The room fell into a deathly silence. Every living soul watched the carnage in absolute shock.
"What... what was that?"
"Can a mutant really do that?"
"He's a devil! A devil!"
The nearest gang member tremblingly wiped a piece of someone else's remains from his face. He let out a piercing scream and turned to flee, but he didn't make it three steps before the gang leader put a bullet through the back of his head.
The leader roared at his men, "What are you screaming for?! There's no way he can spam a move like that! Fire together, wear him down! Jello, get the damn rocket launcher!"
He scanned his trembling crew, his voice dropping to a hiss. "Don't forget, if we blow this shipment, Kingpin will skin us all alive!"
The name Kingpin acted like a bucket of ice water. The thugs steadied themselves, gritting their teeth as they unleashed a frantic barrage of lead. To them, Wilson Fisk was clearly more terrifying than the teenager who had just conjured a miniature black hole.
Aurelius Viremont didn't bother to dodge. The "Limitless" technique's consumption was calculated by time, not by the intensity of the attacks it blocked. Bathed in the "breeze" of passing bullets, a cruel smile etched onto his face, he charged.
Energy flooded his muscles, while the combat instincts of the Satoru Gojo template sharpened his mind. Facing a battlefield for the first time, Aurelius Viremont felt no fear—only an exhilarating, rising heat.
He planted his foot and pivoted. His raw energy converted into Cursed Energy, which the Six Eyes then micro-managed to reinforce his frame to the breaking point.
BOOM!
The concrete cracked under his stride as he slammed into the group of dozens.
Hands, feet, elbows—every part of his body became a precision instrument of death. With Gojo's refined martial arts and the Six Eyes' perfect spatial awareness, Aurelius Viremont was a ghost. The thugs couldn't track his movements, and any stray bullet that happened to find him simply stopped in the air, caught in the infinite void of the Limitless.
It wasn't a fight; it was a harvest. The gang members fell like wheat before a scythe.
Finally, Aurelius Viremont reached the leader. He slowed to a casual stroll, hands shoved into his pockets, smiling warmly.
Terror finally broke the leader's resolve. This boy had shattered everything he thought he knew about mutants. If they were all this strong, how could society treat them like stray dogs?
"I don't believe it! Your power has to have a flaw!" he screamed, trying to drown out his own heartbeat.
Just then, a lackey scurried up and handed him a rocket launcher. The sight of the heavy weapon brought a spark of desperate hope back to the leader's eyes. He snatched it away and aimed it point-blank.
"Die, you freak!"
With a roar of flame, the rocket streaked toward Aurelius Viremont and detonated at his feet in a massive explosion.
The leader laughed hysterically, his whole body shaking. "Stupid mutant! Rot in hell!"
But as the echoes of the blast faded, a steady set of footsteps emerged from the billowing smoke. A hand reached out, swift and cold, and clamped around the leader's throat.
"Ugh..."
First came the glow—a deep, oceanic azure light from the eyes. Then the shock of snow-white hair. Finally, the sight of the boy himself, his clothes tattered and bloodied, but his skin completely untouched by the blast.
Under the horrified gaze of the survivors, Aurelius Viremont's grin turned predatory.
"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."
The azure vortex condensed in his palm once more. The leader's screams were swallowed instantly as the singularity consumed him, then tore forward, carving a massive, jagged exit through the thick prison walls.
Aurelius Viremont didn't look back. He funneled his energy into a final physical burst and vanished through the breach, leaving behind a ruined basement filled with broken men and a crowd of stunned captives.
Seconds of silence passed. Then, a thunderous cheer erupted as the innocent prisoners flooded toward the gap—toward freedom.
Hours later, in a luxurious room in Hell's Kitchen, a massive figure sat in the shadows beneath a crystal chandelier. Over two meters tall and built like a mountain of muscle, the man exuded a suffocating pressure.
A man in a strange, tight-fitting suit stood before him, reporting.
"Bullseye," the mountain spoke, his voice a low rumble. "You're telling me the trade failed?"
"Yes," Bullseye replied, his voice as cold and mechanical as a machine. "Almost every man is dead. Most of the bodies weren't even found. It seems there was a mutant among the cargo. This was his doing."
The room went silent for a full minute. Then, Wilson Fisk—the Kingpin—opened his eyes. "Can he be killed?"
"If it breathes, I can kill it."
"I want his head within a week."
"As you wish."
At the same time, back at the hidden basement in Hell's Kitchen...
A kind-faced man with a receding hairline stepped into the ruins, followed by agents and a few survivors. As Phil Coulson looked at the twisted iron bars, the shattered floor, and the literal hole in the world where the wall used to be, his professional smile vanished.
"You're saying a single mutant did this?"
The survivors nodded vigorously. A young woman stepped forward, her eyes wide with lingering awe. "Yes, Agent. He was... beautiful. Silver hair, eyes like deep lakes, and he moved with such elegance. He wasn't like the other mutants you hear about. He was a gentleman."
Coulson noted the "fan-girl" exaggeration but focused on the data. He ran his hand along the edge of the smooth, scooped-out masonry of the exit.
"An azure singularity?" he whispered to himself. "An unknown Alpha-level... possibly Omega. Maybe even beyond."
His earpiece crackled with a low, gravelly voice. "Report, Agent Coulson."
"Director Fury, the subject is extremely powerful. He definitely fits the profile for the Initiative."
"Understood. Track him down. Use every resource. We need to bring him in before someone else does."