Nova Force Book 1

With a pounding heart, I sprinted toward the mysterious location, each footstep an echo of urgency. The missing children haunted my thoughts, their faces staring back at me from the worn-out poster. Who would resort to kidnapping innocent children? And for what twisted purpose? Were they being used as pawns, just like when my nephew was taken years ago? My mind flashed to the past, to the ransom, to the desperation—but this time, I wasn't going to wait. I had to find out.

When I reached the site, all that greeted me was the deep groove of tire tracks cutting through the soil. The eerie silence was deafening. Not a whisper of life stirred in the surrounding woods. A cold wind brushed past me, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and a growing sense of foreboding. I crouched low, moving cautiously, as if the very shadows could betray me. The chill gnawed at my bones as I traced the tracks deeper into the forest, the trees towering over me like silent sentinels.

Then, a metallic clanging shattered the stillness. The sound reverberated through the forest, raw and sharp, like a hammer striking an anvil in the dead of night. It felt wrong, out of place—like something ancient had awoken. I quickened my pace, the branches clawing at my clothes, my senses heightened, every nerve alive with the unknown.

And then, I saw them.

Two figures locked in a deadly dance. Weapons pulsing with nova force energy—vivid arcs of crimson light streaked the darkness as blades clashed with a force that made the ground tremble. Sparks flew like stars scattering in the night, illuminating their faces for split seconds before plunging them back into shadow. That's when I saw who it was.

The woman was fierce, her movements precise but strained, as if the weight of the fight was slowly pulling her under. Her voice cut through the chaos, sharp and familiar, "Who are you? How did you enter the city?"

It was Senior Lieutenant Irene.

The man—tall, cloaked in red and black, a menace—let out a low, cruel laugh. "That's none of your concern. What you should worry about is how you'll die."

Her eyes burned with fury. "You killed those men. I tracked you down—you're a sloppy assassin."

"Sloppy?" His grin widened, wicked and confident. "I left those tracks for you. I wanted you to find me. I wanted you to know before you die that tonight is your last."

With a savage roar, the fight exploded into an even more frenzied clash. The woman fought valiantly, but I could see it—the subtle slowing of her movements. Her strikes came a heartbeat too late. Something was wrong.

In that moment, I was frozen, torn between the desire to intervene and the need to stay hidden, to watch and understand. The air hummed with tension, the nova energy crackling between them like lightning before a storm. Every slash of their blades was a story of life and death, power and defiance.

"I can see it in you," the man taunted, his voice a venomous hiss. "You're just now feeling it, aren't you? You're finished."

The woman didn't flinch, but I could see the shift in her stance. Her hand tightened on her weapon. "Oh, you think I'm done? Let's change the rules, then."

In an instant, her sword morphed, the blade folding in on itself with an almost mechanical grace. What emerged wasn't a sword anymore—it was a gun, humming with energy, a weapon from a time long forgotten. I blinked, deactivating my enhanced vision just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

"A gun? In this age?" I said to myself.

My mind struggled to comprehend it. But there it was, gleaming with an unnatural light, aimed straight at the assassin. The stakes had changed, and I could feel it—the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.

She stood her ground, eyes locked on her foe, and in that charged silence, I realized: I wasn't just witnessing a battle. I was witnessing something far more dangerous—a war brewing beneath the surface, ancient forces awakening, and I was caught right in the middle of it.

 The woman, Miss Irene charged up her gun, nova energy crackling in the air around her, an intensity radiating from the weapon that was nearly tangible. The energy pulsed like a heartbeat, growing stronger, fiercer, as though it could tear apart the very fabric of the night. But she didn't fire. She just... stood there.

I expected a shot, a blast, something, but she remained still. It wasn't hesitation—it was calculated. Her eyes remained locked on the strange man approaching in the dark red cloak. He moved steadily, his presence ominous and unwavering, but still, she did nothing. Then, abruptly, the man stopped, frozen mid-step.

That's when I saw him. Another figure, emerging from the shadows like a ghost. His arrival was almost silent, but his presence sent a wave of dread rolling through the air. He wore a dark red hood like the first, but his aura—his very being—radiated something far more terrifying. His eyes glowed a deep, burning red under the night sky, like embers from the heart of a dying star.

Without a word, he stretched out his hand, and as if gravity itself bent to his will, Irene was lifted into the air, helpless, weightless. Her charged weapon hung at her side, powerless now. The sheer force of his control was breathtaking, but it wasn't just power—it was dominance, complete and terrifying.

"You're still here, playing with your prey," he said, his voice deep and cold, resonating with authority. His words were like the final toll of a bell, a warning that something terrible was about to unfold.

The first man, who had been so menacing moments ago, now looked almost diminished in comparison. "No, sir," he replied quickly, his voice laced with nervous respect. "She's formidable. I acknowledge her strength. I was just wrapping up."

That's when it hit me—I hadn't sensed him at all. Not a flicker of energy, not a hint of movement. This newcomer didn't just hide his presence; he erased it completely. And yet, the closer he came, the more I could feel something ancient, something dark, lingering in the air around him.

Every instinct screamed at me to run. To get away before I became part of this nightmare. But there was something about him, something that pinned me in place, as though the ground itself wouldn't let me go. His aura seeped into the night, filling every corner of the forest with an unbearable weight.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding in my chest, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. I wasn't just looking at a man—I was staring into the abyss. An abyss that stared back, cold and hungry.

He didn't move with haste or aggression, but his every step felt like a countdown, each moment heavier than the last. The world seemed smaller, darker, with him in it. Whoever he was, whatever he was, this wasn't just an enemy. This was a force—a menace wrapped in flesh and bone. A living nightmare. 

Something in me snapped, pushing aside all fear, and without thinking, I charged straight at them. My sword remained sheathed, but even its weight carried force as I swung it toward the man with the blazing red eyes. He countered with such effortless precision that the impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air.

Our eyes locked for the first time, and I froze. His eyes—they mirrored mine in design, intricate and otherworldly, but his burned like molten fire. That split-second distraction was enough. I lunged, grabbing Miss Irene, and with a swift leap, pulled us back to safer ground.

The other man, the one wielding daggers, erupted with fury. He charged at me, his speed almost unnatural. But I was ready. I raised my hand and summoned a gravity shield, feeling the immense force of his attack slam into it. "Dispel," I whispered, and with that single word, the energy discharged, throwing him back. He slid to a stop, feet braced, fury in his eyes—but the fight was far from over.

For a moment, the forest fell into an uneasy silence. We stood facing each other, the air thick with tension. I could tell these two weren't showing their true power. I couldn't sense a thing from them, but their presence was suffocating. My eyes flicked toward the red-eyed man again. His gaze—it was too similar to mine. What did his eye do? Could it manipulate gravity? No, they were known as the Eyes of Disruption. What did they interfere with? My mind raced, but one thing was clear: if I was going to save Irene, I needed to get out of here. Fast.

"What are you two after?" I demanded, my voice steady, hiding the war inside my head.

The man with blazing red eyes turned toward me, his expression calm, unbothered, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "It's something that has existed for centuries, yet people are too blind and too foolish to see it," he replied, his voice like ice—calm, measured, and dripping with confidence. He wasn't just strong; he knew he had the upper hand, and that made him dangerous.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone as casual as if we were having a conversation over tea.

"You first," I shot back, not giving him the satisfaction of control.

A smirk danced at the corner of his mouth. "I'm called many things. But most know me as the Vampire of Brittaniac."

The name struck me like a cold wind. Brittaniac... I'd heard of that empire and of him. The stories whispered in dark corners, legends of an unstoppable force in that city. But now, I wasn't just facing a legend—I was staring into his eyes.

"I'm Nova Zero," I replied, my voice cold, matching his intensity. There was no point in hiding who I was. If this was going to end in blood, I wanted him to know exactly who he was dealing with.

His red eyes flickered with brief interest. "Nova Zero. Interesting. I'll remember that name," he said, but his tone suggested he wasn't all that impressed. We locked eyes for what seemed to be an eternity, but it was only a few seconds. Then, with a dismissive wave, he added, "But I don't have time for this. I'll be going now."

"What?!" The man with the daggers spun toward him, his voice rising in disbelief. "We're just going to let them live?"

The vampire's eyes didn't even flicker in my direction. "This fight would drain more energy than I care to waste. Let's go," he commanded, his voice so calm it was almost chilling.

"Come on, let me take him out!" the dagger-wielder pleaded, his desperation palpable. He wasn't just itching for a fight—he needed the kill.

The atmosphere shifted in an instant. An immense pressure descended over the clearing, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't just energy—it was domination, a cold, relentless force that made even the trees seem to bend in submission. All of it emanated from one source: the Vampire of Brittaniac.

"I said..." His voice, low and venomous, cut through the tension like a blade. "...let's go." There was no need for shouting. The sheer weight of his command hung in the air, suffocating and absolute.

The man with the daggers trembled. The bravado from earlier vanished in an instant, replaced by fear. "Y-yes, sir. My... my apologies." He stuttered, his body recoiling as though the air itself had turned against him.The vampire didn't bother acknowledging him again.

He turned, his movements slow, deliberate, as if daring me to strike. But I stood still, eyes locked on his retreating figure. I had no intention of attacking. Not now. Not until I knew what I was truly up against.

As the shadows swallowed them whole, a part of me knew that this wasn't over. It was just beginning.