Well! Well! Quinn, I'm sorry, but you can't stay here. There's no place for you here. You'll have to leave now," Michael said, his voice cold and final as he gestured toward the door.
Kelvin, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward, his face twisted in anger. "Come on, bro! You can't possibly send him out there alone without an ability. It's dangerous out there!" he pleaded, his voice desperate.
Michael turned to Kelvin, his eyes narrowing. "What on earth would you have me possibly do? Huh? He's a liability! How on earth didn't he get an ability? And what? Everyone else is supposed to babysit him? I'm sorry, but that's not happening. You're allowed to stay or better still, go with him," Michael responded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Quinn's heart sank as he realized the hopelessness of his situation. He had always known that he was different, that he didn't belong, but hearing it from Michael—of all people—made it all the more painful.
The reality of being cast out, of being left to fend for himself in a world gone mad, was more than he could bear.
Michael's smile faded, replaced by a predatory glint in his eyes as he focused on the object he had grabbed from the table—a long, sleek blade, its edges shimmering with an unnatural light.
The metallic wings on his back spread slightly, casting a shadow over the crowd as he approached Quinn with deliberate, menacing steps.
The atmosphere in the room shifted from tense to outright dangerous. The crowd, sensing the impending violence, instinctively backed away, creating a wide circle around the two.
The dim light cast eerie shadows across the room, the ruined walls and broken furniture lending the scene a desolate, post-apocalyptic feel.
Quinn's heart pounded in his chest as Michael closed the distance between them. He could feel the weight of the metal rod in his hand, but it was a pitiful defense against the blade that Michael wielded with a practiced ease.
The rod felt like a toy in comparison, and Quinn knew he was no match for Michael's strength and speed. But he had to try—if not for himself, then for Kelvin and Benjamin, who were watching helplessly from the sidelines.
Michael stopped just inches from Quinn, the blade held loosely at his side, but the threat it posed was clear. "You really thought you could walk in here and be welcomed?" Michael sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You were weak back then, and you're weak now. Nothing has changed, Quinn."
Quinn's grip tightened on the rod, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to lash out, to defend himself, but he knew it would be futile. Michael was stronger, faster, and armed with a blade that could cut through flesh like butter. But he couldn't just stand there and do nothing.
"I may be weak," Quinn said, his voice shaking slightly but filled with resolve, "but I'm not afraid of you, Michael. Not anymore."
Michael's eyes narrowed, and his grip on the blade tightened. "We'll see about that."
Without warning, Michael lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with a speed that took Quinn's breath away.
He barely had time to react, raising the rod to block the attack. The clash of metal against metal rang through the room, the force of the blow sending vibrations up Quinn's arms.
Quinn staggered back, struggling to maintain his balance. The impact had nearly knocked him off his feet, and his arms throbbed from the effort of deflecting the strike.
Michael was relentless, pressing his advantage with a flurry of attacks, each one faster and more brutal than the last.
Quinn was driven back, step by step, until his back was nearly against the wall. He could feel the cold, crumbling brick behind him, a reminder that there was nowhere left to go.
The rod in his hand felt heavier with each passing second, and his muscles screamed in protest as he desperately tried to fend off Michael's attacks.
"Is this all you've got?" Michael taunted, his voice filled with derision. "I expected more from someone who survived this long."
Quinn gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to hold on, had to find a way to survive. But Michael was too strong, too fast, and Quinn was quickly running out of options.
Suddenly, with a burst of strength, Quinn managed to parry one of Michael's strikes and, for a brief moment, created an opening. Without thinking, he swung the rod with all his might, aiming for Michael's head.
But Michael was ready. He ducked under the swing and drove his shoulder into Quinn's chest, knocking him to the ground. The rod slipped from Quinn's grasp, clattering to the floor as he hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
Before Quinn could recover, Michael was on him, the blade pressed against his throat. "You're done, Quinn," Michael said, his voice cold and final. "It's over."
Quinn's vision blurred as he struggled to breathe, his mind racing for a way out. But there was nothing—no hidden power, no secret weapon. Just him, and the overwhelming reality of his own powerlessness.
Just as Michael pressed the blade closer, a sudden burst of light filled the room, blinding everyone present. The crowd gasped in surprise, and Michael instinctively recoiled, raising his arm to shield his eyes.
Quinn felt the pressure on his throat ease as Michael was momentarily distracted. He took the opportunity to roll to the side, gasping for breath as he scrambled to his feet. His vision slowly cleared, and he saw Kelvin standing at the center of the room, his hands glowing with a strange, ethereal light.
"Get away from him!" Kelvin shouted, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. The light around him pulsed, growing stronger with each passing second.
Michael's eyes widened in shock, and for the first time, a hint of uncertainty crept into his expression. He took a step back, his wings folding slightly as he assessed the situation.
Quinn, still trying to catch his breath, looked up at Kelvin in disbelief. "Kelvin… what are you doing?"