Chapter 148
MADMAN (2)
The moment he noticed the cluster of raised phones and camera lenses aimed his way.
IAM tugged his hood forward until the shadow swallowed half his face, the fabric brushing against his cheek. He couldn't let his face spread online—not when there was even the slightest chance that a member of the Circle of the Accursed might recognize him.
The odds of them sending someone for him were low, maybe even laughably low… but low wasn't the same as zero. And IAM knew how quickly a slim chance could turn into a death sentence.
The noise of the street faded, swallowed by an uneasy quiet that seemed to settle over the crowd. No one spoke. No one shouted. Even the protesters, moments ago restless and loud, stood frozen, their voices caught somewhere between their lungs and their throats.
The group of men inching toward him tightened their formation, every step closer sealing off another possible escape route. They moved like a net being drawn in—slow enough to not spook the prey, but certain enough to close without leaving a gap.
Above them, the sky was changing. Clouds that hadn't been there moments ago began to seep into view, thick and black, unfurling like smoke over a fire. They spread with unsettling purpose, blotting out the sunlight in creeping layers.
A low growl of thunder rolled across the air. The sound was deep, like something was shifting in the heavens.
It was going to rain...
IAM could feel the fine hairs along his arms rising, as if the very air around him had turned electric. Every nerve in his body screamed for rest—his lungs burned, his legs ached, his muscles throbbed from the punishment they had taken. His body wanted to fold, to sink into the ground and just… stop. But there was no stopping here.
One of the men lunged forward, his fist arcing through the air like a hammer. IAM's arm came up almost on instinct, catching the blow along his forearm. The impact jarred through his bones and shoved him back a step—just far enough for another man to drive a boot into his back.
The kick sent him pitching forward, the cold pavement slamming against his palms and knees.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Hey… shouldn't we stop them?" someone whispered.
"What do you mean? The police are on their way. No point in getting hurt just to jump in."
"I saw the way they moved earlier—jumping over people's heads. They're definitely Ascenders."
"Then why are they ganging up on that one in the middle?"
"Wait… isn't that a Hope Academy uniform? Looks a little off, though."
"I didn't think those students would be so lacking in decorum that they'd start beating people in the street."
"Just because they're geniuses doesn't mean they get to do whatever they want!"
IAM stayed on all fours for a moment, his head hanging low as ragged breaths tore in and out of his chest. He coughed, once, twice, tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. The sound of feet told him the group was closing in to finish it.
And then—laughter.
It started faint, almost a chuckle under his breath. But it didn't stop. It swelled. Twisted into something raw and unhinged. A sound that froze the space around him. The kind of laugh that made the skin crawl and the stomach tighten, the kind that didn't sound like it belonged to someone sane.
The crowd went still. Even the bullies hesitated.
It was IAM.
"Ha… ha… ha… ha… ha… ha…" The laughter spilled out in jagged bursts as he rose slowly to his feet. His stance swayed like a man barely clinging to consciousness, yet his right hand crept up the side of his neck, fingers tracing the skin in an almost casual stroke.
One of the men muttered under his breath, "What the hell is he doing? Take him down—he's just acting tough."
Their focus sharpened again. They readied themselves.
And then—
A voice, deep and resonant, rang out in a way that didn't seem entirely natural. It was layered and carried an authority that pierced the air: [STOP].
The crowd flinched at the sound, but nothing happened… except to the man standing directly in front of IAM.
IAM wiped the blood streaming from his left nostril with the back of his hand. His eyes locked on the man's face—wide with confusion, the edges tinged with fear.
A slow smile stretched across IAM's lips, growing wider and wider until every sharp tooth was bared.
Then IAM sprinted toward the frozen boy, each stride pounding against the ground like the drumbeat of a chase. The boy's eyes widened, but his body remained rigid, able only to watch as IAM barrelled toward him like an unstoppable force.
At the last second, IAM launched himself upward, his foot planting squarely on the boy's face. The impact forced the boy's head back with a dull, sickening thud, but IAM was already gone—using him like a springboard, hurling himself forward through the air. His momentum carried him toward the gaping mouths of the crowd ahead, their shock freezing them in place.
"What the hell is he playing at? There's no way through!" one of the bullies barked, already breaking into a run toward him.
IAM's eyes met another's in the crowd; they watched as the pools of darkness that were his eyes landed on them, without so much as a ripple.
IAM's feet landed squarely on the stranger's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt," he murmured, his tone flat and drained, like someone who had long since stopped caring about the pain he caused.
Before they could react, he was already moving again—pushing off with weary legs, vaulting from one shoulder to the next. Man or woman, it didn't matter. He stepped on them all without hesitation, his weight hammering down, using bodies as stepping stones, carving a jagged path across the human barrier towards the edge of the crowd.
Shouts and screams of fear and surprise rippled through the air as IAM, the lone survivor of the Hold, used the protesters—who were still clashing over their fears for their own safety after it's fall—as nothing more than stepping stones.
There was an undeniable, unspoken meaning buried in that act.
The first cold droplets of rain began to fall, tapping against IAM's hoodie and the heads of those around him.
The six could only stare in disbelief. This… this madman… he was actually using people as steps to escape, uncaring if his actions left them hurt in his wake. It was almost cruel. Almost terrifying.
One of IAM's legs betrayed him—slipping off someone's shoulder—and he crashed, skidding across the slick ground. The impact rolled him into a clumsy, exhausted tumble before he pushed himself up and kept running, finally breaking free of the crowd. At some point, his hood had fallen back, exposing his face to the rain.
He was exhausted now, barely managing more than a weary jog. Turning sharply around a corner, he collided with someone, but didn't so much as glance back—he just kept running.
"Hey! Who do you think you're bumping into without apologising?!" the girl shouted, raising a fist in the direction of the retreating IAM.
"Forget it," the girl beside her said, shaking her head. "He looked like he was in rough shape."
The first girl kissed her teeth and brushed at the dirt where his shoulder had struck her. "Yeah, you're right. Let's just get out of the rain—it's getting dark."
Her friend tilted her head up toward the darkening sky, a solemn look in her eyes. "Maybe you're right… maybe it's time we headed back to the academy."