Chapter 4
With the first opponent neutralized, he quickly snatched the downed man's scarf, a dark piece of cloth, and swiftly wrapped it across the lower half of his face, ensuring his identity remained concealed.
His body still held the tension of his 'stealth mode,' moving with unnatural silence as he turned and walked deliberately toward the four remaining figures.
"Hey there, you guys seem busy," he announced, his voice slicing through the tense atmosphere and immediately shattering their focus.
In a frantic, unified movement, the four hoodlums whipped out their guns. The leader's voice, tight with panic, immediately barked out a question: "Who are you! And where did that bastard go?"
Before he could demand an answer, the guy tagged as No. 3 pointed a trembling finger at the new arrival's face. "Wait a minute… is that No. 4's scarf?"
Damian's hand briefly rose to the stolen scarf covering his mouth, a gesture of casual acknowledgment. "Oh, this guy?" he replied, his voice calm despite the row of weapons aimed at him. "He's knocked out somewhere."
"Do you think we're joking?" No. 2 roared, his finger tightening on the trigger as he shoved the cocked gun closer to Damian.
In the background, the two kidnapped women fought against their restraints, trying desperately to scream, but the knots holding the fabric over their mouths were too tight, preventing any sound from forming.
Meanwhile, the third hostage—a man—watched the confrontation, his eyes wide and fixed on Damian. His thoughts raced with incredulity: What is this guy thinking? How does he intend to fight off four armed men with his bare hands? Is he out of his mind? He couldn't break the intense stare he had locked onto the new arrival.
"Shut up, you fools!" No. 4 shouted, momentarily diverting his attention to snap at the girls who were frantically struggling and issuing muffled cries.
The moment No. 4 tried to quiet the hostages, Damian seized the opening, his voice cutting through the chaos with sudden authority.
"Alright, here's the deal," Damian stated, his eyes unblinking and utterly unfazed by the muzzles pointed at his chest. "You let them go, then you can go pick up the other guy and leave. We all get our happy ending... How does that sound?"
The four men exchanged baffled glances, then, as if on cue, burst into a synchronized fit of mocking laughter.
"Who do you think you are?" No. 3 sputtered, struggling to control his laughter.
"Hmm… nice question," Damian responded, his eyes losing focus for a fleeting second as he became momentarily lost in thought. Who am I? I can no longer be Damian. If I intend to leave my past behind, I need a new name... hmm.
Then, the focus returned, sharper than before. He stood straighter, the casual negotiating tone replaced by cold conviction.
"I am Karma," he announced in a voice heavy with serious intent. "I am the consequence of your actions, the punishment for your sins. I am judgment. I am Nemesis."
After a short, dramatic pause, he offered an alternative, darker title: "Or, you can call me Shadow, The Black Angel of Retribution."
The hoodlums' laughter exploded anew, louder and more derisive than before.
"You are truly delusional," the leader managed to gasp out, shaking his head. Then, the humor vanished, replaced by a lethal seriousness. He cocked his gun, the metallic snick echoing in the silence.
"Alright, playtime is over," the leader declared, aiming squarely at Damian's head. "I don't intend to keep you alive anyway."
The leader's gun was locked onto Damian, the threat of death hanging heavy in the air.
"Well then, what are you waiting for?" Damian asked, his voice dripping with mockery. He flung his arms wide open, posing deliberately like a human target pole. This brazen act was the final spark. It pushed the hoodlum over the edge.
"Die, you bastard!" the leader screamed, and the chilling sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the gang, raining a blinding barrage of bullets toward where Damian stood.
For the first time, the kidnapped man tried desperately to scream a warning—"Run!"—but the cloth wrapped around his mouth sealed the words, transforming his plea into a choked, pained groan that was swallowed by the deafening noise of the guns.
The sound finally died away, leaving an acrid smell of gunpowder and a profound silence. The kidnappers had exhausted their clips.
Then, from the center of the smoke, Damian's voice sliced through the tension, completely unchanged:
"Are you done?"
The simple question instantly sent a shockwave of fear through the spines of the four men.
The leader took an involuntary step back, his face pale and bewildered. "That's impossible... How are you still alive?"
Meanwhile, the hostage, slumped against his restraints, stared in dumbfounded amazement. What just happened? he thought, his eyes trying to pierce the dissipating smoke cloud.
The two kidnapped ladies stared at the standing figure, their disbelief absolute. "This makes no sense", one of the women thought, her fear momentarily giving way to a stunned wonder."But… but I'm looking right at it".
"Run!" the leader shrieked, the panic now fully consuming him. In a flash of desperate self-preservation, the remaining four thugs scattered, taking off in different, frantic directions.
Ignoring the retreating figures for the moment, Damian—still the imposing 'Shadow'—walked smoothly toward the tied victims. He spotted a dropped weapon, a combat knife hastily discarded by the fleeing gang, and picked it up.
He approached the women first. With expert precision, he sliced through the ropes binding their wrists and ankles, then loosened the gagging cloth in their mouths. "Ladies first," he murmured, his voice softening slightly now that the fight was over.
They both responded simultaneously, their voices trembling with a mixture of terror and relief: "Thank you, sir."
Damian then moved to the man. The knife blade flashed, cutting the heavy ropes, and he pulled the cloth away from the man's mouth.
The guy was freed, but he made no move to stand or flee. Instead, he simply stared at Damian with an open, unblinking look of total, profound admiration. His gaze was unshaken, fixed entirely on the mysterious figure's face.
Damian felt the intense stare and instinctively looked away, a flicker of discomfort crossing his mind. "Why is he looking at me like that?" he wondered.
The moment the hostages were free, a new and immediate problem arose. Damian couldn't simply leave them to wander on their own; they might easily run straight back into the arms of the fleeing kidnappers. He needed to get them out of the dense area, but he realized with a jolt that he didn't know the way out of these woods.
"Do any of you know the way out?" he asked, turning his focused stare onto the victims.
"No, I don't know how we got here," the first lady replied instantly, shaking her head.
"I couldn't keep track, it was a long way here," the other lady added, rubbing her wrists where the rope had dug in.
"And you?" Damian asked, shifting his gaze to the man who was still staring at him with such intense admiration. The sudden attention instantly broke the tension, snapping the man back to reality.
"Huh... I... I don't know," the man stammered, flustered. "I was unconscious all through the journey."
A frustrated thought crossed Damian's mind: Now that's a problem. Arghhh... what do I do?
Just as his frustration peaked, a cool, mechanical voice echoed in the private space of his thoughts, cutting through the forest sounds:
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED: CLAIRVOYANCE]
Huh... That voice again, he thought, masking his internal reaction and maintaining his calm composure as he looked back at the group.
Damian held his composure, observing the hostages, and realized they showed no reaction to the announcement. It seems they didn't hear it, I guess it's in my head... oh, I see, that's what happens when I get a new skill, he mused privately.
Taking a deep breath, he muttered to himself, "Activate Clairvoyance."
Instantly, the black pupils of his eyes began to glow with a soft, ethereal purple light.
A flood of information rushed into his mind. I can see everything. He saw the fleeing kidnappers—they managed to find their way back to each other. He saw the first guy he knocked out—they left him. He is still unconscious.
Damian turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the dense foliage, the purple light illuminating his inner vision. I can see the next city from here... oh, I see a way out, he thought, still lost deep within the perception of the new skill.
"Sir, do you know a way out?" the first lady asked, her voice timidly interrupting his profound focus.
"Yeah, I do," he replied almost immediately, the answer already clear in his mind. He pointed toward a specific, barely visible direction. "Walk straight in that direction. You will meet a clear path. Turn right and follow that path; it should take you to the main road. You can find your way from there."
"Thank you so much, we are sincerely grateful for your help," the first lady said, relief washing over her face as she and the other woman quickly headed off in the direction he pointed.the victims' safety was their top priority, they would have a lot to unravel about the strange events and the figure who saved them.
As Damian turned to leave, his movement was arrested by the silent, fixed gaze of the freed man, who was still staring at him.
Damian watched the man with growing discomfort until he could no longer stand the silence. "What do you want?" he asked, a note of genuine surprise in his tone.
The man's answer was instantaneous and shocking. He dropped down immediately onto one knee and declared, "My lord, may I be your disciple."
The words hit Damian like a physical brick. Huh??... what the hell, he thought, struggling internally while his outward composure remained utterly unfazed.
After a long, cold pause, Damian spoke, his voice low and calm. "May I ask why you want to be my disciple?"
"Revenge," the guy replied instantly, his voice now cold and steady, lacking any trace of fear. "I want to find those who murdered my family."
Interesting... he has the same motive as me, Damian mused privately. He regarded the kneeling figure, a plan already beginning to form.
"Well then," Damian said, adopting an authoritative edge to his voice. "Tell me about yourself, but be brief."
"I am Mark Scoffer, twenty-four years old, a graduate. I studied Digital Forensics and Data Science," the man stated, his voice now steady and precise.
"My parents were murdered two weeks ago, just three days after my graduation. The police said they were on the case, but there have been no updates since then. I decided to change town two days ago, thinking I'd heal better in a different city, but I was kidnapped last night by those men you encountered."
He looked up at Damian with fierce conviction. "I want to serve under you so I can hunt those who killed my family and punish those who dare to cause harm to others. Grant me this wish, my lord, and I'll serve you for eternity."
Damian understood Mark's pain completely; their motives were mirrors of each other. However, he wasn't ready to be anyone's master—not yet. He was still inexperienced and wanted to learn a little more; he didn't have enough knowledge to truly lead anyone.
After a long, considering silence, he finally spoke, his voice clear and authoritative, settling the question for now.
"I shall grant you your desire only if you fulfill this quest."
"Speak, my lord. Whatever is requested of me, I shall fulfill it to the best of my abilities," the man replied instantly, his head still bowed to the figure before him.
Damian's voice was steady and unshakable as he laid out the terms. "You will continue your journey to wherever you had in mind initially. You will use the next three months to drastically improve your combat skills, however you can achieve it. And then, after those three months, you will find me. When you do, you shall introduce yourself as Alpha. This is a test of your commitment. Show me your resolve."
"As you wish, my lord. I will find you in three months, and you will not be disappointed," Mark promised. He stood, gave a final deep bow, and took his leave, disappearing quickly into the trees.
Damian watched Mark depart, his eyes following the retreating figure. I hope he finds peace before then, he thought to himself, just maybe he would have a change of heart. Looking up at the canopy of the sky, he muttered, "But... revenge is very hard to stop. I'm almost certain we will see each other in three months."
He then turned and began his own journey, his mind already churning with his next steps.
As he continued his journey through the woods,as the night falls, he soon came across a flickering campfire near a small, pitched tent. It seemed like someone was resting inside, so he initially decided not to interrupt. However, with his heightened senses—sharper than ever—he could immediately tell that something was terribly wrong.
He quickly took a peek into the tent and was met with a horrific sight: a couple had been brutally murdered by a sharp weapon.
A cold rage began to rise within him as he wondered who would commit such an act. The blood was still fresh, leading him to believe the killers weren't far. It was also painfully obvious the couple had been robbed.
Standing straight, he quietly commanded, "Activate Clairvoyance."
His pupils glowed purple as he extended his vision, searching for any sign of human presence within a mile. He suddenly located four men heading toward a nearby cave.
They must have been the ones, he thought, his gaze hardening. He took one last glance at the innocent couple's tent and muttered, "I promise, they'll pay with their lives."
He instantly activated Stealth, his figure becoming a blur as he charged silently toward the direction of the cave.
He closed in swiftly, his stealth honed to perfection, completely unnoticed by the gang. When he finally got close enough, he took a quick look to identify them and realized something utterly shocking: they were the same kidnappers from before, the very thugs he had shown mercy to and let go.
How could they? he thought, his anger flaring instantly. They had taken his kindness for granted, treated his mercy as a joke. If only he had ended them before, those couple would have lived. The thought fueled his fury and hardened his resolve.
He moved slowly toward the cave entrance, advancing like a predator that had its prey trapped. His eyes were locked onto the four figures inside, who were currently busy splitting the stolen goods.
They did not notice his silent approach until he was close enough to be clearly seen, standing right in the shadowed entrance.
"How dare you," he said, his voice cold and heavy with pure, undisguised rage.
The men jumped in surprise, scattering the jewelry and money they were counting. "Who are you?" the leader stammered, visibly terrified at the sudden, dark appearance of the figure.
The leader recognizes the 'Black Angel.'
The leader's eyes were wide with terror, recognizing the impossible figure. "How did you find us? Why are you here... SHADOW!" he screamed frantically.
Shadow took a menacing step closer, his voice low, cold, and heavy with self-condemnation. "You kidnapped and hurt people, but out of mercy, I let you live, hoping you'd turn a new leaf... But you, you turned my kindness into mockery. I am responsible for their death because I let you live."
He took another slow, deliberate step. "My mistake... I'll correct it now."
The thugs knew immediately that this encounter was different. They had gotten away before because it was obvious he wanted them to live, but this time, they could see the chilling truth reflected in his eyes: death was inevitable.
It was quite clear—they had only one choice: fight to live or die trying. With desperation fueling them, they all took out their blades, ready to fight the superhuman foe. Shadow knew he was durable enough to withstand their meager attacks, but he wasn't going to drag this out with a fist fight; he needed something to take them out quickly and decisively.
Just as the tension reached its peak, the familiar internal voice echoed:
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED: PURPLE FLAMES]
The four thugs charged, blades held low and screaming battle cries fueled by desperation.
Before they could close the distance, Damian lifted his hands and whispered, "Activate Purple Flame."
A burst of intense, vibrant purple energy erupted from his palms. The flame was not a slow burn but an immediate, terrifying explosion that rocketed toward the direction of the charging gang. It blew up everything in its path, instantly consuming the four men and totally removing the cave and everything it contained.
The sheer magnitude of the flames was overwhelming—a catastrophic force with a fifty-foot width and a destructive path that scorched the earth for over a thousand feet in length.
The enormous disaster sent a cold chill down Damian's spine, instantly replacing his profound anger with an equally profound shock. He stared at the newly created chasm in the earth.
"What did I just do?" he said out loud, his voice hollow with disbelief.
"I need to get out of here," he gasped, the words barely audible over the roaring inferno behind him as he launched himself into a dead sprint.
He plunged through the dense undergrowth of the forest, the stench of burnt pine and ozone stinging his nostrils. A terrifying realization settled over him. "How would I know the purple flames could cause such level of destruction?" he thought, leaping over a fallen log. "The government are bound to research this. This would definitely come back to haunt me. I have to be careful how I use the purple flames till I'm able to control it."
By nightfall, he was already approaching the sprawling lights of the city. He desperately needed a place to stay, but the sharp reality of his situation set in: he was short of cash.
He walked the labyrinthine streets, observing every shadowed alley and towering structure until his eyes landed on an abandoned building—a silent, crumbling monolith against the modern skyline.
"I could stay here for the night," he muttered to himself, the relief a palpable weight lifting from his shoulders.
He slipped inside, the air thick with dust and the quiet creak of old wood. He navigated the interior, searching for a safe haven, eventually settling on a dilapidated room on the top floor. The elevation offered a degree of security and a lonely view of the city.
Slumping onto the cold floor, he sighed. "Today was such a long day, a lot has happened today," he reflected. The immediate survival crisis was over, but a new one began. "I don't have any money on me. What can I do to earn money? Maybe I should have kept those couple's money... no, that would be disrespectful to the dead."
Amidst his troubled thoughts and the heavy silence of the abandoned room, sleep finally claimed him.
His rest, however, was violently short-lived. He was suddenly jolted awake by a terrifying sound: the voice of a lady, laced with panic, pleading for her life.
His heightened senses, a product of his unique—and volatile—condition, immediately honed in on the conversation happening on a lower floor.
"If you hurt me, my brothers will find you," the woman said, her voice shaking uncontrollably, attempting to sound brave despite the terror.
The three unseen guys holding her hostage burst into a loud, mocking fit of laughter that echoed ominously in the empty building.
Seeing their callous reaction, she instinctively changed tactics, her voice now desperate but clear. "My family is wealthy, I can give you whatever you want. Is it money? Ask anything my brothers would pay. Please let me go!"
From his vantage point on the top floor, Damian listened intently, every word crystal clear. This was trouble, directly beneath him.
He silently and cautiously rose. Utilizing his stealth skill—a natural ability he'd honed to escape detection—he made his way down the rotting stairwell, careful to avoid any creaking boards. He reached a position where he could observe the scene without being seen. He quickly noted a critical detail: the three menacing figures all wore masks covering their faces.
"Please let me go... maybe... maybe you have the wrong person," the woman, desperately clinging to a faint hope, stuttered out.
The leader of the masked gang walked slowly toward her, his movements menacingly casual.
"You're Amy Rashford," he stated with chilling certainty. "Age twenty-four, CEO of Rashford Empires. You have three brothers who you've been taking care of since both your parents died four years ago. You dropped out of college to run your father's business, and you're currently engaged."
Amy stared in disbelief. Someone who knew her intimately must have set her up, but who?
"Who sent you?" she demanded frantically.
The leader scoffed. "Ladies aren't supposed to be leaders, but you've been proving stubborn. Your brothers are of age, but you won't let them take over, you greedy bitch."
He punctuated his accusation with a hard slap across her face.
The impact jolted her, making the connection instantly clear: this was someone close.
It can't be my brothers, I had practically raised them, I gave up my dreams so they won't suffer. I'm certain they know, she thought to herself. Could it be Noah?... No, my fiancé loves me, he wouldn't stoop so low to harm me. Is it someone from the board of directors?... It can't be either, they all voted for me to take charge... Who is it?
"Don't rack your feeble mind, darling," the leader said, interrupting her frantic internal questions.
His words cut through her panic. The tone, the subtle inflection—she had been so consumed by terror that she had failed to recognize the voice she knew so well.
"NOAHH!!!" she screamed, shock visible on her face, her eyes wide with betrayal.
The leader reached up, his movements unhurried, and pulled off his mask.
"Bingo," he replied, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Took you long enough."
"How could you? Why did you? You... you said you loved me," she choked out, her voice a mix of total disbelief and profound pain.
Noah chuckled. "C'mon, Amy. You have always been gullible, desperate to prove yourself to others. Easy to manipulate."
"How could you! If my brothers found out... you're dead!" she warned, her voice trembling with a futile attempt at a threat.
"Hahaaaha... Is that what you believe?" he asked, still consumed by his twisted laughter.
"I... I don't understand," she muttered softly, her mind reeling from this final, terrible implication.
"Well, you see, I..." Noah began, his explanation of his betrayal cut short as his phone suddenly buzzed. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
"Speak of the devil," he said with a short, cynical laugh.
Hidden in the shadows, Damian watched the horrifying scene unfold, needing to fully understand the layers of this escalating crime.
Noah answered the call. Almost immediately, a voice boomed from the speaker, raw and impatient: "Is she dead?"
Despair gripped Amy's face, her remaining courage evaporating. She recognized the voice instantly: it was her younger brother, Charles.
Noah didn't flinch. He kept his eyes locked on Amy, maintaining his cruel smile as he replied, "Not yet, but she would be soon."
"Hurry it up," another voice snapped from the caller's background. Amy's head spun. Complete disbelief washed over her. Her other brother, Luke, was in on this too.
The memories flooded her mind, a devastating counterpoint to the betrayal. After her parents' death, she had been forced to quit her studies because the company needed a leader. Charles, the first male child, was only sixteen and entirely unprepared to guide the company. She had sacrificed her dreams, dropped out of school, and focused solely on the business and her siblings' welfare. She had also been the active parent figure for Nick, the youngest, who was currently schooling abroad, pursuing his dream of being a pilot. She was certain Nick was not part of this.
The crushing realization hit her with the force of a physical blow: her brothers—the boys she had given up everything for—and her fiancé, the man she thought loved her, had ganged up to eliminate her. Her feet went weak. All she had ever wanted was to see her brothers happy.
Her relationship with Charles and Luke had always been great, until two years ago when she met Noah. He had been the sweetest soul, and he had gotten her full attention, perhaps inadvertently creating a rift with her siblings.
The thought that her brothers would join forces with her fiancé to kill her left her shocked and utterly speechless. She stared endlessly at the ground, the darkness of her despair mirroring the shadows around Damian.
"Anyways, I'd end it now and meet you guys later," Noah said coolly, immediately cutting the call.
The chilling finality of his voice was absolute. He cocked the gun he held—a sharp, metallic click that tore through the silence of the abandoned building and yanked Amy back from the paralyzing shock of betrayal.
She instantly dropped to the dusty floor, fear now her dominant emotion, her end drawing near. "Please, my love, remember all the times we spent together, remember the love we've shared, remember the..."
Her desperate plea was brutally interrupted by a swift, heavy kick to her face.
"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" Noah snarled, his voice thick with unbridled rage. "I had to put up with you for two years, pretend like I care! If your brother didn't pay me enough, I would have killed your ass long since!"
Her brother... paying him? The thought struck Amy like a cold, paralyzing wind. The terrible realization fully crystalized: Noah never loved her, and he hadn't influenced her brothers. They had hated her long ago, concealing their contempt behind years of fake smiles.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces. She muttered the last words she could muster, the truth crushing her soul. "You... you never... loved me? My brothers... have they always hated me?"
The trauma and the physical assault were too much. She fainted almost immediately, slumping into unconsciousness on the concrete floor.
Noah walked the remaining distance, totally closing the gap between them. He stood over her still body, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he pointed the gun directly at her head.
"With this, our plan is complete," he declared, savoring his victory just before pulling the trigger.