2025-06-13 19:58:18The gangsters spilled out of the warehouse like wolves unleashed, weapons drawn and eyes hungry for blood. Michael didn’t waste a second as he shut off the recorder, yanked out the memory card, and stuffed it into his pocket as he bolted.
His lungs burned as he ran, his heart hammering in his chest with wild, punishing force. How big is this damn harbor? He darted between buildings, scanning desperately for an escape route. Packs of gangsters roamed the docks like hunters, and there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that they’d kill him on sight. As he rounded the corner of a storage unit, something pricked at the back of his neck. Instinct screamed. He dove into a roll just as a volley of gunfire tore through the air behind him, shattering the wall where his head had been half a second ago. Chunks of concrete rained down. Michael hit the ground hard, scrambled up, and ran. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the looming shapes of massive shipping containers piled like sleeping giants near the water. He sprinted toward them, gunshots and angry shouts close behind. Weaving into the narrow spaces between metal walls, he pushed himself deeper into the maze, hoping the chaos would buy him time. But then he realized with no small amount of terror that it was a dead end. A sheer drop loomed ahead, the edge of the cliff disappearing into the dark waves below. He turned to backtrack, but the sharp crack of a gunshot rang out. Pain exploded in his lower back like fire. Michael dropped to his knees with a choked cry, his hands clutching his abdomen as hot blood gushed between his fingers. He gasped, trying to stay upright, but the pain was blinding. Through his hazy vision, he saw him. Victor. The bastard stood a few paces away, lowering his still-smoking gun. His smile was wide, wolfish. He walked slowly toward Michael, savoring every step like it was a victory march. “Little Michael,” he sneered. “You never learn, do you? Always reaching above your station. Always chasing after things you were never meant to have.” Michael coughed, blood staining his lips. Every breath was a fight. But he still managed to look up and glare at his cousin with defiance. “Screw... you...” Victor’s eyes glinted with amusement. He crouched and set the suitcase down between them. “You know,” he said, unlocking the case, “I’ve always wondered if you’ve ever actually been happy. I mean... after what happened with your dad, getting disowned by Grandfather, ending up in this dump. Can’t be easy.” Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Do you... ever... shut up...?” Victor laughed and opened the suitcase. Inside sat a strange device—part syringe, part high-tech gadget. A large, clear cylinder housed a black liquid that pulsed with a faint, eerie glow. “You don’t know what this is, do you?” Victor said, lifting the device with reverence. “This, cousin, is Risax. Not the kind you’ve heard rumors about. This one... this is the prototype. And it’s mine.” Michael’s glare flicked from the cylinder to Victor’s face. Confusion joined the hatred burning in his chest. Victor noticed and grinned. “You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Oh, right. I forgot. Your dad never told you anything, did he? Man. Your life’s even more tragic than I thought.” “What the hell... is that stuff?” Michael managed, his voice ragged with pain but his mind was still working. Even now, he was searching for an opening. Victor cradled the injector. “Risax is the key. I’m going to use this to change everything. I’ll take over Grandfather’s company, reshape the Grey family, and build something the world has never seen.” He looked down at Michael, his smug smile turning cold. “You? You’re just a problem that needs to disappear. You’ll die here like the useless dog you are.” Michael’s mouth twisted into a bloody grin. “If you’re going to kill a dog... don’t get near its teeth.” With a surge of strength that defied logic, he lashed out with a kick that struck Victor’s wrist, sending the gun skidding across the ground. Victor stumbled back with a shout. Michael lunged forward, pain screaming through his entire body, and ripped the device from Victor’s hand. “No—!” Gunfire rang out. Two bullets slammed into Michael’s back just as he threw himself off the edge of the dock. The last thing he heard before he hit the water was Victor’s furious scream. The ocean closed around him, cold and deep. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Blood curled from his wounds in lazy crimson trails, mixing with the salt and silence. He drifted downward, vision blurring, lungs screaming. He could feel it—the end. Is this really it? 'All I’ve done... all I’ve survived... Will it just end here?' His thoughts raced through images of his sister, his father. Ari’s medicine. His father’s tired eyes. Who’s going to take care of them? His chest clenched, but it wasn’t just from pain. Rage flared inside him—bright, hot, and desperate. Victor... Grandfather... the entire damned Grey family. They needed to pay. No. That’s not enough. They needed to fall. His hand tightened around the injector. Somehow, through the darkness and pain, he saw the path forward—one clear, impossible choice. No more hiding. No more scraping by. This time, he would fight back. Michael popped the cap from the device, revealing three sharp, metallic injectors. And then, without hesitation, he slammed it into his neck. A burning surge rushed through his veins, hot and immediate. His thoughts dimmed. His muscles relaxed. A strange calm washed over him as the world faded into black. --- ************* [... Viable Host Detected ...] [... Commencing System Integration ...] [... Warning: Host’s Physical Condition Critical ...] [... Initializing Emergency Body Modification Process ...] [Objective: Resuscitate Host] [Time Limit: 6 Hours, 30 Minutes, 45 Seconds] [Success Reward: Full Integration with the Wargod System] [Failure Penalty: Termination of Host Life]
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Chapter One Hundred and Three — What Was Taken
Michael reached the street at full speed and then stopped so abruptly that the asphalt cracked beneath his boots.The mansion was still standing, but only in the most technical sense of the word. Smoke drifted from shattered windows and scorched balconies, rolling upward in thick, uneven plumes that carried the sharp smell of ozone and burned insulation. The front gate had been torn apart, the reinforced alloy warped and melted inward as though it had been forced open by something that did not recognize resistance as a concept. The security perimeter that should have been alive with motion, drones, and targeting lights was completely dead.For a fraction of a second, Michael stood there and took it in, his mind struggling to reconcile the image in front of him with the place he had personally overseen, reinforced, and secured.He crossed the grounds in a blur, boots crunching over shattered stone and scorched grass. The first guard he found was s
Chapter One Hundred and Two — Storm at the Gate
The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.Captain Harrow had been on rotation long enough to recognize the rhythm of the mansion’s security systems. There was always a background hum to it, a layered presence of sensors, drones, perimeter scanners, and automated turrets talking to each other in tight, constant loops. Even when nothing happened, the estate felt alive. That hum vanished in a single instant, as if someone had reached out and switched the world off.Harrow barely had time to frown before the night exploded into white.A blinding flash tore across the front lawn, sharp enough to burn through his vision even through polarized lenses. The air cracked with thunder that felt too close, too intimate, and every display on his wrist, his visor, and the command tablet at his side went dead at once. He staggered, ears ringing, heart hammering, as the power grid feeding the outer defenses collapsed in a cascading failure.
Chapter One Hundred and One — The Future
Earlier that evening:The Gaines estate sat on a high ridge overlooking the Western industrial stretch of Whitewood City, far enough removed from the noise and grime that it could pretend the lower sectors did not exist. The interior reflected the same philosophy: clean lines, polished stone, restrained luxury meant to signal status without excess. Ian Gaines stood near the wide window at the far end of the study, his back to the room, pale arcs of electricity rolling lazily across his fingers as he stared out at the distant lights of the city.Orell Gaines watched his son from behind the desk, hands folded together, his expression a mixture of pride and tension. “You should not look at this as a burden,” Orell said, breaking the silence. “The Ordo Supremus does not extend this kind of trust lightly.”Ian let out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s exactly the problem.”Orell frowned. “What do you mean?”Ian turned slightly, enough fo
Chapter One Hundred — Fear
Michael did not return to his mansion after the fight at the docks. He went straight to one of the secure L.A. relay points built into the lower levels of the Southern Sector, a place that existed for situations where distance and delay could not be afforded. His clothes were still torn and dusted with frost residue, his body aching in the dull, familiar way that came after pushing himself too hard, but he ignored all of it as the encrypted channel opened and Commander Cane’s face appeared on the screen.Cane took one look at him and frowned. “Michael, what on earth happened to you?”“I ran into someone down at the docks,” Michael replied. “I had no idea who he was, but he seemed to know me and he was very insistent on trying to take my head off.”“Was it someone from the Ordo Supremus?” Cane asked with a dark tone. “They've been strangely silent since Rose's death after all.”Michael shook his head lightly in the negative. “Not this time. The pow
Chapter Ninety Nine — The Herald
Michael did not rush the counterattack the moment he realized he could finally see what Igor was doing. He let the Yin Eye remain active on its own, the rest of his System abilities humming quietly in the background, and used a few seconds to confirm what his instincts were already telling him. The distortions were not random bursts of power thrown without a pattern. They were precise, layered, and timed, each Ruinwave forming along the same structural seams in space. Igor could bend those seams, but he could not invent new ones. That limitation mattered.He exhaled slowly and shifted his stance, grounding himself before activating Burst again, not at full output, but at a controlled level that enhanced his speed and striking power without overwhelming his balance. The moment Igor attacked, Michael moved, not reacting to the wave itself but to the tension that preceded it. His body slipped forward and to the side, skirting the edge of the distortion as it tore thr
Chapter Ninety Eight — Surprise
The air twisted again, pressure building from all sides, and Michael braced himself as the warehouse seemed to fold inward around them. He dug deep into Burst, pushing his body harder than he ever had before, and leaned into the oncoming force rather than away from it. His boots scraped across the floor, ice cracking beneath them, as he forced himself forward one step at a time.Another wave tore through the space between them, the invisible distortion bending the warehouse floor upward and slamming down with crushing force, but Michael slid out of its path at the last second, his shoulder brushing the concrete pillar instead of shattering against it. He landed hard, boots scraping, breath ragged, but he stayed upright. Igor clicked his tongue in mild annoyance and straightened, rolling his shoulders as if preparing to put real effort into the fight.“You really have the tenacity of a cockroach , don't you?” Igor said, his voice carrying clearly through the wa
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