"I knew your father," Han said, his voice rough with something between amusement and disdain. "Smartest man I ever met—and the dumbest. Never saw a combination like that in my whole damn life."
Leor listened, his face a mask of cold indifference. No flicker of recognition, no hint of anger. Just silence.
"Who are you?" Leor finally asked, his voice low.
Han threw his head back and laughed—a wild, unhinged sound that echoed through the empty streets. "Not just the face, huh? You inherited his stupidity too." He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "I just told you. WSA. World Security Agency. And you? You've got our full attention."
Leor's jaw tightened. He'd been careful. Or so he thought.
Han tilted his head, savoring the moment. "Bet you're wondering how we found you. Simple, really. That satellite jammer you were using? Fried itself during your little lightning show." He took a step closer, his smile sharp as a knife. "All we had to do was track the living heat signature you were throwing off like a damn bonfire. And boom—here you are."
Shit.
It was true. Leor's body burned hotter than any normal human's. A side effect he knew about but never learned to control.
Careless. Stupid.
Han cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the tense air. "Enough talking, kid." His grin widened, something predatory in it. "Let's see what you can really do."
Somewhere in the distance, gunfire erupted—sharp, rapid bursts. The direction of Vincent's bar.
Leor's blood went cold.
Well… fuck.
"Shocked?"
Leor's head snapped back toward Han—only to find empty air.
A split second later, a deafening BOOM erupted behind him. The force hit like a freight train, hurling him through the shattered glass of a derelict restaurant. Wood splintered, dust exploded, and Leor crashed through a rotted booth, his body skidding across moldy tiles.
Gritting his teeth, he shook off the debris and rose. The place was a tomb—cobwebbed chairs, a skeletal counter, and behind him, a cracked neon sign flickering weakly:
"VIF LOBSTER – HARROW POINT'S FINEST."
Great. A seafood graveyard.
Leor stepped back onto the street. Han was already waiting, lounging on the pavement like this was a casual chat.
"You have powers too," Leor growled. "How?"
Han smirked. "Remember that incident at Kane Complex? Four years ago?"
Leor's mind flashed—smoke, screams, his father's face split by a scar. "Sector 12."
"Bingo." Han's grin widened. "Bet you remember that day.." He stretched lazily. "Turns out, Kane was running more than just Orb experiments. Super-soldier programs. Some worked." He tapped his chest. "Some didn't. The failures? Well… let's just say they weren't human anymore. I had to put 'em down myself."
Leor's fists tightened. "And you?"
"Me?" Han's eyes glinted. "I can dissolve. Turn to particles. Zip from point A to B—call it teleportation, if you wanna be fancy." He vanished—WHOOM—reappeared atop a rusted car, the impact crumpling the roof. "But physics hates a free ride. Every jump leaves a little… kick."
Another blink—CRACK—this time, the force blasted a crater where he'd stood.
Leor barely dodged as Han materialized behind him, breath hot on his neck:
"And kid? I can do this all day."
Lightning crackled over Leor's skin like living armor, his body humming with unstable energy. In a blink, he blitzed forward—fist aimed straight for Han's smirking face.
It passed right through him.
Leor's eyes widened. An afterimage?
A split-second later, the air detonated behind him. He whirled—just in time to see Han's boot arcing toward his ribs. Leor deflected with his left arm, but the moment their limbs connected—
BOOM.
A shockwave erupted from Han's body, hurling Leor back. He skidded across asphalt, teeth gritted. Damn it. Normal close-quarters combat was useless—every reappearance came with that kinetic backlash, turning Han's very existence into a weapon.
Fine. Then we fight at range.
Leor leapt onto the roof of the Vif Lobster, the rotting wood groaning under his weight. Around him, the air sizzled as he wrenched every stray volt from the building's dying wiring, the streetlights, even the moisture in the air. Lightning coiled around him, violent and unstable, tearing chunks from the walls. His veins burned; his vision blurred. Too much—last time, this nearly killed me—
With a roar, he forced the energy into his outstretched hand, fingers forming a gun-shape.
"EAT THIS!"
A searing bolt of plasma lanced toward Han—who dodged. Not just dodged—weaved, like he could see the lightning's path. Then—
WHOOM.
Han vanished.
Leor's instincts screamed. He twisted—just as Han reappeared above him, fist already descending. Leor slashed his hand upward, and the lightning morphed into a claw, raking toward Han—
WHOOM.
Gone again.
This time, the roof beneath Leor exploded upward, the shockwave of Han's return shattering the foundation. Leor stumbled, the distraction saving him—Han's follow-up strike grazed past his head, but the concussive force still sent him plummeting through the collapsing building.
As he fell, he fired blindly—a storm of raw lightning erupting from his fingertips.
The Vif Lobster exploded.
Fireball. Shattered glass. A shockwave that ripped the street apart.
Leor hit the ground hard, gasping. His body smoked, muscles screaming. But his eyes stayed locked on the inferno.
Did that get him?
The explosion's aftermath left Leor's body strangely slack, his lightning still crackling but less chaotic—like a storm momentarily spent. He dragged himself up, eyes locked on the flaming wreckage of the Vif Lobster.
Then—
"What're You Looking At?"
CRACK.
Han's fist detonated under his jaw. The uppercut wasn't just force—it was a shockwave, launching Leor 15 meters skyward like a ragdoll. Blood sprayed from his mouth—gone before it could fall, vaporized by the heat rippling off his skin.
Move. MOVE—
But his body wouldn't obey.
Han blurred below him—vanished—then the air itself screamed as attacks came from every direction. Fists, knees, elbows—each impact ruptured with kinetic fury, bones rattling, organs bruising beneath his ribs. Leor's vision whited out; time stretched like tar.
Five hits. Ten. Fifteen—
A final axe-kick to his ribs slammed him back to earth.
BOOM—CRASH—CRACK—
Leor bounced through hollow buildings—a pharmacy, a laundromat, a gutted arcade—their facades exploding in his wake. He finally skidded to a stop in a crater of shattered brick, black blood bubbling past his lips before sizzling away in the air.
Harrow Point's silence was eerie. No screams. No sirens. Just emptiness.
Who the hell even lives here?
Not that it mattered. The ghost town was the only reason this fight hadn't turned into a massacre.
Leor forced himself up, limbs trembling, and stared at the destruction trail he'd carved.
Then—a shadow moved in the smoke.
Han stepped forward, cracking his neck.
"Had enough yet?"