The blackout stretched across the city, and Colonel Veynar wasted no time. From the belly of a black transport, he watched the map on his wristpad bloom with red pings. Power grids offline. Communications jammed. At the center—one single pulse. Located in Westvale, the place where The Ampers safehouse was.
"Target confirmed," he muttered, voice hard. "Deployment pattern Delta. Quiet insertion."
The strike team nodded in unison, helmets clicking down. No fanfare. No sirens. Just shadows peeling off the transport and slipping into the dark.
The safehouse loomed against the dead horizon, its usual glow smothered by the blackout. For years, its reputation had kept Taskforce V's soldiers wary. Tonight, fear wasn't an excuse. Orders were orders.
Inside, the air trembled faintly with static—the storm Grant had dragged from the void bleeding into the world.
An eight-year-old boy in the eastern wing woke up. His Gift—a tremor sense—itched along his feet. Boots. Dozens. Moving quiet.
He scrambled into the hall barefoot, pulse racing. "Aldus! Kudin! Someone—!" His voice cracked, echoing against the stone corridors.
Doors creaked open. Sleepy faces, older students, rookies still in training. Confusion spread like a ripple—then fear.
The boy's scream carried through ducts and stairwells—straight to ears it wasn't meant for.
From the shadowed arch of the corridor, a soldier froze mid-step, visor flaring pale green. He raised a hand signal. The others fanned out, rifles drawn, moving toward the source of the cry.
The breach had begun.
The boy stumbled into the main hall, voice breaking.
"They're here! They're—"
His words choked into silence.
Ahead of him stood three figures waiting in the half-light of the blackout: Anna, Katya Vale, and Xylo.
Anna's glyphs glowed faintly across her suit. She'd been pacing since the blackout began.
Xylo crouched beside the boy, his playful smirk gone for once. "Easy, kid." His hand brushed the boy's shoulder, the air around him dropping in temperature. Frost hissed against the stone floor, creeping outward. "Tell me where."
The boy pointed, trembling, down the corridor. Heavy boots were marching closer, no longer bothering with silence.
Xylo's grin sharpened into something colder. He rose to his feet, ice already sheathing his arms and shoulders like armor. "Finally. Thought tonight was gonna be boring."
Beside him, Katya's eyes darted between Xylo and Anna, nerves twitching in her fingers. "We're not ready for this," she whispered.
Anna planted herself in front of both of them. The faint blue sigils on her gloves pulsed, threads of power weaving like veins across her arms. "Then we make ourselves ready." Her voice didn't waver.
The sound of rifles being armed clattered from the hall beyond.
The boy pressed against the wall, wide-eyed, as shadows stretched long across the floor.
Xylo flexed his hands, jagged ice taking shape into dual blades. He flashed Katya a sideways look, half-teasing, half-serious. "Think you can keep up, Vale?"
She shot a glare at him—one he didn't expect.
"When we are in battle, you know I'm Nullis."
She phased fully, her form sliding into translucence as she stepped through the wall and vanished.
Anna didn't look back at either of them. She simply lowered her stance, gloved fingers sparking faintly.
The boots grew louder. The strike team rounded the corner—six soldiers in matte armor, visors glinting, rifles up. The lead soldier froze for half a heartbeat at the sight of the waiting trio.
Then the order came, cold and sharp: "Engage."
The hallway erupted into chaos.
Katya slipped through the wall like smoke, heart hammering. She knew she had to flank them—if she could just cut around behind, she'd tip the odds.
She solidified—too slow. A sidearm snapped to her temple before she could melt back.
"Don't move." His voice was like iron.
Anna froze at the sight—her glyphs flickering wild with emotion. "Katya!"
Xylo snarled, frost spiraling up his arms, blades sharpening with each heartbeat. "You're making a mistake."
The soldiers raised rifles in unison, black barrels trained on the hall. Six glowing visors. Six steady lasers painting their chests.
Katya's hands trembled at her sides. She could phase out, slip away—but the instant she did, the trigger would pull before her atoms ever cleared. She knew it.
Anna's voice cut low, steady, but her shoulders shook. "Let her go."
Xylo's laugh was sharp and humorless. He leaned forward, frost cracking at his feet. "You think we're scared of you? She's worth ten of your soldiers. Pull that trigger, and I'll turn every drop of water in your body into ice."
The rifles clicked tighter in response.
For a moment, silence. No one breathed. The boy hiding behind the wall muffled a sob.
Then—
The mansion shook.
A low rumble at first, like distant thunder. Then the walls groaned, chandeliers swaying. A sound like tearing metal ripped through the air as dust rained from the ceiling.
And beneath it all—a scream.
Not outside. Not in the hall. Inside the mansion itself.
It wasn't human, not anymore. It was Grant, his voice tearing through two worlds at once.
Red lightning spiderwebbed across the ceiling, veins of crackling energy splitting stone like brittle glass. The strike team faltered, visors flickering static. The officer cursed, his grip faltering for the briefest second as the floor buckled underfoot.
The tremor deepened, rattling through every brick of the safehouse.
And for the first time, fear spread across the Taskforce's armored faces.
The quake ripped through the hall, shaking rifles and shoving soldiers off-balance. Dust rained from the rafters. For the briefest second, discipline faltered.
Anna moved.
Her glyphs flared bright as she surged forward, closing the gap in a blur. The officer's visor flicked toward her too late. She caught his wrist, yanked the glove away, and pressed her palm against his skin.
His scream curdled the air. Veins blackened in seconds, his strength draining. Then silence—his body collapsing into a husk at her feet.
"Cut down the weed!" Colonel Veynar's voice split the chaos, sharp and merciless.
Muzzle flashes lit the hall. Bullets shrieked through the air.
One round cut cleaner than the rest, a direct line toward Anna's chest.
Time slowed.
The air itself trembled—then tore.
From the quake's heart he emerged, radiant, wrapped in searing light. Every line of him was carved in lightning, arcs dancing across bare skin, etching him in fire and storm. For an instant he looked like something fallen from the heavens.
He stepped through reality as though it were a curtain. Shirtless, black pants, barefoot—the storm wore him like armor.
The bullet hung inches from Anna's heart. A hand closed around it.
Grant.
He lowered the slug to the floor with a casual flick, lightning still sparking across his fingers. Red arcs bled from his skin into the walls, crawling like veins of living fire.
The Taskforce froze. For a moment, none of them dared breathe.
Then Veynar snarled. "Cut him down!"
The hall exploded in thunder. Bullets tore into him—but each wound sealed instantly, rifles outpaced by flesh knitting back together.
Regeneration and superspeed bled together into a living paradox.
He didn't flinch. Didn't fall. He simply stood, glowing brighter, every round swallowed by stormlight until it seemed he was untouchable.
Anna staggered back, breath gone, her hand trembling at her lips.
"He looks familiar…" she whispered.
Nullis, pale but alive, let a wry smile touch her lips even as soldiers closed in. "Glyph… he is—"
Anna cut her off, voice breaking as her eyes locked onto his face.
"Grant!"
And at the sound of his name, the lightning flared brighter.