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288
Author: Magical Inspirations
last update2025-06-30 13:48:17

Another silence fell—thick and heavy. The lights above flickered madly now, responding to the shorted power grid.

Vivian stumbled forward on instinct. “Please—”

Brick raised his gauntlet. Something clicked.

A hidden chamber popped open.

Dylan’s eyes went wide.

BOOM—!!!

From Brick’s armor, a point-blank flamethrower erupted in a cone of searing fire.

Dylan twisted—too slow.

The fire licked across his side. Synthetic skin peeled away, revealing flickering muscle cords and molten plating beneath.

He screamed—raw agony filtering every nerve.

Brick staggered to his feet, gauntlet still smoking. “Bet you didn’t see that one coming, did you, hotshot?”

Dylan dropped to one knee. Pain splintered through whatever was left of his core.

But his fingers clenched the floor.

He pulled himself back up.

Steam rose from his torn plating, his face half-burned, his eye glowing like a furnace.

Brick blinked.

Dylan spoke, voice guttural and low.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

And then he launched forward—agai
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  • 364

    The fruit seller’s smirk faltered the moment the SUV stopped. His eyes darted from Dylan’s calm face to the black, polished vehicle, to the suited man who stepped out and bowed.“Sir, is everything alright?” the driver asked crisply.The crowd went silent, the word sir ringing in their ears like a bell.“Sir?” someone whispered. “Did he just call that man sir?”The fruit seller blinked rapidly, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow his sudden fear. “S-Sir?” He forced a laugh that came out shaky. “He called you sir? Pah—maybe you hired him to pretend. Some people pay actors, you know!” His voice wavered, desperate. “Is this a trick?”Dylan tilted his head, regarding him like one would a fly buzzing too close. “A trick?” His voice was dangerously soft.“Yes!” the fruit seller barked louder, trying to regain his confidence. “Look at you! Jeans, shirt, no gold, no chain! That’s not how rich men dress. Rich men don’t stand alone in the street. They don’t stare at fruit stalls like begg

  • 363

    The villa gates shut behind Dylan with a heavy clang, the kind that echoed finality. He didn’t look back. The sun was already low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the city, turning the rooftops into sharp silhouettes against a sky streaked in orange and violet. His steps were even, measured, as though every movement of his body carried a purpose. In his hand, he still carried the envelope of papers—the ones that gave him authority, power, ownership. It was ironic, he thought, that something so important could be so thin, just a few sheets pressed together.But the street outside did not care who he was or what he carried.The air shifted. Loud, messy, crowded. Children laughed somewhere behind the stalls, vendors shouted prices, pots clanged, and the scent of roasted corn, fried plantains, and spiced meat filled the evening air. Dylan slipped into that current of sound and smell, a lone figure among many.His plain black shirt clung comfortably to his frame, worn jeans sitt

  • 362

    The older guard’s hands shook as he clasped them together, voice cracking. “P-Please… sir… forgive us… we… we didn’t mean any disrespect. We… we just… thought—” “The villa… the papers… your authority…” the younger guard stammered, eyes wide, almost pleading. “We… we weren’t trying to challenge you. Please… just… forgive our ignorance…” Dylan’s gaze hardened, ice replacing any trace of softness. He stepped closer, letting the sun catch the papers in his hand. “Forgive you?” His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. “No. I don’t forgive arrogance… ignorance… or cowardice masquerading as obedience.” The older guard stumbled backward, shaking his head. “W-what… sir? You… you can’t—” “I can, and I will,” Dylan interrupted sharply. “Consider your positions terminated. Effective immediately. Clear your belongings. You are no longer employed here.” The younger guard’s mouth opened and closed, speechless. “B-but… sir… we… we—” “You failed to recognize authority. You failed to respect reali

  • 361

    The younger guard laughed nervously. “That… that’s fake. No one—”“Fake?” Dylan echoed, calm but now his tone carried ice. “Do I look like the kind of man who jokes with property ownership? Or perhaps you’ve never dealt with reality beyond the size of your muscles?”The older guard took an involuntary step back. “That can’t… That’s impossible. Nobody—”Dylan tilted the phone, letting the sunlight catch the embossed seal on the documents. “Check it yourselves. Every line. Every stamp. Do you see it? Do you?”The younger guard’s eyes widened, disbelief etched into his face. “I… I mean… that… that’s really him…”The older one’s jaw tightened. “This… changes… nothing. Maybe he got some… lawyers or something. A trick, a setup…”Dylan’s voice softened, almost conversational, but each word was a knife. “A trick? A setup? My dear gentlemen, a trick implies deceit. This… is reality. A reality you’re about to decide how to handle.”The younger guard’s baton wavered slightly in his hand. “And… w

  • 360

    The guards laughed, a loud, mocking roar that bounced off the villa’s gates. “You’re hilarious, you know that?” the younger one sneered. “Thinking you own this place! What’s next? You gonna ask us to bow down to you?”“Yeah,” the older one added, chest puffed out, “maybe we should call your delusional friends, see if they know you’re wandering around like some lost kid.”Dylan’s jaw tightened, the calm mask he wore starting to crack slightly. The laughter pressed on his nerves like nails scratching a chalkboard. He could feel the surge building inside him—cold, controlled fury, the kind that didn’t explode recklessly, but promised absolute consequences.The younger guard took a half-step forward, baton swinging lightly in mock menace. “Come on, buddy. Maybe a little kick will jog some sense into you.”“Yeah,” the older guard agreed, kicking one foot back, ready to launch. “Maybe then you’ll finally leave us alone.”Dylan didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached slowly into his jacket pocket

  • 359

    The older guard narrowed his eyes. “Dangerous? Who said we were afraid of a man who can’t even carry himself properly? You walked here like you’re some kind of prince lost in the streets.”Dylan’s thin smirk widened imperceptibly. “Prince, huh?” He let the word hang in the air. “Interesting. So, let me get this straight: my taxi ride is your measure of status? My mode of transportation decides my worth?”The younger one snorted. “That’s right. That, and the fact you’re standing here thinking you belong.”Dylan leaned just slightly forward, letting the movement ripple across his body like the tightening of a spring. “And what if I do belong? What if every step I take, every breath I draw, is closer to proving it? Does that scare you, boys?”The older guard took a step back instinctively. “Scare us? Don’t be ridiculous. We’re trained. You think a little theatrics will faze us? Hah. You’re delusional.”“Trained,” Dylan repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue slowly, savoring it. “

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