BANG.
The sound of the revolver was a deafening, physical crack that echoed off the high steel ceiling, momentarily silencing the screams of the dying.
To Kilo, and to the panicking, terrified goons, it was a single, violent explosion of sound.
To Dev's (SPI: 39) mind, it was the final, predictable step in a long, slow-motion equation.
He didn't see the bullet. He didn't need to.
He had seen Kilo's (Level 0) mind break. He had seen the animal-panic override the "businessman." He had seen the intention to fire, the tensing of the finger, the almost imperceptible flinch of Kilo's shoulder before the hammer even thought about falling.
He was already moving.
It wasn't a "dodge." It wasn't a desperate leap. It was a simple, (AGI: 11) shift. A subtle, economical, one-inch lateral movement of his head and torso.
The .38 caliber slug tore through the space his head had occupied a microsecond before.
The snap of the bullet passing his ear was loud, but the heat of it was even more distinct. It grazed the shoulder of his uniform, ripping the cheap fabric and leaving a hot, stinging red line on his skin.
A "Level 0" weapon. It had touched him. Another "Level 0" distraction.
He was annoyed.
While Dev's 1-vs-1 confrontation was happening, the warehouse had descended into a symphony of hell.
The 32 "Chaff" monsters, his new [Eternal Bond] Slaves, were a tide of alien violence. The panicking goons fired their few pistols wildly, the bullets pinging harmlessly off the Magma Skitterers' cooling lava-carapaces or passing right through the semi-corporeal, smoking bodies of the Ash Ghouls.
It was a slaughter.
The Ghouls were fast, leaping onto men's backs, their long, sharp claws tearing through throats and faces. The Skitterers swarmed, latching onto legs and arms, their magma-hot bodies hissing and sizzling as they burned flesh to the bone.
The screams were short, wet, and final.
Kilo, his mind shattered by the fact that he had missed a point-blank shot, fumbled with the revolver, his trembling thumb trying to pull back the hammer for another shot. He was just a "Level 0" human, facing an impossibility.
Dev walked toward him.
Not ran. Walked.
He moved through the chaos of his own making, his (STR: 11) frame an island of absolute calm in a sea of terror. His Ghouls and Skitterers, sensing their Master, parted for him, continuing their bloody work on the periphery.
He walked past the body of Ghor, his throat ripped out.
He walked past the unconscious, broken form of Anya.
He walked until he was standing directly in front of the heavy metal desk.
Kilo, sobbing, a pathetic wreck, his "Badmosh" persona gone, finally managed to raise the revolver again.
Before he could even think about firing, Dev's (STR: 11) hand snapped out.
He didn't grab the gun.
He grabbed Kilo's face.
His new, larger hand easily enveloped the man's entire head, his fingers digging into his jaw and skull. He lifted.
Kilo, a 200-pound, full-grown man, was hoisted off his feet with one arm, his legs kicking uselessly in the air. The revolver clattered to the floor, forgotten.
Dev's (EX-Trait) "Hunger for Strength" was screaming. A silent, psychic wail of fury and need. This whole world, this "day" life, was a cage. A cage of fragile, "Level 0" insects who kept annoying him, kept distracting him, kept getting in his way.
He looked into Kilo's terrified, tear-filled eyes.
"You were right," Dev said, his voice a dead, cold whisper that cut through the last of the dying screams. "There is a price."
He squeezed.
A final, sickening, wet CRUNCH.
The sound of a human skull collapsing under an inhuman (STR: 11) grip.
Kilo's body went limp.
Dev opened his hand. The "Badmosh" slumped to the floor, a broken, lifeless heap, his head a ruined mess.
Silence.
The screams had stopped. The gunfire was long over. The hissing and tearing sounds of his Chaff faded as they finished their work.
The goons were all dead or dying.
Dev stood in the center of the warehouse, his chest rising and falling slowly. His hands were clean. He hadn't really done anything.
He gave a single, mental command.
[RETURN.]
The 32 monsters—the Ghouls and Skitterers, now dripping with blood—all turned in unison. They dissolved into black-and-gold smoke, which was sucked back into the 5-foot portal. The portal snapped shut, plunging the warehouse back into its dim, orange-yellow light.
It was over.
The silence was absolute. Just him. The smell of sulfur, ozone, and blood was overpowering. Bodies were everywhere. The briefcase full of money was on the floor, spilled open, its contents scattered across the concrete, stained red.
He was the only one standing.
A groan.
Dev turned.
Anya. The female gang leader. She was stirring. Her wrist was a mangled, shattered ruin. A long, dark gash was split open on her forehead from his (CON: 10) headbutt. But she was alive.
She woke up to a nightmare.
Her eyes flickered open, her mind hazy. She saw... carnage. Her boss was dead, his head... caved in. Her rivals, Vector and Ghor, were dead. All of Kilo's men... dead. Torn apart. Eaten. Burned.
And the demons... the demons were gone.
The only thing left... was him.
Dev was standing in a pool of blood and money, his 6-foot frame silhouetted against the single, buzzing lamp. He was untouched.
Anya's mind, tough and sharp from a life of violence, broke. She began to sob, a raw, terrified sound.
Dev looked at her. He analyzed her.
[THREAT: 0]
[STATUS: BROKEN. TERRIFIED.]
[...ASSET: ?]
He walked over to Kilo's heavy metal desk, ignoring her. He didn't sit in the chair. He hopped up and sat on top of the desk, his long legs dangling, his feet resting near her dead boss's ruined head.
This was the "Throne."
He looked down at her, the last, broken survivor of Kilo's entire organization.
Anya flinched, expecting to be killed.
Dev's cold, (SPI: 39) voice cut through the silence. He wasn't asking a question. He was giving an order.
"Who," he asked, "collects his money?"
He wasn't asking to stop the organization.
He was asking to take it over.