The city's slums had become a warzone.
The streets outside the Red Arms' stronghold were alive with fire and screams. The Red Arms and the Black Vultures clashed in full force, their hatred spilling out into a storm of bullets and blade. Gunfire rattled endlessly, but these were not normal bullets—these were runic rounds, their casings etched with glowing symbols. Every shot carried more than just steel; each spark carried fragments of bound Aetherborn, making every impact erupt like miniature spells.
Walls shattered, flames burst across the cracked pavement, and men were thrown screaming into the air as explosions tore open alleyways.
The air was filled with curses and war cries. "Red Arms! Push forward! Don't give those vultures an inch!"
"Vultures! Rip their guts out! Leave no fucking survivors!"
Bodies already lay across the street, some with glowing burns in their chests, others with limbs twisted unnaturally from cursed rounds. The average members, the ones without supernatural bonds fired wildly from behind broken cars and shattered stalls. They died in droves, their screams echoing above the chaos.
But the transcenders were another story.
On one side, a hulking man with skin cracked like stone roared as he charged, bullets bouncing harmlessly off his hardened body. A Black Vulture transcender leapt to meet him, her hair whipping like black fire as shadowy blades sprouted from her arms. They clashed in the middle of the street, each blow tearing chunks out of the ground.
Another duel unfolded on a rooftop. A Red Arms transcender with insect-like wings darted through the air, spitting acid that melted stone. A Black Vulture archer answered from afar, every arrow trailing a streak of spectral flame. The skyline became a battlefield of monstrous silhouettes, their powers lighting up the night sky.
The war raged without restraint, no authority daring to step in. Civilians had long fled this district, abandoning homes and shops to rot under gang control. Tonight, however, everything changed.
Because sirens wailed in the distance.
Blue and red lights streaked into the neighborhood.
The Police Arrived.
The gangs barely noticed at first, too consumed with slaughtering each other. But the sound grew louder, the hum of engines and screech of tires echoing across the war-torn blocks.
"Police!" someone shouted. "The cops are here!"
Panic rippled instantly. The average members, the ones without supernatural relics dropped their weapons and scattered like rats, shoving each other as they rushed toward the forest at the edge of the district. Some tried to scale walls, others sprinted into alleyways. Gunfire turned sporadic as fear replaced bloodlust.
But the transcenders stood their ground. Their eyes glowed with killing intent as the first squad cars screeched to a halt at the edge of the battlefield. Doors slammed open and dozens of police poured out.
They weren't ordinary policemen.
The lead group moved as one, their hands already glowing with faint light. Then they activated their relics.
Their bodies shimmered with transformation. One man's skin hardened into glimmering bronze plates. Another sprouted ghostly wings of wind. A third's eyes turned molten gold, his veins glowing like streams of lava. Their relics, bound supernaturals had reshaped them into monsters every bit as terrifying as the gang transcenders.
For a moment, the battlefield froze. The transcenders of both gangs hesitated. They knew what they were looking at. Police transcenders, law sanctioned, trained, relentless.
Then a voice cut through the silence like a thunderclap.
"Freeze!"
The air itself seemed to shiver.
A tall figure stepped forward from the police line. His black coat whipped around him in the breeze, his boots striking sparks against the broken pavement. His hair darkened with streaks of silver lightning that seemed to dance endlessly, shifting as if caught in an unseen storm. Every step carried weight, the very ground vibrating faintly.
This was Captain Leo.
"Run if you want," Leo's voice boomed, echoing unnaturally. Every syllable carried a rumble like distant thunder. "But tonight, I'll make sure that most of you will be punished."
One of the Red Arms scoffed. "It's just some fucking pigs!"
Leo's hand touched the relic strapped to his arm. A faint blue spark spread across his body. His veins lit with electricity, glowing faintly beneath his skin. Then, with a sound like the sky tearing open, lightning erupted around him.
A thunderclap roared through the district.
The gang members staggered, shielding their ears, the shockwave rattling windows for blocks.
"A fucking... Zephyr Reaver" one of the Black Vultures gasped. "That's his supernatural."
Another shouted in panic, "He's Grade B! A Grade B transcender!"
Fear spread instantly. Grade B transcenders were monsters, commanders, champions, the kind who could stand against armies. The gang transcenders who had looked ready to fight moments ago now paled.
"Shit, retreat! Retreat!" someone screamed.
The gangs broke. They tried to scatter, but Leo moved.
In a blur, he vanished. The air cracked, a sonic boom shaking the ground. A heartbeat later, one of the fleeing transcenders screamed as his arm was severed clean at the shoulder. Blood sprayed, but Leo had already moved on.
"Don't run," his voice echoed everywhere at once. "Don't fucking resist."
A Red Arms transcender spun desperately, summoning a barrier of stone. Leo blurred forward, leaving three afterimages of himself in the air. The man struck at the wrong one. The real Leo appeared at his side and his hand flicked casually. The air split, a vacuum cut ripping through the stone shield and cleaving the man's leg apart.
The transcender collapsed, howling.
Another tried to leap across rooftops, wings spread wide. Leo didn't even look at him. He stamped once, Tempest Step carrying him upward as if the air had become solid beneath his feet. He met the man mid-leap, his hand glowing with electric pressure.
Storm Pounce.
He slammed into the winged man like an artillery shell. The rooftop shattered, the transcender embedded into rubble, his chest caved in. Alive, but broken.
"Mercy is not death," Leo muttered. "But I will not let you walk free."
One after another, transcenders fell. Arms severed, legs broken, ribs cracked like dry wood. Leo never aimed to kill unless forced, but his brutality left none capable of fighting. Every strike was efficient, a storm given flesh.
The battlefield that had been a riot of chaos minutes earlier was now a slaughterhouse of cripples. The normal police moved in, binding prisoners, dragging the injured, and clearing the streets.
---
While Leo hunted the transcenders, the ordinary officers stormed the houses lining the district. They kicked down doors, shouting for survivors or hidden gang members. Some rooms were empty, abandoned long ago. Others held terrified civilians, hiding under beds or in cellars.
"Clear! Clear!" voices shouted up and down the block.
One house yielded crates of runic ammunition. Another was filled with stolen empty relics with no supernaturals inside it, each carefully wrapped in bloodstained cloth. The police tagged and seized them, hauling evidence out into the street.
But in the midst of this order, a smaller group of five officers broke away. They were quiet, exchanging subtle glances, then slipping into formation without orders.
They moved toward one building.
The mansion.
Inside the House
Deep below, Nash sat among the freed prisoners. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and smoke, the bodies of Smoke and Brakar lying broken in pools of crimson. The captives clung to each other, their voices trembling with relief and disbelief.
Nash tightened Hina's porcelain fists, his voice low. "I guess that's my cue." Nash then tried to stole the relics of the two transcender he beat up but their relics won't budge and seems to resist Nash. Left with no choice Nash just left the relics.
He then glanced toward the stairs, where faint vibrations echoed from above. Police.
He turned back to the prisoners. "Listen. The authorities are here. You're finally safe. Help is coming."
Some of the broken men and women wept openly, reaching for him. Nash forced a steady tone. "Stay here. They'll get you out."
His gaze fell to the corner, where the bag of money still lay heavy, bloodstained but untouched. He hesitated, then grabbed it, slinging it over Hina's porcelain shoulder.
"Better not let this rot in here," he muttered.
The prisoners stared at him, confused, but Nash gave them a curt nod. "You'll live. That's all that matters."
He turned and began walking toward the stairs.
The faint echo of boots on stone reached his ears. The police were entering.
"Time to move."
Nash pushed forward, porcelain steps heavy but quick. He reached the hallway, the ruined doorframes above letting in faint flashes of red and blue lights from outside.
Then it happened.
The stairwell door at the top burst open.
Five police officers entered, weapons drawn, their eyes scanning instantly. Their formation was precise, professional. The police's gaze fixed on the porcelain figure carrying a bloodstained bag.
Nash froze.
The room seemed to tighten, silence stretching like a blade.