The air inside the concert hall was thick with panic. A burst of gunfire rang out from the back of the crowd, a sound that was foreign to the ears of the concertgoers just moments ago. Screams echoed off the walls as people ducked, scrambled, and tripped over each other in their frantic attempt to escape. The stage lights flickered, and the music, once loud and jubilant, now seemed distant, swallowed by the chaos unfolding in the seats.
Jack's chest was tight. His heart pounded in his throat as he pressed himself against the cold concrete pillar, his hands clammy against the rough surface. His mind screamed for him to run, to get to safety, but his legs were rooted to the floor. His breath was shallow, catching in his throat as a burst of gunfire cracked again, followed by the sickening thud of someone collapsing nearby.
Get up. Get moving. Don't freeze. Don't—
His thoughts were interrupted by a scream. Jack's head snapped to the side, his eyes darting across the sea of terrified faces. A woman shoved past him, her eyes wide with horror as she stumbled toward the exit. He swallowed hard, his stomach churning. What the hell do I do?
A flash of light reflected off a mirror behind the stage, catching his eye. He glanced upward, barely noticing the subtle shimmer, before his gaze returned to the crowd, his pulse erratic.
Alastor watched from the shadows, his posture relaxed but his mind calculating every movement in the room. His eyes, sharp as ever, swept over the terrorists, noting their positions, their hesitation. They were losing control, but they were still dangerous, desperate.
Alastor's fingers twitched. He could feel the pull of the stars above, the distant glow of cosmic power. He focused on them—just a sliver of their brilliance, an energy ancient and vast, far beyond what human eyes could comprehend. His thoughts aligned with the shimmering lights overhead, and a tiny flicker, barely perceptible, shifted through the air.
One of the terrorists, a tall man with a rough beard, froze mid-step. His gun, poised and aimed at a fleeing officer, jammed with a soft, mechanical click. The terrorist grunted, furious, and shook the weapon, trying to free it from its malfunction. But he wasn't the only one affected.
Alastor's gaze didn't waver. He bent the air around the man, just enough for him to think his weapon had been tampered with. The terrorist hesitated, lowering the rifle in confusion. Another man, one of his colleagues, muttered something in Arabic, his eyes scanning the crowd for an explanation.
Alastor shifted his focus, sending a ripple through the air, making the terrorist's grip loosen. His hand trembled as he tried to maintain control of his weapon, but it slipped, falling from his grasp with a soft clatter. The terrorist cursed under his breath, confusion spreading through their ranks.
From the corner of his eye, Alastor saw Jack still crouching by the pillar, his eyes wide, his face pale. Alastor took a breath, feeling the subtle shift in the air around him. The power was old, strained, but still present—too valuable to let slip. He didn't need to reveal himself. Not yet.
The ringing of his phone pierced through Jack's panic like a sharp knife. His hand, trembling, fumbled for the device in his pocket. His fingers brushed the screen, and his breath caught when he saw Mr. Thompson's name flash across the display.
Mr. Thompson? Now?
He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice shaky. "Mr. Thompson, I—I need help! There are terrorists here, and—"
"Jack, listen to me." Alastor's calm voice cut through the fog of panic like a knife through silk. "Stay calm. Stay hidden. Do not move. Help is coming."
The words were simple, direct, but they carried a weight of reassurance that grounded him for just a moment. Jack's breath hitched as he clutched the phone tighter. "But… how? How can you help? How—"
"Just stay where you are. You're safe for now. Do not come out."
The line went dead before Jack could say anything else. He stared at the screen, the call ended. His mind spun, unable to process the calmness in Alastor's voice amidst the chaos.
Safe? How could I be safe with these people—these terrorists—running around?
The terrorists had started shouting again, their words slurring together as they barked orders to the crowd. "We don't want to kill anyone else!" one of them shouted. "We just want Sarah Lee! Give us Sarah Lee, and we'll let everyone go!"
A murmur of terror rippled through the crowd, but no one moved. Everyone was paralyzed, caught in the grip of fear. Some huddled together, others tried to climb over seats to escape. It was a mess of confusion, a sea of desperate bodies and shattered nerves.
Sarah Lee, her voice strained with disbelief, stepped forward. Her face was pale, her hands trembling as she gripped the mic stand. Her bodyguard, a hulking man with an earpiece, stood just behind her, scanning the stage, his fingers twitching near his gun.
"Stay calm," Sarah said, her voice trembling but firm. "Please, we're trying to—"
Bang.
The sharp sound of a gunshot rang through the room. A man, desperate, tried to rush the stage, but he crumpled to the floor in a spray of red. The bodyguard reacted too late, his arm outstretched but already too slow. Sarah's eyes widened in horror, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
"Get her!" one of the terrorists barked, pointing toward Sarah. His fingers twitched on the trigger.
The chaos intensified. People screamed, some falling over others, while others simply froze in place. The tension was suffocating.
Alastor's focus tightened. He moved through the shadows, his steps like whispers on the wind. He could see the terrorists now, their hands trembling as they held their guns. He extended his senses further, subtly manipulating the stars above, aligning them just enough to create a spark of distraction.
His fingers twitched, the air bending slightly around him as he adjusted the path of a falling piece of debris. A brief illusion: one of the terrorists turned, his attention fixated on the false movement. His weapon clicked twice before he dropped it entirely, certain something had been tampered with.
The group of terrorists was beginning to panic, and Alastor knew that time was running out.
It didn't take long before the police, having received Sarah Lee's call, stormed into the venue. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with each second. Alastor watched from the edges, remaining unnoticed, his form a blur in the distance. The remaining terrorists, confused and disoriented, dropped their weapons one by one, hands raised in surrender.
One of the officers, his voice gruff, shouted orders. "Clear the building! Everyone out now!"
Sarah's bodyguard, panting, rushed to her side. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury.
"I—I think so," Sarah replied, her voice cracking. "We need to get out of here."
Meanwhile, outside the Brooklyn Brew café, Emily Rodriguez stood near her car, her arms crossed tightly as she stared up at the sky. A gust of wind had flown past her with unnerving speed, a strange sensation lingering in the air, like something was... different. Her hair whipped around her face as she instinctively shielded her eyes from the sudden rush.
What was that?
She shook her head, glancing around, but no one seemed to notice. There was no one else nearby. I swear, it was like the wind was alive...
She frowned, perplexed, before getting in her car. I must be imagining things.
Back inside, Jack stood slowly, his eyes scanning the quieting concert hall. The terrorists had been taken into custody, and the police were moving through the crowd, guiding people to safety. Jack's heart was still pounding, but he was no longer in immediate danger.
Still, something felt off. The way everything had happened so fast, the strange flash of light, the sudden calming of the atmosphere. His mind circled back to the phone call with Alastor.
Could he have done this?
Alastor, now outside, moved with swift, silent steps. The chaos was contained, the danger averted—but it wasn't over. His eyes, though young in appearance, carried the weight of thousands of years. His thoughts, momentarily lost in the stars above, settled back into the reality of his life as an alien among humans.
I did what I had to do.
But he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. His powers, once so vast, felt… limited now. The stars, once so familiar, now distant. The weight of his long life pressed on him as he faded into the shadows, blending with the night. His figure was swallowed by the darkness, leaving only a lingering sense of something cosmic in the air. His thoughts wandered briefly to the past—the destruction of Levanzo, the countless years he had spent fighting, watching the universe unfold in its chaotic beauty. But tonight, he had done what he needed to do. For Jack. For this fragile world.
And yet, even as the lights of the concert hall flickered in the distance, Alastor couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to come. More that the stars had in store for him. But for now, he remained silent, waiting in the dark, a silent guardian—out of sight, but never truly gone.