Akira growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very air. In an instant, he closed the distance between them, his movements a blur of speed and precision. His hand shot out, grabbing the man by the collar and lifting him off the ground with effortless strength.
The man struggled, his hands clawing desperately at Akira's iron grip. His face twisted in pain and fear, but there was a flicker of defiance in his eyes.
"You'll... regret this," he gasped, his voice strained and desperate. "You don't know who I work for—"
Akira's hand tightened, his eyes blazing like twin suns, filled with a fury that seemed to burn through the very fabric of reality. "Oh, I know," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I know very well. And they're next."
With a deafening roar, Akira hurled the man across the room. The man's body slammed into the wall with a loud, echoing crash before he sank to the floor, half-unconscious, battered and bruised. If he hadn't been an Awakened, the relentless attacks from Akira would have killed him a dozen times over by now.
Bruised and bleeding, the agent struggled to his feet, his will burning like a dying ember that refused to be snuffed out. His body trembled under the weight of Akira's assault, but his hands rose, conjuring two orbs of fire that hovered ominously in the air.
"Igneso! Purify him!" the agent shouted, his voice a mixture of desperation and determination.
The spheres of flame lunged forward in blurring arcs of fire, their deadly accuracy unerring. Akira's eyes glowed brighter as he sidestepped the first orb and flipped backward to avoid the second. But his expression hardened when he saw the flames bend mid-air, homing in on him like relentless predators.
"Tch," Akira muttered, planting his feet firmly on the cracked pavement. His aura crackled with renewed strength, white lightning coiling around him like serpents. "Fine. Let's see what your fire can do against this."
With a sharp motion of his hand, he commanded, "White Lightning!"
A blinding streak of electricity tore through the air, striking the flaming orbs in a deafening explosion. The clash sent ripples through the street, shattering windows in its wake. Smoke and embers filled the air, obscuring vision and choking the breath of those nearby.
The agent smirked, a flicker of relief crossing his bruised face. "Got you now, you little—"
Before he could finish, Akira burst through the smoke, his body unscathed. He shot forward in a burst of motion too fast for human comprehension.
"What?!" the agent shouted, his eyes wide with incredulous awe.
Akira's leg arced through the air, his heel slamming into the agent's face with bone-shattering force. The impact sent the man flying across the street, his body crashing into a light pole with a sickening clang. The pole bent under the force, and the agent's limp form crumpled to the ground.
The crowd, having kept a safe distance, erupted in gasps and screams. Mothers covered their children's eyes, and men and women whispered in terror, their voices trembling.
Akira strode toward the fallen agent, his eyes glowing cold and unyielding.
The agent grunted, his body trembling as he struggled to move. His face was a smear of blood and dirt.
"Y-You... You're a monster! If you hadn't attacked me while I was off guard, you'd be roasted in seconds, you damn monster!" he wheezed, coughing violently.
It was true. If Akira's attack hadn't caught the Agent off guard, he wouldn't have stood a chance. But from the very first blow, the agent's focus had shattered. Every time he tried to gather his energy, another attack came crashing down, relentless and unyielding. The saying power does not crumble beneath greater force, but under the weight of a single unseen crack was the perfect example here.
Akira's lips curved into a humorless smile. "A monster?" His voice was chillingly calm. He squatted down, gripping the agent by the collar and lifting him off the ground with unnatural ease. "You fuckers turned me into one."
With a savage twist, Akira hurled the man into the pavement, cracking the ground beneath him. The agent screamed, but Akira wasn't done. He reached down and grasped the man's arm, his grip as unforgiving as a vice.
"First, your arms. You don't need those anymore," Akira growled, his voice devoid of pity.
A sickening snap echoed through the air as Akira twisted, breaking the agent's arm in one brutal motion. The man's scream pierced the night, chilling all who heard it.
"Then your legs," Akira continued, his tone eerily calm. He stamped down on the agent's knee, shattering it. The man's cries grew softer, his strength fading as pain overwhelmed him.
The onlookers watched in horror, fear rising in their bodies. Some turned away, unable to bear the sight. Others whispered prayers, hoping someone—anyone—would stop the boy whose wrath seemed unending.
But Akira didn't stop.
He stood over the broken man, his aura intensifying. Arcs of lightning snapped violently around him, like a storm in its prime.
"You don't deserve a quick death," Akira spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You deserve to feel every ounce of pain you've caused. Every scream. Every tear."
The agent, barely conscious, sputtered weakly. "Mercy..."
Akira's eyes blazed as he stared back, unblinking. "Mercy?" he repeated, his voice like a whip. "Where was your mercy when you destroyed my family? When you tore apart innocent lives? How dare you even mention that word!"
The white lightning gathered in his palm, spiraling and crackling, growing brighter with each passing second. The street was bathed in its harsh light, its intensity forcing onlookers to shield their eyes.
Ding!
[System Notification: Warning! Your body cannot withstand continued overuse of power. Further strain may result in total immobility, and your consciousness could fade.]
Akira ignored the warning. Energy cascaded forward, a torrent of bolts too numerous to count, all pummeling the broken body of the agent beneath him. With every strike, the earth quaked, and the man's screams were swallowed by the roar of Akira's power.
When the light finally faded, all that remained was a charred patch of earth, lifeless, with wisps of smoke rising into the air.
What Akira unleashed in the heart of the city wasn't just violence—it was an unchained storm, an eternity of massacre etched into the minds of everyone who witnessed it.
No one had ever dared to unleash such a gruesome display of uncontrollable anger, not here, not on the streets of a crowded city like Seoul.
But Akira didn't care.
Nothing mattered to him—not the screams of terror, not the gasps of onlookers, not the chaos erupting in his wake. Every step cracked the pavement; every breath trembled with pent-up anguish.
Fury had claimed him, guiding his every move like a cruel puppeteer. This wasn't vengeance neatly carried out, nor was it calm calculation. This was raw, viscous, and relentless.
This was the eruption of a volcano, long dormant, whose immense rage consumed everything in sight.
And Akira—this boy with eyes aglow, white lightning whipping and booming around him—was the embodiment of that rage. His blows weren't mere attacks; they were statements of hate, each one encapsulating an ache of loss, a fury of betrayal.
The air itself seemed to shrink before him, his form shimmering with the intensity of his power. To the onlookers, there was no dividing line between wonder and terror.
Through it all, Akira did not waver. Not a moment of hesitation, no second-guessing, no flush of regret crossed his face. His expression was chiseled in stone, hard and unyielding.
This wasn't just a boy losing his temper. This was a moment he had been living for.
His body had become a canvas, painted with the wrath of a man, etched in lightning and blood. Every scream that escaped his lips was drowned by the deafening roar of thunder.
The people had never seen anything like this.
STARS had fought monsters before—they'd clashed with criminals and beasts alike. Even most villains stopped when their enemy was crushed.
But what Akira did now was a step beyond—something darker, far more terrifying.
Because he didn't stop.
Not when the man begged.
Not when the bystanders cried for mercy.
Not even when the man's body had turned to ash, and the stench of burnt flesh hung in the air like a grim reminder.
This wasn't justice.
This wasn't balance.
This was something darker—something born from the depths of his pain, his fury, his shattered soul.
As Akira stood amidst the smoldering remains of his fury, his eyes dimming yet his expression unshaken, one truth became clear: the once-kind boy, who had been an amazing human being, was nowhere to be found.
What stood in his place was something far more dangerous.