To clarify, I did not run away; I'm merely focusing on the bag. I will update 3 times a week as usual.
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Writing Assistant said:
The clash had reduced the entire section of the floor to a jagged ruin of twisted metal and fractured walls. The ceiling lights flickered and popped under the weight of their collision, shadows splitting across the carnage in jagged streaks of white and black.
Kirishima wasn't slowing down. He couldn't. Every breath burned in his lungs, but his body—his will—didn't know what it meant to stop. Each step he took cracked the ground beneath him. Wolfram, still smiling behind that steel mask, kept his distance this time. The veteran villain was finally treating the fight with respect.
He's cautious now, Kirishima thought, eyes narrowed through the haze of dust. Good. I'll make sure he doesn't get the chance to fight smart.
He lunged. Another clang—another metallic spear shattered under his fists. He was almost on top of Wolfram when a needle-thin spike shot forward, gleaming under the flickering lights.
Kirishima barely saw it coming. The spike caught him right between the brows—thunk—a line of scarlet cut through the dirt on his forehead.
The pain was sharp and real. His first blood was drawn.
Wolfram's grin widened behind his mask.
"Finally got through that stone skin, huh? Guess you ain't invincible after all!"
Another spike followed immediately, slicing through the air like a whip. Kirishima didn't flinch. His body jerked with the hit, but he didn't step back. He simply let the blow land, took the momentum, and drove his right fist straight through Wolfram's guard.
The hit landed flush—a perfect, resounding crack that echoed through the chamber.
Wolfram's metal mask dented like aluminum under the impact, and the villain's body sailed backward, crashing into the far wall with a heavy thud that left a spiderweb fracture in the concrete.
Kirishima stood still for a moment, chest heaving, blood running down between his eyes and dripping off his chin. Then—he smiled.
"Guess that's… it," he muttered, his body trembling as he dropped his stance.
Across the room, Wolfram slumped against the wall. For a long moment, nothing moved. Then came the sound of laboured breathing—ragged, heavy—and the villain slowly tilted his head up, the metal plate of his mask cracked open just enough to show a bleeding lip curling into a grin.
"Well…" Wolfram rasped, his voice half a growl, half a wheeze. "Looks like you did it, kid. One hell of a right hoo,k too."
Kirishima scratched the back of his head, giving his usual grin despite the blood and sweat.
"Thanks! You were really strong, too."
He turned slightly, exhaling in relief—then froze as the sound of shifting metal rang out again.
Wolfram's body moved before Kirishima could react—faster than before, unnaturally fluid, a blur of red and silver.
Kirishima's eyes widened.
"You—weren't this fast before?!"
Wolfram ducked under his punch and surged forward. His hand shot out, iron wrapping his forearm like armour as he snatched Kirishima by the throat with a strength that felt… inhuman.
"No," Wolfram said, voice steady now, calm and cold. "I wasn't trying before."
Kirishima struggled, his fingers clawing at the grip, feeling the iron digging into his skin. The villain's eyes gleamed through the cracked mask.
"But thanks to a few gifts from my client, I'm a bit more than a one-trick pony now."
Kirishima's gaze sharpened despite the choke. He'd seen this before—the seamless shift in power, the unnatural physical boost. He could feel it.
"Y-you've got… more than one quirk," he choked out, realization dawning. "Just like that Nomu—!"
"Bingo."
Wolfram's grin was merciless. He dragged Kirishima toward the shattered glass wall, the lights flaring white against the red metal that coiled around his arm like a serpent.
"Well… buh-bye, TV Hero."
He hurled him.
Glass and steel burst outward in a shower of glittering shards as Kirishima's body crashed through the reinforced window, tumbling into the howling wind outside the skyscraper. The city below was a blur of lights and chaos as his figure disappeared into the darkness.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the hum of flickering lights.
Then Wolfram straightened, rolling his shoulders. He tore off his half-broken mask, letting his long red hair fall freely down his shoulders. His bare face—rugged, scarred, and far too calm—was illuminated by the light of the city beyond.
He conjured a thin plate of polished steel and moulded it with a flick of his hand, reshaping it into a new, sleek mask that slid seamlessly into place.
"Much better," he said, voice muffled but smooth again.
When he turned, David Shield was still staring at the shattered glass, eyes wide, his breath shallow and uneven. The scientist's body trembled—not from fear, but from disbelief.
Kirishima had fallen.
Wolfram's shadow stretched long across the floor as he walked toward him, each step echoing against the walls.
"Now," he said casually, adjusting his gloves, "shall we get going, Doctor? I believe you were going to show me where my money is."
David's lips parted, his voice small but trembling with fury.
"You… you threw him out of the building…"
Wolfram tilted his head, as if amused.
"Relax," he said softly. "If that kid's as tough as he looks, he'll survive the fall. Probably."
He smiled behind the new mask.
"Now stop stalling. We've still got one floor left before the curtain rises—and I'd hate to be late to my own grand finale."
...
"That right there," he said quietly, pointing toward the broken glass. "That's the difference between kids who dream about being heroes and people like me. I don't need to win. I just need to finish the job."
David's voice trembled, anger leaking through the fear.
"You… you have multiple quirks. That's impossible—"
"Oh, I know," Wolfram interrupted smoothly, glancing down at his hands with fascination. "That's what makes it so fun. My employer's generosity knows no limits… one might even call it divine."
He took a slow step forward, the floor beneath him groaning as metal warped to support his weight, spreading outward in concentric rings like ripples.
"You see, I was always a simple man. One quirk. One dream. Money. Power. Freedom. But after meeting the right people, I learned that power is more than the money it can buy—it's the ability to shape the world in your image."
David spat, "All For One—he's using you!"
Wolfram chuckled, an almost genuine sound, as he tapped the side of his new mask.
"Using me? Maybe. But when the gods hand you fire, you don't ask why—they're gods, and you're not."
He reached down and picked up the briefcase with David's research, inspecting the metallic casing as if admiring his reflection in it.
"Now… shall we?" he said with mock politeness, gesturing for David to move as the metal that had bound him slithered away.
David hesitated, eyes darting once more toward the shattered glass.Far below, faint sparks flickered in the night—the glint of orange light, glowing faintly against the wind.
He blinked, unsure if it was hope or a hallucination.
Wolfram caught the look and smirked.
"Don't bother praying, Doctor. That fall is terminal. Even a rock breaks eventually."
He turned, stepping toward the exit as if nothing had happened. The floor sealed behind him, metal threads knitting together until the broken glass was replaced with a new wall.
For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the room—broken only by David's shaky breaths and their continuous travel.
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[Auther: Hiya. I hate overwork. This chapter is here to reassure you, I won't quit. And to advertise my new book, I need money, and this book is in a contest, so help me out.]