Gloryhound(Worm/Jujutsu Kaisen SI) Chapter 14

Colin was ready.

His nanothorns had a hard limit—ten seconds of deployment, followed by a thirty-second cooldown—but they were reliable. Razor-sharp, superheated, and precise to the nanometer. That was enough. That was more than enough.

His armor had undergone three complete overhauls since its original design. Each iteration brought new upgrades, layered defenses, smarter systems, more devastating weaponry. It wasn’t just a shell anymore. It was a second skin—sleek, silent, and deadly.

But the armor wasn’t the only thing that had evolved.

He had changed.

His body had been rebuilt from the inside out, refined through years of modification and adaptation. His skin was dense enough to turn blades, his muscles engineered for power and speed beyond Olympic standards. His lungs had been expanded, optimized for oxygen efficiency under stress. His bones were reinforced with carbon-strand lattices—nearly unbreakable now, comparable in tensile strength to limpet teeth, nature’s most indestructible material.

His eyes had been sharpened beyond human limits. Hawk-like vision allowed him to read a license plate from three miles out, or spot a ripple in shadow that didn’t belong. His nervous system had been fine-tuned for lightning-fast reflexes, his metabolic processes adjusted so that fatigue toxins built up only after extended hours of exertion.

He no longer operated on just tech. His body and his gear were now in perfect harmony. Machine and man, equal parts in a single instrument of precision.

He was ready.

He could feel it. Deep in his bones. The air had changed, thick with tension and ozone. The kind of oppressive weight that only came before catastrophe. Years of combat against the Three had attuned him to their patterns, their rhythms, their habits. He didn’t need an early warning system or satellite alert to know what was coming.

One of them was waking up.

The pounding rain was a strong clue. Sheets of water hammered the ground with unnatural fury. The city’s storm drains were starting to overflow, and the sky had gone that peculiar shade of bruised silver.

Leviathan.

Of course it was him.

He should’ve known the moment the sky went quiet and the birds stopped flying. Leviathan always did enjoy setting the stage before he made his grand entrance.

The early detection system he and Dragon had developed—rigged together over late nights, caffeine, and desperation—had narrowed it down to three potential targets. Those probabilities had been pushed through every Protectorate and PRT database across the country.

• 50% chance: New York.
  
  

• 65% chance: Boston.
  
  

• 82% chance: Brockton Bay.
  
  

He stared at the alert flashing on his screen, even as the screeching alarms that signified an Endbringer’s arrival began to wail. 

Brockton Bay confirmed. Leviathan inbound.

A part of him wondered if this was fate.

Now that he was finally ready—stronger, tougher, a true contender—Leviathan had chosen to come here. Like the beast could smell the change in the wind, sense the shift in power, and had decided to test it for himself.

Hmph. He didn’t believe in fate. That was a romantic notion, and he was far too pragmatic for that. It was more likely that Brockton’s constant clashes over the past few months had made it a beacon. The city had become a storm of conflict and cape activity. Monsters were drawn to chaos, and Leviathan was no different.

Still, it was convenient.

With Mahito here, he had a sliver of hope. Maybe the mortality rate would be lower this time. Maybe the footage would show something different—victory, or at least a standoff instead of a massacre. If they could prove that, more capes might be willing to attend the next Endbringer fight. That was the long game.

And speaking of Mahito…

He’d noticed how much closer he and Velyra had gotten. How their dynamic had shifted. The private smiles, the effortless way they moved around each other, the soft glances that lingered longer than they should have.

The fact that they stayed in the same room every night hadn’t gone unnoticed.

It was Assault who finally said what everyone else had been dancing around during last night’s meeting, after Mahito and Velyra had left:

“Those two are definitely fucking.”

Crass, but not incorrect.

He disapproved, of course. Romance within the team was always a gamble. Emotions complicated things. Breakups ruined chemistry, distracted focus, and turned coordinated maneuvers into battlefield liabilities. In this case, it was even more precarious. Velyra hadn’t come to Brockton Bay for its weather—she was here to protect Mahito. If something went wrong between them, if Mahito hurt her—or worse, if she let emotions cloud her judgment—what then? Would she pull back in a crucial moment? Would she abandon the mission?

Still… he could understand how it happened.

Two people, strangers to this world and to each other, orbiting one another in close proximity. Both of them outsiders. Both with eyes that didn’t quite see the world like everyone else. Both unsettling to look at. Both lonely. It was only natural that they'd gravitate toward each other.

Sometimes, people just needed someone. Someone to talk to after the dust settled. Someone to lean on. 

Someone who understood.

As long as they kept the public displays of affection to a minimum and didn’t jeopardize the mission, he’d let it go.

But he wouldn’t lie—it made him feel… something.

Jealousy was a crude word, but it was close enough.

He had no family. No friends. No one waiting for him at the end of a mission. This city—this brutal, cursed city—was the only thing he had. His cause. His duty. His legacy.

It would be nice, he admitted in a rare moment of honesty, to have someone waiting at the end of the fight. Someone to hold. Someone to listen when the weight of the world got too heavy. Someone to laugh with. To exist with.

But the world didn’t make room for people like him to want those things.

Not in Brockton Bay.

And not when Leviathan was coming.

Armsmaster’s earpiece crackled to life with a faint burst of static, followed by the voice he trusted more than most.

“Colin—” Dragon began, her tone subdued but steady.

“I know,” he replied, already moving. His voice was calm, clipped—battle-ready. His hand closed around the familiar weight of his halberd, the metal cool and perfectly balanced. “Everyone should have received the alert by now. Civilian evac protocols are in motion. The PRT and local law enforcement will get the people to the shelters.”

There was a pause on the other end. A beat of silence that said more than words.

“...Aren’t you scared?” she asked quietly.

Colin didn’t hesitate. “Why would I be scared, Dragon?” he said as his HUD flickered to life across his visor, the soft blue glow illuminating tactical overlays and predictive movement paths. “This... this is what I do. This is my city. And if Leviathan’s coming here, it only means I’ve been given another reason to put him down.”

Another pause. This time, longer.

“My Dragonflight suit is en route,” she said. “ETA, ten minutes. I’ll meet you at the staging zone.”

“Understood,” he said. A rare, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “See you soon, Dragon.”

He could feel it in his bones.

Today was the day.

Today was the day Colin Wallis—Armsmaster—would go down in history as more than a Tinker. More than a soldier. 

A legend.

Just as he turned toward the exit of his lab, another voice cut sharply through his earpiece.

“Armsmaster!”

It was familiar, though strained.

He frowned slightly. “Mahito?” he asked, already shifting course. “What is it? This isn’t a good time.”

“I need to see you. Immediately,” the younger cape said, urgency thick in his voice.

Ah. Of course. This was his first Endbringer alarm. Mahito hadn’t been around long, and this was his first time hearing the sirens that spelled doom for entire cities. Anyone would be shaken. Even someone as composed and sharp as him.

“Listen,” Armsmaster said briskly. “That alarm means we’re in a Code Black scenario. Leviathan is en route. Velyra will meet you at the gathering point, get you assigned. I’ll give you instructions there—”

“No, not that,” Mahito cut in, frustration bleeding through. “I know what’s happening. I understand what the alarm means.”

That brought Armsmaster up short. His boots clicked against the reinforced hallway as he slowed. “Then what is it?”

“I have an idea,” Mahito said, his voice tight with intensity. “Something big. Something that—if I’m right—could keep everyone alive.”

He stopped walking.

“Be specific,” he said carefully. “When you say everyone...”

“I mean no capes die today,” Mahito said flatly. “Not a single one. I have a plan. I need your trust. And your time. Please.”

Armsmaster stood in place, the weight of those words sinking in.

No capes dying.

No losses. No grieving Protectorate memorials. No silence after the chaos.

Just... hope.

His grip on the halberd tightened.

“I’m on my way to the gathering point,” he said, already changing course. “I’ll meet you there. And Mahito—whatever this idea is—it better be as good as you think it is.”

“Better,” Mahito said. “It’s brilliant.”

______________________________________________________________

Lee had never seen an Endbringer before.

Not in person, at least.

Like everyone else, he’d seen the videos. The grainy footage of Leviathan’s tail casually leveling a city block, the monstrous silhouette striding through walls of water like a god of storms. The terrifying aftermath of Behemoth’s roars—craters where buildings used to be, streets melted into glass.

And, of course, the images of the Simurgh. Never video. Just stills. A single frame of her hovering above a skyline, a halo of buildings orbiting her like she was the center of some impossible solar system. Beautiful. Serene. Wrong.

No one recorded the Simurgh. That was one way she could get in your head. 

To him, the Endbringers had always felt like something… distant. Larger than life. He'd grown up worrying about territory wars, dealing with the Empire, shaking down corner stores for protection money, and dodging the Protectorate patrols. Endbringers were a thing for people with Lung’s level of strength. People with powers that could move mountains.

But now?

Now, he was here. Suiting up and getting ready to fight one of those mythical demons. And outside, with the punding rain, something monstrous was approaching—faster and stronger than any opponent he’d faced. The sky darkened as it approached.

He was about to fight an Endbringer.

He glanced down at himself. Ten of Gracie’s handmade bombs were strapped securely to his vest. Two daggers were sheathed at his waist, a machete strapped to his back, and a knife hidden in his boot. Most of it would be useless against what they were facing, but he’d use what he had. He’d spam his clones, use himself as bait if he had to. 

Die, if it bought Yuta a few more seconds.

Next to him, Yuta stood still, calm. Just his blade, and his black and gold mask. He hadn’t said much, but he hadn’t seem surprised when he heard the siren. Just expectant, like this was something he’d been waiting for

Right now, though, they weren’t watching the skyline.

They were trying—and failing—to get Gracie to evacuate.

“No,” she said stubbornly, her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw set like stone.

“Gracie,” Yuta said firmly, “you can’t come with us. Lee and I are going to fight something that isn’t human. You don’t have powers like us. You’ll get hurt.”

“I still have powers!” she snapped back, defiant. “They might not be as strong as you and Lee, but I can help! What if you need more bombs in the middle of the fight? What if one of you gets hurt—what if you need someone to drag you out of there?”

Lee winced at her tone. He understood where she was coming from. Hell, he admired it. But this wasn’t a street fight. This wasn’t against some Empire muscle or a cape with a grudge. 

This was war. One-sided war.

Yuta remained calm, but his voice lowered, more gentle now. “Then we’ll deal with it. That’s our job. But I need to know you’re safe, okay? I fight better when I know you’re out of danger. When I’m not worried that the next tsunami might be the one that drowns you.”

Gracie opened her mouth to argue again, but the look in Yuta’s eyes made her pause. Not fear. Not command.

Worry.

Real, bone-deep worry.

She swallowed hard, her voice quieter when she finally spoke. “But… what if you don’t come back?”

Yuta reached forward and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Gracie, I can promise you this; this is not going to be the fight that ends me. I will come back to you. That much you can believe, okay?Lee and I will be back.”

There was a long pause between them, heavy and filled with everything they didn’t say out loud. Finally, Gracie gave a sharp nod, eyes glistening but her spine straight.

“I’ll go with the Miyoshis,” she said quietly. “But you both better come back. Or I’m building a bomb big enough to follow you to whatever afterlife you land in.”

Lee gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “That’s… oddly comforting.”

“Good,” Gracie muttered without looking back. Her voice was tight, her shoulders stiff with anger as she turned on her heel and stalked toward the rest of the Miyoshi family. That anger wasn’t for them. Not really. Lee knew that. If anything, he welcomed it. She could be mad—hell, she could be furious—as long as she was alive to feel it.

Mr. and Mrs. Miyoshi waited at the edge of the room, concern etched deep into their aging faces. The soft flicker of the overhead light caught the sheen in Mrs. Miyoshi’s eyes as she looked between the two boys.

“Are you quite sure you want to do this?” Mr. Miyoshi asked, his voice low, careful. “This creature… it ruined everything. It sank our nation. It shattered our pride. It devoured our history.” His voice trembled slightly as he added, “Even the Sentai fled. These things… they are the closest thing to kami we’ve ever known. And not the kind you pray to.”

“I’m sure,” Yuta said firmly. “If anything… it’s only right. It should be a Japanese man who cuts off that damnable thing’s head.”

Mrs. Miyoshi’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes welled up instantly, and she let out a soft, watery sob. Then, unable to help herself, she pulled both boys into a hug—tight and desperate.

“You’re both very good boys,” she said, her voice cracking. “You didn’t have to do any of this. But you did. You made this neighborhood feel like home again. You made people believe in safety. In community.” She stepped back, wiping her tears with the hem of her sleeve, and tried to compose herself. “Please. Even if you don’t win… come back to us. Don’t let this city fall back into fear. Into the hands of thugs and cowards.”

Lee flinched at first when she embraced him—body tense, unsure—but after a heartbeat, he returned it. Hesitant. Fragile. He didn’t remember the last time someone held him like that. He couldn’t even recall his mother’s face, let alone the sound of her voice.

“I will be back,” Yuta said after a moment, the words slow but certain. “We will.”

Gracie gave them one last look, her jaw clenched tight, then turned and followed the Miyoshis out of the apartment, undoubtedly heading for the nearest Endbringer bunker. There were no more goodbyes. Only distance.

As the door clicked shut, Yuta turned to him. A quiet resolve burned behind his eyes. “You ready for this, Lee?”

Lee didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of rice and kimchi still lingering in the air—faint, warm, familiar. A memory now. Not a meal.

Their home.

He stepped slowly toward the window. Outside, the sky was a charcoal sea, clouds churning like angry gods. Rain hammered the glass in sheets, warping the view into a swirling blur of grey. Somewhere out there, in that unnatural storm, it waited.

Lee placed a hand against the cold windowpane. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Final.

“Today…” he said, eyes never leaving the storm, “is a beautiful day to die.”

____________________________________________________________________

“Why am I here,” Eidolon said, his voice clipped, cool, and edged with disdain, “wasting my time while an Endbringer is bearing down on a city?”

Rebecca—better known to the world as Alexandria—resisted the urge to sigh. David always got like this before an Endbringer fight. Dark, short-tempered, and insufferably intense. She understood, to an extent. They all had their ways of coping. But that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. She’d have to walk on eggshells around him for the next week, just like always.

“The prisoner claims to have information,” she said as they strode down the concrete hallway, their footsteps echoing against the sterile, reinforced walls. “Legend thinks it’s worth checking out. Armsmaster and Dragon are monitoring the situation—we’ve got ten minutes before the fighting starts in earnest.”

David let out a sharp exhale, more scoff than breath. “How many times has some Thinker with a god complex insisted they had vital Endbringer intel, only for it to be something we already knew? Or worse—a half-baked strategy that gets good capes killed?”

Rebecca didn’t flinch. “Enough that we’ve learned to be skeptical,” she replied, “but not so many that we stop trying. If there’s even a fraction of a chance that someone knows how to kill these things, we take it.”

Eidolon didn’t respond, but his silence was telling. He moved ahead of her, drifting an inch off the ground as he took point, his posture rigid with frustration.

When they entered the interrogation room, Legend was already seated across from the prisoner—a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, though his physique suggested someone older. A long scar split the left side of his face, and his build was sturdy, solid. There was something about the way he sat, relaxed but alert, like he was humoring them.

The boy smiled as they entered. “Ah. The rest of the famous trio,” he said, nodding slightly. “The Honored Ones, all together at last.”

Legend’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease passing over his expression. He turned to them slowly. “Yeah,” he said, almost distracted. “I suppose… they are.”

Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Legend?” she asked. “Is everything alright?”

He looked at her like he was trying to place her in a dream he half-remembered. “Yes. It’s… fine. But you’ll want to hear what he has to say.”

Eidolon’s patience ran out immediately. He folded his arms and activated a subtle levitation effect, rising just enough to cast an imposing shadow across the table.

“Speak,” he said, the single word falling like a stone in the room.

The boy snorted, amused. “So commanding. You always are, aren’t you?” he mused. “But I guess that tracks. You Honored Ones never change.”

Rebecca blinked. Honored Ones? That wasn’t a title she’d heard before. Not from this world, anyway.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” the boy began, leaning back in his chair.

David’s tolerance snapped. He surged forward in a blur, slamming his palms against the steel table hard enough to dent it.

“This isn’t story time,” David said, voice low and cold, like ice cracking beneath your feet. “Every second I waste here is another second someone dies screaming. So unless you’re about to hand me a way to kill an Endbringer—permanently—you’re going in a cell until we figure out the most efficient way to scrape the truth out of you.”

The boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t cower. In fact, he looked… amused.

That alone was enough to make Rebecca—Alexandria—feel a coil of unease settle in her chest. For someone his age to look at David, in this situation, and smirk?

That was never a good sign.

“And yet,” the boy said, tone dry, almost bored, “if you don’t listen to what I have to say, millions will die before you even begin to understand how to stop what’s coming. And when you finally do catch up, you’ll wish you hadn’t wasted time playing bad cop.” He leaned back casually. “So go ahead. Throw me in a cell. Feed more heroes to the Endbringers. I’ll wait.”

David growled low in his chest, fists clenched, but—wisely—he backed off.

“Good,” the boy said, adjusting slightly in his seat. “Then let me tell you a story. It begins, as most things do, at the start. Long ago, there was a golden king and a purple queen. Two beings of immense power, unrivaled across worlds and dimensions. Together, they were War and Wisdom. Brawn and Brains. The Sword and the Strategist.”

He paused.

“They wandered the multiverse in search of the only thing they lacked—immortality. The power to reign forever. To outlast fate, entropy, and time itself.”

Rebecca’s stomach twisted. The tale… it wasn’t unfamiliar.

“One day, on one of their countless journeys, disaster struck. The queen was injured—deeply, mortally. Her descent tore open the barriers between worlds, allowing realities to bleed into each other. She fell to a barren world, dying and alone. And there, two humans—mere children—found her broken body. One of them, a girl, took the queen’s Eye—an artifact of impossible power. It allowed her to see the path to victory in every battle she faced.”

Alexandria stiffened.

“She and her companion struck the queen down. But with her dying breath, the queen blinded the Eye—crippling its ability to find the victories that mattered most.”

Rebecca’s eyes flicked toward David. He looked just as stunned as she felt. Of course he would. They both knew this story.

Because they’d lived it. Or at least, the aftermath.

It was the tale Contessa had told them after their induction into Cauldron. The sanitized version. The parable of power and price. But this boy—he was reciting it with details they had never been told.

Legend, standing at their side, looked confused. Understandably so. He didn’t know about Cauldron. Didn’t know about the Eye. Didn’t know about Eden.

She needed to get him out of the room. Fast.

“Legend,” she said carefully, “we’re cutting it close. Could you go on ahead and prep the site with Chevalier?”

But Legend didn’t move. He stared at her, then at David, eyes narrowing.

“Chevalier’s already there,” he said coolly. “He can handle it. I’m staying.”

“Legend—”

“No!” he snapped. “I’m sick of this. Of the secrecy. Of you two whispering in corners and making decisions without the rest of us. If you want me gone, Alexandria, then you’ll have to make me leave.”

Her jaw clenched, and she caught the tension rolling through David’s shoulders. Not just anger—fear.

What the hell had this kid told him before she’d arrived?

“Shall I continue?” the boy asked mildly.

Legend nodded before she could argue. So the boy did.

“Though the queen died, her body still held power. Her flesh was sacred—divine. The girl with the Eye, and the woman who had committed regicide, took that flesh. They crafted it into weapons. Into people. Warriors blessed with her might. Gifts of her mind, her cunning, her power—implanted into hosts they deemed worthy.”

The boy leaned forward now, voice steady and unnerving.

“These champions—born of her blood—were made to stand against the golden king. For though he was dimmer in wit, he was the stronger of the two. Unstoppable. Immortal. He could level planets with ease. And if left unchecked, he would destroy everything.”

“And so,” the boy concluded, voice dropping into a solemn cadence, “the Eye and the Killer built an army. Not of mere soldiers, but of demigods. Beings stronger than anything the Golden King could craft in all his endless forges. Their mission was singular. Unthinkable. Glorious.”
 He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
 “To kill a god… and save a world.”

The room was still. No one dared move. Even Alexandria found herself holding her breath.

“But,” he continued, voice almost a whisper now, “what the Queen Killer and the girl with the Eye did not know… was that the Queen had not died alone.”

He paused. A shadow crossed his face, but his tone remained steady, almost too calm.

“She had soldiers. Not just guards or loyalists—true soldiers. Creatures of unfathomable strength and sacred oath, who had once held her dominion in place. She used them sparingly, carefully, to keep the wretched masses from rising against her and her divine partner. But with her death, they were left unmoored. Untethered. Adrift in grief and confusion.”

His smile twisted.

“They watched in silence as the two little apes—so proud and so small—tore their Queen apart, fed her divine flesh to others, and declared her dominion dead. And they waited. They waited for the King of Golden Light to rise from mourning and exact vengeance for the wife who had once ruled beside him. But then… something atrocious happened.”

The boy leaned forward. A wicked gleam danced in his eyes.

“One of the apes, one of the children of dirt, was given a piece of her flesh. A tiny piece. A sliver of divine power. He swallowed it. And he awoke. He felt strength surge through him unlike anything he had ever known. He believed he was chosen. That he had a purpose. That he could now stand as a hero among heroes. But he didn’t understand.”

The boy’s smile vanished.

“No one did.”

Alexandria felt a chill creep down her spine.

“That piece of flesh—wasn’t just flesh. It was the Crown. The source of her unity. The core of her being. The thing that let her command her soldiers, weave her myriad powers into a single, terrible force. Without it, she was nothing more than a corpse. But whoever wore it, carried the weight of her throne. Of her title. To the human, it was just another upgrade. Another edge in a cruel world. But to her soldiers…?”

He chuckled darkly.

“To them, it was as if some monkey had clawed the crown from their Queen’s scalp, smeared it on his head, blood and all, and paraded around as if he were royalty. As if he deserved the power. As if he earned it.”

“No…” David whispered. “It can’t be…”

“But it was,” the boy said gently. “And so, they declared war. Not on the King’s orders—he was still lost in grief, unreachable even to his most loyal. No, this was their decision. This was personal. Vengeance, pure and righteous in their eyes.”

He spread his hands.

“The first soldier rose from the Earth, burning the oil fields, hoping to draw out the imposter and crush him. He failed. The boy endured.”

Another breath.

“The second came from the sea, drowning cities, testing the ape’s will. He failed too.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“It was not until their sister rose—the third, the most cunning—that they understood what had gone wrong.”

He looked directly at Alexandria now.

“They were still bound. Still sworn to the crown. And the crown was now worn by that same boy they despised. They could not bring themselves to strike him down. Not with their full strength. Not completely. Their loyalty, etched into the very fabric of their being, restrained them.”

A pause.

“But they could make the world suffer.”

The final words were almost reverent.

“They could ravage his cities. Break his people. Chip away at the army he was building to challenge their King. They could punish everything else. Because if they couldn’t kill the monkey who dared wear their Queen’s crown… then they would burn the world around him.”

“You’re lying,” David snapped, his voice sharp with disbelief and rising anger. “I don’t know why, but you’re lying. The Endbringers never held back—”

“They’ve never held back?” the boy cut in, his voice rich with incredulous mockery. “Really? Are you sure about that? You’ve never questioned it? Not once?”

His eyes glinted with something—knowledge, madness, maybe both.

“You’ve never wondered why, for all their power, they never did the smartest thing? Why Leviathan didn’t just stay submerged and level entire coastlines with endless tsunamis? Why Behemoth never burrowed beneath a city and turned it into a glowing crater of radioactive ash? Why the Simurgh, with all her intellect, never simply created a device to broadcast her scream across the globe?”

David opened his mouth to reply, but the words didn’t come. Because now that he thought about it—

They had wondered. All of them had. After every battle, someone had asked why only half a city had fallen. 

Why the casualties hadn’t been higher. 

Why the monsters had allowed themselves to be hit when they could have easily evaded. 

Why they never finished the job.

Now, they had an answer.

“How do you know all this?” she asked, stepping forward. Her tone wasn’t skeptical—it was threatening, cold and sharp like a blade drawn just short of the skin. “Who told you this?”

The boy’s smile widened, unbothered. “Destiny,” he said simply. “She whispered the truth of the future in my ear. She made me her sword. She gave me knowledge… and the means to arm myself.”

In an instant, she was on him. Her hand clamped around his throat, strong and unyielding. Her fingers were like sculpted marble, carved for war. He could feel the weight of her strength in the tension of her grip. She could snap his neck before he finished his next breath.

“I’m not here to play games,” she said, voice as flat and frigid as a glacier. “Tell me who gave you this information. Now.”

Everyone in the room knew what she was capable of. Her strength. Her speed. Her invincibility. She had once split a mountain range to stop an Endbringer’s advance. She was a living legend, the immovable shield of the Protectorate.

And yet, the boy didn’t flinch.

Instead, he smiled—genuinely, unsettlingly—and whispered: “A pig told me.”

What?

Her expression twisted in disbelief, just as a voice rang out across the chamber.

“That’s enough!” Legend barked, stepping forward, hand aglow with luminous energy. “Stand down!”

“Legend—” she began, tightening her grip.

“I said stand down!” he roared, leveling his hand directly at her. “Don’t make me fight you.”

The silence that followed was taut, electric.

Everyone knew the score. She and Legend were evenly matched in a way that made their potential clash catastrophic. Her invulnerability made her nearly impossible to hurt—but he was faster. And unlike most,some of his attacks could bypass conventional durability altogether. His range and mobility meant that any fight between them would last hours, if not days.

It would be a stalemate.

But it would leave the room in ruins—and possibly several bystanders dead.

Her eyes flicked from Legend’s glowing hand to the boy’s calm face.

Then, slowly, she released her grip.

The boy coughed once—wetly, weakly—but still kept smiling. That eerie, too-calm grin stayed fixed on his face, as if none of this was serious. As if none of it mattered.

Legend didn’t lower his hand. Not yet. The energy at his fingertips shimmered, crackling like restrained lightning.

“How do I stop it?” Eidolon asked, voice low and controlled.

David sat slumped in the nearby chair, his posture collapsing in on itself. His head was buried in his hands, elbows resting heavily on his knees. Even with the visor of his mask obscuring his face, his defeat was palpable—he radiated grief, confusion, and guilt like heat off of asphalt.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” David said hoarsely. “I’m the one wearing the crown.”

Rebecca turned sharply, jaw tightening beneath her helmet. Her hand twitched toward her weapon. “David, for all we know this is a manipulation. A trick to make you vulnerable—”

“No.” David shook his head. “It makes sense. Too much sense.” His voice cracked. “We never found another vial cape like me. Not one. The Doctor tried to replicate my formula over a hundred times. She was never close. Never quite the same. I was always the best result. The outlier. The success she couldn’t recreate.”

Legend looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “So it’s true,” he said slowly. “That Doctor… you’ve been working with her? Behind my back? All this time? All those meetings where you acted like she was a stranger—like she was just another contact—and you were having secret talks about this? About the end of the world?”

Rebecca clenched her teeth and said nothing. Her silence was an answer in itself.

We didn’t tell you, she thought bitterly, because we knew you’d never forgive us. Not once you saw how much blood we’d spilled.

The boy let out a quiet laugh—amused, mocking. He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, as if he wasn’t the one unraveling everything.

She shot him a glare, sharp and poisonous. The smirk didn’t leave his face.

“Answer the question,” David said again, louder this time. Desperation edged his voice now. “How do I stop it? There has to be a way. You wouldn’t be here, telling us any of this, if there wasn’t something we could do.”

The boy tilted his head. “There are two possible outcomes,” he said, as if explaining a riddle to a curious child. “One... slightly more preferable than the other.”

David sat up a bit straighter, and Rebecca and Legend both focused in.

“The first option,” the boy continued, “is that you actually take control of the Endbringers.”

The room went still.

Rebecca’s heart stopped for a beat. Legend’s expression turned ice-cold. David just stared.

“They still obey the crown,” the boy said, gesturing vaguely toward David. “You just don’t know how to use it. The crown isn’t just a summons, or a signal flare—it’s a symbol. Authority. A throne. You’ve been using it like a flare gun when it’s really a scepter.”

Rebecca’s mind spun. Control the Endbringers? Was that even remotely possible?

“You could do so much more,” the boy said, voice nearly reverent now. “If you stopped looking at the obvious. If you pushed yourself. It’s slim, but not impossible.”

Legend was the one to break the silence. “And the second option?”

The boy’s grin widened, teeth flashing. There was something wild in his eyes now. Something that made Rebecca’s stomach twist.

“We give the beasts what they want,” he said. “The crown-bearer. The usurper in the throne of their Queen. If he’s gone? The attacks stop.”

Rebecca’s blood turned to ice.

“So those are your options,” the boy said, stretching his arms with a casual shrug. “One—you embrace what you are. Learn the truth about your power. Rule. Or two…”

He leaned in slightly, his grin stretching too wide, too manic.

“We kill you.”