"So, Uncle Edwards. Fancy seeing you out in the city."
Now that Nicholas had calmed down a bit, he was able to adopt a lighter tone while walking beside his uncle. The two strolled through the dimly lit city streets, the buzz of evening traffic acting as background noise.
Edwards wasn't his biological uncle. He and Nicholas's father were old friends and colleagues, close enough to be considered family.
"Oh, I'm just on my way home," Edwards replied, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah, that makes sense," Nicholas chuckled.
Edwards was a scientist who worked for KhyberCorp. Unfortunately, that was about all Nicholas knew. Come to think of it, he didn't even know much about what his own father did at KhyberCorp.
KhyberCorp…
"Something troubling you, my boy?" Edwards asked, noticing the sudden shift in Nicholas's expression.
Caught off guard, Nicholas nearly stumbled. "Troubling me? Of course not. My life's perfect. I've got a loving family, a roof over my head, good grades, friends… What could possibly be wrong?" He rattled off a list quickly, defensively.
Edwards raised a brow, but his concern didn't waver. Instead, his eyes gleamed with something else—humor, maybe.
"Girl problems, possibly?"
"Wha-huh?" Nicholas blinked. His uncle's question left him gobsmacked.
"Haha! So it is true?" Edwards grinned. "You know, your father had quite a bit of trouble courting your mother. She was a very popular lady back in college."
Nicholas stopped walking.
"Hm? What's the matter, Nicholas?"
His eyes dropped to the pavement. "Hey, Uncle… Could you tell me something about my mother?"
Edwards blinked, taken aback. "Why are you asking me? Shouldn't you ask your father?"
"Trust me, I have." Nicholas sighed. "But it's always the same. 'She was lovely.' 'She was kind.' 'The only woman I'll ever love.'" He shook his head. "That's great and all… but it doesn't really tell me anything about her."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. What was he doing? He wasn't usually so open about his feelings.
Edwards furrowed his brow. "And why isn't that enough?"
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Because it just isn't. I mean…"
"Frankly, spending so much time here has taught me humans are a special kind of monsters of their own."
The wendigo's words echoed in his mind.
"Everyone has some bad in them."
Edwards tilted his head, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Nicholas looked him in the eye. "I mean that human beings have both good and bad in them. That's just how we are."
He thought back to Markus, the man who had both saved his life and tried to end it. Gin, the demon who tried to kill him, but spared him instead.
"Human beings are contradictory, and that's fine. It's our choices that define us. That's why…"
His thoughts wandered again to the fights he'd been in over the past month. He hadn't set out to kill anyone, but the pain he endured changed him. He'd grown more violent. More willing to fight dirty. There were moments when he genuinely wanted to kill the ones who hurt him. That terrified him.
But he accepted it.
That was the bad in him. A part he didn't like. A part he would try to work on.
"...Sorry," Nicholas muttered, placing his hand on his face. "I'm not even sure where I'm going with this."
"I think I see what's going on." Edwards gently placed a hand on Nicholas's back. "You're just a little confused about who you are. And that's fine. You're still young—you've got your whole life ahead of you. You don't need to rush to find all the answers."
Nicholas gently removed his uncle's hand and took a step back. "I know, I know… It's just frustrating, is all."
He had no hobbies. No real career in mind. The future felt like a black hole—massive, unknowable, and terrifying. He was living in the moment, one day at a time. Realistically, that kind of living? You'd call that an NPC, an extra in everyone else's story. And yet… he hadn't cared. He'd been content with that.
But ever since he got his powers, something had shifted.
Or maybe the powers hadn't changed him—they'd simply awakened something that was already buried inside. A desire he couldn't ignore.
A purpose.
But it couldn't just be any purpose. No, that wouldn't satisfy him.
The only thing that ever made him feel fulfilled… was helping people.
And yet he couldn't see himself joining the system, being just another government pawn like the heroes. People who were often forced to carry out unsavory orders. To kill if necessary. To protect the masses by any means, even at the cost of their own ideals.
He didn't want that. He didn't want to kill.
But if it ever came to that… He would do it on his own terms.
"Come to think of it… Uncle Edwards," Nicholas blinked out of his thoughts and turned toward the older man. "You've been looking like something's bothering you this whole time."
He hadn't noticed before, too wrapped up in his own head. But now… the signs were obvious.
Fidgeting fingers. A sheen of sweat on his forehead. Shaky breaths. And blinking far too frequently.
"You… you really don't look well, Uncle. What's wrong?"
Edwards exhaled slowly. "Nothing gets past you, does it, Nicholas? Truth is, something's been on my mind since last month."
Nicholas went still, suddenly focused. The wind around them had gone quiet.
"You've seen the news, right? About the… 'Weather-Man,' as they're calling him." Edwards reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing his forehead. "Markus Tempus. He was… a student of mine, back when I was still a professor. Later on, we became colleagues at KhyberCorp."
Nicholas's eyes widened, his stomach twisting into a tight knot.
"I just can't help but wonder…" Edwards continued, his voice quieter now. "Why couldn't I see the signs. If I'd known… could I have talked to him? Would I have been able to change anything?"
His voice was trembling. He looked like he was on the verge of crying, but somehow held it together.
Nicholas couldn't even look at him. 'This whole time… you've been blaming yourself for what happened. When in reality…'
"What if I'd gotten to him before that blasted vigilante did?"
Nicholas's entire body tensed. His eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared, lifelessly, at the man beside him.
"What right did that vigilante have? To hurt Markus so badly? To interfere with the heroes' work?" Edwards's kind face twisted into something Nicholas had never seen before: raw anger. "I'm sure if it had been anyone else, they would've handled things better."
"You…" Nicholas's voice cracked. "You think so, huh?"
Edwards paused, the venom draining slowly from his face. "I apologize for my outburst, my dear boy. It's just… that vigilante, Unknown—there's a reason we don't have people like him anymore."
Nicholas nodded meekly. "Uncle… Hope you don't mind, but I'll head this way. Got something I need to take care of."
He pointed to the first side street he could find. It didn't matter where it went.
He just wanted to be alone.
Edwards hesitated. "Be careful, my boy. The night's not safe. Don't give your father another reason to worry."
Nicholas didn't respond. He walked away, his pace gradually picking up with each step.
…
Night had fallen some time ago.
Yet Nicholas continued to walk, wandering aimlessly through the city, uncertain about—well, everything.
Would it have been better… if it were someone else?
Probably.
But things had played out the way they did. There was no going back now. If it didn't matter. The past was immutable.
"Still... it stings."
He hadn't wanted things to turn out like that. He tried talking to Markus, didn't he? And Markus was the one who shot first.
His steps halted. Droplets of rain tapped lightly against his skin.
"Looks like it's gonna rain…" he muttered. "I suppose that's enough moping."
With a sigh, he turned toward home. He wasn't in the mood to get soaked.
"HEEEEELP!!!"
The desperate scream jolted him to a stop.
He whipped around toward the sound, instincts flaring. He took one step forward—
And froze.
"I'm sure if it had been anyone else, they would've handled things better."
Nicholas looked around.
The street was empty. Not a soul in sight.
He exhaled slowly.
That's just it, Uncle. His teeth clenched. There was no one else. No one else but me.
He ran fast, faster than ever. He found the alley. A woman, maybe in her 30s, was pressed against the wall, a filthy man looming over her. A knife gleamed in the low light, its edge just inches from her throat.
No hesitation.
Nicholas tackled the man with full force, sending him flying headfirst into a nearby garbage container.
"Ha… ha… ha…" Nicholas doubled over, panting hard. "I just did something rash again, didn't I? Ha—" He groaned and slapped his forehead.
Turning toward the woman, he found her frozen in place, eyes wide.
"Uh… you good?" he asked awkwardly.
She gave a shaky nod.
"Good. Uh. I'm gonna… go over there now." He motioned vaguely toward the thug and shuffled off to check on him.
The man was breathing. No blood. Just unconscious.
"Phew." Nicholas returned to the woman. "Could you call the cops?"
"Y-yes, of course!" she stammered, stepping back from him.
Nicholas scratched the back of his head. Well, that was something… But that gut-deep unease still lingered.
He reached into the thug's pockets to check for the black drug.
'No Black Blood…'
"Then what is—"
"Thank you, young man, for saving me."
He looked up as the woman approached again.
"I—You don't need to thank me." He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. Being thanked so directly felt… weird. People didn't usually do that.
"But I must—Ah… AAAAA!"
The woman screamed and bolted down the alley.
Nicholas stared, confused. "Hey… I'm not that ugly, am I?"
The answer came as a hand seized his collar and hurled him like a rag doll across the street.
"GACK—Geh!" Nicholas crashed through a window and into the side of a storage unit. He coughed violently, the breath knocked from his lungs. What the hell just happened!?
His ears rang. He sat up, dizzy, and reached for his face.
Metal?
His mask had formed without him noticing. His body had reacted faster than his mind. When he lifted his shirt, a dark chest plate greeted him, snug against his torso.
"I uh… okay." The sheer absurdity of the situation numbed his reaction. Shock had dulled the edges of his fear. At this point, he was just… rolling with it. He dismissed the chest plate.
Nicholas slowly pushed himself up from the wreckage of someone's storage unit, brushing off bits of debris. Sorry, stranger, he muttered silently. Didn't mean to redecorate your space with my spine.
He winced and held the side of his head. Everything already ached—and the fight hadn't even started yet.
So what happened exactly? He tried to piece things together.
I stopped a mugging… then got launched across the street like a football… Nope. That doesn't add up. What the hell is going on?
His eyes narrowed. Through the dust cloud, he could just make out a silhouette—roughly his height. Broad shoulders. Calm stride.
As the haze settled, the figure came into focus.
A man in a deep purple robe adorned with white stripes. His face was hidden behind a smooth, featureless white mask. Dark brown hair swept back neatly. He walked with unnerving silence, like a shadow impersonating a man.
Nicholas blinked. For a second, he believed it was some strange cosplayer.
The stranger kept walking toward him, unhurried and composed.
"Oi," Nicholas called out, voice echoing off the walls. "Who the hell just throws someone across the street the moment they meet 'em? Ever heard of hello?"
The masked figure stopped.
It tilted its head slightly and brought a gloved hand to where its mouth would be. An oddly casual gesture.
Nicholas furrowed his brow. "Or… wait. Have we met before?"
Something about the robe… he'd seen someone like this before. Recently. But the memory danced just out of reach.
"I suspected it was you." That voice, irritated, indifferent, and calm, jogged Nicholas's memory. He remembered it from the carnival. The guy he bumped into.
He's… an Awakened? Nicholas narrowed his eyes. He really didn't give off that vibe back then. Even now...
Steadying his breath, Nicholas forced himself upright. A gauntlet of darkness formed over his left hand; a dagger shaped in his right. He wasn't taking any chances.
But the man didn't move. He just watched. Not Nicholas—Unknown.
Shit.
Only now did it sink in: this guy had seen his face. That was bad. Really bad.
Okay, okay. Calm down, Nicholas reassured himself. He doesn't know my name. I've got an average look, nothing memorable. Should be fine. Right?
But even in his head, it wasn't convincing.
Still, now wasn't the time to panic. He forced the anxiety down. Focus.
The figure hadn't taken a step, hadn't raised a hand; he just stood there, unmoving. Nicholas's instincts, normally sharp and reactive, remained eerily silent. That worried him more than anything.
When he fought the demon, he could feel every movement before it happened. The twin pistols, the katana, he knew what was coming. But this guy? This guy had nothing. No weapons. No presence. Just stillness.
It was wrong.
Even the sensation was backward. Normally, he could feel when someone was watching him. But this was the opposite. He knew the man was there, saw him clear as day… and yet, it felt like no one was watching. Like the figure didn't exist at all.
Is it the mask?
Then, as if making up his mind, the man adjusted his posture. Straightened slightly. Calm. Intentional.
He tapped his foot once.
Nicholas blinked. Wha–?
And then his instincts screamed.
DANGER.
Move. Now.
He didn't hesitate. He leapt and rolled to the side, just as a massive pillar of white shot up from the ground where he'd been standing, smashing into the ceiling above with a deafening crack.
Nicholas turned, eyes wide. Had I stayed there… I'd have been crushed flat.
"Re...s…ck…" he barely heard the man mutter to himself, too faint to catch fully.
What the hell is going on…? Nicholas wiped the sweat from his brow. He didn't like where this was heading.
Without wasting another second, he summoned black fog to pour around the room.
In recent days, he'd finally figured out what that fog was—a raw, shapeless form of his power. Darkness in its most basic state.
He had come to understand it as something like this:
-Darkness was the water.
-He was the pipe.
-And intent, his mind, was the faucet that controlled the flow.
The black fog was uncontrolled. Untamed. No form, no direction. It was power without focus. The healing mist, however? That was Darkness formed with a purpose.
Right now, he didn't shape it. He simply let the fog seep out, low and thin, waiting to use it as cover. Something to obscure. Something to misdirect.
"Inte...ing." The figure didn't react. He just… observed.
Nicholas flung the dagger at his feet, hoping for a feint. A reaction.
The figure responded, barely. He shifted back half a step and tapped his toe against the floor again. Instantly, a circular white barrier bloomed around his feet. The dagger bounced off harmlessly.
But Nicholas wasn't done. With a flick of thought, he reversed the weapon midair. The dagger curved back, like a boomerang.
The man's posture shifted slightly—curious, not threatened. He side-stepped, caught the blade midair, and raised it up to his masked face, examining it like a scientist might a specimen.
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. What the hell are you doing...?
Then the white ring beneath the man's feet disintegrated, falling away into dust. Like it had never existed.
Nicholas watched closely. So it's temporary. Constructs don't last.
He waved his hand once, and the dagger dematerialized, becoming dark wisps that slithered back to him, reforming in his grip.
"Fascinating," the figure said, voice low and vaguely amused. "You use that power completely differently from the clown."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Clown…?" His thoughts flickered. Is he talking about… Glib? Gib? Whatever his name was.
The figure let out a short chuckle. "My mistake. I meant the Jester. You have not met him."
"...Okay~?" Nicholas dragged out the word, not quite sure how to take that. The Jester? Great. Just what he needed—another lunatic.
"Let us continue."
The figure snapped his fingers.
From all directions, thin white pillars erupted. The room trembled as the already-weak walls began to crack under the pressure.
Nicholas didn't have time to think. Instinct took over. The dagger vanished, and a round shield formed in his arm's place.
CLANG!
He deflected the first pillar—it shattered on impact.
A second one rushed him from the side. He pivoted, crushed it with a gauntleted hand.
Another shot up from beneath—he ducked.
The next came at his shoulder; he slammed it away with the shield.
One after another. The attacks didn't stop. They didn't even slow. Just wave after wave of relentless pressure.
Nicholas shouted over the din. "Wait!"
He didn't know if it would work. Probably wouldn't. But it was worth a shot—if nothing else, maybe he could stall. Get information.
To his surprise, the figure raised his hand. The barrage halted mid-strike. The constructs froze. Suspended in air like jagged teeth.
He tilted his head slightly, as if curious.
Nicholas took the opening. "Shouldn't we at least introduce ourselves? I mean—you're attacking me unprovoked here. I'd at least like to know why I'm being hunted down like a cockroach in a storage closet."
He laughed nervously. "I'm uh… well. Unknown. And you are?"
Silence.
The man didn't move. Not a twitch. Not even a sound.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
The air, which had shifted from threatening to strangely calm, now turned suffocatingly awkward. Nicholas, once again, found himself amazed at his ability to completely ruin the mood.
Finally, the figure spoke.
"...I have no real name. Yet there is a name they call me."
So you do have a name then? Nicholas raised an eyebrow but kept it to himself.
"They call me Riot.The Riot."
As he said this, he snapped his fingers again—and from all around them, jagged white shapes erupted like splinters from the ground and walls, encircling Nicholas.
"Introductions over," Riot said. "Let us continue."
The constructs twisted in place, then shot toward Nicholas.
He didn't even have time to sigh.
'What the fu—'
Chapter 36: The Riot (1)