An invisible force, heavy as a falling mountain, slammed down. The pavement beneath Zane's feet cracked, but he merely dropped to his knees, his posture more one of casual rest than forced submission.
Valmer's eyes narrowed. "If you wish to avoid harm," he said, striding forward, "you will do as I say and answer my questions." His steps were measured, each one closing the distance. "First, your name. And the reason for that murder. After that—"
He stopped mid-sentence, leaping back with preternatural speed. A dozen feet now separated them.
'Such a shame,' Zane thought, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. 'One more step and I would have torn his right arm from its socket.'
"Now," Valmer demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, who—or what—are you?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Zane replied, a sarcastic grin twisting his features. "You're the one who attacked a harmless, unawakened person."
"Don't play games. My skill had no effect on you from the start, isn't that right?" Valmer's mind raced. 'The compulsion to bow only fails against those whose will or power vastly exceeds my own. So who is he?'
"Whatever do you mean? I'm clearly vulnerable and unable to move," Zane teased, his voice a mockery of fear.
"If you were truly a civilian, you would show at least some hint of fear. And my skill doesn't just make people kneel; it forces them to bow. You are only kneeling," Valmer countered, every instinct screaming that the man before him was a profound threat. 'He was not on any watchlist of the strongest awakened players. So just who the hell is he?'
"Look again," Zane said, and with theatrical slowness, he inclined his head and upper body into a deep, mocking bow.
'I was hoping to subdue him quickly. Too bad it failed. Guess I'll have to get a little rough.'
Ariel hadn't revealed all her capabilities during their intelligence swap, but she wasn't the only one holding secrets.
Valmer's hand disappeared into his coat and emerged holding a worn, leather-bound hymnal, the personal hymnal belonging to the late Pope van Ruvoch. He opened it, the pages glowing faintly.
"Enough jokes," Valmer said, his voice cold as steel. "Your casual disregard for the life you just took labels you a monster. I came here for the cries of the innocent, but I was too late. The Geminis are gone. You are the only blight left. I'm sorry, but I can't let you walk free. You will have to come with me."
As he spoke, he sank his right hand into the center of the book. The pages did not rustle; they parted like a liquid, a gateway into a pocket of shimmering, impossible space.
"And how are you going to make me do that?" Zane's voice came from directly behind him.
But Valmer was already moving. His hand emerged from the hymnal not empty, but gripping an ornate, golden handgun etched with scripture. The barrel was already leveled, not where Zane had been, but precisely where he now stood.
This was his ace in the hole. This was the power of his title as the second guardian of Earth: 'Alibi of the Gun Monarch.'
Ariel's second life stems from her title as the first guardian of Earth.
"Are you a Gemini?" Valmer's voice was tight, his focus absolute as he adjusted his aim a fraction of a millimeter. "It would explain everything. Your speed, your defiance... there is no record, no logical precedent for an unawakened civilian to possess such capabilities."
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Zane's lips. "What can I say, Priest? I've been through hell and back, literally. The souvenirs are permanent." He completed his turn, presenting his back to Valmer in a display of such profound disregard it was more insulting than any curse. "So, is this righteous fury all because I ended that old man's suffering? Don't tell me you're one of those self-righteous morons who believes life is sacred no matter how much it's drowning in its own blood."
In Zane's mind, the memory was crisp and justified. Each of the old man's gurgling words had been a messy, inefficient struggle against the inevitable. The sight of his protracted agony had been an unnecessary complication. He was a corpse that hadn't yet realized it; Zane had merely corrected the administrative error.
"His life was not yours to take," Valmer countered, though the argument felt hollow even to him. The man's motives were irrelevant next to the sheer danger he represented. "It doesn't matter anymore. Your justifications are meaningless. You are coming with me. The sooner you understand the finality of that, the easier this will be."
Zane stopped his pacing. The air around him seemed to grow still and cold. "Don't speak such audacious words so casually," he said, his voice dropping into a low, warning timbre that vibrated with latent power. His memory was a flickering reel of true monsters: the unyielding might of Mechanius Steel, the arcane depths of Onilia, the silent threat of Nenis, the brutal efficiency of Instructor Marius, the terrifying grace of Luminelle, and finally, the absolute, soul-crushing authority of the Master. "You are not nearly on their level to make demands of me. Don't be obsessed with your letters and numbers. You think a high rank is a synonym for power. You are children playing with fire you don't comprehend. Ranks aren't everything. So I suggest you watch what comes out of your mouth, and you pay very close attention to whom you say them."
Valmer's jaw tightened. The man's arrogance was galling, but the certainty in his voice was unnerving. "This conversation was meaningless from the start. This is precisely why I shouldn't waste time reasoning with bald old bastards like you."
For the first time, a flicker of genuine, almost comical confusion crossed Zane's face. "Bald?" he repeated, his hand instinctively rising to pat his own full head of hair.
Seizing the momentary distraction, Valmer moved. His left hand ripped the rosary from his neck. Instead of clattering to the ground, the silver beads hung suspended in the air around his fist, spinning in a silent, sacred orbit. With his other hand, he flicked open the golden gun's cylinder. As if drawn by a magnet, each bead shot forward, slotting perfectly into the chambers meant for bullets. Because the slots were limited, the rest of the beads orbited around his fist. The silver cross from the rosary's center glowed with blinding white light, then dissolved, flying through the air to sear itself onto Valmer's forehead like a divine tattoo. His vision sharpened, his senses expanded. The world fell away until his target, Zane, was the only thing in crystal-clear focus. Missing was now a theological impossibility.
"If you pull that trigger," Zane stated, not turning around, his voice devoid of all emotion, "someone will die. But I can promise you this with absolute certainty: it won't be me."
Valmer ignored the warning. The gun roared three times in quick succession, the sound unnaturally sharp in the dead air. The rosary beads, now sanctified projectiles capable of piercing tank armor, tore through the space where Zane stood. But they only shredded the fabric of his fading afterimage. Zane had already closed the distance, his right leg whipping horizontally in a scything kick aimed to decapitate.
Valmer dropped into a low crouch, feeling the wind of the kick rustle his hair. The moment Zane's right foot touched the ground, he used the planted leg as a pivot, his body spinning with balletic lethality to launch a powerful back kick with his left. Valmer barely managed to cross his arms in a guard. The impact was tremendous, sending shockwaves of pain up his forearms and throwing him backward even with the beads orbiting his fists blocking most of the damage. His boots skidded across the cracked pavement, leaving twin trails.
'Just what is his leg made of?'
With a practiced flick of his wrist, the gun's cylinder snapped open. The three fired beads, their holy energy still glowing, ripped themselves from the rubble they were embedded in and flew back, reloading the weapon with a series of soft, metallic clicks.
'It's not that I'm missing my shots,' Valmer realized, the cold truth dawning on him. 'The divine lock-on is flawless. My aim is perfect. He's simply... not there when the bead arrives. He's perceiving my intent to fire and moving in the infinitesimal space between my decision and the trigger's action. I've been shooting at the ghost of where he was a millisecond ago.'
"An interesting little trick," Zane commented, as if reading his thoughts. "But I would love to play with you some more, Priest. Sadly, I don't have the time. So, goodbye."
Valmer raised the gun for what he promised himself would be the final shot, but Zane was no longer playing. The world blurred. A crushing impact met the spiral orbit of bead-shield created at the point of impact over Valmer's head.
The shield held for a nanosecond with a sound like shattering crystal before it exploded outwards, scattering the beads and slamming Valmer's skull into the pavement.
The beads scattered but returned just as fast to block a pending kick.
Before the stars could clear from Valmer's vision, a powerful kick lifted him off the ground and sent him flying like a discarded ragdoll. He crashed through the already shattered front of the convenience store, his body slamming into the far wall next to the small, motionless form of the boy. The impact jostled the child's body, making it slump over in a final, pathetic gesture.
Zane turned, ready to vanish into the ruined cityscape. But he paused. A piece of intel, delivered by the Black American, surfaced in his mind: a list of Primordials moving against the Elites. One name, noted for his unique and terrifying ability to enforce subjugation with a mere glance: Valmer Valgrace van Ruvoch. The very same ability this priest had just tried to use on him.
He glanced back to the demolished store, his eyes scanning the debris for the priest's body.
He found nothing. A presence materialized to his left with a soft whisper of displaced air. Valmer was there, standing tall, the golden gun once again pressed firmly against Zane's temple. Blood streaked the side of the priest's face and matted his hair, but the skull itself was whole, the bone already knitted back together. As a high-ranking servant of the faith, his body was a temple that repaired itself with miraculous speed, a regeneration that shamed most dedicated healing-type Awakeners.
'I can only load a few holy beads at a time, the rest acts as a spiral shield of protection, dispersing most of the damage I receive. But he was able to crack my skull despite all the advantages I have. I have to admit, he's not someone I could easily win against, unless....'
Slowly, deliberately, Zane turned to face him, pressing his own forehead harder into the cool metal of the gun's muzzle. All traces of mockery, all hints of playful arrogance, were gone from his face, wiped clean and replaced by a granite-like seriousness.
"Your name," Zane asked, his voice low and intent, "is Valmer Valgrace van Ruvoch, isn't it?" If he was indeed that man, then he might know where Ariel was, and this was information Zane wasn't willing to bargain for, only to monopolize.
Valmer held the gun to the man's head, his finger on the trigger. He had the absolute advantage. And yet, a cold, primal fear slithered down his spine. The look in Zane's eyes was not that of a cornered man, but of an inquisitor. In that moment, Valmer felt with terrifying certainty that he was not the one holding the weapon, but the one being judged. He was the one who would die if he answered incorrectly.
Thank you for reading "Godverse Nemesis"! I'd love your feedback—do you think the chapters are improving? Is there anything you'd like me to add (e.g., more character backstory, world details) or remove (e.g., overly complex fights)? Your input helps shape the story!