A truck sat quietly behind a tree, miles away from a sprawling field.
It was silent—peaceful. Nothing stirred to break the tranquility.
Until the earth exploded.
A violent blast erupted from underground, tearing through the ground. Chunks of debris—metal, stone, concrete—shot skyward before crashing back down in a chaotic rain. Among the falling wreckage were scattered dirt clods and the mangled remains of several superhumans.
So much for peace.
At the center of the destruction stood Alma Daedulus Alastor, unharmed within the stone sphere known as Shield.
"So it does live up to its name," he muttered, the dome dissolving into dust around him, revealing his smirk.
There was no trace of Shield left behind—not even a chip of stone. The facility's explosion hadn't so much as scratched it.
Impervious.
"Alma? You there?" a voice crackled in his ear.
"Yep. I'm here, Simon. Unlike these guys." He glanced at the remains. "They're... well, everywhere."
Simon sighed through the earpiece. "Good. A helicopter and three armored vehicles are en route. Get moving."
Alma jumped out of the crater and sprinted to his truck. He got in, started the engine, and drove off.
It had only been two hours since Simon introduced himself, and Alma was still skeptical. The man knew far too much about J.I.B.R.I.L., yet claimed to have low-level clearance. Something didn't add up—but despite that, Alma found himself trusting Simon more with each passing moment.
So far, Simon had been right. Superhumans were never left unattended in these facilities. That rule alone made Alma's skin crawl.
The entire J.I.B.R.I.L. situation was a maze of questions. But soon, it would all be over. For Alma. For the captives. For Simon.
One by one, Alma demolished each facility.
While searching for the next building's Power Core, Alma found himself wondering:
"How were these superhumans made? What Chemical gave them this strength?"
Simon's voice answered. "The First Chemical: Chemical 1-AY."
"What exactly does it do?"
"It enhances every muscle in the human body—strength, speed, endurance, even brain function."
Alma ripped open the Power Core panel and drew his machete. "Dangerous stuff. Must have a high survival rate if there are thousands of them."
He sliced through the stabilizing wires and summoned Shield to brace himself from the blast.
Once the dust cleared, Alma emerged from the rubble and made his way back to the truck.
"Yes. The longer they live, the stronger they get. Some eventually match users of more powerful Chemicals."
"But they'd still be weaker than someone with a stronger Chemical who's lived the same number of years, right?"
"No," Simon replied.
Alma raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, no?"
"Chemical 1-AY is the original. Every other Chemical is a derivative. They may grant powers—but 1-AY is the foundation."
Alma pondered that. "So what about Ilene and Kojo? What Chemicals do they have?"
"Ilene Kierra's was Chemical 14-QP. Lightning manipulation, electromagnetic fields, etc. Not going into her full log."
"That's fine. She's dead. What about Kojo?"
"Kojo Nuur uses Chemical 4-WO. It lets him generate a cloak of electroplasma that surrounds his body. You fought him before, didn't you?"
"Yeah. That cloak fused into his katana and sliced through my machete—and me."
"'Soul Reach.' That's the chant he used. The cloak alone can't cut the soul. His chants alter the properties of the cloak while maintaining its source."
"Explain."
"The first chant, 'Astral Light,' boosts his speed to that of light. If he chains another chant after it, the speed is halved and added to the second chant as raw power."
"The second chant, 'A Thousand Suns,' amplifies the cloak's power and unleashes the heat of exactly that—a thousand suns. Though it is contained inside the cloak, and cannot be felt when around Kojo."
"The final chant, 'Soul Reach,' bypasses all matter and touches essence. By itself it's powerful—but when boosted by the others, it's devastating."
"So he stacks power by combining chants?"
"Exactly. Kojo has Chemical 4-WO—the fourth strongest known Chemical."
Alma thought. "So the further a Chemical is from 1-AY, the weaker it is?"
"Correct."
"Anyone else with one of the top Chemicals?"
"That information is only known to the Founder."
Alma narrowed his eyes. "Do you know who the Founder is?"
"Unfortunately, no. Only what you know."
"Dang it."
He drove toward the next facility, a chill creeping into his spine. The idea that others with even greater power existed unnerved him.
How many Chemicals were out there? Who possessed the top three? Why were they attacking one by one?
And above all: who was the Founder?
Fifteen minutes later, another facility was reduced to rubble. Alma looked over his shoulder more than ever. Paranoia crept in—like the threat was always one step behind him. Maybe even in the back seat.
Still, he pressed on.
Moments later, Simon's voice returned.
"Hey, Alma. There's another facility nearby—twenty-five miles out. Take the next exit. It'll lead you there."
"Where exactly is it?"
"Near Virgilina. You have to go through that little city and follow a dirt road for a couple of miles out."
"I understand," Alma replied with a nod.
He drove his truck toward the small city known as Virgilina—a borderline town so small it barely registered. A sliver of it belonged to North Carolina, and another to Virginia. That confused Alma. He was sure J.I.B.R.I.L.'s facilities were strictly within North Carolina. Was this place the only exception?
"Hey, Simon. Are there any other facilities outside North Carolina?"
"Uh, no. Doesn't appear to be. They're all inside the state," Simon answered, somewhat uncertainly.
But the words did nothing to soothe Alma. If anything, they deepened his unease, like a pit widening in his chest.
He parked his truck a couple of miles from the facility's last known coordinates, stepping out and entering a dense forest. The air was heavy. Still.
No birds. No wind. No life.
It was too quiet.
When he reached the location, the facility's iron doors stood ajar—silent and imposing. But the inside was hollow.
No lights. No Power Core. No structures. No agents.
Nothing.
The only thing of note was a single rose. It lay at the bottom of the entrance ramp, perfectly preserved, its crimson petals unnaturally vibrant.
Alma's brow furrowed. He walked down the ramp, kneeling to pick up the flower, inspecting it carefully.
"Alma! Get out of there now!" Simon's voice exploded in his earpiece. "A signal just spiked—and it's headed straight for you!"
Alma's limbs went numb, his vision tunneled. His breath caught.
Too late.
Something hit him in the stomach like a freight train, launching him out of the facility. He hit the dirt hard and kept sliding until he slammed against a tree, the impact rattling his spine.
His vision swam, but slowly began to stabilize. In front of him stood a woman—brown hair, brown eyes, a white hood over a violet combat suit.
In her hand was the same rose.
"Thought you were smart, huh?" she said coolly. "Disabling our trackers. Still not sure how you did it, but doesn't matter. You found this place—and now you die."
Alma pushed himself to his feet, his limbs trembling. Every breath was labored. He stared her down.
Back at the J.I.B.R.I.L. facility, Simon's fingers flew over the keyboard.
"That's Elinor Finley," he gasped. "Subject of Chemical 8-SB testing. That chemical lets her manipulate plant life—any form of vegetation."
Which meant...
The tree behind Alma exploded in a sudden blast of splinters and roots. He was flung forward, helpless, right into Elinor's waiting fist. Her punch caught him square in the jaw, sending him tumbling again.
He landed in a heap, groaning—but the ground beneath him began to roll and shift. Grass twisted upward, forming a thick, cylindrical cocoon around him. It squeezed tight, immobilizing him.
He strained against the living prison, but it was useless—his limbs were bound, crushed against his sides.
Flowers bloomed inside, exhaling a sweet, noxious mist. His eyelids grew heavy.
No. Not now.
He activated the Evil Eyes.
Black smoke burst outward. The Beast tore from his form, dissolving the cocoon in a violent surge of corrosion.
Elinor didn't flinch. Her brown eyes analyzed the monster before her.
The Beast roared, shaking the earth. Alma stood, but his mind raced. The ground—every blade of grass—was her weapon. He needed to retreat to Virgilina, but it was too far. He didn't know her full speed, or whether she could intercept him.
Time was ticking. The chemical's effects still clung to his system—muted by the Evil Eyes but far from gone. His head pounded.
"What's wrong, kid? You scared or somethin'?" Elinor's voice was calm, almost teasing.
Alma narrowed his eyes. A trap.
The ground under him shifted suddenly. He jumped away just as it surged up into a wall of grass.
Too late to relax.
Elinor burst from the ground beneath him, grabbing his throat and slamming him hard into the earth. Then, with a flick, she tossed him across the field like a rag doll.
He scrambled upright—but she was already on him.
Alma focused, tracking her soul with pinpoint precision. Her movements were sharp, veteran. But tracking her gave him the edge—barely.
Without it, she would've torn him apart already.
The poison surged again. His limbs lagged. His vision shimmered. Her strikes landed more frequently.
Each blow blurred the world further.
His soul sense flickered. Then failed.
Elinor coated her fist with bark and drove it into his gut. He was lifted off the ground, flying through the air for what felt like forever—fifteen seconds of weightless agony—before crashing down.
His body bounced, then went still.
Alma groaned. His body was failing. Every inch ached. He couldn't move. Not fast enough. Not anymore.
He had lost.
"Alma? Are you there?" Simon's voice crackled in his ear.
"...Yeah," Alma whispered. His voice barely a breath.
"You can't lose. Think of the people depending on you! You have to fight!"
Alma heard the words. But they were distant. Faint.
He pushed himself up, limbs trembling, blood dripping down his temple. The Beast was gone. Shield might not even activate.
For the first time since his parents' deaths—Alma felt it.
He was going to die.
Elinor approached, expression unreadable. Cold.
Alma inhaled, slowly. His eyes shut.
He waited.
Then—he moved.
His eyes snapped open. He caught her wrist mid-strike, yanked her forward, and spun—redirecting her face-first into the dirt.
He cocked his fist back and slammed it into the ground next to her head, inches from a fatal strike.
She retaliated with a dual-leg kick to his chest, launching him backward.
Alma hit the ground—and landed on his feet.
Now, more than ever, Alma called upon the Beast.
His body trembled under the strain, his vision blurring—his left eye ruptured, leaking not blood but a black, oily ichor that trailed down his cheek like venomous tears. The air around him darkened, warped by the presence of the entity he summoned.
Before Elinor's own eyes, she watched Alma reach into the void within himself. In an instant, the Beast surged forth, coiling around him like a cloak of shadows, devouring the faint floral aura that had weakened him just moments ago.
Alma's lips curled into a confident smile. His vision cleared, and the fatigue that had gripped his muscles vanished like mist beneath sunlight.
"You did well," he said coolly, leveling his gaze at her. "But you should've killed me when you had the chance."
With that, Alma drew his shotgun, the click of the pump echoing like a death knell. In his other hand, the curved edge of his machete gleamed beneath the sickly sky.
Elinor cocked her head, feigning curiosity. "That was unexpected," she mused. "I thought I severed your link to… whatever that is. Seems I was wrong."
A silence, tense and sharp, fell between them. Neither moved. They simply stared, the wind brushing through their hair and the trees creaking like distant warnings.
Then, in a blink, they vanished.
Their collision cracked the air like thunder. Alma's machete struck a sudden, erupting branch from beneath the ground—a natural shield protecting Elinor. Without hesitation, Alma raised his shotgun. Elinor ducked low, and the same branch shoved him back with brute force.
He landed in a slide, reloaded the shotgun mid-motion, and gave chase. Each shot met a wall of thick, gnarled bark. The moment the Beast touched the wood, it hissed and rotted away—but more branches kept coming. For every defense she raised, Alma responded with firepower and relentless pursuit.
Still, he was careful. He never launched the Beast directly at her. The last time, she'd outmaneuvered him and nearly turned the tide. This time, the Beast remained tethered close, circling him like a living countermeasure to her every move.
Elinor raised a towering wall of interlocking roots. Alma veered around it—only to be met by a hail of sharpened wood projectiles, their speed impossible to react to. One tore through his side, drawing a grunt of pain.
Another volley came—larger, deadlier.
"The Greatest Defense: Shield," Alma declared.
A dome of dense, brown rock surged from the earth, enveloping him. The deadly projectiles clattered harmlessly against it, unable to scratch the stone. The air outside hummed with tension.
From within the dome, the Beast lunged forth—silent and fast.
Elinor's eyes widened. She raised multiple barriers of entwined roots, but the Beast dissolved them one after another, consuming everything in its path as it charged.
As Alma dismissed Shield and sprinted to close the distance, Elinor, spotting an opening, lunged at him. She slammed into the reforming dome mid-charge. He smirked behind the stone.
The Beast loomed behind her, inches from devouring her whole—when suddenly, massive roots erupted beneath her, launching her skyward. She flipped in midair, landing gracefully on a high branch.
"Damn kid," she muttered under her breath.
Alma pointed two fingers to his eyes, then toward her.
She growled in response. "Stem of the Tree. Root of the Forest."
Flowers began blooming around her feet, responding to her presence like worshippers to a god.
Alma's eyes narrowed.
"Seed of Life. Twist and Mend. Grow from Life. Rise from Death."
From her words sprang a wild forest—trees soaring into the sky, weaving into a canopy that swallowed the battlefield. One tree, larger than the rest, stretched above them all—its peak crowned with a massive pinecone.
Without hesitation, Alma dashed into the forest. Using the new trees as stepping stones, he bounded upward. Branch to branch, trunk to trunk, he closed the distance to the summit.
He landed atop the towering pinecone tree where Elinor stood, transformed by her magic.
She stood tall, vines wrapping around her form. "Sacred Sprout," she whispered. "Bark Unbowed."
Flowers bloomed across the vines, forming a radiant dress of living petals.
Alma leveled his shotgun and fired.
"Photosynthesis."
The flowers exploded in a chain reaction, releasing a luminous green mist that reflected the bullet back. It struck Alma in the side, forcing a grimace from him.
From the haze, Elinor burst forth, green energy blazing around her. She slammed into him, and the two locked hands, fingers clasped in a battle of raw power. The Beast lashed out—only for Elinor's energy to heal its corrosion instantly, neutralizing it.
The mighty pinecone tree withered beneath them, drained by her power. The weight of their struggle sent them plummeting back to earth.
Alma landed within a reformed Shield just in time. Elinor's back struck the ground with a sickening crunch—yet her spine re-knit itself in seconds.
All around them, the forest she had conjured decayed, crumbling into dust.
They locked eyes again.
A cold, calculating calm met a wild, gleaming frenzy.
With a shout, they dashed at each other. Fists collided with the force of cannon blasts, creating a crater with their impact. Dirt, grass, and shattered bark flew in every direction.
They traded blows in a frenzy. Every punch met its equal. Shockwaves tore across the battlefield. Elinor's photosynthesis collided against the Beast's corrosion.
Decay vs Florish.
Then, with a single, precise motion, Alma sliced clean through her—diagonally, from her right kidney to her left shoulder.
She fell. Still. Silent.
Until her body reattached itself.
She laughed—a guttural, unhinged cackle.
"What!?" Alma's eyes widened.
"Do you loooove this? Huuuuhhh?" Elinor taunted with a tilt of her head.
She bolted forward. Alma barely had time to react.
"The Greatest Defense: Shield!" he shouted again, forming the rock dome.
Her punch struck it with thunderous force, shaking the ground. Inside, Alma remained untouched. From the side, his machete burst forth, slicing her down the center.
She regenerated. Again.
Fists and kicks rained down on the dome in a storm. Finally, one strike too many gave Alma an opening. He caught her wrist mid-swing.
The Shield faded.
Alma stared her down, cold and unmoved.
Then he pressed the shotgun barrel to her forehead—and fired.
Her skull exploded in a shower of red.
Her body collapsed.
Elinor was dead. Waiting any longer to verify the truth would only endanger his life.
Alma quickly left the area, heading back to his truck.
"You had this coming, kid," Simon suddenly said through the earpiece.
Before Alma could respond, a voice called out behind him.
"That will be far enough."
He spun around and spotted a woman standing on a high tree branch, dressed in the standard uniform of J.I.B.R.I.L.'s superhumans.
His expression shifted to one of exasperation. Annoyance flickered in his eyes.
How many of these people would he have to kill today?
Without a moment's hesitation, Alma drew his shotgun and fired. The pellets ricocheted harmlessly.
He stared flatly at the gun.
"I'm starting to see how useless this thing is," he muttered, just before dodging a sudden slash from her sword.
He drew his machete and clashed against her blade, sparks flying as their weapons met. The force of their strike cracked the ground beneath them. The woman wore a smooth white mask—no eye holes.
The unease returned—tenfold.
Something was wrong.
Alma fought to drive her back, hoping to force a retreat. He was exhausted, injured, and drained. This was the worst time to face a new enemy.
What unsettled him more than her silence was Simon's.
Nothing.
No quips. No strategy. No warnings.
That silence told Alma everything he needed to know.
Something was very wrong.
Unseen by him, his truck began to vibrate. Every metal part—doors, bumpers, rims—shuddered violently. Bolts popped loose. Then, piece by piece, the entire truck flew toward him.
Focused on the fight, Alma didn't notice.
A jolt of pain exploded in his back—he'd been struck.
Metal wrapped around his limbs, constricting him. Before he could activate Shield, a powerful force launched him through the air at impossible speed.
He shattered the sound barrier. Then doubled it. Tripled it.
"AHHHH!!" he screamed, as he was hurled through the sky.
He smashed through a towering building on the border of Virginia and Maryland. The metal gripping him finally released—he hadn't even realized it was cutting off his oxygen.
Gasping for breath, Alma summoned the Beast, forcing it to repair his battered body. Slowly, but faster than natural healing, his wounds began to close.
The woman stepped through the hole he'd made crashing in. At the sight of her, Alma's body tensed. The Beast wrapped protectively around him.
"Who are you?" Alma asked.
She said nothing.
In a flash, she was before him. He caught her fist, letting the Beast coil around her arm. The corrosive power burned into her flesh—but slowly.
Then Alma saw it. Her entire arm was metal.
"Judith," she said.
A metal beam impaled Alma through the stomach—three feet long, three inches wide.
Blood gushed from his mouth, trailing down his neck. His eyes widened. He hadn't even sensed it coming.
The beam didn't corrode. It resisted the Beast—an impossibility made real.
"The Greatest—" he began, as another beam tore through his back.
Then came more. Dozens.
By the end of Judith's assault, Alma's back resembled a grotesque pincushion. Blood soaked his clothes, the ground, and the beams themselves. It dripped from his lips and fingertips.
The pain was unbearable.
The Beast retracted into his left eye.
Alma collapsed, unmoving. A hollow husk. Dead? Half-dead? No way to tell. Another impossibility.
Judith stared at his motionless body—Alma Daedalus Alastor. For a year, he had haunted the organization with terror and paranoia, unraveling entire operations. What should have been an easy problem had become a monstrous threat. Killing him felt like an achievement.
She tapped her earpiece.
"It's done. 'The Nightmare of Modernity' is dead."
"Good. Very good," replied an old, unfamiliar voice. "I don't care if the Founder or anyone else objects. In time, they'll understand—it was the right decision."
"I understand, General," Judith said.
"Return to base. You still have duties."
Judith turned to glance at the corpse one last time.
But it was gone.
Her eyes widened.
"Behind you," Alma whispered.
His fist slammed into her face, crushing the earpiece and partially deafening her.
The blow launched her through a window, glass shattering. She crashed through another window in the next building, skidding across the marble floor.
Judith scrambled up, scanning the area.
Alma was behind her again.
He drove his fist into her ribs, launching her through several walls before she burst out the other side of the building.
She fell story after story, catching herself on rebar. Landing hard in the parking lot below, she shattered the structure's supports, collapsing the building behind her.
Alma landed on the roof opposite her. They locked eyes.
Judith's gaze trembled with fear and confusion.
How was he still alive?
How could he even move?
Alma stared back, filled with a quiet, focused rage. His eyes burned with calm fury. That look alone made her flinch.
He stepped off the roof and sprinted toward her, fist cocked.
She dodged and hurled car parts at him with her powers. Alma slipped between them effortlessly, tracking each piece with surgical precision.
More cars began to float, drawn to Judith. With a grunt, she flung them all at once.
Alma raised his hand to his chest.
"Shield," he said.
The rocky dome enveloped him, stopping every car dead in its tracks.
Judith turned and fled into a nearby building.
She didn't understand why she was running. But she was.
All her life, Judith had been powerful. Confident. Arrogant. That confidence had grown after gaining her powers. She felt invincible—untouchable.
Even when facing Alma, drained and beaten, she hadn't feared him.
But maybe that wasn't real confidence.
Maybe, just maybe... she had just met someone with a greater ego than her own.
Alma followed her inside.
A security guard spotted them and gave chase. He caught up and reached for Judith—but before a word left his mouth, a piece of rebar impaled his skull. The man dropped instantly, lifeless.
Alma saw it. The rage in his eyes burned hotter.
Judith collapsed the building's floors, rising upward on twisting rebar like an iron serpent. Alma dodged the falling debris, leaping between crumbling stairwells and splintering support beams. But just before reaching the top, a pair of legs slammed into his chest, launching him back down.
He hit the floor hard but rolled to his feet, weaving through airborne chairs and pens. Judith pointed at him. A sharp rod of rebar shot through his shoulder. He didn't scream. His expression didn't change. Just silence.
Alma gripped the rebar and yanked it out. He spun it in his hand like a staff, then smashed it across her head again and again, blood splashing from each impact.
Judith stumbled back, tears of pain and fear in her eyes. Dozens more spikes of rebar tore into Alma—his chest, stomach, arms, legs, even his knee—but he didn't stop. His eyes blazed with relentless purpose. He would see her die, even if it meant his own death.
Judith turned to flee, but Alma grabbed her ankle. He slammed her through the floor—then the next, and the next—collapsing the building from within. He hurled her upward through the wreckage and into the neighboring structure.
He gave chase before she could recover, driving his fist into her and sending her hurtling through multiple buildings. Each one crumbled in her wake.
She struck back, but it didn't matter. Her attacks were weightless, like illusions. Nothing she did fazed him.
And in that moment—it was born.
Despair.
It consumed her. Her every blow meaningless. Every effort futile. Even at her strongest, she could not harm Alma at his weakest.
Her strikes grew chaotic. Wild. Desperate.
Now she understood what Kojo meant—that suffocating dread he'd once felt before Ilene's fall. She felt it too.
It wasn't a thought.
It wasn't an idea.
It had never been spoken of.
It had never existed.
Until now.
A memory buried deep resurfaced in Alma Daedulus Alastor.
An ability that shattered all others.
The perfect weapon.
"The Greatest Offense..." Alma whispered.
He stood before her, calm and grim. His index and middle fingers extended, ring and pinky half-folded, thumb pressed to the ring finger.
A rocky spearhead hovered above his fingers, the exact stone that formed Shield.
Judith's life flashed before her eyes—every moment, good and bad, flaring in an instant.
She had never known true power. Only illusions. Now she had to face the truth. She had been wrong all along. Her ego—fragile. Her strength—fraudulent.
"Spear," Alma said, releasing his thumb.
The weapon fired forward, silent as breath.
It struck her chest, pierced her heart—and deeper. Her soul, torn from her body, severed entirely.
The Spear exited cleanly, disintegrating her form. Then it continued on, demolishing building after building in a perfect line of destruction.
Alma stood over what remained. She would not return from this. Unlike him, death was final for her.
Even Alma didn't know how he'd survived his own. Determination was one thing—but denying death at its doorstep was something else entirely.
He looked toward the city. Ten—maybe fifteen—buildings lay in ruins. Sirens screamed in the distance. Helicopters approached.
Without another glance, Alma vanished.
From a distant hill, he watched the city burn. Judith—eliminated. But Simon—the traitor—was a problem yet to come.
Returning to the cave would be foolish. Simon might have laid traps, planted superhumans, or rigged it to explode.
For now, Virginia would be his hiding place.
But Shield... was still a mystery. How had it come to be? How could it block everything? And now Spear—its twin? Its counterpart? Were there more? What process birthed them? How had he obtained them?
"So many darn questions," Alma muttered, lying on his back.
He couldn't stay long. J.I.B.R.I.L. would find him soon, if they hadn't already.
What would the future bring?