THE MERCURY'S HIDEOUT–CENTRE CITY.

  The Alligator and Samuel return to the mansion. Silence floods the cavernous entryway — heavy, stale.

  The doors burst open. Nina steps into the dim light with the others behind her.

  The Alligator closes the distance, eyes locking on hers.

  “Talk to me. What’s the verdict?”

  Nina guides Johnny to a chair.

  He drops into it, skin ash-pale, eyes hollowed by grief.

  A thin smile curves her lips.

  “This is Johnny.”

  The Alligator offers his hand.

  “Johnny.”

  Johnny stares at it a moment. Then takes it.

  “Yeah.”

  The Alligator pulls up a chair, sits close.

  “We’re fighting the same war. Join us. Let’s end what’s hanging over this city.”

  Johnny doesn’t look up.

  “You’ve got a strong crew. Good leadership. I respect that.”

  Beat.

  “But I’m not joining.”

  Nina’s smile dies.

  Her eyes flare.

  “Do you know how far we crossed the Cosmo to save Clary for you?”

  Johnny’s jaw tightens.

  “She still died.”

  The sound Nina makes isn’t human.

  Her palm cracks across his face.

  “Ungrateful brat.”

  “Nina,” Paloma steps in. “Enough.”

  Nina whips around.

  “Stay out of it.”

  The Alligator exhales slowly. Tired.

  “Fine. Do what you want.”

  He straightens.

  “But remember this — Mercury’s door stays open.”

  Johnny rubs his cheek.

  “…Thanks.”

  Nina turns and storms out. The doors slam shut behind her.

  Silence swallows the room again.

  A STREET IN CENTRE CITY

  Fury’s Edge zooms.

  Steel leads.

  The Fury Blades carve a silver path through the air.

  A parade of bullets screams toward him.

  Not suppression fire.

  Pressure.

  Angel calculates space faster than instinct can warn.

  Fury’s Edge dissolves.

  Empty air.

  He manifests yards away — and the bullets bend mid-flight, correcting not by sight, but by projected trajectory.

  He flickers again.

  Again.

  Movement forced now.

  Not chosen.

  The air strobes with violence as precision hunts speed.

  He lunges for K.B.

  Angel sharpens.

  Velocity tightens.

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  The pattern compresses.

  Each round arrives a fraction sooner than the last.

  Fury’s Edge fades like a dying bulb.

  The rain stops.

  Not because Angel fails.

  Because K.B halts it.

  Fury’s Edge solidifies low.

  His blades swell, metal thickening as amplification floods through them.

  Weight multiplies.

  Density spikes.

  He leaps.

  A mountain thrown forward.

  K.B’s glare ignites — wildfire behind stillness.

  He raises both hands.

  Angel rotates above him, humming at high velocity.

  Bullets manifest mid-space — not fired, but declared — dropping in a violent curtain.

  This is where the gap opens.

  Angel demands continuous perception alignment.

  K.B forces it.

  A vein pulses at his temple.

  Fury’s Edge flashes steel, carving space open, parrying falling lead while driving forward.

  Then the fire ceases.

  Not by command.

  By strain.

  K.B’s perception stutters.

  Fury’s Edge is suddenly a breath away.

  Blades flash.

  K.B weaves back on reflex, slipping through angles already collapsing.

  Steel slams into earth with a sickening thud.

  The ground fractures and races toward K.B in a violent ripple.

  He vanishes.

  Reappears instantly.

  Fist clenched.

  The suspended bullets expand mid-air — bloated, heavier, denser.

  Angel compensates.

  Too late.

  Fury’s Edge glances skyward and jumps.

  Fades.

  The expanded rounds hammer down — not falling, but sprinting with straight precision.

  He manifests into the storm and throws his blade up.

  Silver becomes shield.

  Lead crashes against it, ringing through bone and steel.

  Some rounds he avoids.

  Others he absorbs.

  Impact after impact drives him backward.

  Ribs crack.

  Blood sprays.

  Concrete buckles beneath his heels.

  He crashes into a building.

  Stone collapses around him in a bone-jarring roar.

  MAMI SHALLOW'S RESIDENCE.

  In her room, Mami Shallow meditates.

  Still.

  Eyes closed.

  A dark mist brushes her perception.

  Collapsing stone hums through her ears.

  In the quiet of her mind, a rifle rotates in empty space.

  Curved blades glint beside it.

  Her eyes open.

  Burning.

  “Legend-class weapons,” she whispers.

  “The toys of legend-class perceptions.”

  BACK TO THE STREET

  K.B steps forward.

  The bullet parade reforms, slower now — heavier.

  He is forcing Angel past its ceiling.

  Fury’s Edge ducks low.

  His blade swells again, doubling in size as amplification floods it.

  He boosts forward — a human rocket driven by output alone.

  The bullets fall like a constant waterfall.

  Fury’s Edge becomes a blur of parries and acceleration, steel screaming through air.

  K.B’s frame trembles.

  A thin line of blood slips from his nose.

  His mind lags behind Angel’s calculations now, chasing something faster than it was meant to hold.

  Still, he stands.

  Angel hovers above him — silent. Judicial.

  Fury’s Edge closes the distance.

  He plants his foot and smashes the concrete.

  Shockwave detonates outward.

  K.B stumbles.

  “This is interesting.. another incomplete perception fighter." Fury’s Edge sneers.

  “Luck’s always on my side. I get the last laugh.”

  He lunges.

  K.B hits the ground hard.

  His body vibrates with exhaustion.

  Above him, the bullets fade from the sky.

  Not dismissed.

  Lost.

  Angel drops beside him with a hollow clatter.

  Fury’s Edge is inches away.

  Killing distance.

  A massive white light erupts between them.

  A hand.

  Colossal.

  Larger than Fury’s Edge’s entire body.

  He leaps back.

  Mami Shallow stands there — volcanic pressure wrapped in human form.

  Fury’s Edge locks eyes with her. “What was that—”

  She’s already beside him.

  Her finger grazes the Fury Blade.

  Fury’s Edge retreats instantly.

  The blade drags across concrete with a metallic shriek.

  The weight has changed.

  It’s no longer amplified.

  It’s real.

  Planet-heavy.

  His eyes tremble. “What…?”

  He strains, muscles bulging, dragging the weapon upward inch by inch.

  A wind whirls around him and dies down.

  Mami chuckles softly.

  “Now I see. You’re an Amplifier.”

  She studies the blade.

  “That thing isn’t divine. It’s scrap you forced into divinity.”

  She steps forward.

  The phantom hand forms again behind her shoulder, vast and silent.

  Fury’s Edge dodges on instinct alone.

  “Oh,” she smiles, “you can perceive my signature move. Impressive.”

  He nods slowly, still adjusting to the altered weight.

  “You’re a Receiver,” he says. “Center City really is a den of mysteries.”

  She answers with force.

  The massive hand slams forward.

  Fury’s Edge fades — but his shadow solidifies.

  The blade pins him to the earth for a split second.

  He tears it free and strikes.

  Mami blocks with the phantom palm.

  Impact explodes outward, sending her skidding back, boots carving trenches into the street.

  She remains upright.

  “Impressive,” she says calmly. “No wonder you defeated them.”

  Fury’s Edge breathes hard.

  “Join the North. Command an army.”

  “All pigs do is hoard,” Mami replies. Two colossal hands unfurl behind her like unfolding judgment. “People like you are roots that must be purged.”

  He studies the constructs.

  “Interesting.”

  Then he dissolves.

  Gone.

  Mami exhales.

  “He should’ve fought longer.”

  She approaches Shion, who still clutches Ellen.

  In an instant, Shion vanishes.

  Mami sighs softly. “Poor girls.”

  Satan and Salion emerge from the fractured street.

  “Mami. The verdict?”

  She kneels beside K.B. Touches his forehead.

  “Another boy who reached too far.”

  She lifts the rifle gently.

  A faint smile touches her lips.

  “Missed you, Angel.”

  “You know the gun?” Salion asks.

  “This is Angel,” she says quietly.

  “Designed by a science that died a century ago. There was a man who used it once. He carried quite the reputation.”

  “Does it still work?” Satan asks.

  Mami turns her gaze toward Maxwell’s body.

  “Another poor lad…”

  She stands.

  “Grab the boys. We’re leaving.”

  Satan and Salion hoist K.B and Maxwell.

  They vanish into the gray light of Centre City.