping her ankle.

She was unimpressed. “You already lost, you buffoon.”

“Yeah…” Clifford released a wet chuckle. “But I don't want you to hurt any longer.”

“Then get stronger.” She lightly kicked his hand away with the back of her free foot.

“It's not that easy or that simple, girl. More power is not enough. Not even for Ascalon.”

“I know.” She looked back at him. “You are a good man; I will go to your funeral.”

“Consider yourself invited.”

Abigail raised her hands, and clapped, hard. And without a word, she pointed with an open palm at the defeated hero.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence, then someone from the police cried and panicked, guns were drawn, and bullets were shot. She evaded most of them thanks to her fast reflexes, which guided Abigail to move out of their aim.

It didn’t take long for the police to retreat; the hero's life was prioritized over what should have been an easy operation.

Just like that, the attack ended, and everybody still inside the club glanced at her with uneasiness.

Abigail stood quietly, staring at a hole in her left forearm and at a wound on her left hip. Soon, a bullet dropped to the ground and was removed from her body, where the tissue was already mended. The girl felt the pain normally, even if for only a moment, but no thoughts of pain or distress from the fight were left in her head.

Her flesh was not red.

She continued to stare at her forearm gap as it healed, and soon enough, its coloration was normalized.

With a closed mouth, Ghost Girl smiled.