Acnologia Gaunt stood beneath the dim glow of the warehouse's flickering lights, his mind momentarily lost in the echoes of the past. The memory of his battle with Eleven played in his thoughts, a vivid recall of power clashing against power. But there had been something else—something he had glimpsed as he reached into her mind.
A sister.
Kali Prasad.
The knowledge had nestled itself into his consciousness, a lingering fragment of Eleven's emotions, her memories. It had been more than just a name. It was an anchor, a tie to something deeper—something he could use.
As the memory faded, the present returned. Acnologia Apparated with a crack, stepping into the derelict remains of a warehouse Kali and her gang once used. Shadows pooled in the corners, the remnants of old machinery rusting beneath dust and neglect. He strode forward, his boots echoing against the hollow floor.
Figures shifted in the darkness.
"Who the hell are you?" One of Kali's gang members snarled, stepping forward, brandishing a knife.
Acnologia didn't answer. He lifted his hand slightly, and before the man could react, he was lifted from the ground. The others barely had time to scream before Acnologia clenched his fist. Bones shattered. Bodies collapsed. He had no time for distractions.
One by one, they fell, the air filled with the sound of choking gasps and splintering spines. It was methodical. Precise. Acnologia never wasted effort, never let emotion dictate his hand. He stepped over the lifeless bodies, his gaze finally landing on the one he had come for.
Kali stood across the room, rage flickering in her dark eyes.
"You killed them," she whispered, her voice a mixture of shock and fury.
"They were insignificant," Acnologia replied, voice devoid of remorse. "But you are not."
She moved swiftly, sending an illusion toward him—visions of fire, of torment. Acnologia merely smirked, his Biokinesis rendering the illusions ineffective against his mind. He saw through them, stepping forward, closing the gap.
Kali lunged, a blade gleaming in her grip. Acnologia dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid, calculated. He let her attack, let her feel as though she had control, before slipping past her guard. His hand closed around her wrist, twisting. The knife clattered to the floor.
She spun, sending a wave of psychic force toward him. Acnologia barely moved, countering with his own Telekinesis. The force slammed into her, sending her skidding across the ground. Yet she refused to stay down.
Kali charged again, this time aiming straight for his chest. Acnologia allowed her one moment of hope before vanishing from her sight, reappearing behind her. A precise strike to the back of her knees sent her collapsing forward.
Desperation took hold. Kali snatched up a discarded knife and swung wildly. The blade cut through the fabric of Acnologia's robes, slicing a small portion away. The cloth fluttered to the floor, revealing his torso—scarred, hardened from battles beyond imagination.
Kali hesitated. Acnologia did not.
His fist, wrapped in Telekinetic force, drove into her stomach. The impact sent shockwaves through her body, her breath stolen from her lungs. She crumpled, gasping, eyes wide with pain. Acnologia watched her, his expression unreadable.
"Foolish," he murmured, kneeling beside her.
Kali struggled, her fingers twitching, her mind screaming at her to fight. But her body refused to listen. Acnologia extended his hand, pressing his palm against her forehead. For a moment, her memories flashed before him—her childhood, her pain, her rage. A sister abandoned, much like himself.
He pulled away, standing.
A bed sat in the corner of the warehouse, barely intact. Acnologia lifted Kali with ease, placing her upon it. He reached into his robes, pulling out a small slip of parchment. With a single stroke of his fingers, he wrote a message—a location.
A place where Eleven would find her sister.
He left the note beside her, tucking it into her palm. Then, without another word, he vanished into the night.