Chapter 19: The Calm Before The Storm
"Move the crate over there!" a gruff voice barked.
A man in his early thirties, dressed in a black trench coat, watched over a group of men hauling large, sealed crates across the dimly lit warehouse floor. The air was thick with dust, the flickering overhead lights casting long, ominous shadows.
"Careful with that!" he snapped. "If you break it before the buyer gets here, I'll break you."
The men hurried, sweating despite the cold air. These weren't ordinary crates—they carried something far more dangerous than guns or drugs.
This was Reaper Mafia territory, a notorious crime syndicate with deep ties to the Blackveil family. The two groups worked hand-in-hand, running underground operations that most people didn't even know existed.
A black car pulled up outside, its headlights cutting through the thick fog.
Another man, younger—late twenties—stepped out, adjusting his tie nervously. His eyes darted around the darkened lot as he approached the first man.
"When are the Blackveil guys getting here?" he muttered, rubbing his arms. "Being here gives me the creeps."
The older man chuckled darkly, lighting a cigarette.
"Patience," he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "They're always on time. They'll be here."
The younger man didn't seem convinced.
"Hope so…" he muttered, his voice tight with anxiety.
The cold night air carried a weight with it—something unseen, but felt.
And high above them, perched on the edge of the warehouse rooftop, Adam watched.
He crouched, dressed in all black, his coat billowing slightly in the breeze. His piercing gaze locked onto the scene below, the faint glow of the city reflecting in his eyes.
"They should be here any second now..."
Thanks to his Omniscient Instinct, his perception had grown razor-sharp. From this distance, he could make out everything. The sweat on the men's necks, the faint crackle of their radios, and…
There it was.
A convoy of black SUVs appeared in the distance, their sleek frames cutting through the night like predators. The same ominous insignia was stamped on the side—a Blackveil family crest.
Adam smirked, rising slowly to his feet, the moonlight casting a dramatic silhouette behind him.
"Time to knock some asses."
He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing faintly through the night air as his aura began to rise—subtle but terrifying.
The storm was about to hit.
The deep rumble of engines filled the air as a fleet of black SUVs rolled into the warehouse lot, their tinted windows hiding the figures within. The Reaper Mafia members tensed as the vehicles came to a slow, deliberate stop.
The doors swung open in unison.
A group of figures stepped out, dressed in dark tactical attire, each radiating an unmistakable aura of danger. But among them, one person stood out.
Anya.
She was tall and imposing, her sharp amber eyes gleaming under the dim warehouse lights. Crimson hair, tied in a high ponytail, cascaded down her back, swaying with her movements. A jagged scar ran from her cheekbone to her jawline, adding to her already fearsome presence. Her sleek, black combat suit clung to her athletic frame, accentuating the toned muscles beneath. Fingerless gloves covered her hands, and a single Blackveil insignia was stitched onto her shoulder—proof of her high-ranking status.
She was an A-rank superhuman—a monster in human skin.
And her ability? Burst.
Burst was an ability that allowed her to store kinetic energy within her body and unleash it in devastating, explosive attacks. The longer she charged, the more powerful the blast. She could launch herself forward at blinding speeds, strike with bone-shattering force, and even trigger localized shockwaves with a mere flick of her wrist. A walking time bomb, ready to detonate.
Anya's gaze swept over the Reaper Mafia members before locking onto the man in charge.
She smirked. "You look nervous."
The older man took a step forward, trying to keep his cool. "Not nervous. Just cautious."
Anya chuckled. "Good answer." She turned to the crates stacked nearby. "Is this everything?"
The younger man, still jittery, spoke up. "Yeah, yeah. Just like we agreed. Unopened, untouched."
Anya took a slow step forward, her boots clicking against the pavement. She reached out, brushing her fingers against one of the crates.
"Let's hope for your sake that's true."
Her hand tightened, and with a casual flick of her wrist, she smashed the side of the crate with a concussive burst of energy. The wood exploded outward, sending splinters flying.
Silence.
The older man swallowed hard but forced a grin. "Damn, you could just use a crowbar like normal people."
Anya laughed. "Where's the fun in that?"
She stepped back as her men moved in, inspecting the contents of the crates.
"Looks good," one of them called out.
Anya nodded. "Then let's finish this."
But before anyone could say another word—
A sharp gust of wind blew through the warehouse.
Something was coming.
No—someone.
From above, a figure descended like a shadow falling from the heavens.
Adam.
He landed hard, sending out a wave of force that made the air itself tremble. The ground cracked beneath his feet as dust and debris were kicked up around him.
The entire warehouse fell silent.
And then—
"Yo."
Adam cracked his knuckles, his gaze locked onto Anya.
"Heard you guys were looking for trouble."
The moment Adam landed, guns were out.
A chorus of clicks echoed through the warehouse as dozens of barrels aimed directly at him. Red laser sights traced his body, all locked onto vital points.
Adam? He just raised his hands, standing tall so they could all see the sleek black mask covering his face.
"Whoa, whoa—chill." He tilted his head, his tone casual. "Why the hostility? We're all friends here, right?"
The silence was thick, the tension electric.
Then—
"Who the hell are you?"
Anya's voice cut through the standoff.
She wasn't stupid. The man in front of her wasn't just some random punk looking for trouble—he was strong. She could feel it in the air, in the weight of his presence. But fear?
No.
This wasn't her first time squaring up against someone stronger than her.
And it wouldn't be the last.
Adam ignored her question and glanced toward the Reaper Mafia. "Kinda weird, don't you think? You didn't immediately turn on them." He nodded toward the gangsters. "Shouldn't you be looking at these guys like they sold you out or something?"
Anya scoffed.
"Turn around."
Adam blinked. "Huh?"
"Look behind you."
He did.
And sure enough—the Reaper Mafia guys were practically shitting themselves. Some had gone pale, hands trembling, beads of sweat dripping down their faces.
Adam let out a sigh. "Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."
Then—
BANG!
A gunshot ripped through the silence.
In slow motion, Adam saw the bullet leave the barrel. He turned his head, watching it slice through the air, just inches from his face.
His perception snapped back to real-time.
He exhaled sharply and turned back to Anya, a smirk forming under his mask. "Damn. That was dirty."
His fingers cracked as he flexed them, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet.
"You could've killed me, y'know?"
Anya's stance didn't change, her finger still resting on the trigger.
Adam rolled his shoulders. "Screw the introductions, then."
His aura flared—a crushing wave of pressure that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.
"Let's get to the fun part."