CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Salt clung to their skin. Sea spray and smoke still lingered in the air. The port of Naples stretched before them—silent steel giants loomed overhead, cranes unmoving in the night, containers stacked like forgotten building blocks beneath the low hum of sodium lights.
The group eased into the harbor under a dark, heavy sky, the city stretched out ahead like a low-burning fire.
One by one, they hauled themselves out of the water—soaked, battered, and bruised from the day's earlier chaos.
Rio collapsed onto the concrete dock with a grunt, rolling onto his back as water trickled from his sleeves. His chest rose and fell, still rattled from the blast that had torn their ship apart hours ago. Beside him, Hayato stood barefoot and very much unclothed, steam still rising faintly from his skin. The explosion had incinerated every stitch of clothing… yet his flesh remained untouched.
On the way here, Gideon had already explained his history with the Donati family. They were some of his highest-paying clients. Black Vellum handled the dirty work—the kind of tasks the Donatis didn't want associated with their name. Gideon had worked with them for years. Their betrayal had clearly caught him off guard.
Rio turned to look at Hayato, who stood shivering under the cold night air, the chill biting into his bare skin.
Quirks really are amazing, Rio thought. Sure, it was like playing a gacha game—your fate left to the RNG gods of genetics—but when you landed a good one like Hayato's, it was like rolling several abilities in one.
From what he'd seen, Hayato's quirk must have granted him immense resistance to fire, heat, and explosions. It made sense, considering his hair was made of flames. It had to be the only reason the ship's flaming wreckage burned off his clothes and nothing else.
"I don't want to talk about it," Hayato said, voice low.
"Ah, land—sweet, sweet land," Ash exclaimed dramatically, kissing the floor. "Stupid captain. Remind me never to follow you out to sea again."
Rio took in the sight of the port. Though it was well into the night, the docks were still bustling. Cranes swiveled as they loaded cargo onto ships. Forklifts beeped as they backed up. In the distance, he could hear dockhands chatting as they went about their work.
"If we're going to make it out safely, we'll need a distraction," Gideon said, his tone grim. "This place is crawling with workers and guards. Most of them are on the Donati family's payroll. If any of us get spotted, they'll know their ambush failed."
Ash grinned wide, wild amusement lighting up his face. "When I'm done with them, they'll be too busy to care about us."
He grunted and stomped heavily on the ground.
For a few moments, nothing happened. Rio and Hayato exchanged confused looks—until they felt it.
It started subtly: a faint stirring beneath their feet, then a few pebbles bounced gently on the ground. The tremors deepened quickly. The shaking grew in intensity until staying upright became a challenge.
On the docks, panic erupted.
Forklifts carrying cargo were tossed like toys. A towering crane swayed dangerously, its long arm clipping a container already loaded on a cargo ship. The container came crashing down with a deafening roar—hitting another, and another, setting off a chain reaction like falling dominoes.
"Hold on tight. A big one's coming," Ash warned, barely containing his laughter.
To Rio's horror, the quake surged again. Ash let out a wild, gleeful laugh as the earth trembled violently beneath them. Even gripping a nearby pole, Rio struggled to stay on his feet.
Dock workers screamed, bolting in every direction. Heavy machinery crashed and groaned as it buckled under the seismic assault. At this point, no one cared about intruders or suspicious faces. Self-preservation had taken over. If even one of those machines fell the wrong way, someone was getting flattened—human pancakes on concrete.
"Isn't that a little overkill?" Tobias asked, only the second time Rio had heard him speak. He didn't seem much older than Hayato—seventeen or eighteen, maybe.
"Hehe." Ash simply grinned with pride and kept walking.
Gideon had already sprung into action, weaving through the chaos with practiced ease. The others followed close behind, sticking to the edges of the frantic crowd. On their way, they managed to snag a few dockworker uniforms off some of the men who had fainted—or maybe just dove into cover and passed out from the stress. Either way, they wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.
The uniforms weren't perfect. Rio's was comically oversized, sleeves drooping past his wrists and pant legs dragging along the floor—but it would do.
They pushed forward until they reached a car park tucked behind one of the storage facilities. Most of the vehicles there were still intact. Of course they were—Ash's quirk only had a maximum radius of about 400 meters. The port, in contrast, sprawled over hundreds of hectares.
They spotted a pickup truck near the lot entrance.
Without a word, they moved.
Hayato, Rio, and Ash climbed into the back seat. Gideon took the passenger side. Tobias crouched by the driver's side, ducking under the steering column to work with the wires dangling beneath.
"Give me a sec," he muttered, barely glancing up.
In mere moments, the engine coughed to life.
They were good to go.
As the truck sped down the highway, the city lights of Naples twinkled like distant stars. The radio sputtered to life—soft jazz drifting through static—before Tobias turned the dial and landed on something heavier. Italian rock. Loud and fast.
Ash tapped his fingers to the beat, nodding along. Gideon leaned back in his seat, silent, brooding.
And for a brief moment, just one—
They allowed themselves to breathe.
Then the music cut.
A voice came on, speaking rapidly in Italian. Tobias reached forward and raised the volume slightly. The voice was calm, but firm—clear and measured in its urgency. An emergency broadcast.
"We interrupt this program to bring you a breaking news update. At approximately 10:00 PM, a group of five individuals illegally entered the country through the Port of Naples. Authorities have identified them as members of the terrorist organization known as Black Vellum—"
"That was quick," Rio muttered, caught off guard.
"These individuals are considered extremely dangerous. If you see anyone matching these descriptions, or notice any suspicious activity, do not approach. Please contact the nearest authorities immediately."
The broadcast ended. A soft hiss of static returned.
The truck fell into silence.
None of them spoke. Only the low rumble of tires on asphalt and the distant wail of sirens filled the space.
Gideon leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. His eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
"I underestimated their reach," he said, voice quiet. "Didn't think they'd react this fast."
Ash reclined in his seat, arms behind his head, looking annoyingly calm. "Someone at the docks must've spotted us. Word got out quicker than expected."
Rio exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes focused on the road unfurling ahead. "Doesn't matter how they found out. Figuring that out won't change anything. What matters is finding a way out of this."
Gideon ran a hand through his damp hair, dragging his fingers back across his scalp. "This is tricky…"
His voice trailed off.
Then something shifted in his eyes—like a switch had flipped.
"…but I have a solution."
He leaned over to Tobias and whispered something low into the boy's ear.
Tobias's eyes widened. His grip on the wheel tightened.
"You're serious?" he asked, voice low and tense.
Gideon nodded once. "Dead serious."
Tobias went quiet. For a moment, he just stared at the road ahead—then gave a solemn nod, his expression hardening with resolve.
Gideon turned to the rest of them, a flicker of something dangerous behind his usually composed expression.
"Hold on tight," he said. "We're paying a visit to an old friend."
The truck wound through Naples' sleeping streets, headlights carving a path through the night. They left behind the commercial district, trading glass towers and neon lights for crooked alleys and crumbling stone. The air grew heavier as they descended into the older quarters—shadows pressed tighter here, and the buildings seemed to lean in, like silent witnesses to secrets too old to speak.
Eventually, Tobias slowed the truck to a crawl, pulling into a narrow gravel path framed by rusted wrought-iron gates. At the end of the road stood a cathedral.
It was ancient—its once-pristine façade now faded with soot and age. Vines crept up its sides, and weathered gargoyles looked down with eroded expressions. The stained-glass windows glimmered faintly under the moonlight, though many were cracked or crudely patched.
They stepped out of the truck in silence.
Rio tilted his head up to study the architecture. Tall spires. Ornate arches. The faint scent of incense and old stone lingered on the wind.
"It's old," he murmured.
Ash raised an eyebrow. "You think?"
"No, I mean… really old," Rio replied. He wondered what shape faith had taken in a world where people walked around with godlike powers.
They pushed open the cathedral doors with a groan of aged hinges. Inside, the space was vast and empty, lit only by flickering candlelight and shafts of moonlight through fractured glass. Dust hung in the air like fog. The pews were worn; the altar, intact but humble.
And standing at the front of the nave, as if he'd been expecting them, was an elderly man in priest's robes.
He had dark bronze skin, silver hair swept neatly back, and kind eyes behind a pair of rounded spectacles. A gold crucifix hung from his neck, but the way he stood said he didn't just carry the word of God—he'd lived it, bled for it… maybe even fought for it.
Gideon slowed as he approached, stopping just short of the man.
His posture shifted—looser, unsure. There was something almost childlike in his hesitation, something Rio hadn't seen in him before.
Before Gideon could speak, the priest stepped forward and pulled him into a warm, fatherly hug.
"I heard the news," he said with a quiet chuckle. His accent was Mexican, light and laced with age. "Looks like you've landed yourself in deep waters this time, mijo."
Gideon scratched the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. "It's nothing I can't solve. I'll take care of it."
Father Lucien smiled and stepped back, his gaze shifting to the group behind Gideon. "And these are…?"
Gideon gestured toward them. "Don't worry. I trust them."
Each gave a brief introduction.
"Rio," he said simply.
"Hayato," muttered the younger man, arms crossed.
"Ash," added the last, offering a lazy wave.
Tobias, still closing the heavy doors behind them, raised a hand in silent greeting.
Father Lucien nodded once, his expression shifting into something more serious. "There's an underground bunker beneath the cathedral. It's reinforced, soundproof, and completely off any official records. You can rest there for the night."
Gideon frowned. "Won't that put you in trouble?"
Lucien chuckled as he turned and began leading them down the aisle toward a side corridor. "Gideon… this is the Lord's house. And the Lord's house is neutral ground."
He paused at a stone door nestled into the wall, fingers tracing a faint symbol carved into it.
"Anyone who doesn't respect that…" He gave a faint, knowing smile. "Well, let's just say the Church's enforcers are more than capable of educating them."
With that, the stone door creaked open—and a staircase descended into darkness.
Author's note: My mind's a mess right now. On one hand I'm really excited since this book has hit the significant milestone of 1k collections. At the same time, I'm annoyed with myself since I haven't been satisfied with what I've written recently. An endless spiral of write and delete couple that with the fever that's been plaguing me for the past few days and it's a recipe for disaster.
I'm owing you guys a chapter and the people on Patreon three. I'll just end up sticking to whatever I write next.