055 HANDING OVER THE PHONE
"Nobody will blame you if you back out now. This is inherently unfair," Zairgid said.
"Back out?" Damen's smile was cold. "I just haven't decided how they'll die."
Then he moved.
In an instant, Damen was inside their formation, before the channeling could complete. He seized two hands—Freeland's and another's—closing the circuit.
Electricity arced violently along his arm, crackling with intensity.
"Goodbye," Damen said, his voice a quiet whisper against the rising storm.
A surge of raw energy shot through him, slamming into Freeland, then traveling down the line. The air was filled with screams as the challengers convulsed, their bodies wracked with brutal spasms. Muscles seized, and some students spat blood, others crumpled to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.
"What the hell is that meta?" someone shouted in horror.
"How… how did he electrocute them all at once?" another voice cried.
Damen's Electrocution was a high-cost, high-output skill. It drained his meta reserves like wildfire, but in a single, decisive strike, it could wipe out an entire group—and that's exactly what he needed.
The challengers' hands, once linked, now twitched and smoldered as the power crackled through them. In a heartbeat, they were all on the ground, smoking and burned.
"Too bad I couldn't see how this 'Formation channeling' turn out", Damen murmured with disappointment.
Damen walked through the wreckage of their bodies, ignoring their groans, and casually flipped Prescott Aukuoma the middle finger as he passed.
Furious and humiliated, Prescott scrambled to his feet, cursing.
"You damn fools! I lost five million Aurs because of you!" he spat at Freeland and his friends, watching his wasted cash cards being flashed by Zairgid proudly.
The crowd around them buzzed with a mix of fear, awe, and excitement.
Zairgid jumped down the stage towards Damen, with aur cards in hand. Damen pocketed his share without a second glance and grinned at Zairgid.
"Next time, tell them to bring more money."
-----
[In the General Meeting Room of Aukuoma Industries]
"Congratulations, Mr. Chairman. Your son has received a Hero's Medal from Fortress Myrone. Remarkable for someone his age," Kelly Aukuoma said warmly. "Once he matures a little, he could be a great help to the family business."
Chairman Zolan smiled with pride. "He's still young, but very progressive. When other students stayed behind to pick up trash from the battlefield, he volunteered to fight alongside the army of Fortress Myrone."
"Don't overdo the praise," Vice Chairman Arom, Zolan's brother and rival, said with a smirk. "That's not how you train the young. Praise makes them arrogant."
Zolan chuckled. "Speaking of teaching the young, Arom — I heard one of your bastards tried to challenge Zairgid and wound up in the ICU. That's not how you raise them to fight battles they know they can't win…. And worse.. lose millions of Aurs in the process."
Arom's sons, Prescott and Xylo, weren't models for praise.
Xylo challenged Zairgid in school over his medal's authenticity and ended up hospitalized. Prescott, meanwhile, backed the Veyran family in a failed attempt to challenge Damen and lost millions.
Arom's face darkened, but he had no retort. His sons had embarrassed him, and Zolan knew it. Without another word, Arom stormed out of the shareholder's meeting.
-----
Later that evening, Arom arrived at a medical facility. Xylo lay motionless in the ICU, covered in tubes and sensors.
"What happened to that idiot?" Arom demanded.
"Vice Chairman, he challenged Zairgid and was beaten," an assistant answered nervously.
"Zairgid? That fool dares do this to my son?... Does he even have the ability to do so?" Arom snapped.
A voice came from the doorway. "It wasn't Zairgid, Father. It was his new lapdog — Damen Dark."
It was Prescott, his elder son.
Arom turned on him. "Prescott, I can understand Xylo being an idiot, he's a bastard.. but you're my heir. Why didn't you do something? Your failure made me a laughingstock in the boardroom!"
"I did act," Prescott said defensively. "I backed six Rank F students from the Veyran family to fight Damen. They were all trained in secret formation channeling, but they were all defeated in a single move. This Damen is no ordinary student."
Arom frowned. "There is a fighter that powerful around Zairgid? That is unacceptable. We can't allow that."
"I'll take care of him," Prescott said, puffing his chest. "You have my word."
"Good," Arom replied curtly.
Then Prescott hesitated. "Uh… Father, could I have a bit more allowance this month?"
Arom narrowed his eyes. "What? Isn't your current allowance enough?"
Prescott swallowed. "It's about that Damen… I lost five million Aurs backing the Veyrans' fight against him."
For a moment, silence filled the room — then Arom's face twisted in rage.
"You're no less stupid than your useless bastard brother!"
-----
Damen pushed open his apartment door expecting silence and dusty tables. Instead, a murmur of voices spilled out — someone had been inside his apartment.
He froze, every instinct on him prickling. "There is an intruder in his apartment."
He eased the door wider.
To his surprise, Dorin stood in the middle of his living room, her hands folded, her cheeks flushed in that too-bright way she had when she lied.
Behind her a lanky man barely glanced up from a datapad.
"Hi, Damen. You're back. We've been waiting for you," Dorin said, smiling like it was nothing at all.
Damen's mouth went dry. "Did she come to arrest him for the psychic attacks?" he thought.
He squared his shoulders instead. "Dorin—why did you break into my apartment?"
She blinked, then the smile widened. "We have a case. We thought you wouldn't be back for a while, so we set up a temporary command post here."
"You used my apartment as—" He cut himself off. "The school didn't tell me about this new arrangement."
The man with the datapad glanced up at last. "We didn't inform the school," he said, his voice flat as metal.
"Who is that?" Damen asked, pointing.
"He's Special Investigator Lander — codename Detective," Dorin supplied.
"And you," Damen said to her, "what the hell are you?"
She straightened. "My codename is Mechanic."
Damen let out a humorless laugh. "What— which comic are you cosplaying from?"
"We aren't cosplaying." Dorin's smile hardened.
She reached into her jacket and flashed a badge. The letters caught the light: SIA — Superheroes Intelligence Agency.
Damen sat down as if struck. Before he could speak the man stepped forward a pace.
"There's another reason we took your apartment," Lander said. He met Damen's eyes without blinking. "We need your phone."
Damen's first, absurd thought was of the mining app on his device — the thing he'd never told anyone about.
"My phone's private," he said, acting cool.
"It's not a request," Lander replied. "It's a demand from SIA operatives."
A laugh crawled out of Damen, small and savage.
"Kill them now and get rid of their bodies," he thought, his fingers itching at the dagger that wasn't there.
But he didn't move. He watched them instead — measuring and calculating. The room smelled like burnt coffee and the faint ozone of Dorin's nervousness.
"Alright," he said handing over his phone.
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