Liam Mercer ran. His lungs burned; every breath scraped raw against his throat. The parcel pressed tight against his chest was slick with blood, his blood, and heavier than it had been ten minutes ago. Boots splashed behind him, four, maybe five men. “Stop the bloody courier!” someone shouted.“Not a chance.” Liam vaulted a toppled rubbish bin, almost slipping on the wet asphalt. His sneakers, soaked and tearing, slapped against puddles that reflected the neon glow of Soho’s closed clubs. A car horn blared; tires hissed past. The storm muffled everything except his heartbeat.He ducked into an alley, chest heaving. Water streamed down his face, tasting of metal and exhaust. He pressed his palm against the wound at his ribs, warm, slick, still bleeding.“Marcus,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You set me up, you bastard.”The memory hit him like the rain: a normal night, a normal delivery. Marcus Vane’s voice over the headset, “Quick drop-off, easy tip.”Easy, his arse. He’d wa

Rain sliced across Liam’s face as he sprinted along the empty Docklands pier, water sloshing through his shoes. The storm had not relented; if anything, it had grown angrier, thrashing against him like some divine judge. Every gust of wind felt alive now, twisting around him, lifting his soaked coat, tugging at his hair, whispering promises he didn’t fully understand.The cloaked Acolytes had vanished into the mist after his first strike, but he could feel them. Every movement of air carried their intent, subtle distortions that tickled the edge of his awareness. “System,” he muttered, voice cutting through the roar of thunder. “Track them.”[Target signatures detected: five entities. Current vectors: converging. Distance: 400 meters.]Liam’s teeth clenched. He pressed off a crate, landing with a wet slap, sprinting toward the nearest street. The wind surged, lifting puddles in swirling patterns behind him, carrying shards of metal and splintered wood. It was instinct now, reflexi

The night hung heavy over London, fog curling around the streetlights like smoke. Liam Mercer’s boots slapped against the slick rooftop of a derelict warehouse, rain soaking him to the bone. His chest still pulsed with the aftershock of the previous day’s training, veins glowing faintly blue beneath wet fabric.Below, the Thames hissed as water hit the embankments. Shadows shifted along the docks, more than the usual drunks and stray cats. Liam’s instincts, sharpened by the System, told him: they were coming. He inhaled, letting the wind curl around him. A gust lifted a broken metal sign and hurled it toward the river. Acolytes moved beneath it, shadows fluid, coordinated, striking silently. “Show yourselves!” Liam yelled. “I’m not hiding anymore!”A chill, unnatural wind answered him. Five figures emerged from the fog, levitating slightly above the wet cobblestones, sigils glowing along their robes in crimson and gold.“Bearer of the Wind,” one intoned, voice echoing like thunder

London’s night was heavy with fog, a pale glow of streetlights cutting through the mist. Liam Mercer crouched atop the roof of an abandoned nightclub, his eyes fixed on the figure below.He had been tracking him for days, a man known only as Kael Draven, a minor warlord in the underworld who had recently acquired supernatural enhancements from the Divine Houses. Rumors said he had taken Core Fragments for himself, bending their power to his will. And he had crossed Liam first.“You don’t know me,” Liam muttered, wind curling around his fists, “but you will remember this night.”Below, Kael laughed, a cruel, high-pitched sound that carried across the foggy streets. “So, the little courier thinks he’s a storm now? Come down and face me, Wind Boy.”Liam’s lips twisted into a grin. “Face me? No, I’m going to teach you respect.”The air around Liam coiled, responding to his intent. Cyclones formed around his body, lifting debris, tossing rain into spinning blades. The fog seemed to twist