The flames danced across the charred remains of what had once been the Blackwood Tower. The sky above was a canvas of black smoke and blood-orange light, the city groaning beneath its own ruin. Ash floated like snow through the dead air. Caspian stood among the wreckage, every breath burned, his lungs filled with smoke and guilt. Across from him, Alexander loomed—no longer a man, but something forged in grief and rage.
His body radiated heat, muscles swollen beyond mortal shape, a grotesque parody of strength. His orange aura pulsed violently with every heartbeat, licking at the ground beneath his feet, cracking the stone.
"You see, I can't just kill you, Caspian," Alexander said, his voice cold and calm, almost tender—like a surgeon explaining a procedure. "I'm going to beat the living hell out of you… then I'm going to torture you."
Caspian froze, his heart thudding like a war drum. He could see nothing familiar in Alexander's eyes. They were hollow. Ruined.
"Then I'll kill you," Alexander continued, stepping forward, his shadow swallowing Caspian whole. "Just like you killed Layla. Just like you killed Andrew and Camael. The only people who ever treated you like family!"
"Why, Caspian?!" he roared, voice shaking the ruined buildings around them. "Why did you do it? Andrew. Camael. Layla—they loved you! They protected you! And you burned them alive!"
"I didn't kill them!" Caspian shouted back, his voice cracking with a mix of desperation and fear. "Alexander, please, you're not thinking clearly. Let's talk about this—like mature men. Like brothers. This isn't you."
Alexander's expression didn't change. He stared at Caspian as though trying to decide whether to crush his skull with his bare hands or rip out his spine first.
Then he said, calmly, "You have five seconds."
Caspian blinked. "Five seconds for what?"
"Before I kill you," Alexander replied, like he was stating the weather. "You have five seconds to run. Starting now."
"Wait!" Caspian started, but Alexander was already counting.
"Five."
Caspian's instincts kicked in. He spun around and broke into a sprint, the soles of his shoes skidding over loose rubble as he ran into the ruined streets.
"Four."
He looked over his shoulder. Alexander hadn't moved.
"Three."
Faster now. His chest heaved, lungs burning as he turned a corner, leaping over a fallen beam. The world was all motion, smoke and flame chasing his shadow.
"Two."
He darted between two crumbling buildings, heart pounding so hard it nearly deafened him.
"One."
He slammed his back against a cracked stone wall and slid down, panting. Sweat ran down his brow, stinging his eyes. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to think. He couldn't fight Alexander. Not right now. The collateral damage of their fight would only ruin the city even more.
Flee. Regroup. That was the only choice.
He would find Julius. The Syndicate would help him take back control. Eventually. Someday. But now, escape was survival.
He peered around the alley. No footsteps. No voice. No glow.
On his left, nothing. On his right—still nothing.
He allowed himself a breath.
He was safe.
For now.
One moment Caspian was standing amidst dust and ruin, the next he was lifted off the ground as if gravity had simply ceased to care about him. A crushing grip closed around his neck, invisible but unyielding, seizing his breath and spine alike. His vision blurred from the pressure before focusing—just in time to see the nightmare.
A voice followed, low and inhuman.
"You didn't run fast enough."
Alexander.
No longer just a man. Not anymore.
"You killed them," he said.
The words were soft. Too soft. A whisper of steel on bone, the tremor before the quake. But the venom behind them coiled around Caspian like chains.
"You killed her!" he roared
Before Caspian could answer, the world tilted violently.
Alexander hurled him with monstrous force, his arm a blur of fire and fury. Caspian's body was flung like a baseball, sent crashing through the building. Each wall he struck crumbled around him, beams splintering, windows bursting. He felt ribs crack, breath vanish, his body reduced to a vessel of pain.
He burst through the far wall, landing in a ruinous sprawl on the ground beyond. Blood pooled at the edge of his lips. He groaned—but the building behind him had already begun to groan louder.
The last thing Caspian saw above him was a cascade of bricks and twisted steel, plummeting directly toward his broken form.
And then—Cain.
"Hold on!" the voice rang out.
Cain landed between Caspian and the falling ruin like lightning born from the wind. One hand slammed against the cracked earth. From the soil, enormous vines erupted in a storm of roots and bark. They sprang up in a thick tangle, weaving themselves around the collapsing wreckage like a net.
The ground trembled under the weight. The vines strained, splintered. But they held.
"MOVE!" Cain shouted, teeth gritted, his voice cutting through the dust like a whip.
Caspian staggered up, legs trembling, lungs heaving. Pain knifed through every movement, but the instinct to survive pushed him forward.
He rolled free just as the vines gave out. The building caved in with a final groan, collapsing into a mountain of wreckage behind him. Shards of wood and stone exploded outward, dust billowing into the streets like smoke from a funeral pyre.
Cain was already beside him, panting, one hand braced on his knee.
"He's not human anymore," he said, not looking at Caspian but at the inferno that remained.
Caspian followed his gaze.
Alexander stood in the distance, unmoving. His arms, now grotesquely enlarged, pulsed with raw strength, veins like molten iron threading beneath skin stretched tight. His shoulders bulged, swelling with power until they seemed too massive for any human frame. The ground trembled beneath each breath he took, not from flames or heat, but from the sheer weight of his altered form.
Alexander moved before thought could catch up. He slid behind Caspian in an instant, his enlarged right forearm—thick as a tree trunk—glowing with latent energy. With practiced precision, he launched a brutal uppercut. The blow connected under Caspian's chin. Time slowed; Caspian's eyes widened, then rolled back as he was lifted off his feet and tossed like a ragdoll. Bone-jarring force met flesh and blood. He crashed against a shattered support beam, splintering it, then tumbled backward across the battleground.
Alexander followed, springing upward. His foot, swollen and heavy, dropped like a hammer from above, slamming into Caspian's chest with unerring purpose. The impact drove him into cracked concrete. A radial shockwave bloomed outward, exploding dust and debris in a noisy cloud, obscuring vision for meters.
Cain retaliated immediately. With a quick snap of his fingers, he tore energy from the storm-swept sky. A jagged bolt of lightning crashed down onto Alexander, scorching the ground around him. The searing discharge struck his shoulders and chest, casting him in blinding light. For a few heartbeats, lightning crackled against Alexander's armor-like flesh, strobing across the battlefield's rubble.
As the light dimmed, Alexander's eyes burned through the dust—unfazed. He stood, defiant, muscles swelling further.
Cain materialized twin axes crackling with stolen lightning—each blade a jagged bolt with lethal brilliance. Their arcs split the air as he charged, launching into an aerial flurry. With graceful yet lethal precision, Cain struck Alexander's shoulder, generating a sparkstorm where axe met muscle; Alexander flicked his arm sideways, disarming blow that released a burst of electricity into the air.
But Cain was relentless. He twisted, sweeping a leg-low to trip Alexander, then followed with a spinning strike aimed at the enlarged thigh. Alexander tensed his muscles and blocked the attack, but the strike severed a layer his armor-like skin. A single painful shout escaped him.
Alexander staggered and Cain seized the opening. He delivered an overhead chop with the axes, slicing through Alexander's enlarged shoulder. The wound seethed with static energy, and Alexander staggered—but refused to fall.
Blazing with fury, Alexander grabbed Cain mid-strike using impossible speed. Muscle rippled, each fiber strung tight like bowstrings, then Alexander tossed Cain aside with earth-shaking impact. Cain crashed through a wall, flying back nearly ten meters before embedding into rubble. Dust rained on him.
The world paused.
Cain spit blood onto concrete, then snapped his fingers. The lightning axes disappeared in a fizz of energy. From the ground, that surge grew; a pale blue plasma spread across the battlefield. Cain stepped forward, eyes alight, lips curling. He raised both arms. With a clap loud as thunder, a massive arc of lightning launched upward in a pillar of electricity. It struck a broken lamppost—blasting metal, igniting wires. Sparks surged outward in every direction, amplifying the electric charge.
Alexander shielded his face—massive arms crossed—and roared. With raw force, he slammed them together mid-body, directing kinetic energy outward in a shockwave. It collided with Cain's lightning blast. The ground shook. Concrete chunks dissolved; metal twisted. The collision of two powers, the explosive circumference of Alexander's muscle-warped strike and Cain's radiant spark sent a ripple expanding outward, bringing down nearby walls.
Cain's axes re-materialized in his grasp, now fiery and molten from the storm's energy. With another snap, both blades ignited into pure flame—arc lightning fusing into white-hot plasma. Cain roared, axes aflame, and leaped in a high arc, crashing down onto Alexander's shoulder. The scythe-heavy strike carved shallow grooves through skin and super-enhanced muscle. White flame hissed on contact. But Alexander did not stumble. He caught Cain mid-swing, grabbed the wrist, and he retained his stance.
Alexander took two steps forward and slammed Cain straight into the wall. Bricks exploded, body rebounded, sent back down into the shattered debris.
Alexander's chest heaved. He clenched fists. He dropped into a crouch, planted feet on the ground, and unleashed a seismic roar. The earth vibrated; cracks spread; concrete buckled. He charged at Cain like a freight train—massive forearms swinging in bone-breaking blows.
But Cain was unpredictable. He dove sideways, axes blazing. Mid-dodge, he slashed upward—the surge of lightning-infused heat cutting Gaia-walls in half. Sparks danced on stone and steel. Cain pivoted, launched a sideways axe swing that struck Alexander's flared biceps—melting muscle into sizzling slurry. Alexander staggered—but clenched his fist and returned the blow, enlarged knuckles exploding through Cain's compound fracture gloves, cracking ribs. Crack. Crack. Cain gasped.
The world tilted.
Alexander's height seemed to increase—each breath he drew reinforced muscle. He pulled Cain close, gripped legs, and threw him overhead like a tossed doll. Cain landed on feet—built for resilience—but slid back into rubble.
Dust hung in the air. Tension crackled like static. Powers gathered.
Cain saw the opening. He stomped the ground; vines and roots exploded outward, slicing at Alexander's feet. The roots wrapped and tightened with living force, but Alexander flexed foot, roots snapped like gnawed rope. He tore free with carnivorous strength. The ground hissed.
Cain's eyes narrowed. He raised both axes—now blades of searing plasma and lightning—overhead, then with a thunderous screech, brought them down. Alexander blocked with enlarged forearms; sparks and flame spiraled outward. But then Alexander counterattacked: he lunged, gripping Cain's raised shaft, redirected Cain's swing into the earth. He pivoted, twisted the axes from Cain's grip. Cain stumbled; Alexander yanked the axes free—now coursing through his hands like twin torches of destructive energy.
Alexander snarled. He swung both axes toward Cain's torso. Cain dodged, redirected blows with elbow and torso, but the strike grazed him. Sparks. Flesh singed. Cain coughed but held firm.
He looked at Caspian—the fight raging between the two heavyweights. He needed to end this, or it would destroy the city around them.
He steadied himself, breathing ragged, axes humming with power. With a growl, Alexander launched a muscular charge—fists to ground, tensed back. Roots erupted from his boots, lifting him slightly, slingshot through the air. He swung both axes with monstrous arcs—plasma ribbons slicing air. Cain backflipped—axes singed the concrete. Vines and mist rose in their wakes.
Cain struck back: he dashed forward, axe shattered Alexander's enlarged knee. Alexander roared, dropped to one knee. Heat shimmered. He straightened. He raised both weapons then smashed them downward. Cain barely rolled aside.
Time slowed for Caspian—he watched every move: Alexander's brute force, Cain's lightning agility. Each ability more extraordinary than the last. Electricity crackled. Vines coiled.
And then Cain saw his chance. He backed up a step, axes still glowing. In a primal shout, he spun outward—axes circling in vortex of fire. Light spiraled around him, then he thrust them forward. Alexander, battered but unbowed, raised both fists to catch them. The impact erupted in a shockwave that blew Caspian off his feet.
Caspian struggled upright. He looked at both—surrounded by wreckage—both breathing hard, exhaustion and adrenaline mingling.
Caspian and Cain stood amid the wreckage, their breaths shallow, their bodies aching, eyes locked on the figure before them.
Alexander.
Despite his injuries, it looked like he hadn't even been scathed by a single attack.
He stood in the shattered heart of the battlefield, flames licking at the ruined earth beneath him. The orange aura that had once shimmered faintly around his skin now erupted like a solar flare—violent, constant, and unrelenting. It extended outward in a blazing sphere of energy, growing with each breath he took. One meter. Two. Three. The very air hissed and recoiled, heat distorting reality in waves.
And then, without a word, his muscles began to expand.
Veins bulged like cords beneath his skin. Each fiber of muscle thickened, his frame widening, legs tearing through the fabric of his clothes, arms swelling until his silhouette no longer resembled a man but a force of destruction incarnate. Bones groaned and stretched. In under a minute, Alexander had doubled in size, towering above them like a living titan. Shadows curled behind him, cast not by any light source—but by the sheer immensity of his form.
Caspian took an instinctive step back. His hands trembled.
Cain's jaw clenched. "This isn't strength," he murmured. "This is madness."
Alexander looked down at them, expression unreadable. There was no fury in his face. No sorrow. No doubt. Only silence, like the stillness before a tidal wave.
"Please," Caspian called out, desperation cracking in his voice, "Alexander, stop this! This isn't who you are!"
For a moment—just a breath—Alexander blinked. His gaze met Caspian's.
And then he exhaled.
It wasn't a sigh.
It was a grin.
Slow, sickening, and devoid of sanity. The corners of his mouth curled upward like hooks pulling apart his humanity.
Then came the laugh.
Low at first. Then louder. Rising and rising until it filled the ruined skyline—a fractured, hideous, maniacal roar that echoed across the broken city like a death knell. The sound felt wrong. It didn't belong in a world of men. It belonged in nightmares.
"You think I'll let you die now?" Alexander's voice twisted through the air like a blade made of smoke and fire. "You haven't been tortured nearly enough!"
The aura around him exploded again—no longer orange, but a blinding white, laced with threads of red like veins of magma. The ground cracked beneath his feet. Rubble lifted into the air as if gravity had been forgotten. Trees bent backward, wind howled through the destruction, and all the world seemed to flinch from the force of what was coming.
Caspian opened his mouth to say something—but he never got the chance.
Alexander moved.
And the world shattered.