Alex's back was turned to the massive metal door, oblivious to the distant, panicked voices echoing behind him.
He ignored the unceasing gunfire as he straightened slowly, his face empty.
The first bullet struck him squarely in the back, then vanished. The wound closed instantly, flesh knitting together as though the projectile had never existed. It was as if his body had integrated with the bullet itself.
Countless more followed. A rain of metal pierced him again and again, only to disappear the instant it made contact, each wound sealing itself seamlessly. No blood seeped outward. No resistance was shown. Only his clothes were affected, riddled with countless holes across the back.
Alex did not spare the attackers a glance as he tilted his head slightly, his gaze drifting downward toward a particular spot close to where his murdered loved ones lay.
He stared with unsettling intensity, as though seeing something beyond the present.
And then he saw it. A memory sharpened vividly into clarity.
A tattooed, muscular man with rough hair sat opposite his father, a black-designed pistol resting lazily in his hand. Dozens of rough-looking men stood behind him, weapons raised, guns, blades, steel glinting ominously.
The man was arrogantly saying something to his father. The immovable retired commander, General Frederick, was even begging on both knees. But Alex couldn't make sense of anything beyond hatred at the moment.
"The Selflaw," Alex growled.
Saliva slipped freely from the corner of his mouth. His pupils narrowed into dark slits, his irises gleaming orange, his hair bristling like that of a cornered beast.
The gunfire continued blazing, bullets burying into his back again and again.
Shells clattered across the floor, ringing sharply against metal and tiles. Shouts echoed behind him, fear and confusion cracking their voices and breaking their rhythm.
Alex still didn't turn even as the aura thickened. It pressed outward like a held breath finally released, the air growing heavy, dense enough to feel solid against the skin.
More deaths followed as men collapsed, suffocated by the density.
Then his feet left the ground slowly. There was no leap. No strain. No resistance.
The floor simply lost its claim on him.
Alex rose slowly, blood still trailing from his clothes. Droplets hung in the air for a brief moment before falling away, as if reality itself hesitated to follow him. His posture remained unchanged, arms loose at his sides, his gaze distant and unfocused.
Someone screamed, voice cracking from the pressure.
"H–He's floating!"
Alex ascended another meter.
The sensation wasn't freedom or exhilaration. It simply felt correct.
As though walking the earth had only ever been a habit, an outdated restraint he had finally abandoned.
The bullets kept coming incessantly. They reached him and vanished. Not deflected or slowed.
They were swallowed the instant they touched his flesh, erased by the oppressive nature of his body. Even the force of impact died unnaturally, as if the air itself refused to acknowledge the attack.
Alex tilted his head slightly. The motion was subtle, almost curious.
Below him, the few remaining men backed away instinctively, weapons trembling in their hands. Their eyes followed him upward, wide and unbelieving, watching something that should not exist.
His nose twitched as he sniffed, sensing a trail only he could perceive.
Alex looked down at the men below, not with contempt. His face was simply empty of emotion.
His gaze lifted to the walls, to the space beyond, as if measuring or testing it.
Then he suddenly moved sideways.
The air parted without resistance as his body glided soundlessly through space. No wind followed him. No disturbance lingered, only absence, like a shadow slipping across reality itself.
That was when it settled in. He wasn't flying. He was simply unbound.
The ground, the walls, none of it mattered anymore.
His speed exploded and shattered the thick wall beside him. He tore free, away from the building, concrete and steel bursting apart in his wake. He moved like a phantom through the night, blood-stained suit fluttering as he drooled faintly like a beast unleashed.
He ignored everything.
The deaths his aura caused.
The structures collapsing in his path.
The world breaking around him.
It was their fault anyway. They had chosen to stand in the way of a raging predator.
He tore through the night, city lights blazing beneath him. Wherever he passed, bulbs shattered into countless fragments or began to smoke violently before dying altogether.
The chaos had already reached its peak.
Choppers roared overhead. screaming through the sky, unleashing futile barrages. Even artillery fire joined the hunt.
That alone triggered his instincts.
He dodged effortlessly, recognizing the threat they carried.
Buildings blurred past him, windows shattering, entire blocks plunging into darkness as he passed.
Then he found it. His first target.
A massive mansion of dark glass loomed like a black monolith against the night.
Alex didn't slow and crashed straight through the structure, all the glass walls exploding inward, lights bursting into nothingness. He hovered inside an empty, darkened room, silent and still.
He sniffed again, and his gaze dropped.
Beneath the large bed at the center of the room, a child knelt, clutching her head in terror. A stuffed dog rested silently by her side. She looked up at him, eyes wide and unbelieving, face pale as she stared at the nightmare that had invaded her world.
Alex floated slowly toward her, blood-soaked shoes touching nothing.
He lowered his head and sniffed once more before turning away.
His hatred screamed for total annihilation, but his instincts disagreed.
Killing her served no function, even though she reeked of the same stench as the target.
With a violent motion, he shattered the floor beneath him and descended two floors down.
That was where he found his first revenge target.
The man had just stepped out of his bathroom, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He froze, staring at his room, now empty and dark, its glass walls shattered, the city visible beyond.
Confusion crossed his face, followed by a boom that erupted above him.
He looked up just as the ceiling collapsed, debris raining down, accompanied by the descent of a beast from hell.
The bottle slipped from his hand and shattered across the floor.
He stumbled back, slipping on glass and spilled whiskey. His mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out.
The creature above straightened slowly, fragments of concrete sliding from his body. His predatory, gleaming eyes shone faintly in the darkness, calm and unblinking.
There was no mercy or rage in them, only emptiness that spoke louder than rage.