Laurel's escape with Lily didn't last long. Within hours of leaving George's island, they were ambushed by dozens of Hunters responding to the increased bounty.
The first wave they defeated. The second they barely survived. By the third, exhausted and outnumbered, they were overwhelmed.
When Laurel woke, he found himself tied to a chair in the ruined mansion—George had rebuilt part of it already. The room was filled with Hunters, all watching him with predatory interest.
And George stood before him, no longer wearing his pleasant mask.
"I'm going to torture you," George said matter-of-factly. "Then I'll kill you. And I'll tell Lily you left—that you took money and abandoned her. She'll believe me eventually. She'll have no choice."
The torture began. Hours of calculated pain designed not to kill but to break.
Through it all, Laurel refused to scream.
Glass exploded inward as something crashed through the mansion's window.
A figure descended—the young man in the green suit from La Vendetta, but transformed. White wings spread from his back, angelic and impossible. The enchanted white katana gleamed in his hand. His outfit had changed too—now he wore all green with white accents, styled like an Irish archer, like Robin Hood or Peter Pan.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the wings vanished.
And half the Hunters in the room collapsed.
The overwhelming pressure of his vital energy—nearly infinite, crushing—dropped every A-rank Hunter instantly. Even some S-ranks fell to their knees, unable to withstand the sheer magnitude of power radiating from him.
The remaining Hunters rushed at him as George fled.
Laurel, freed by the chaos, broke his restraints and chased after George.
The fight was brutal. Despite everything George had taught him, Laurel struggled. George was still faster, still more experienced, still more skilled.
But Laurel had one advantage: determination.
After minutes of intense combat that destroyed what remained of the mansion, Laurel finally landed a decisive blow with his rod, driving it through George's shoulder.
"It's over," Laurel gasped.
George laughed, blood dripping from his mouth. "You still don't understand what I am, do you?"
Laurel found Lily locked in a room and freed her. Together, they returned to where the mysterious fighter had been.
The courtyard was littered with unconscious Hunters. Hundreds of them, all defeated by one person.
The young man stood calmly, cleaning his blade. When he saw Laurel and Lily approach, he smiled.
"I'm Michael," he said. "The Archangel. Known for justice and fighting evil."
"Why are you here?" Laurel asked.
"I'm hunting the sins," Michael explained. "One by one. I just defeated Envy last week. I came here for Lust." He gestured at the mansion. "But it seems you've already handled it."
"What are you talking about?" Lily asked, confused.
"George," Michael said. "Or should I say Georgina. That was Lust."
He explained: "Lust's ability is hormone manipulation. She can influence every hormone in a body—her own or others'. She was born female but uses her power to change gender at will, increasing testosterone to become male, then reversing it. Her rod technique? She massively increases thyroid hormone to grow her nails into that shape, while simultaneously editing other hormones so the thyroid increase doesn't cause negative effects."
"Lust could make people feel whatever she wanted them to feel. Love. Desire. Fear. Rage. All by manipulating their hormones. That's why the Chairman obeyed her. That's why she became obsessed with Lily—her own hormones were as manipulated as everyone else's."
Laurel stared at George's unconscious form. One of the seven sins. He'd been trained by one of the seven sins.
"So that's four down," Michael continued. "Gluttony—Dylan Foster. Greed—Mr. Z. Envy—who I defeated. And now Lust. Three sins remain: Pride, Wrath, Sloth. Plus the Master."
He looked at Laurel and Lily. "Take me to your organization. We should coordinate. The remaining sins won't fall as easily."
The Night Wolf base hummed with tension as X stood before the assembled team. Lee's holographic display flickered, showing satellite imagery of a remote island—no portal, just ocean and rock in the middle of nowhere.
"Due to Greed and Lust's deaths," X began, his voice carrying that peculiar distortion that made it impossible to identify, "the sins have lost their influential members in society. Only the Chairman of the World Union remains as their public face. They're vulnerable. Exposed."
He gestured to the display. "They're holding an emergency meeting on this private island to discuss their next move. I already have the location. This is our chance—we attack all four remaining sins at once. It's the only way we win this."
Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn't going on this mission—X had made that clear. She was too important, though he still wouldn't explain why.
"The team going in," X continued, pointing to each member: "Myself, Pablo, Michael, Alpha, Laurel, Marvel, Itachi, Beto, and Ji-won. Luis pilots. Lee provides tech support. Lily and Stephanie remain on standby."
Michael stood near the window, his green suit catching the light. The enchanted white katana rested against his shoulder. "Four sins plus whatever security they have. The odds are still against us."
"The odds have always been against us," X replied. "That's never stopped us before."
The fighter jet cut through the sky at hypersonic speed, Lee's modifications pushing it far beyond normal aircraft capabilities. Inside the cargo bay, nine figures stood ready.
Luis's voice crackled through the comms: "ETA two minutes. Approaching the island now. No radar signatures yet, but that doesn't mean they're not watching."
Laurel checked his gear. His blue eye flickered, catching glimpses of the immediate future. Jumping. Falling. Landing. But beyond that, the predictions grew murky. Too many variables in play.
Beside him, Ji-won meditated, one hand resting on her black katana. Her sphere of perception was already expanding, five meters in all directions. Everything within that radius moved slower for her—a fact that had saved her life countless times.
Beto cracked his knuckles, flames already licking at his fingertips. His automatic regeneration meant he could push his fire generation to the limit without worrying about the burns. Ji-won glanced at him, their eyes meeting briefly. No words needed.
Itachi shuffled a deck of cards, his movements precise and mechanical. Each card was infused with his vital energy, ready to become a weapon, a puppet, a trap. His fingers twitched—muscle memory from three years of electric torture, his body constantly trying to replicate that sensation of enhancement through pain.
Alpha stood apart from the others, smaller than the rest. Eighteen years old, but she carried herself with the confidence of someone who'd impersonated X well enough to fool the entire world. A cello case was strapped to her back—an instrument as much a weapon as any blade.
Pablo adjusted his breathing, cycling vital energy through his body in preparation. He was the oldest of the group, experienced in ways that complemented X's raw power. A strategist. A stabilizer.
Michael remained perfectly still, eyes closed. His vital energy reserves were nearly infinite—a phenomenon none of them understood. When he opened his eyes, they glowed faintly white.
And X... X stood at the cargo door, one hand on the release lever. The mask he wore hid everything—face, identity, expression. But his presence alone commanded absolute attention.
"One minute," Luis announced.
The cargo door began to open, wind screaming into the bay.
"Remember the plan," X said, his voice cutting through the noise. "Marvel gets Alpha in first. She opens the building. We land directly on top of them. Marvel splits us up according to matchups. No hesitation. No mercy. These people have killed thousands. Today, we end them."
"Thirty seconds."
The island came into view—a massive mansion built on a rocky outcrop, surrounded by nothing but ocean. No boats. No vehicles. Just the building and the sins inside it.
"Ten seconds."
Laurel's heart hammered. Somewhere down there was Nelson. His brother. The person he'd been raised with, trained with, laughed with. And Nelson had spent six months with Marcus—six months being manipulated by Pride.
Would Nelson fight him? Could Laurel fight Nelson?
"Go."
Eight figures dropped from the jet.
But Marvel didn't jump—he simply stepped into the shadow cast by the plane's interior and vanished.
Marvel emerged from a shadow on the mansion's eastern wall, Alpha materializing beside him an instant later. She didn't waste time—her hands moved to her back, unclasping the cello case.
"Thirty seconds," she whispered. "Make them count."
The cello was black lacquered wood, strings made from something that shimmered like moonlight. Alpha sat cross-legged on the ground, positioned the instrument, and drew the bow across the strings.
The first note hung in the air—a deep, resonant C that seemed to vibrate in the chest rather than the ears.
Then she began to play.
**Narrator**: *Alpha's ability was destruction through music. Any instrument she played became a conduit for her vital energy, translating melody into physical force. But the nature of that destruction depended entirely on the instrument itself. A violin created sharp, cutting destructions—slicing through matter like invisible blades. A drum generated concussive blasts—shockwaves that pulverized and shattered. But a cello... a cello created something different. Something worse.*
*The low, mournful tones of a cello produced a grinding, crushing destruction. Like the weight of the ocean pressing down, like tectonic plates shifting and colliding. The destruction was slow, inevitable, and utterly overwhelming.*
The mansion began to groan.
Inside, the four sins and their associates froze as the ceiling above them started to crack. Dust rained down. Support beams twisted with metallic screams.
"What the—" Sloth started to say.
The roof collapsed.
Not explosively—not like a bomb or a cave-in. It simply *folded*, layers of concrete and steel compressing and crumbling as if being crushed by an invisible hand. The grinding destruction left nothing intact, reducing the entire top floor to rubble in seconds.
Light flooded the meeting room as the sky opened above them.
And seven figures fell through the gap, landing in perfect formation around the sins.
Lee's voice crackled through everyone's earpieces: "Blackout in three... two... one."
Every light on the island died. Emergency generators failed. Even the natural daylight seemed to dim as Lee's electromagnetic pulse killed every electrical system in a half-mile radius.
Shadows flooded the room.
And Marvel went to work.
**Narrator**: *During Marvel's fight with Mohammad—the second strongest Hunter and his greatest challenge before becoming a fugitive—Marvel had achieved a breakthrough. For years, his Projection-stage ability had required physical contact to teleport others through shadows. But in that desperate battle, pushed to his absolute limit, he'd discovered something new.*
*He could teleport others without touching them at all.*
*The requirement was simple: he needed to see them, and he needed shadows to work with. But if those conditions were met, Marvel could move anyone, anywhere, instantly. It was this evolution that made him truly S-rank. This was why his bounty had jumped to 800 million Ecoins—because Marvel wasn't just a teleporter anymore.*
*He was a battlefield controller.*
Marvel's eyes glowed in the darkness, his Projection-stage ability flooding the room with perception. He saw every person, every shadow, every possible connection. His mind worked like a supercomputer, calculating distances, matchups, strategic positioning.
Then he moved.
The room exploded with darkness.
Shadow tendrils erupted from every surface, wrapping around each person individually. The sins shouted in alarm, their guards drew weapons, the Night Wolf members braced themselves—
And reality twisted.
When the shadows receded, the room was empty.
---
**Pablo and Laurel materialized in a dense jungle, humidity immediately clinging to their skin. And standing before them were Nelson and Marcus Reid—Pride himself.**
**Beto appeared in an active volcano's caldera, heat waves distorting the air. Across from him stood Tsubasa Rin, Wrath, his expression utterly serene despite the inferno surrounding them.**
**Marvel and alpha found themselves in an abandoned subway tunnel, dim emergency lights flickering. Ethan Reynolds, Sloth, lounged against a support pillar, looking almost bored.**
**Itachi landed in a pristine white room—empty, sterile, wrong. And facing him was Damian, the Master's right-hand man, whose smile was far too wide.**
**Ji-won stood in a traditional dojo, wooden floors polished to a mirror shine. The triplets—Kaito, Kenji, and Sato—waited in formation, their synchronized movements already beginning.**
**Alpha, separated from Marvel after the initial teleport, rematerialized on a beach of black sand. Raya, Pride's assistant, was already moving toward her with predatory grace.**
**And X and Michael appeared in the mansion's basement—a massive underground chamber where Suzuki Tadashi himself waited, seated on a throne of polished obsidian. The Master. Satan.**
Each battlefield was perfectly chosen. Each matchup calculated for maximum tactical advantage.
Marvel had split them all in one move.
Laurel and Pablo stood back-to-back as they assessed their surroundings. The jungle was thick, visibility limited to maybe twenty meters in any direction. Birds screamed in the canopy. Insects buzzed.
And forty meters away, partially obscured by foliage, were Nelson and Marcus.
Laurel's blue eye activated immediately, scanning the future. He saw Nelson's explosive spheres forming, saw trajectories, saw the patterns of attack. But he also saw something else—hesitation in Nelson's movements. Conflict.
"Nelson!" Laurel called out. "You don't have to do this!"
Marcus placed a hand on Nelson's shoulder. Even from this distance, Laurel could see the resemblance—the same jawline, the same build, the same way they held themselves. Six months together. Six months of bonding, training, reconnecting.
Six months of manipulation.
"Laurel," Nelson's voice carried through the jungle. "I'm sorry. But I found my father. I finally understand where I came from. What I'm meant to be."
"What you're meant to be?" Laurel's fists clenched. "He's one of the seven sins! He's killed thousands of people! He helped torture children in that lab!"
"You don't understand," Nelson said, and now there was anger in his voice. "The cult isn't evil—they're trying to save the world. The vital energy system is broken, Father explained everything. They're trying to fix it before humanity destroys itself."
Pablo stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Nelson, I know what it's like to want family. To crave that connection. But Marcus is using you. Everything he's told you is a lie designed to make you compliant."
Marcus finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of authority that came from being the world's number one adventurer: "Pablo. Still playing hero, I see. Tell me, how many missions did you fail while I succeeded? How many people died because you weren't strong enough?"
"Plenty," Pablo admitted. "But I never killed innocent people in the process. That's the difference between us."
Marcus smiled. "Innocence is a luxury we can't afford anymore. The world is dying, Pablo. The vital energy is running out. In fifty years, maybe less, there won't be enough left to sustain human civilization. The cult isn't trying to conquer the world—we're trying to save it."
Laurel's blue eye caught a flicker of the future—Nelson's hand rising, energy coalescing. The attack was coming.
"Nelson, please," Laurel tried one more time. "You're my brother. Not by blood, but by choice. By years of living together, training together, being there for each other. That means more than DNA ever could."
For a moment—just a moment—Nelson wavered.
Then Marcus's hand tightened on his shoulder, and Nelson's expression hardened.
"I'm sorry, Laurel. But family is family."
Five explosive spheres formed at Nelson's fingertips, each one crackling with condensed vital energy.
And Laurel knew—the brother he'd known was gone.
At least for now.
**Narrator**: *The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but impossibly heavy: Would Nelson, who had found his father and bonded with him for over six months, fight his beloved brother?*
*The answer, as the explosive spheres launched forward with devastating force, was yes.*
*Yes, he would.*