"Listen to me, boy."
A powerful voice echoed through the dimly lit room.
There was a single table, two chairs, and a lone bulb swinging slightly above. Its light bathed only the center of the room—just enough to show the shape of things, but not their truth.
Two figures sat across from each other.
One, a man cloaked in shadow—his features hidden, his presence looming.
The other, a child. Small, pale, silent. Though the light shone directly above him, it didn't seem to touch him at all.
"You have nothing," the man said flatly. "Even your name has been lost."
The child nodded once. There was no emotion in his eyes—only the dull acceptance of something already known.
"You have been stripped of everything. Everything… except your power."
The boy tilted his head, curious. Power? What kind of power? What did it mean? Could you touch it? Eat it?
"Work with me," the man continued, "and you'll have the answers you seek."
The boy stared at him. Cold, lifeless, still.
But he nodded again.
He knew this man. Or at least, he believed he did. And if the man had knowledge—answers—then there was no reason to refuse.
A low chuckle escaped the man's throat. "Good. You are as cooperative as ever."
The child blinked slowly, trying to imagine the meaning of that new word. Cooperative. It didn't form a picture in his mind. So he filed it away for later.
"Here is your purpose," the man said, voice heavy with finality. "Learn."
"...Learn?" It was the first time the child had spoken during the entire exchange. His voice was hoarse, like it hadn't been used in a long time.
"Correct. Learn about this world. The more you learn…" The man leaned forward, ever so slightly. "...the more powerful you will become."
The child considered that.
"...Okay," he said simply.
The man smiled.
Though the child couldn't see his face, he felt the expression. It wrapped around the room like a wire tightening.
So the child smiled back. It was a terribly wide smile.
"Very good," the man said, unperturbed by the unnatural smile.
"Become strong. Subject-R."
***
Dozens of geometrical constructs honed in on the wannabe vigilante. He barely had time to react.
What will you do?
Despite the deadly onslaught, the vigilante didn't panic. Or if he did, he didn't show it. Instead, he formed a second gauntlet, this one covering his right hand, and summoned metal boots crafted from the same shifting, dark material.
He fought with all four limbs, deflecting, dodging, and smashing the constructs as they came from all sides. The sound they made… each time one of the constructs broke, it would sound like bone breaking.
Fascinating. He's using his entire body, yet not once has he taken his eyes off me.
Riot stood at a distance, unflinching, arms behind his back as if watching an experiment unfold.
Unknown. The vigilante who had recently become the talk of the city. For good reason.
He had drawn the attention of him. He had defeated a man who could control the weather. He'd survived the ordeal with the monster and sorcerers. He had fought his way through Fusionight City's Villain District alone. And somehow, he had managed to rile up the Jester… without even meeting him.
A truly impressive month's work.
A legend in the making.
However, now… it was time to step things up.
Riot tapped the ground lightly with his foot, so softly that even Unknown didn't hear it. From a wall far away, a thin, needle-like construct silently launched forward.
Let's see. Can you react in time?
The answer came instantly.
Unknown's eyes widened as he twisted his body ever so slightly. The needle grazed him, cleanly severing one of the straps of his backpack.
"Shit!" he hissed. The bag slipped down his shoulder. "How am I supposed to explain this..?" he muttered under his breath.
Curious. Riot tilted his head slightly.
Then, Unknown shouted, "Sorry, this has been fun—well, not really—but I gotta go!"
He summoned a swirling mass of black and blue flame into his hand. In one smooth motion, he hurled it down, and fire exploded outward, blanketing the entire area in an eerie, spectral blaze.
The flames didn't burn. But they did obscure.
A perfect smokescreen.
"Fleeing?" Riot echoed, completely unfazed. "Very well. Let's see how that works out for you."
He stepped through the illusory fire without hesitation. The ghostly embers parted around him, revealing no damage, no heat—just showmanship.
"You may run," Riot said, calm as ever, "but you cannot hide."
He placed a hand against the wall.
And activated his strange power once more.
***
"God, why does this keep happening to me? Do you hate me or something?" Nicholas muttered under his breath as he sprinted down the corridor, dodging spikes that erupted from the floor and walls like a sadistic obstacle course.
He skidded to a stop at a corner, panting. The path ahead was littered with more of those strange geometric shapes.
"Maybe I can take a breather?" he said to no one, crouching down to examine one of the constructs.
He ran his hand along its surface. Smooth. Solid. No smell. "Hm…"
With a flick of his fingers, he formed a dagger and sliced into the material. What he saw inside made him recoil slightly.
Dozens of tiny holes lined the interior, like a spiderweb trapped in stone.
"This... isn't this what the inside of a bone looks like?"
It clicked. This material, whatever it was, resembled bone. Not quite the real thing, but close enough. He stared at the cut, watching how it fractured.
'They're brittle. Strong enough to stab or crush, but single-use. Disposable.'
He clicked his tongue. "Bones are made of both organic and inorganic components, right? The inorganic calcium-something gives it hardness. The organic part, collagen, makes it flexible."
He stared harder. "So if this stuff lacks collagen… it'd snap under pressure, but at the speed it's launched, who cares?"
Nicholas muttered to himself like a mad scientist.
Then he remembered the patterns from earlier.
"When he shot them at me… all in straight lines. None of them curved." His eyes narrowed. "No homing, no tracking. Just speed and precision."
But how was Riot creating them? That was still a mystery.
CRACK.
"WOAH!"
Nicholas stumbled backward just in time as a narrow spike shot from the ground, aiming a little too close for comfort.
"Bro, not the jewels!" he yelped, cupping himself.
He quickly scanned his surroundings, but there was no sign of Riot. No footsteps. No sound. 'Can he see me right now?'
He turned in every direction, heart pounding.
'Riot, huh? You're definitely something else. Not like the other villains I've faced.' Though, to be fair, he wasn't even sure Riot was a villain.
Actually… why was he being attacked in the first place?
'Did I offend him somehow?' he thought bitterly. 'Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to kill me over a misunderstanding.'
Soft footsteps echoed.
Nicholas snapped to attention, flinging a dagger in the direction of the sound. With a snap of his fingers, it ignited—blue flame licking the air and casting sharp shadows. The fire revealed him.
The Riot.
Calm. Composed. Closing in with the same eerie precision as always.
Nicholas clenched his fists. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere left to go. Running had bought him a breather—nothing more. Now was the time to face his enemy head-on.
Time for a different approach.
"Have you decided to stop running?" Riot's voice was cold, mechanical… and slightly amused.
Nicholas laughed.
At first, it was a snort. Then a chuckle. Then it turned into full-blown, unhinged laughter. "I've got you all figured out," he said, pointing a finger at the masked attacker.
Riot tilted his head slightly.
"You've been fighting from a distance the entire time," Nicholas continued. "Your constructs are strong, sure—but not unbreakable. You've been relying on them too much. A little cowardly, don't you think?"
Riot didn't respond at first. He simply raised one hand, sensing something. A bone-like wall burst up behind him, just in time to deflect a projectile.
The dagger.
The very same one Nicholas had thrown earlier. Like a boomerang, it flew back toward him.
"Drat," Nicholas muttered, extending his hand. The dagger curved mid-air and slid into his grip like a serpent, morphing around his hand into a gauntlet.
"…What was that about a coward's way of fighting?" Riot asked. There was a trace of irritation in his voice.
"Hey," Nicholas said with a shrug. "I never said I wasn't a coward."
Riot paused. True.
Another gauntlet formed on Nicholas's opposite hand.
"So, you plan to close the distance now?" Riot asked.
"Yep. Still think your body isn't that strong. Otherwise, why keep dodging me?"
Riot tapped the side of his mask. "An interesting hypothesis… but tragically flawed."
Without another word, Riot slammed his fists into the ground. Two massive bone-white gauntlets erupted from the concrete, clamping over his arms.
Nicholas stared, slack-jawed.
Did he just punch through solid concrete? Barehanded?
"And while it is true that I've avoided approaching you," Riot said, tightening his new gauntlets, "it's also true that you've done all the distancing. Not me."
That's… that's true. Nicholas's breath hitched. And he was the one who flung me across the street earlier… then that would mean—!
CRACK.
Nicholas barely registered the movement. Riot's foot tapped the ground again. Constructs sprang up like spikes, locking Nicholas's limbs in place. And in the blink of an eye, Riot was on him.
Faster than Nicholas thought possible.
Riot's armored hand shot out and gripped Nicholas by the throat. Nicholas's body instinctively reacted, forming a protective metal plate. It wasn't enough. Riot crushed it like it was made of paper.
Then he slammed him to the ground.
"GH–!"
The world spun. Nicholas wanted to vomit. Riot's grip tightened, crushing more of the protective metal.
Pain erupted across Nicholas's chest and spine—raw, searing. It wasn't just physical. It felt like Riot's grip was tearing at his very soul. It was as if his very organs were being pulled out of him.
Nicholas bit into his cheek to keep from screaming. Choked, pitiful sounds escaped instead. His hands clawed at the iron grip around his neck—one trying to pry it off, the other forming claws to slash at his attacker's chest.
Riot caught the claw mid-strike. Effortlessly.
He stared into Unknown's eyes, unblinking behind the cold sheen of his mask.
"Pitiful."
He could tell the boy wanted to speak. His body trembled with pain, fury, and some half-swallowed cry for understanding.
"Speak," Riot said, his grip loosening just enough to allow a single breath. "While I still permit it."
Nicholas coughed violently, dragging in air like a drowning man. "You—You still haven't told me… Why? Why the hell am I being hunted down like a cockroach?!" His voice cracked with a mix of desperation and anger.
Riot was silent for a moment. Then he simply exhaled, as if disgusted.
"…How disappointing."
He released him. Then, with a swift tap of his foot, a pillar erupted from the ground beneath Nicholas at an angle, launching him like a ragdoll across the concrete.
"I heard stories," Riot said, voice low and sharp as broken glass. "A promising new player in the game. Clever. Unpredictable. Capable of challenging titans and upsetting the balance. I was curious." He took a step forward, his tone growing darker. "But now? Now I see you for what you are."
Nicholas wheezed, on his hands and knees, clutching at his throat. "If this is about what I've done this past month, then forget it! I'm done! I'm so over this crap!"
"What did you say?" Riot's voice didn't rise. It dropped, low as thunder before the storm.
He approached, slow and heavy, and stood over Nicholas like a judge come to pass sentence.
"You must learn what it means to bear the weight of consequence."
Nicholas blinked, confused. "What…?"
"Your actions have shaped this city. Whether you intended to or not. You've left your marks. People speak your name in fear and hope. You can't unmake that. You can't pretend you were never part of it just because the burden's gotten heavy."
Riot grabbed Nicholas by the hair and forced him to look up into the blank void of his mask.
"You lit the spark, vigilante. And now that the fire's raging, you want to run away?" His tone curled with disdain. "You intervened. Again and again. Even when you could've stayed hidden. Even before this battle, if you can even call it that."
Nicholas didn't respond. He couldn't.
Riot continued, his voice a quiet storm. "This is your life now. You chose it. Not with a grand speech or a contract… but with every decision you made when no one was looking."
He let go, letting Nicholas drop with a heavy thud.
Riot stood tall over the crumpled vigilante, voice hollow but final.
"You don't get to quit. You don't get to pretend none of it mattered. This city remembers. I will remember."
He turned his back to Nicholas.
"What a waste of potential," Riot muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "What a waste of an experiment."
He turned and began to walk away.
That struck something deep inside Nicholas. A nerve—raw and burning.
"Experiment…?" he said, voice low. "Are you saying you were testing me?"
Riot paused mid-step, still facing away.
"Hm? Yes, that is correct."
Just like that. Cold. Dismissive. As if all of this—all the pain, all the fighting—had been nothing but some cruel curiosity.
Nicholas clenched his fists, shaking.
"Oi. Bastard." He forced himself upright, wobbling on his legs. "Where the hell do you think you're going? I'm not done with you."
There were a thousand things he wanted to say—rage, confusion, desperation—but his head was pounding, his body failing. Still, the anger gave him strength.
"I, however, am done with you," Riot replied, unmoved. "You're not worth the effort."
He turned to leave again. But just as he took a step forward, a dark fog unfurled across the ground like a living shadow. It cut him off—thick, cold, unnatural. Riot stopped. Instinctively, he knew: this wasn't just a trick.
He turned back.
And there stood Unknown.
The vigilante was upright again, though barely. His body trembled, coated in a dark, oily mist tinged with flickering blue light. Like rage given form. Like something primal pushing him forward.
"…Who the hell are you to talk to me about responsibility?" Nicholas growled. His voice had changed—lower, darker. Less like a boy. More like a storm.
"You don't know anything about what I've been through. You think you can just show up, throw me around, lecture me like some teacher who's lost his mind?" He laughed—short, bitter. "You don't know a damn thing about me. Every day…"
He pinched his fingers together. "I'm this close, man. This close to losing it. And now you come along, thinking you're clever for poking at the mess inside my head, just so you can get your sick answers?"
The mist swirled tighter around his limbs, and a dark blade began to take shape in his hand—long, heavy, forged from hisdarkness.
"Yeah... You picked the wrong day to push me."
Riot studied him for a moment. Then, quietly, with the faintest nod: "Better."
Unknown raised his blade, pointing it at him with intent.
Riot didn't flinch. Instead, he drove his fist into the wall beside him, cracking it apart. From the shattered stone, something long and white erupted—smooth, sharpened, like bone. A longsword.
He pulled the bone blade free, its edge humming with unnatural resonance. "I can do that too."
Without wasting another second, Unknown sprang into action. A fireball bloomed in his hand, large and unstable, its black-and-blue flames surging wildly. He hurled it at Riot, the heat so intense it rippled the air between them.
Tch. Riot tapped his foot. A tall, dark wall erupted from the ground like a monolith, shielding him from the blast.
The fireball exploded on impact—flames engulfing the rooftop in a wave of heat. Riot's wall held firm. Then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, he let the construct crumble into dust.
CLANG!
Riot raised his sword just in time to block a heavy downward slash.
Unknown had used the massive fireball as a smokescreen—masking his approach.
"Your footsteps are too loud," Riot said, voice eerily calm.
"Thanks for the constructive criticism," Unknown shot back.
In the next instant, Unknown went low and swept Riot's legs out from under him. Riot fell—but twisted mid-air, grabbing Unknown by the collar and using the momentum to flip himself upright while slamming Unknown to the concrete.
WHAM!
Metal cracked against stone.
Unknown groaned but reacted fast, forming a shield just in time to absorb the worst of the impact. He rolled away, gritting his teeth.
Riot was already tapping his foot again.
From all sides, jagged pillars burst out of the rooftop—dozens of them—closing in on Unknown like a hungry cage. And through the chaos, Riot charged, sword ready to strike.
Unknown's shield twisted in his hand, reshaping into a jagged dagger. He slashed at the incoming pillars, cutting a narrow path through the forest of constructs. As Riot neared, Unknown hurled the flaming dagger straight at his head.
"Burn."
The blade ignited mid-flight. Riot parried it with a precise sweep of his sword, but that was exactly what Unknown wanted.
He was already behind it—rushing in. His sword melted into shadow and reformed around his arm, shaping into a thick gauntlet.
With a roar, he grabbed Riot's weapon and clenched tight.
CRACK.
The bone sword split at the hilt, shattering into fragments. Riot's eyes narrowed—just a little.
"Hm."
Unknown didn't wait. He used his free hand to blast a close-range burst of fire between them. Riot was forced back, the heat pressing against him even as he summoned a half-formed wall to absorb most of it.
But he wasn't off-balance for long. Tapping the ground again, Riot launched a spike from below Unknown's feet. Unknown jumped back, only for a second pillar to nearly spear his ribs.
He twisted mid-air and threw a black-blue flame downward to launch himself higher.
From above, he conjured a rain of burning shards—half flame, half metallic shards of darkness.
Riot didn't flinch. He let the fire rain down. He flung his hand sideways. Multiple rotating discs launched out of the walls, deflecting each projectile with machine-like precision.
"Your creativity is improving," he noted.
"You're starting to piss me off!" Unknown shouted.
He shot downward like a missile, forming two gauntlets and aiming a punch at Riot's chest.
BOOM!
The impact shattered one of Riot's defensive discs and sent him sliding back several meters. Dust and fire scattered in all directions.
Riot coughed lightly. "Better still."
He tapped the ground again—but this time, instead of a structure forming, thin spikes began erupting directly from the surface beneath Unknown's feet, forcing him to stay airborne.
Unknown snarled, manifesting a dark tentacle. He pulled himself away, but mid-air, a horizontal spear zipped past him, cutting across his shoulder. Blood sprayed.
"Tch—!"
Riot had redirected the battlefield. He was no longer trying to overpower Unknown—he was herding him.
Unknown realized it too late. Behind him, several constructs were shifting shape, turning into bladed cages, closing in with every move he made.
"I tire of this."
A long glaive rose from the ground at Riot's feet. He took hold of it with purpose and leveled its tip at his opponent.
Unknown stood panting, blood trailing from the corner of his lip. But despite the pain, he grinned behind his cracked mask. "Then maybe you should've picked someone else to play with."
Flames licked at his arms as dark gauntlets reformed around his fists—thicker this time, pulsing with blue-black fire.
With a guttural roar, he launched himself forward, his fury breaking through the battlefield of bone and dust. Riot stepped back, meeting the charge with precise, sweeping strikes, keeping the distance between them. Every time Unknown got close, Riot's glaive would lash out—thrusts, arcs, sweeps.
But Unknown adapted quickly.
He parried a thrust and dodged the follow-up slash. Then, without warning, he caught the glaive with both hands and, gritting his teeth, snapped it in two.
The vigilante feinted a punch with his left—and when Riot moved to evade, it was already too late.
A feint-!
WHAM!
Unknown's right fist slammed into Riot's gut, the force amplified by the flames that burst on impact. Riot was launched back, robes catching fire. With a hiss, he smothered the flames with a gloved hand, the fabric left charred and smoldering.
Unknown surged forward again, ready to finally end this fight.
However-
CRASH!
Two massive pillars shot from the walls at blinding speed. Too close. Too fast. Unknown barely had time to register the attack before they slammed into him from both sides.
Dust hung heavy in the air.
And then—laughter.
A dry, rasping laugh echoed through the battlefield. Riot's voice, for the first time, felt alive.
"Good… very good."
Clap. Clap.
"Perhaps there's potential in you after all." His tone shifted from grim to… delighted. There was a strange, unhinged satisfaction in his voice.
"I see it now. I see it very well."
He snapped his fingers. The twin pillars crumbled to ash.
There, half-crushed and bleeding, stood Unknown—barely conscious. His knees buckled. He wavered.
And then he collapsed.
"You've entertained me," Riot said, his voice low and certain. "I grant you the right… to grow."
Unknown's eyes, though hazy, found his opponent.
"Grow stronger, vigilante. For I shall return. And when I do—"
He turned.
"—I shall test your resolve once more."
And with that, Riot vanished into the dust and rubble, his footsteps fading like a dying echo.
Unknown's vision swam. His body refused to move.
I survived… not because of strength, he thought bitterly. But because of luck. Again.
He clenched his fists… then finally let go. Darkness claimed him.
Your Darkness Grows.
He didn't know how much time passed.
But the sound of police sirens in the distance pulled him back from unconsciousness. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up, blinking at the blood on his hands.
His body ached all over. Cuts, bruises—but nothing that wouldn't heal. He summoned a faint mist to aid his recovery.
"I'm alive," he muttered.
He staggered to his feet and turned toward the building—now riddled with gaping holes and scorched stone.
"…Someone with trypophobia would lose their mind looking at this."
He chuckled at his own idiotic observation. His brain was running on fumes.
"Gotta get outta here…"
Then he looked down at himself.
Ripped shirt. Dried blood. Ruined backpack. Clothes stained and slashed. He looked like a train wreck.
"…How the hell am I gonna explain any of this?"
Still, somehow—miraculously—he made it out of the building undetected.
"That's… at least something."
The chill night air hit him like a slap. His limbs ached. His head throbbed.
"I'm sleeping till noon. Screw school."
He took a deep breath. His legs were shaking. His hands wouldn't stop trembling.
He just… really, really needed a break.