The Conglomerate Heir Awakens

7

Clara hadn’t slept in days.

Her hair was unwashed, her hands shaking as she scrolled through her failing bank accounts. Her phone buzzed nonstop—creditors, lawyers, “friends” suddenly too busy to speak to her.

Ever since Granger’s public downfall, Clara’s life had rotted from the edges inward.

The company fired her.

Her social circle avoided her.

Her apartment management threatened eviction.

Her mother refused to lend her money.

She slammed her phone down. “This—this isn’t fair! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

But she had.

And she knew it.

Every night, she dreamed of Ethan falling from that cliff—his voice echoing her name like a curse.

Tonight was worse.

She dreamed he climbed out of the water, drenched and calm, staring at her with those hollow eyes.

She woke up screaming.

Sweat drenched her sheets. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

She stumbled to the mirror.

Her reflection looked like a stranger—bloodshot eyes, smeared mascara, trembling lips.

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered. “I’m not going crazy.”

But the world didn’t care.

Her phone buzzed again.

Another message:

“Your credit cards have been suspended.”

Clara threw the phone across the room.

She curled onto the floor, covering her ears as if that would silence the collapse.

“Ethan… why won’t this stop?” she whispered through tears.

The answer was simple.

Because he was alive.

And her downfall had only begun.

***

Word traveled quickly in the underbelly of the city—far quicker than in any boardroom Ethan had ever sat in.

A man who should’ve been dead had resurfaced. Worse, he was climbing in influence. Rivals whispered about him behind closed doors. Some dismissed him as rumor. Others took him very seriously.

Those who took him seriously knew exactly what to do.

In a dim warehouse near the old docks, a dozen figures stood in formation as their handler, a wiry man with burn scars down his throat, dropped a photograph onto a metal table. Ethan’s face stared back at them—calm, and innocent.

“He’s disrupting the balance,” the handler croaked. “he’s ruining people who were meant to stay untouchable. I want you to get rid of him as clean as possible.”

The shadows remained silent; they never spoke unless instructed.

And then one man spoke, he appears to be the leader of the handler group, “Don’t worry, I have the right man to deal with him.”

Ethan had no idea what was coming, but whoever or whatever they are, he was ready to face them.

***

It was late in the night, but Ethan could feel it… his mind sensing an upcoming danger. Fortunately, thanks to his cultivation, he’s getting a hang on refining his senses even better. He could detect any danger before they even reached him.

He paused on his walk home from the subsidiary’s office, glancing toward a quiet construction site. The city hummed around him, neon drowning the streets, but the disturbance was unmistakable.

Someone was watching him.

The sensation sharpened, like a spear of ice sliding between his ribs.

Murder intent.

He stepped back instinctively.

A figure vaulted from the top of a half-finished building, landing without a sound. He wore no identifying marks, just matte-black gear and a faint metallic glimmer along his arm.

A relic.

The man lunged.

Ethan moved too late, still inexperienced with his powers, but the relic-enhanced punch from the attacker only grazed his jaw. Still, it hit harder than any fist he had taken in his life, knocking him to one knee.

The assassin didn’t speak. He didn’t posture or taunt. He simply attacked again.

Ethan’s heartbeat thudded. His powers awakening even further, reacting to the spike in his adrenaline level. His pupils dilated. Every sound sharpened—the assassin’s breathing, the scrape of his boot, the tiny shift of weight before each attack.

Ethan dodged the next strike by a hair’s breadth.

Another. And another.

His body responded faster than his mind.

The assassin spun, blade in hand.

Ethan grabbed a broken metal pipe from a nearby pile and deflected the slash. Sparks leapt. The assassin pressed forward, relentless.

For the first time since awakening, Ethan was fighting using his full strength.

He drove his knee into the assassin’s ribs, hearing something crack. Then he struck again, faster, stronger than any human should move.

The assassin staggered.

Ethan seized his wrist, twisted, and brought the man down hard. The blade clattered away.

The assassin tried to rise.

Ethan hit him once more; an instinctive, powerful strike.

The man dropped, unconscious.

Ethan was left standing alone, chest heaving, hands shaking in disbelief.

“Whew… he went down faster than I hoped. I was hoping he would resist for a little longer, so I could see how much I could continue fighting.”

The relic glimmered faintly on the fallen assassin’s forearm—a metal bracer etched with foreign symbols, still humming with power. Faint warmth radiated from it, as though it were alive.

Ethan crouched beside the unconscious man, hesitant but curious. He removed the mask on his face and stared at the man, but he doesn’t seem to recognize him.

The relic surged with power as it disengaged from the man’s lifeless body.

Ethan reached for it.

“Well, at least I get something useful in return.”

The metal shifted under his touch, as though adjusting to him. It loosened itself from the assassin’s arm with a faint click—almost willingly. Ethan pulled it free and slipped it onto his own wrist.

A surge of energy rippled through him.

Light flared along the etched lines, and then dimmed.

When Ethan rose, the relic attached tightly to his skin, as if it had always belonged there.

He then called for Rowan, they need to find out everything about the assassin, especially who he’s working for.

Ethan Vale is not a prey, he was a predator, and it was high time he starts acting like one.