The lights in the penthouse were low. Soft jazz hummed through hidden speakers, mixing with the distant sound of traffic from the city below. Darius lounged on a sleek leather chaise, swirling a glass of red wine lazily. On the massive TV screen in front of him, a news anchor was mid-report.
"…another Valkyrie-linked facility was destroyed late this evening. Authorities suspect a vigilante attack. No suspects have been identified at this time."
Darius chuckled dryly.
"They're always a step behind," he muttered.
A woman knelt in front of him—naked, trembling slightly, doing what she was paid for. His hand rested on her head, his mind clearly elsewhere.
And then—
BOOM!
The massive window shattered inward in a deafening blast. Glass sprayed like glittering shrapnel across the room. The woman screamed, jolted upright in terror, and scrambled away, wrapping a blanket around herself as she ran down the hall barefoot, crying.
Darius dropped his wine glass. It hit the floor and shattered.
From the cloud of smoke and broken glass, a silver figure descended—smooth, silent, glowing faintly at the joints. The armored suit touched down with elegant precision, the lights of the penthouse reflecting off its polished chrome surface.
Steam hissed softly from its shoulders.
Then the mask slid open, piece by piece, revealing the man inside.
Ethan.
The helmet folded neatly into the back of his suit, exposing his face—his whole head now bare. His eyes were red with tears, his expression a mix of sorrow and fury.
Darius backed away until his shoulders hit the wall, frozen with fear.
With a soft mechanical hiss, a blade extended from Ethan's right forearm. The katana slid into his hand—sleek, sharp, glowing slightly from its core.
He pointed it at Darius's throat.
"Twelve years ago… why didn't you kill me?" Ethan asked quietly.
His voice trembled. His eyes shimmered.
Darius's mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. Then, panicked, he blurted, "Because I wasn't allowed to!"
"Why?!" Ethan screamed, voice cracking from years of pain.
And with that, he drove the blade forward.
Steel slid through flesh.
Darius gasped.
Blood spilled from his mouth. His body convulsed, legs collapsing under him.
Ethan held him up by the collar.
Darius, despite everything, smiled faintly. Blood trickled down his chin.
"You were… special, Ethan. Go on. Do it. Finish it."
Ethan's expression twisted into rage. Tears streamed freely down his face now.
He grabbed Darius by the face, armored fingers locking tightly.
A deep hum began to rise from Ethan's palm—a high-pitched whine of energy building.
CRACK-BOOM.
A pulse blast erupted from Ethan's gauntlet. Darius's head exploded, fragments of bone and blood splattering across the wall.
The body dropped.
Silent. Limp.
Ethan stood there, chest heaving, his face flecked with blood. The katana retracted into his arm with a hiss.
He turned, walked slowly toward the shattered window.
Outside, the city sparkled—towers of steel and light stretching into the night. The view from the penthouse was breathtaking. Beautiful. Untouched by the violence inside.
Ethan stood at the edge. Closed his eyes.
He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. Calm washed over him.
The helmet folded back over his face—locking in place.
And then he fell forward.
Wind screamed around him as he dropped—arms tight at his sides, body angled downward like a missile. Lights and buildings blurred around him.
At the last second, he flipped, twisted midair, spun once—twice—then ignited a boost of energy from his suit, launching himself upward in a wide, spiraling arc.
He shot diagonally through the air, climbing fast, body rotating fluidly as the night embraced him.
No longer a victim.
Not just a man.
Something else.
Something reborn.