OP Absorption -
Chapter 74: Some Old Friends
Chapter 74: Some Old Friends
Outside, the city felt grey, indifferent. Cars slicked through damp streets. People hurried, heads down, unaware of the cosmic games playing out in the shadows. He walked aimlessly at first, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the immense power within him a restless, humming presence.
The meeting with Rowena. Another performance. Another layer of deceit. How many more until the truth crushed him? Or until they simply decided the lie wasn’t worth dissecting?
He turned a corner, the buildings growing rougher, the air thickening with familiar smells. Rust. Rot. Neglect. Without conscious thought, his feet had led him back towards the edge of the city.
Force of habit? Or something else?
Then he saw him.
Across the street, near the mouth of a narrow, garbage-choked alleyway. Small figure, oversized jacket clinging damply. Quick, furtive movements. Leading a woman – young, maybe early twenties, clutching a worn handbag, her eyes wide with nervous uncertainty – deeper into the shadows.
Riko.
The name echoed like a physical blow. The memory surged – cold, greasy pavement, the thud of boots against ribs, the raw helplessness, the mocking laughter as they left him broken, bleeding, to die. The face of the boy who had led him into that ambush.
His steps slowed. Stopped. His gaze locked onto the alley entrance as they disappeared inside.
A coldness, sharp and absolute, settled deep in his core. Deeper than the Mana Cell’s power, older than the Silver Core’s warmth. Something primal.
He crossed the street.
---
The alley stank. Wet cardboard, decay, desperation. Familiar sounds drifted from deeper within. Low voices, a rough chuckle, a sudden, sharp gasp of fear.
He moved silently, a shadow detaching itself from the street noise. He rounded the corner.
The scene unfolded like a sickening rerun.
Three figures blocked the far end. Bat Guy, nervously tapping his weapon against his palm. Chain Guy, letting the metal links slither through his fingers. Fist Guy, cracking his knuckles with practiced menace.
Riko stood near the terrified woman, his hand reaching for her handbag.
"Just give it here, lady," Bat Guy sneered. "Don’t make this ugly."
"We just need the credits," Chain Guy added, his voice oily. "Cooperate, and maybe you walk away."
Fist Guy took a menacing step forward.
The woman whimpered, clutching her bag tighter, tears welling in her eyes.
Then Fin stepped fully into the alley.
Four heads snapped towards him. The thugs stiffened, annoyed at the interruption. Riko froze mid-reach, his eyes widening in recognition, then dilating with pure, unadulterated terror.
"You..." the kid choked out, stumbling backward, away from the woman, away from Fin.
Bat Guy squinted through the gloom. "Who the hell’re you? Get lost. This ain’t your—"
Fin didn’t speak. He just looked at them. Slowly. Deliberately. His gaze passed over Bat Guy, Chain Guy, Fist Guy. It lingered on Riko.
The air thickened. Grew heavy. Cold. An invisible pressure emanated from him, pressing down on the thugs, making their breath catch, their bravado falter. They felt it – the sudden shift, the palpable wrongness radiating from the newcomer.
"Hey," Chain Guy stammered, his earlier confidence evaporating. "You deaf? Piss off!"
Fin took a single, measured step forward. The silver aura wasn’t visible, hidden beneath layers of control. But the feeling of that power, cold and immense, was there. Palpable. Suffocating.
"I remember this alley," he said. His voice was quiet, perfectly level, yet it cut through the stagnant air like chipped ice. "I remember the taste of mud. The sound bones make when they break."
His gaze drifted to Fist Guy. "I remember knuckles hitting my face."
Dawning comprehension warred with primal fear on the thugs’ faces. The suit was different. The stance radiated lethal confidence, not weakness. But the eyes... something cold and familiar stared back from the shadows beneath his brow.
"No way..." Bat Guy whispered, recognition finally hitting him. "You’re that slum kid... the one we taught a lesson?"
"Yes," he confirmed, the word utterly devoid of heat or anger. Just a flat statement of fact. "You did."
He moved.
Not a blur of impossible speed this time. Just... movement. Too fast to track properly, but weighted, deliberate. He appeared before Bat Guy.
The bat swung wildly. He caught it inches from his face, his grip absolute. Wood groaned, then splintered, collapsing into shards in his hand. He didn’t pause. His other hand, open palm, tapped Bat Guy lightly on the chest.
Not a blow. A touch.
Bat Guy’s eyes rolled back. He crumpled silently, folding like a cheap suit, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Chain Guy roared, fear momentarily replaced by fury, swinging his weapon in a clumsy, desperate arc. Fin stepped inside the swing, caught the chain mid-air, and yanked hard. The thug stumbled forward, off balance.
He didn’t strike. He placed two fingers gently against Chain Guy’s temple. A flicker of internal light, too faint for anyone but him to truly perceive. The thug’s eyes went vacant. He remained standing for a second, swaying slightly, then slowly tilted sideways, falling stiffly like a mannequin, completely unresponsive.
Two down. Silence, except for Riko’s ragged, terrified breathing.
Fist Guy stared, frozen, his face a mask of disbelief and horror. He backed away slowly, shaking his head. "No... no, this ain’t real..."
Fin turned towards him. Walked slowly. Deliberately. The pressure intensified around the remaining thug, rooting him to the spot.
"Hitting things," he said, his voice still flat, conversational. "That felt good, didn’t it? Feeling strong?"
Fist Guy whimpered, sliding down the greasy brick wall, unable to flee. Tears streamed down his face. "Please... man... I didn’t... I didn’t mean..."
Fin stopped directly in front of him. He crouched down slightly, bringing their faces level. He looked into the thug’s terrified eyes.
"No," he agreed softly. "You didn’t mean anything at all."
He reached out. Placed his hand gently on Fist Guy’s forehead. Silver light flared, brighter this time, visible even in the dim alley. It flowed from his palm, enveloping the thug’s head.
There was no scream. No struggle. Just a sudden, absolute stillness. The light faded. Fist Guy remained slumped against the wall, eyes wide open, staring sightlessly ahead. Breathing. Heart beating. But utterly empty. Wiped clean. A husk.
Silence descended once more, heavy and absolute. He stood slowly, looking down at the three broken figures. He felt... detached. Calm. The surge of vengeful satisfaction he might have expected wasn’t there. Just a quiet hum of power fulfilling its purpose.
He turned towards the last figure. Riko.
The boy was pressed flat against the far wall, trembling uncontrollably, a wet patch spreading rapidly on the front of his worn trousers. Snot and tears smeared his face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, bracing for the inevitable.
Fin walked towards him. Each step echoed slightly in the confined space. He stopped directly in front of the terrified child.
He remembered the betrayal. The grin. The casual cruelty that had almost cost him his life.
He raised his hand.
Riko sobbed, a high-pitched, broken sound. "I’m sorry! Please! Please don’t!"
He raised his hand. Not to strike. Not to wipe him clean like the others.
He placed his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. Riko flinched violently but was too terrified to pull away.
"Leading people into traps," he said, his voice the same chilling monotone. "Putting your trust in the wrong people." No aura was visible, but Riko gasped as an unnatural cold seeped into him from Fin’s touch. Not damaging, but invasive. Terrifying.
"That feeling?" he continued, his cube pupils hidden but their coldness palpable. "Being helpless? Trusting someone who turns on you?"
He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. "Remember it."
He pushed slightly, not hard, but with focused intent. Mana flowed, not destructively, but disruptingly. Riko cried out as a searing, paralyzing cramp seized his legs. He collapsed, his lower body suddenly unresponsive, useless. He looked down in horror, unable to feel anything below his waist.
"They should work again," he stated flatly, withdrawing his hand. "Eventually. Maybe." He looked down at the boy, now sobbing hysterically on the wet ground, his legs limp beneath him. "Consider it... a lesson. About choices. About consequences."
He turned away then, leaving Riko paralyzed and terrified, surrounded by the human wreckage he had helped create.
He paused at the mouth of the alley, looking back one last time. Not just at the three broken thugs, but at the sobbing, immobile child.
What had he done?
The question flickered again, colder this time, less a pang of conscience and more a detached observation of his own actions.
What was he becoming?
He stepped out onto the street, melting back into the city’s flow, leaving the alley and its ghosts behind him. The power hummed beneath his skin. Controlled. Waiting. Satisfied, in a way that felt profoundly wrong, yet undeniably real.
He needed to see Meg. Now.
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