Watts stared at the man who had just entered the hotel room. Trouble, Watts thought immediately.
The kind you feel in your gut, the kind that walks in uninvited with an aura that demands silence.
The man was middle-aged, his dark hair slicked back and a thick mustache perched above a sharp mouth. He moved through the room with a deliberate, unhurried pace, the kind that made everyone else hold their breath.
Kingpins, men who commanded entire empires of fear, stood and bowed as the man passed. He didn't even acknowledge them. Not a word, not a glance—just a predator stalking through a cage of sheep.
He stopped in front of Watts' table. Smiled. Not a warm smile—a jagged, unsettling one.
"Lost a bet again to that prick, again," he said, throwing himself into the chair opposite Watts and propping his feet on the table.
An attendant rushed forward, offering a drink in front of him. The man gulped it down in a single breath, exhaled sharply, and slammed the glass onto the table. His dark eyes locked onto Watts.
"So here we are," he began, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability. "You know, kid, you cost me a big bet. A big one."
Watts didn't flinch. He had already pieced it together. This wasn't some random encounter. This was a setup. The whole room had been staged, every player carefully placed.
Someone, somewhere, had predicted he'd be here today. But that was impossible. The Alcavith Rune he carried should have stopped any attempt to divine his movements. So how? How had they known?
"What do you want?" Watts asked, cutting through the theatrics.
The man chuckled, running a hand over his mustache. "Straight to the point, huh? Not fun at all. Fine." He leaned forward, his tone turning ice-cold. "You're coming with me. And now."
Watts tilted his head, unfazed. "And why would I even do that?"
The room fell silent. The air thickened with tension, the kind that made even the bravest men sweat. The man leaned back in his chair, smirking.
"Well, if you don't," he said casually, "then your family's in for one hell of a ride."
Something shifted in Watts' expression. His eyes, usually calm, turned icy—the kind of cold that didn't just freeze—it killed.
He didn't yell or slam his fists. That wasn't his style anymore. The old Watts might've already launched himself across the table, but he'd grown. He'd learned. Well, except for the aunt-in-hospital incident... that was rather embarassing.
He stayed still, his mind working faster than any machine, analyzing, calculating.
He extended his technopathy, invisible threads of thought reaching out to every camera, every satellite, and every device within a kilometer of the hospital where his aunt was.
No disturbances. No threats. Yet the man's confidence gnawed at him. Could he be bluffing? Watts wasn't willing to risk it. A clone of himself materialized on the hotel rooftop and teleported to the hospital. Precautions first.
"Who are you?" Watts asked, his voice sharp. The question wasn't just about the man—it was about who he represented, the power he wielded, the shadow pulling his strings.
"You'll find out soon enough," the man replied. His smirk deepened as he leaned forward again. "Now, are you coming? We don't have all day."
Watts didn't even blink. "I'm not going."
The smirk vanished. The man's face darkened, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Seems you don't know what's good for you," he growled.
It happened in a blur. The man struck like lightning, his hand morphing into a deadly claw—but not toward Watts.
Toward Chloe.
Watts reacted an instant too late. Chloe, the eight-year-old girl Watts considered family, was now dangling in the man's grasp. The man's fingers wrapped tightly around her neck, her small body trembling, her face reddening as tears welled in her wide, terrified eyes.
"Watts!" she gasped, her small frame trembling. Tears welled in her wide eyes, her face reddening as the man tightened his hold.
Her fear twisted Watts' gut, but his expression didn't falter. His gaze stayed locked on hers, calm and steady.
"Let her go," Watts said, his voice even, his tone a razor's edge.
The man's smirk returned, more sinister than before. "This is what happens when people don't listen. The ones they care about pay the price." A flicker of flame appeared in the man's free hand, coalescing into a dagger of fire. He raised it, the blade aimed straight for Chloe's chest.
Chloe's eyes squeezed shut. She braced herself, her mind screaming for it to stop, for someone to wake her from this nightmare.
As the blade touched Chloe's clothes, a rune flared to life—a complex, intricate algorithm that pulsed like lightning.
A shockwave exploded outward, engulfing the room in fire and chaos. People screamed as the blast swept them from their feet.
Walls shook, but another rune appeared—this one glowing across the walls—and contained the shockwave before it could spread further.
Watts' eyes glowed with more runes, symbols flickering across his pupils. The walls of the room shimmered, absorbing the shockwave without a single crack.
Chloe reappeared beside Watts, trembling. "I've already found your mother," he whispered softly. "Now go. I'll find you later, okay?"
Chloe nodded absently, still stunned. Before she could process what was happening, she vanished, teleported to an unfamiliar living room where her mother and others stood, looking around in confusion.
Chloe didn't care about the details—her mother was there, running toward her, and that was all that mattered.Tears streamed down her face as she threw herself into her mother's arms.
Back in the hotel, Watts turned his gaze to the man. The air around him grew colder, heavier. His eyes flashed, activating the runes he had silently placed on everyone in the room during the commotion.
The man sneered, oblivious. "You really think that's enough to—"
Boom.
Fifty heads exploded simultaneously, each body crumpling to the floor in a lifeless heap.
All but one.
The man.
The man's neck twisted unnaturally as he stood, his head slowly regenerating with a sickening crunch.
"Oh, I have to give it to you, I really underestimated you," he said, his voice calm despite the carnage. He reached into his coat, pulling out a card and tossing it at Watts' feet. "You have twelve hours."
Then he was gone, vanishing into thin air.
Watts bent down, picking up the card with a frown, but then his expression changed to panic the next second. The calm he had maintained shattered in an instant.
"Where are they?" he shouted, his voice shaking. "Where are they?" he shouted as he pushed his technopathy to the limit.
Because right now, Watts had lost connection—not just with his aunt, not just with his sister, but even with his clone. They were gone.
One moment, he had seen them through the cameras, his technopathy feeding him a constant stream of data from every device within range. And then… nothing. Like a light switch flipped, their signals vanished. His screens showed only empty hallways, lifeless rooms, and static.
His heart pounded in his chest, the pressure building like a drumbeat in his ears.
He stretched his technopathy to its limits, pulling every feed from every camera, phone, and satellite around the world. Still nothing. No trace. No shadows. No heat signatures.
They were just… gone.
Panic clawed its way up his throat, threatening to choke him. "Where are they?" he shouted, his voice raw and edged with desperation.
His gaze darted across the room, his thoughts spiraling, calculating probabilities, scanning for answers.
But there were none. Only emptiness. A black void where his family should have been.