Chapter 4 - The Syndicate’s Retaliation and the Thunder God’s Wrath
Panic swept through the stadium like a wildfire.
The aristocratic elites in the VIP boxes scrambled backward, screaming in blind terror as the automated emergency klaxons began wailing across the district. Security drones buzzed erratically overhead, their optical sensors shorting out from the residual electromagnetic pulse radiating from Nate’s body.
Up in the executive lounge, Tyler Ashworth slammed his fists against the reinforced glass, his face drained of all color, his voice shaking with furious disbelief.
“What… what is he?!” Tyler stammered, turning wildly toward his bodyguards. “That’s not a low-rank peasant! That’s an SSS-rank anomaly! Kill him! Send the enforcers! Use the plasma-rifles right now!”
Before his guards could even draw their weapons, the reinforced steel security doors of the VIP lounge were blown inward with a deafening explosion of splintered metal and white-hot plasma.
Smoke billowed across the luxury room.
Out of the haze stepped Nate.
He didn't walk fast. Every step he took left scorched, blackened footprints in the expensive carpet. The air around him crackled with visible arcs of blue lightning that danced across the walls, melting the gold leaf trim into bubbling liquid metal.
Tyler’s elite bodyguards—veteran mercenaries hired from the darkest black-market syndicates—drew their heavy magnetic rifles and opened fire in a coordinated volley.
*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*
Dozens of high-velocity armor-piercing rounds screamed toward Nate’s chest.
Nate didn't even blink.
The bullets entered his personal aura field and instantly melted into glowing, red-hot drops of lead, falling harmlessly to the floor like raindrops.
“Y-you stay away from me!” Tyler shrieked, backing away until his spine hit the glass wall, his golden hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his aristocratic arrogance completely shattered into dust. “My father owns this city! The Ashworth syndicate will hunt you down to the ends of the earth! You can’t touch me!”
Nate stopped two paces away from him.
The ambient temperature in the room had risen so high that the crystal windows were beginning to warp and buckle. Nate raised his hand, curling his fingers into a tight fist. A bolt of pure, concentrated lightning coiled around his forearm like a living dragon.
“Your father’s empire,” Nate said, his voice dropping into a register so cold and deep it vibrated inside Tyler’s ribcage, “was built on the blood of people like my father. You burned my family’s future for sport. You thought we were trash.”
Nate’s eyes flared with blinding, solar-white intensity.
“Today, trash collects its debt.”
With a flick of his wrist, Nate unleashed a localized discharge of plasma that blasted straight through the floorboards beneath Tyler’s feet, sending the terrified heir plummeting downward through three stories of concrete support pillars, landing squarely in the center of the stadium’s subterranean waste disposal chute.
As sirens wailed in the distance and heavily armed federation peacekeepers finally began surrounding the perimeter, Nate turned around, his cloak of lightning flaring behind him like the wings of a primordial storm.
The secret was out. The world knew the truth.
May you like
And the Thunder God had only just begun to wake up.
---
