The Infernal Broker knelt.
Not because it was weak.
Because the air around it belonged to something older than obedience.
The Devil was not in the chamber, not in any physical sense. There was no throne, no silhouette, no horns or crown. But the darkness itself leaned as if listening, and the Broker's fractured brass skin flickered like a candle caught in a wind that didn't exist.
"The asset has grown," the Broker said.
A pause.
Then a voice — calm, deep, amused.
"Yes," the Devil replied. "Jack Storm continues to climb."
The Broker's head lowered a fraction more. "Earth has created a countermeasure."
Silence.
The Devil's presence shifted, barely.
"…Explain."
The Broker's claws folded neatly behind its back. "A human soldier. Enhanced using A-rank beast material. An obedient A-rank entity. Designed with a single directive."
The Devil's voice became very still.
"And what do they call this directive made flesh?"
The Broker did not hesitate.
"Stormcatcher."
A beat passed.
Then the Devil spoke one word, almost fondly.
"Interesting."
The Broker's fractures glowed. "Should we intervene?"
The Devil's presence felt like a smile without lips.
"No," it replied. "Let it play out. Regardless… all is going according to plan."
The chamber grew colder.
The Broker swallowed whatever fear a creature like it could feel.
"As you wish."
And far above Hell, far above Earth, fate tightened its grip.
EARTH — THE DECISION
Jack Storm sat on the Moon for three days.
Not sleeping.
Not hunting.
Not upgrading.
Just watching.
Earth spun quietly beneath him, blue and white and fragile. He watched storms cross continents. He watched cities glow at night like embers. He watched the places he had saved — and the places he had broken.
He remembered the crater.
He remembered the faces in London.
He remembered the fear in the eyes of people he'd protected.
And the betrayal.
The attempt to bleed him.
The idea that they would rather cut him open than trust him.
Jack's red eyes dimmed.
He stared down at his hands.
"I could leave," he whispered.
No one would stop him.
He could vanish into space and never return. Let Earth learn to fight its own war. Let it burn under the weight of demons and human arrogance.
But then he remembered why he died the first time.
A kid.
A car.
A choice.
Jack exhaled slowly.
"I'm not that man anymore," he murmured. "But I'm not… gone."
He stood.
Wings unfurled, casting a long shadow over lunar dust.
"I'll stay," Jack said quietly. "I'll protect it."
The Nether Core pulsed.
Not approval.
Acceptance.
Jack turned toward Earth.
And descended like a falling star.
THE HIT THAT WOKE THE WORLD
He didn't land.
He didn't even get to slow down.
The moment Jack crossed into the atmosphere, something met him.
A fist.
Not an energy blast.
Not a curse.
A pure physical strike delivered with such speed the air didn't have time to scream.
Jack was hit at near light speed.
He didn't register the impact until he was already flying.
The world became a blur of shattered glass, steel beams, concrete walls. He tore through buildings like a meteor, cutting a trench across a city block, then another, then another.
He finally stopped when his spine slammed into a reinforced tower and the entire structure folded around him like paper.
Jack coughed.
Regeneration kicked in, trying to keep up with trauma that arrived faster than biology.
He pushed himself out of the wreckage, wings flaring instinctively, eyes burning.
"What—?"
He felt it then.
The aura.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
It wasn't demonic.
Not fully.
It had his signature in it—force density, soul pressure, that heavy authority that made the air bow.
Jack looked up.
A man hovered above the city.
No wings.
No flames.
Just raw power holding him in the air like gravity itself had changed allegiance.
He wore a dark tactical suit threaded with containment sigils. His eyes glowed faintly, not as red as Jack's, but close enough to make Jack's stomach twist.
Jack's voice came out low.
"…Who are you?"
The man's face was tight with something Jack recognized immediately.
Hatred.
Not fear-hatred.
Not political-hatred.
Personal.
He drifted lower until they were facing each other above shattered streets.
And then he spoke.
"Do you know how much I hate you?"
Jack narrowed his eyes.
"I don't even know you."
The man's mouth twisted.
"That's the worst part."
He landed on the air itself as if it were solid.
"Months," he said, voice shaking. "Months of experiments. Torture. Needles. Black rooms. Screams. They broke my body and rebuilt it. Again and again and again."
His fists clenched.
"Just to become what I am."
Jack's Nether Core pulsed uneasily.
"Why?" Jack asked. "Why do that to you?"
The man laughed once—sharp, bitter.
"Because they couldn't stop you."
He pointed at Jack like he was pointing at the sun.
"Because you're the reason the world doesn't sleep. You're the reason my country—my planet—now lives under a shadow."
Jack's eyes burned brighter.
"I saved—"
"YOU DESTROYED!" the man roared. "Four blocks erased like they never mattered. London turned to dust. Thousands dead because you decided it was necessary."
Jack's jaw tightened.
"You weren't there."
The man's voice dropped into something icy.
"I was the man who watched from a screen while my commanders said the same thing you just did."
He leaned forward.
"And then they chose me."
Jack felt it—how deep the hatred ran.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"My name was taken from me," he said. "My life was taken from me. They carved purpose into my bones."
He lifted his chin, almost proud.
"My only purpose is to kill you."
A pause.
Then, with a steady voice:
"My name is Stormcatcher."
Jack stared at him.
"…They made you from demons."
Stormcatcher smiled without warmth.
"They made me to catch the storm."
Jack's wings flared.
"Then try."
And the world cracked.
THE BATTLE BEGINS
Stormcatcher vanished.
Jack barely reacted in time.
A fist slammed into Jack's ribs, launching him sideways through the air. Jack twisted mid-flight, teleporting behind Stormcatcher and swinging a black blade into existence—
Stormcatcher caught it barehanded.
The blade shattered.
Jack's eyes widened.
Stormcatcher headbutted him.
The shockwave flattened the street beneath them.
Jack blinked—then punched.
Absolute transmission hit Stormcatcher's jaw.
Stormcatcher's head snapped slightly.
He smiled.
"That's it?" he asked.
Then he hit Jack again.
Jack flew.
Through the skyline.
Through steel and glass and screaming air.
Jack teleported to stop himself, appearing above Stormcatcher with wings roaring.
He unleashed Nightmare Possession.
A thousand horrors poured toward Stormcatcher's mind.
Stormcatcher's eyes flickered.
For a fraction of a second, Jack saw pain.
Then Stormcatcher's aura flared.
The nightmare shattered like glass.
Stormcatcher laughed.
"They showed me nightmares for months," he said. "You think you can scare me?"
He shot upward and drove his knee into Jack's stomach.
Jack gagged.
Stormcatcher grabbed him by the ankle.
And swung him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Jack's body broke the sound barrier with each arc, sonic booms detonating across the city.
Then Stormcatcher released.
Jack became a missile.
He slammed into the ground outside the city and carved a trench half a mile long.
Jack rose slowly, regeneration flaring.
Blood ran down his chin.
He wiped it away, staring at his hand.
"…I'm bleeding."
Stormcatcher appeared above him.
"You're welcome," he said.
Jack's eyes burned.
He teleported forward and punched Stormcatcher with everything he had.
This time Stormcatcher moved back.
Two feet.
The ground beneath him cracked into a crater.
Jack smiled, feral.
"There you are."
Stormcatcher's smile vanished.
"So you can bite," he said quietly.
"Good."
GODS OVER A PLANET
They rose into the sky.
Fists collided.
Shockwaves rolled outward, knocking clouds apart. Jets in the distance spiraled out of control from pressure changes. The atmosphere rippled like water.
Jack fought like a demon-king.
Wings snapping, teleportation chaining him through angles Stormcatcher couldn't anticipate. Weapons formed in his hands and vanished—spears, blades, hammers—each strike carrying Absolute Transmission.
Stormcatcher fought like a human who'd been turned into a weapon.
No flourish.
No mercy.
Pure efficiency.
He took Jack's strikes and answered with heavier ones. He redirected Jack's flight patterns. He grabbed Jack mid-teleport as if he could predict the position rewrite. He learned in seconds.
Jack growled.
"How are you doing that?"
Stormcatcher slammed an elbow into Jack's face.
"Because I'm built to."
Jack's wings flared and he dropped a gravity crush on Stormcatcher.
Stormcatcher's body bent slightly under the pressure.
Then he stood through it.
"Nice trick," he said. "My turn."
Stormcatcher pointed at Jack.
And Jack felt gravity invert inside his bones.
He slammed downward.
Hard.
The impact shattered a hilltop.
Jack coughed blood again.
Stormcatcher landed beside him slowly.
"You're powerful," Stormcatcher admitted. "But you're not disciplined."
Jack forced himself upright.
"You're not free," he shot back.
Stormcatcher's eyes flickered.
For a moment, something human surfaced.
Then it drowned.
"Freedom is irrelevant," he said. "Purpose is everything."
He punched Jack.
Jack flew.
Up.
Out.
Beyond the atmosphere.
INTO SPACE AGAIN
Jack tore through the cloud layer and into the black.
Earth curved beneath him.
Stars stared coldly back.
He stabilized himself with force, wings beating against nothing. His breath formed a thin atmosphere bubble around his face.
Stormcatcher arrived a moment later.
Hovering.
Unaffected.
"How—?" Jack began.
Stormcatcher smirked.
"They planned for you to run to the sky."
He grabbed Jack by the throat.
And accelerated.
They crossed orbital distance in seconds.
Jack's body strained under speed his regeneration barely contained.
Then Stormcatcher stopped instantly.
Jack's momentum didn't.
Jack slammed into Stormcatcher's fist like a meteor.
The impact detonated invisible shockwaves through vacuum, tearing nearby satellites into glittering scrap.
Jack screamed.
Stormcatcher didn't blink.
"You don't get to leave," he said.
Jack's eyes burned bright.
He summoned weapons.
Stormcatcher shattered them.
Jack tried nightmare again.
Stormcatcher laughed again.
Jack tried soul authority.
Stormcatcher resisted.
"How?" Jack snarled.
Stormcatcher leaned close.
"Because I'm not a demon," he whispered. "And I'm not you."
He drove his knee into Jack's ribs.
Jack felt something crack.
Then Stormcatcher grabbed him by both wings.
And ripped.
Jack roared as his wings tore off, regeneration screaming as it tried to re-form them.
Stormcatcher swung Jack again.
Around and around.
Building speed.
Sonic booms didn't exist in space—yet Jack's body created pressure waves anyway, reality bending around the motion.
Stormcatcher's voice was calm as he turned Jack into a projectile.
"Do you know what the difference between you and me is?"
Jack spat blood.
"No?"
Stormcatcher tightened his grip.
"You chose to become a monster."
His eyes hardened.
"I was made one."
And then he threw Jack.
THE SUN
Jack became a streak.
A comet without a tail.
He flew past the Moon, past the cold emptiness of space, straight toward the blazing star at the center of their system.
His body burned.
Not from friction—there was none.
From proximity.
From heat so immense it made his regeneration panic.
Jack tried to teleport.
Stormcatcher's earlier strikes had scrambled something in his core.
The Nether Core pulsed wildly.
Jack screamed.
He hit the Sun.
And vanished in white-gold fire.
THE RELIEF OF THE KILLER
Stormcatcher hovered in the void for a moment, watching the star flare.
He breathed slowly.
He had expected triumph.
Instead he felt something like emptiness.
"…It's done," he murmured.
He turned back toward Earth.
For the first time, he looked down at the planet and realized something cold:
Now the world would have to live with what it created.
Stormcatcher accelerated.
He returned to Earth like a falling shadow.
And far below, in secure rooms, people smiled and pretended they were safe again.
They didn't know.
Not yet.
SOMEWHERE IN THE SUN
Deep inside the star's blazing heart, something pulsed.
Not dying.
Not finished.
A void-violet spark held its shape against impossible heat.
The Nether Core.
Beating.
Adapting.
Learning.
And somewhere within it, Jack Storm's consciousness began to knit itself back together.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Angrily.