Chapter 56: The Tempest Before the Team
The crowd's murmurs grew louder under the shroud of the cold night, their whispers breaking into audible chatter as the figure in the flash revealed itself to be none other than Dunstan, the Gravity Astro Leader. His white hair shimmered under the faint glow of the moonlight, an ethereal contrast to the oppressive darkness.
Nyxander stood unmoved, his expression concealed beneath the shadow of his mask, his composure unshaken as Dunstan's commanding presence loomed closer.
"Hey, who are you? How did you get here, and what's your purpose?" Dunstan demanded, his voice a chord of authority that struck like a gavel in the hushed air.
"Woah, woah, slow down, friend," Nyxander replied, his hand sweeping through the air in a playful gesture. "One question at a time."
The jest only fueled Dunstan's resolve. Without warning, he became a blur of motion, a force of nature hurtling toward Nyxander with a fist aimed squarely at his chest.
The impact released a rippling shockwave, slicing through the crowd with a violent vertical sweep like the blade of an invisible scythe. The unfortunate bystanders caught within its radius were tossed like leaves in a storm. Yet, to Dunstan's shock, Nyxander's body remained an unyielding pillar, immovable and unscathed.
"No… that's impossible," Dunstan muttered, disbelief breaking through his once-confident façade.
"Graviton Ascendant Strike: Anti-Gravitational Surge!" Dunstan roared, his voice laced with determination as he channeled his immortal energy. His suit shimmered with a radiant glow, allowing him to negate the pull of gravity itself. With an uncanny agility, he spiraled around Nyxander, the air trembling with his movements.
Then, with calculated precision, he unleashed his next move. "Graviton Ascendant Strike: Starfall Blitz!" he cried, propelling himself forward at a speed that blurred the edges of reality. Concentrating the gravitational energy he had resisted into his right fist, he drove it toward Nyxander's chest in a strike meant to shatter mountains.
But again, the outcome defied all logic. Nullpoint absorbed the energy, nullifying it into nothingness. Nyxander stood unscathed, an unyielding monument amidst chaos. Dunstan froze, his disbelief turning into an abyss of incredulity. "Impossible..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Before Dunstan could regain his composure, Nyxander placed a hand gently on his shoulder. The touch was deceptively light, yet it carried the weight of an avalanche. The ground beneath Dunstan cracked and gave way, his feet driven deep into the earth as though the planet itself sought to swallow him.
"Sorry, friend," Nyxander said, his voice calm, almost regretful. "I'd love to continue, but it's late, and someone's waiting for me. So… bye."
With a swift motion, Nyxander leaped into the night, his figure vanishing into the shadows as Dunstan and the crowd watched in stunned silence. The murmurs returned, hushed and disbelieving, as the dark cloak of night swallowed their bold hero.
Nyxander moved effortlessly across rooftops, each leap a dance with the stars as he returned to Aqua Astro Station. Nullpoint retracted, melting into his form and revealing the familiar blue uniform beneath. He landed on the rooftop where he had planned to reunite with Beorn, but to his surprise, the space was empty. He sat momentarily, his thoughts drifting to his friend. Did he think I left? Or is he searching for me? The realization widened his eyes, and he leaped down without hesitation.
As he landed, ready to begin his search, an old woman approached, holding a familiar piece of blue fabric and a folded note. "Some unrefined fellows told me to pass this to you," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she extended the items.
Nyxander's gaze lingered on the fabric for a moment before he took it and unfolded the note. The message was simple, yet ominous:
"Bold hero, come to the Violence House if you wish to save your friend. You only have this night to do so."
Nyxander raised his head, his eyes meeting the old woman's anxious gaze. "Please, can you point me toward the Violence House?" he asked, his tone steady but urgent.
The woman hesitated, her hands trembling as fear clouded her expression. "I hope you're not thinking of going there," she replied, her voice breaking with unease.
Nyxander stepped closer, his hand resting gently on hers. "Don't worry," he said with a reassuring smile. "It's just a name, not what it sounds like. I promise."
Her fear eased slightly, and she nodded. "This way," she said, turning to lead him.
"Madam, wouldn't it be better to just describe the location? I wouldn't want to take you away from your work," he said, but she waved him off without stopping.
"My old husband is watching over it," she replied, her voice steadying as she led him through the darkened streets, her small figure a guiding light in the vast shadows.
After striding through the dim, labyrinthine walkways and making several turns, the surroundings grew darker. There were no lamps to guide the way, and the few people lingering in the shadows seemed like fleeting whispers in the night.
The area was sparse, with scattered, weathered buildings and the faint sound of muffled voices breaking the silence. In the gloom, an isolated house stood out, its window illuminated by the flicker of an oil lamp, casting an amber glow that danced on the cracked panes.
The old woman finally came to a halt, her steps faltering as she pointed to the illuminated house with the faint noise spilling from within. "That's the house called the Violence House," she said, her voice low but steady, as though the name itself carried an ominous weight.
Nyxander paused, swiveling his head to survey the scene. "Oh, thanks for your help," he said, offering her a warm smile.
She gazed at him with a mixture of concern and resignation. "I hope you know what you're doing," she murmured, her aged eyes searching his with a quiet plea for caution.
Nyxander chuckled, his laugh light yet confident. "Yeah, I think I've got this," he replied, rubbing the back of his head as if to ease the tension.
The woman sighed, a long, weary breath. "Hmph, young ones with boundless energy these days," she muttered, shaking her head before turning to leave.
Nyxander watched her retreat, her figure growing smaller until she vanished into the shadows. Then, with a resolute turn, he faced the house. His boots crunched against the dry earth as he approached the door, his presence radiating purpose.
With a swift motion, he smashed the door with a powerful kick, the wood splintering under the force. The door broke from its hinges, spinning inward like a windmill before slamming into the far end of the room. Across the room, the gang leader, seated smugly on a rickety chair, leaped to the ground, narrowly avoiding the door as it obliterated his seat.
Nyxander stepped inside, the dust from the shattered entrance swirling around him before settling to reveal his imposing figure. The room was sparse, with a few tables and chairs shoved to the corners. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of old blood, the stains on the floor a grim testament to past violence.
At the edges of the room stood the two thugs he had previously subdued. Each gripped an axe, their postures tense and ready for attack. Nyxander's gaze flicked between them, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he realized he had neglected to confiscate their weapons earlier.
"Hmph. Since I'm here, where is he?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp as his head tilted toward the two thugs.
The gang leader, now struggling to stand from his tumble, barked orders with a raspy voice. "What are you waiting for? Attack at once!" He swung his arm dramatically, gesturing for his men to charge.
The two thugs tightened their grips on the axe handles, their faces contorting with a mix of fear and resolve. Channeling their immortal energy, they imbued their weapons, the blades glowing faintly with an otherworldly aura.
"Hmm. Imbuing your weapons with pure immortal energy," Nyxander muttered, his tone almost amused.
With a guttural yell, the two charged at him simultaneously, their movements swift and aggressive. One thug swung his axe at Nyxander's abdomen, slicing cleanly through his uniform but failing to draw blood. The second aimed for his neck. The blade met his defense with a sharp crack, shattering into fragments that fell like brittle glass to the floor.
"Stormbreak Void Fist: Void Bolt, First Stage," Nyxander intoned, his voice steady and unyielding. He clenched his fists, channeling a smaller surge of void energy that crackled with weaker, flickering lightning. With precise force, he drove his fists into their chests, the energy surging through them like a tidal wave. The thugs flew backward, their bodies breaking through the walls of the house and disappearing into the night.
The dust barely had time to settle before the gang leader emerged from the shadows. Sitting at a table in the far corner, he dragged Beorn into view. Nyxander's heart tensed as he saw his friend tied up, his mouth gagged, and his eyes wide with desperation. The leader pressed his axe dangerously close to Beorn's neck, the blade gleaming with deadly intent.
"Kneel with your hands behind your back," the leader snarled, his voice a venomous command, "or your friend's neck is gone."
The tension in the room thickened, the leader's threat hanging in the air like a guillotine's blade poised to drop. Nyxander's eyes narrowed, his stance unwavering as he prepared for what came next.