The man moved first.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached beneath his cloak and pulled up a mask. Black, matte, metallic. It locked into place around his ears with a soft click, sealing over his mouth and nose while leaving narrow openings that exhaled thin trails of darkness.
Veyron's breath caught.
The mystery man raised his pistol—not at Veyron, but toward the sky—and fired.
The shot cracked through the street.
Veyron reacted on instinct alone. He threw himself sideways, the bullet tearing past where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier. The impact shattered a streetlight behind him, glass raining down like brittle stars.
But that wasn't the danger.
The black smoke around the man began to spread.
It poured outward, crawling low and fast, swallowing the street, the walls, the air itself. Within seconds, the space around them became a suffocating haze, thick and alive.
Veyron staggered, blinking, looking around wildly.
Nothing looked different.
Just the man standing there.
The mystery figure lowered his pistol and tilted his head slightly.
"…Wasted a bullet there."
Veyron opened his mouth to respond—and immediately started coughing.
Hard.
His chest seized. His throat burned. He tried to inhale, but the air refused to come in. It felt like breathing through soaked cloth, like his lungs were being wrapped from the inside.
The gas.
Realization hit him too late.
The man let the pistol fall from his hand.
Then he sprinted.
"LET'S HAVE SOME MORE FUN, PREY!"
He slammed into Veyron with terrifying force.
A fist crashed into Veyron's ribs. Another into his jaw. His vision burst into white sparks as he was thrown back, hitting the pavement hard. He barely had time to roll before another kick sent him skidding across the asphalt.
The gas choked him with every movement.
Veyron tried to stand—failed. Tried again—another punch dropped him. His body screamed, limbs sluggish, oxygen gone. The man didn't stop. He didn't slow. Blow after blow rained down, precise and cruel, as if he were dismantling something already broken.
Veyron fell.
Got up.
Fell again.
The laughter echoed inside the mask. Somewhere deep inside, something snapped.
Veyron planted his hands on the ground.
His body moved before his mind could catch up.
He kicked upward, flipping, legs slicing through the air as he twisted, spinning—arms pushing, rotating, forcing his body into motion despite the screaming protest of his lungs. For a brief second, he wasn't running or defending.
He was a blur.
A small, violent human tornado.
His heel slammed into the man's side. Once. Twice. Three times—right beneath the ribs.
The mystery man staggered back.
A wet, broken cough escaped him.
Dark blood leaked beneath the edge of his mask, staining the black metal. His posture faltered for the first time.
But Veyron couldn't finish it. The gas won.
His strength vanished all at once. His limbs gave out, and he collapsed hard onto the street, chest heaving uselessly as his lungs finally filled completely with black breath. Footsteps approached. The man straightened, wiping blood away with the back of his glove. He bent down, picked up his pistol, and walked calmly toward Veyron's barely conscious body.
He stood over him.
"Tough luck." the man said quietly.
The man stood over Veyron, about a meter away. The pistol rose again, steady this time. Calm. ConfidenVeyron lay on his side, barely conscious, chest struggling to pull in air that still burned his lungs. His vision swam, but he forced his eyes open—forced himself to look.
Red pupils stared back at him.
The trigger was pulled.
Click.
Nothing happened.
The man's eyes widened.
In that same instant, Veyron's head shifted just enough—barely, almost accidentally—and the bullet tore through the air above his ear, ripping past him instead of into him.
"WHAT?!"
The man staggered back, furious.
Before he could react again, someone dropped into the space between them.
Boots hit the pavement. Solid. Confident.
Light-green mullet hair caught the streetlight.
Veyron recognized him instantly.
Axel Kanzaki.
He wore a green gas mask, its lenses glowing faintly as he looked down at Veyron. Then Axel turned his head slightly, addressing the masked man behind him without even fully facing him.
"Really?" Axel said flatly. "Tough luck? You say that after my friend here beat your ass?"
He bent down, scooping Veyron up with surprising ease.
"Imagine being such a bitch that you need your powers to put down someone who can barely breathe.", said Axel, mockingly.
The mystery man steadied himself, eyes narrowing behind his mask.
"So you killed the only person I came here with, I suppose?" he said. "What other way would you get the mask?"
Axel didn't hesitate.
"No. That soldier killed himself."
He adjusted his grip on Veyron.
"By trying to attack me."
The man paused.
"…Reflective powers?" he asked, stepping back slowly.
As he did, the black gas began to thin, unraveling like smoke caught in a weak wind. Veyron sucked in air greedily, coughing as feeling slowly returned to his limbs. Forty seconds without breath—and somehow, he was still here.
"No," Axel replied calmly. "Guess you're new. The soldiers who captured us knew all our powers."
For the first time, Axel's voice cracked, not with sadness, but restrained anger. The mystery man took another step back, then another.
"Still learning," he said softly, eyes locking onto Veyron one last time.
"See you again, prey."
And then he turned, sprinting into the darkness, his body dissolving into shadows until there was nothing left to chase.
Silence returned.
Veyron coughed once more, then looked up at Axel.
"What… did you do?"
Axel shrugged.
"Nothing. He ran."
A pause.
"Guess he won't find out my real power yet."
Axel set Veyron back on his feet, keeping an arm around him as they walked. The city felt quieter now. Smaller. By the time they reached the bunker entrance, the clock read 1:00 AM.
"So your powers are—" Veyron started.
Axel yawned. Mid-step. He swayed, eyes rolling back slightly, and nearly face-planted into the wall. Veyron barely caught him in time.
"…Seriously?" Veyron muttered.
Axel was already asleep.
Veyron sighed, dragged him to the nearest room, and gently dropped him onto a couch. Axel didn't even stir. When Veyron stepped into the medical room, his heart finally slowed. Akari was asleep, soft pink butterflies drifting lazily around her and Reina like glowing embers. His mother breathed steadily. Alive. Safe.
For the first time since Alaric's attack, Veyron felt it.
Peace.