Zauzo started moving toward the armed men, his borrowed body flowing with impossible confidence. Jasmine watched, her fingers clutching the pendant so tightly the edges bit into her palm.
'What is he doing?'
Her pulse hammered against her eardrums—each beat a countdown. The acrid smell of gun oil mixed with her own fear-sweat made her stomach clench. Was this the day? Would she die here, on the cold floor of a restaurant, never seeing tomorrow's sunrise?
As if Zauzo could read the terror bleeding through her thoughts, he winked.
She blinked hard. Confusion crashed into fear, creating a dizzying cocktail in her chest.
'Did he just—? Is he insane? Does he think this is a game?' Her thoughts spiraled. 'Or... God, is he one of them?'
Suspicion wormed its way into her mind even as she watched Delvin's body move with unnatural grace.
Unaware of the doubt flowering in Jasmine's mind, Zauzo's voice echoed in their shared consciousness.
'Don't worry. I'll handle them. Three minutes. Maybe less.'
His casual confidence felt obscene against the cold reality of the gun barrel pressed against her temple. Sweat traced a slow path down her spine. Her legs trembled so badly she feared they might give out entirely. The metallic click of a safety being released somewhere to her left made her stomach drop.
When Zauzo reached his calculated position, he exploded into motion.
Time fractured.
Delvin's consciousness recoiled in shock as his body moved at impossible speeds—muscles responding to commands he hadn't given, reflexes firing beyond human capability.
A three-dimensional hologram materialized in his mind's eye, crystalline and pulsing with ethereal light.
**'System initiating: Cherubim Leveling Protocol.'**
Andy's voice hummed through his neural pathways, clinical and precise. **'Earn 500 experience points to achieve Level 1. Rewards: Status Level 1, Level One Badge, 100 credits.'**
'What? This is insane—am I in some kind of video game?' Delvin's internal voice cracked with disbelief, but the system offered no reply.
His attention snapped back to reality just as Zauzo drove a fist into the bulky man's solar plexus.
**CRACK.**
The sound of breaking ribs echoed like gunshots. The man's scream tore from his throat—primal, shocked, agonized.
The force lifted him off his feet and sent him stumbling backward three steps before gravity claimed him. He hit the floor with a sickening thud that vibrated through the tiles.
He didn't get back up. Only groans leaked from his lips.
**'First opponent neutralized. 50 EXP acquired. Threat level reduced: 60% to 50%.'**
Two graphs materialized in Delvin's hologram—one yellow, descending from 60 to 50 percent, the other green, climbing from zero to 50 points.
Before the second robber—the one holding Jasmine—could process what was happening, Zauzo pivoted with inhuman speed.
Air hissed from his lungs as he launched a punch that whistled through the space between them.
The impact against the robber's jawline produced a nauseating crunch. Teeth flew in a spray of crimson. Blood spattered across Jasmine's face—warm, wet, horrifying.
The pistol clattered to the floor, bouncing three times with sharp metallic reports that rang in the sudden silence.
Jasmine's eyes slammed shut. Her heart stuttered, then stopped completely for one eternal second before lurching back to life.
The man collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
**'Second opponent neutralized. 50 EXP acquired. Threat level: 50% to 40%.'**
The yellow graph descended. The green climbed to 100.
Zauzo leaped, spinning mid-air with a flying kick that defied physics.
Delvin's consciousness watched from somewhere deep inside, his mental jaw dropping. 'How—? That's not possible. That's not—'
His body moved like it belonged to someone else. Someone extraordinary.
The kick connected with the third robber's chest with a sound like a bass drum. The man flew backward five meters, airborne, until his skull cracked against the edge of the bar counter.
**BANG.**
The sound reverberated through every conscious being at the bar. He hit the ground like dropped meat. Dust exploded from the floor tiles as if an ancient tome had been slammed onto a long-abandoned shelf.
**'Third opponent neutralized. Threat level: 30%. 150 EXP earned.'**
"What the fu—?" The leader's voice cracked with terror.
All around the restaurant, mouths hung open. Wide eyes tracked Delvin's—no, Zauzo's—movements. Disbelief sat thick in their throats, wonder and fear swirling in their bellies like competing storms.
None of them had ever witnessed anything like this. Not in movies. Not in dreams.
The leader fumbled with his handgun, fingers clumsy with panic.
Zauzo was already there.
The trigger pulled. Time dilated. Those watching squeezed their eyes shut, certain their hero's story ended here.
But Zauzo's hand shot up, redirecting the barrel skyward. The gunshot was deafening—a thunderclap in the enclosed space that left ears ringing.
Then—one precise punch to the throat. The leader gagged, blood erupting from his mouth. A sweeping kick took his legs out. He crashed down like a felled tree.
**'Threat level: 15%. One opponent remains. 200 EXP acquired.'**
The final robber, still behind the counter, watched his comrades' broken bodies with wild, rolling eyes. His hands shook so violently the gun rattled. His legs buckled.
*Thump-thump-thump-thump*—his heartbeat roared in his ears like war drums.
Survival instinct overrode everything else.
He lunged at the bartender—a woman with greying hair and kind eyes—and pressed the cold barrel against her temple.
"STOP! Stop or I'll blow her brains out!" His voice cracked and wavered. "I swear to God I'll do it!"
Zauzo froze.
Despite the awe flooding Delvin's consciousness, despite the superhuman abilities on display, the sight of that gun made ice water flood his veins.
'Do something! Please! Hurry!' Delvin's internal voice bordered on panic.
'Relax, brother. I've got this.' Zauzo's calm was infuriating.
In one fluid motion, Zauzo snatched the knife from his abandoned table and hurled it.
The blade spun through the air—a silver blur—and buried itself in the robber's palm.
Blood fountained. Hot. Crimson. Immediate.
"AHHHHH!" The scream was raw agony.
The gun clattered away. The bartender stumbled free.
**'All threats neutralized. 250 EXP acquired. Mission complete.'**
"Oh my God! That was INCREDIBLE!" The waitress's voice cut through the shocked silence, high and breathless.
Slowly, the Plagatoscal Blueview Hotel came back to life. The three young women who'd been cowering stood on shaking legs. Murmurs rippled through the survivors—disbelief giving way to euphoric relief.
Jasmine fumbled for her phone, fingers trembling so badly she nearly dropped it twice before managing to dial emergency services.
---
"How exactly did you manage to capture these men?" The police officer—weathered face, skeptical eyes—studied Delvin with open curiosity.
Jasmine glanced at Delvin. Zauzo had already surrendered control; Delvin's own consciousness now inhabited his body fully again.
"Um, my uncle taught me some defensive techniques. That's all." The lie tasted awkward on his tongue, but what else could he say?
"Your uncle? And who might that be, young man?"
The officer leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. These five robbers had terrorized Plagatoscal City for months—made the most wanted list twice over. That a single civilian took them all down was extraordinary.
"Fabrice Targan."
The name dropped like a stone into still water.
The officer's eyes widened. "Wait—Fabrice Targan? The 'legend'? The Fabrice Targan?"
Delvin nodded, committing to the fabrication.
"Well, that explains it!" The officer's stern expression cracked into something resembling awe. "With training like that... Have you ever considered joining the military? Or the police force? I could personally vouch for you. We need people like you."
The enthusiasm was almost palpable.
Delvin shook his head. "No. Thank you, though."
No hesitation. No second thoughts.
"Here." The officer pressed a business card into his hand. "In case you change your mind. And thank you. Seriously. These bastards have been a plague on this city."
As the police dragged the groaning robbers away, Jasmine approached Delvin. Her eyes still held echoes of that earlier terror, but now something else lived there too—gratitude, wonder, maybe even admiration.
"Thank you. So much." Her voice was soft, genuine. "Delvin, Please, have the token of our appreciation?"
She offered a golden v-card to him.
"No need." Delvin refused, though something in his chest tightened with regret.
'I should ask for her number,' he thought. 'But I can't just—'
'Get her number, you idiot!' Zauzo's voice burst into his thoughts. 'Since you refused her money, at least get something out of my heroic performance!'
'That would be taking advantage of the situation. I won't use your actions to get what I want.'
'You have too much pride, brother. What's mine is yours. What's yours is mine!'
Zauzo's grumbling continued, but Delvin held firm.
Jasmine smiled—small, sad, understanding. "If you insist. Well... thank you. On behalf of my father too. He'll be grateful for what you did today."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking against the pavement, leaving Delvin alone with his thoughts.
---
When Delvin finally made it home, his mind was still reeling.
Fifteen minutes. The run that should have taken hours took only fifteen minutes, and he wasn't even winded. No sweat. No exhaustion. Just... ease.
He collapsed onto his thin mattress, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
'This is insane,' he thought. 'Two days ago, I was dying. Last night, I ate the finest meal I've had in years. Now I have money, I have... wings? I can run like something out of a comic book. I have a job at ZamCorp. And in two days—'
His thoughts stuttered. March third. George.
'God, I almost forgot about George. I hope he's okay. Please let him be okay.'
'You care so much about him,' Zauzo observed, something almost wistful in his tone. 'I wish you'd show me the same concern.'
'You're like a child sometimes. Always demanding attention.'
'And you're like an old man. Always so serious.'
Their bickering faded into comfortable silence.
---
Jasmine stood outside the restaurant, the night air cooling the sweat on her skin. She pulled out her phone, checking for messages.
Before she could unlock it, the screen blazed to life.
**INCOMING CALL: UNKNOWN NUMBER**
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Something about it felt... wrong. Urgent.
She answered.
"Hello?"
Static. Then breathing. Heavy. Labored.
Then a voice—filtered, distorted, cold.
**"Jasmine Parker. We know what you have. And we know you were there tonight. You have 48 hours."**
Her blood turned to ice.
"Wait—who is this? What are you—"
**"Forty-eight hours. Or everyone you love dies. Starting with your father."**
The line went dead.
Jasmine stood frozen, the phone trembling in her hand, as the world tilted sideways around her.