The hum of machines echoed softly beneath the polished steel and glass of GDA Headquarters. Monitors bathed the command center in a cold, electric glow. Rows of agents sat before their screens, typing, scanning, listening to earpieces. Always alert. Always prepared.
Cecil Stedman moved through them like a ghost with purpose. His expression unreadable, hands tucked neatly behind his back, red tie swaying with every measured step. His voice cut across the room, sharp and immediate.
"Get an extraction team out there right now," he ordered. "And tell the French President we have it covered."
No one questioned him. They never did. He was the man who knew things before they happened, the one who always had a plan. But as he came to a stop near the center of the room, his breath curled from his lips in a thin fog.
It was cold.
Unnaturally cold.
Cecil stared ahead for a moment, jaw tight, then exhaled slowly.
"I need the room," he said.
No shout. No explanation. Just five quiet words spoken with such weight that agents didn't hesitate. The main display on the wall went black. Every monitor shut down in eerie synchronization. Chairs scraped. Footsteps echoed. One by one, the agents stood and filed out, exchanging quiet glances but never asking questions.
Donald lingered by the edge, stiff in his suit. His brow furrowed. Something was wrong.. he could feel it crawl across his skin but Cecil didn't say a word to him. Just watched the last of the team disappear before returning to stillness.
The silence that followed was deep.
And then it shattered.
A crack in the air, like ice fracturing. A gust of frost swept through the command center. Smoke curled from the shadows and coalesced into a figure of a creature draped in a tattered trench coat and fedora. His skin was a raw, demonic red, as if he had been carved from flame and cooled by ash.
Damien Darkblood had arrived.
Donald tensed. His hand flew instinctively to the inside of his blazer.
Cecil didn't flinch. His tone remained even.
"Well," he said, "enlighten me."
Damien's voice rasped like gravel dragged over stone.
"No one think for sure," the demon murmured, smoke swirling faintly around his boots.
Donald's eyes widened. His hand hovered near his sidearm.
"No one else at scene of murders," Darkblood continued. "Only Guardians. No trace. No signs of forced entry. No struggle. Clean. Precise."
He stepped closer.
"Omni-Man… only one capable of killing Guardians. And leave no trace. He is one of them."
Donald's hand slowly dropped. Not because the tension had passed, far from it, but because he finally recognized the speaker. Still, his shoulders remained tight, and jaw clenched.
Cecil's gaze sharpened.
"One of them?" he repeated. "There are a hundred supervillains who kill and leave no trace, Damien. Ones who turn into smoke, or living electricity. Ones who only exist in dreams."
Darkblood's eyes narrowed.
"I know. You do not listen to me."
Cecil exploded. His voice, normally a scalpel, became a blade.
"No! You listen to me!"
He took a step forward, jabbing a finger into the cold air.
"If you so much as breathe your idiotic theory to anyone.. and I mean anyone! I will make sure they are the last damn words you ever say. Do you understand me?"
Damien's face didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes.
Cecil turned sharply, crossing his arms.
"Now get out. Get out!" he barked. "Before I send you back to Hell myself."
Darkblood stared for a beat. Then scoffed, low and grating.
"Blind old man," he muttered, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished with smoke curling where he once stood.
Silence returned. Heavier now.
Cecil exhaled through his nose, steadying himself, before turning back to Donald.
"Put a surveillance team on the Graysons," he said calmly.
Donald hesitated. "Sir…?"
Cecil didn't look at him.
"Did you forget the killer is still out there," he said. "He might try to target Omni-Man next."
Donald nodded stiffly. But behind his glasses, uncertainty brewed.
Because deep down, they both knew Omni-Man didn't need protection.
He was the one people needed protection from.
The sky was clear. Too clear. Not a single cloud dared break the blue above Washington as an assortment of heroes, soldiers, and government figures gathered for the funeral of Earth's greatest protectors.
Black chairs lined the lawn of the Capitol building, hundreds of them. Rows of unfamiliar capes and cowls sat shoulder to shoulder with suits and medals.
There were no children and few reporters. Only the dead, and those who'd been left behind.
The stage was framed with towering banners, deep crimson cloth bearing the sigils of the fallen heroes.
Omni-Man stood at the center of it all.
His shoulders were broad beneath his white and red suit, the infamous insignia of Viltrum on his chest untouched by ash or blood. His cape swayed gently in the summer breeze. But the man himself was still. Statuesque. The weight of expectation, of cameras just out of frame, of trust and belief and mourning, all pressed against him like the sun.
He looked strong but worn in the way stone wears after a thousand storms.
A low rumble passed overhead.
The crowd looked up as a flight of fighter jets screamed across the sky in tight formation, trailing white vapor. They curved over the Capitol dome before vanishing into the horizon.
Omni-Man cleared his throat. The microphone crackled.
"I fought the unimaginable in defense of this world," he said, his voice deep and sure. "I've battled alien tyrants. I've defeated nightmares from the deep. I've gone toe to toe with ancient gods no living soul remembers. But no matter the threat, no matter how hopeless or dark, I always knew one thing."
He paused to take a breath.
"I knew I wasn't facing it alone."
Silence stretched out like a wound. The wind moved through the trees nearby, brushing against leaves as if to fill the absence.
"Darkwing," he began, eyes scanning the crowd, "Aquarius. War Woman. Green Ghost. Red Rush. Martian Man. The Immortal."
Each name struck like a drumbeat. Like a tolling bell.
"The Guardians of the Globe," he said quietly. "Today we have lost titans. Protectors. Heroes. And we are left to wonder.. who will save us now?"
He looked out across the crowd. His gaze was steady. Unshaken.
"I will."
There was a shift in the air. A murmur. Heads turned.
"And so will others like me," he continued. "New heroes. Brave champions answering the call. Young, untested, unbreakable. Willing to risk everything. Willing to believe that this world is worth protecting."
Omni-Man stepped back from the podium slightly. His hands were at his sides, calm and open.
"All of them… all of us… inspired by the ones who came before."
Another pause.
"You will have moments of doubt," he said. "Of fear. Of uncertainty. You may feel alone, unsure of what comes next. But in those moments… have faith."
His eyes lifted.
"And look to the sky."
With a quiet whoosh, Omni-Man rose from the platform, lifted by nothing but will and gravity's defiance. His cape flared behind him like a flag. Higher. Higher. Until he became a red silhouette etched against the sun.
And then he was gone.
The podium stood empty.
A hush lingered.
No applause. No sound but the breeze, brushing against the edges of a world forever changed.
The rain fell in a steady rhythm, cold and endless. It whispered across the tree branches and pattered against umbrellas, soaking through coats and suits until everyone looked the same, dark and hunched silhouettes in mourning.
The real funeral was hidden here, deep behind a private fence and forest. Seven graves for seven guardians. No cameras, no fans. Only sanctioned souls were allowed this close.
Cecil stood off to the side, stiff and stone-faced. Donald hovered near Olga like a ghost, his umbrella useless against the weight pressing down on her. Debbie was silent beside her son, and Eve stood near Mark, her hand occasionally brushing his sleeve. Naruto was there too, quiet, rain-speckled, and dressed in a black shirt with the collar tugged open, his orange hoodie left behind for once. His hands were buried in his pockets, head hanged low.
"Do we seriously have to put everyone through this again?" Mark asked, voice hushed like he didn't want the dead to hear.
Eve gave a small nod. "The public ceremony was for the cameras. This… this is where they actually rest. People can't know where they're really buried. There'd be lunatics, souvenir hunters…"
Mark winced. "Jesus."
At the front, Nolan stepped forward. He was the image of a grieving man in a black coat, soaked through, eyes hard and heavy as he overlooked the graves of his fallen friends.
"I was never a Guardian of the Globe," he began, rain sliding down his face like sweat. "But it was the Guardians who welcomed me when I first arrived on this planet."
Everyone listened. Even the sky seemed quieter.
"They were my mentors. My comrades. My friends. And they knew what this life demanded."
His voice faltered slightly.
"Martian Man was exiled by his own people. War Woman came from another time. Darkwing…"
He coughed lightly.
"…Darkwing made his own kind of solitude."
He paused again.
"It's rare," Nolan said, "to be understood in this life. Rarer still to be accepted. Somehow… they found that. I hope that they rest in peace. But at least.. at least they will rest together."
Cecil nodded. The men began lowering the coffins.
The ropes creaked. Mud shifted.
Olga screamed.
"Get your hands off me!"
She pushed forward and collapsed to her knees, hands digging into the wet earth. Her black coat was ruined, soaked and smeared, but she didn't care.
"You wouldn't even let me see him!" she sobbed. "Joseph is finally standing still and I still can't even see him!"
Donald stepped forward slowly. "Olga, please.."
"You lied to me! You hid him from me!" Her voice cracked like glass underfoot.
Debbie glanced at Mark, then Naruto. "I'll go."
Eve was already walking, boots sinking into the mud.
Together, they helped Olga back up, whispering whatever words grieving people whisper when there's nothing that can actually be said.
Mark didn't move.
Naruto stood beside him, silent, the rain sliding down his jaw. For a moment, he wasn't on Earth. He was in ash, not rain. Digging trenches with his hands. Laying down bodies. Friends. Family. Strangers. All turned to dust and silence on the ruined soil of Centauria.
He blinked and came back to reality.
"This feels wrong," Mark said softly. "That could've been my mom crying for my dad… or even me. One of those holes could've been mine."
He looked at Naruto, his voice breaking.
"It just doesn't feel real."
Naruto's eyes didn't leave the graves. "It's real," he said. Quiet. Heavy. "You just haven't caught up to it yet."
Mark frowned a little, like he was bracing for another cold remark. But Naruto turned to him, voice softer now.
"I've stood where you're standing," he said. "Watched people bury giants and heroes like they were ordinary men."
He hesitated. His fingers curled slightly in his pockets.
"I know what it feels like. To wonder if tomorrow's still gonna show up."
Mark stared at him.
"But you're still here," Naruto said. "So don't waste that. Not while you have people who'll cry for you."
Mark looked down at the graves again. His voice was barely above the rain.
"But if someone could kill all the Guardians of the Globe…"
Naruto finished it for him, voice low and distant.
"…It means none of us are really…"
INVINCIBLE.
One by one, the mourners began to fade.
Black coats slipping into the fog like ghosts, silent, slow, and deliberate.
Olga was led away by Debbie and Eve, their steps quiet on the wet grass. Donald lingered near the perimeter, watching with unreadable eyes until Cecil gave him a small nod. No words were needed. Donald turned and left leaving only one figure behind.
Naruto
He stood in the rain, still and quiet.
He didn't move, didn't blink. He thought of the last coffin settling into the earth, swallowed by mud and silence. He stared at it for a long time.
The cold exhaled from his lips in a soft cloud, curling like smoke. His breath was slow, deliberate, as if he needed to remind his body to keep living.
This world was broken and fractured.
He hadn't even finished mourning his old one.
Centauria had burned into dust while the stars turned their backs. He had buried his mother with his bare hands. Now here he was again, staring at fresh graves on a planet that didn't know how close it was to being on the brink of annihilation.
His fists tightened in his pockets.
Then the stillness cracked.
A wet shuffle came from the treeline behind him.
Naruto's eyes lifted and instantly hardened as he assessed a possible threat.
Damien Darkblood stepped out from behind the bark like he'd been part of the tree all along. Fedora low, trench coat soaked, notebook already open. Rain beaded on his demon-red skin but never lingered.
"Interesting," Damien rasped, voice low and sharp like wind through a cracked window.
"You linger longer than most.
Naruto didn't respond.
Damien tilted his head, scrawling something in his notebook with a scratching pen. "Heavy grief. Or… maybe you're thinking how easy it was."
Naruto blinked. His head tilted slightly. "Excuse me?"
"Seven Guardians. All dead. No witnesses. No alarms. And somehow," Damien circled him slowly, "a new, unknown entity just happen to arrive on Earth six months ago. Quiet. Powerful. Unregistered."
Naruto's expression didn't change.
"You think I killed them?"
Damien smiled without showing teeth. "I think… you're not who you say you are."
Naruto turned slightly toward him, his shoulders relaxed but still.
"You're not the first to say that."
Damien scribbled again. "You weren't at the massacre site. But no records before Earth. No verifiable origin. And that power. What you did to those Alien soldiers in Downtown…"
"You're wasting your time, and I'm not in the mood."
"You think mood changes the truth?"
The rain hissed on the ground.
Naruto looked over his shoulder, eyes glowing faintly blue now.
"What reason would I have to kill the Guardians of the Globe?"
Damien paused, pen hovering.
But before another word could be exchanged, a new voice cut in steely and direct.
"That's enough."
Both turned.
Nolan Grayson stood at the edge of the clearing. His hands were behind his back, eyes cold, rain dripping from his brow.
"You got your questions. Now take your notebook and go back to hell."
Damien didn't flinch. "If the truth leads me there, I'll walk smiling."
"You're meddling in things that don't concern you."
"They concern all of us, Omni-Man."
Nolan stepped forward once, dress shoes sinking into the mud.
"Let the dead rest, Darkblood," he said flatly. "And stop trying to turn our grief into evidence."
The rain fell harder now. Damien slowly closed his notebook.
"Storm's coming," he muttered. "And you've all already forgotten the thunder."
With that, he turned and walked back into the trees, vanishing like fog.
Nolan let out a breath.
Naruto didn't move.
__
Author's Note: If you're enjoying Inevitable and want to read up to 30 chapters ahead, you can support the story (and me) over on Patreon: banmido.
I update daily, and every bit of love and support helps me keep this story alive. Thank you for reading, y'all make this possible.