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Chapter 7: Welcome to the Storm
Venezuela City
Rain battered the skyscrapers. Thunder echoed like war drums.
Inside a grand marble hall, chaos reigned. Dozens of men scrambled in panic. Hernandez, the man once hailed as the Unifier of Venezuela, stood trembling near a large round table.
"Mobilize everyone!" he shouted. "All ten thousand fighters. Now!"
His second-in-command, Harmond, frowned. "Why, sir? We have more men and power than any zone in the West. Why panic?"
Hernandez's eyes twitched.
"You don't understand," he muttered. "He is coming."
"Who?"
Hernandez's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The one-man army… the Prodigy… Nick."
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BOOM.
The doors swung open.
Nick stepped into the room.
Rain dripped from his black hoodie. His black cargos tucked cleanly into red sneakers. A faint white aura shimmered behind him — like holiness… weaponized.
Hernandez froze. "You came…"
Nick spoke, his voice calm but laced with command.
"Where's the artifact?"
Hernandez stuttered, "It… It was stolen. We tried—"
Nick's eyes dimmed with disappointment.
"…You've done enough."
He reached into his pocket and unwrapped a lollipop, placing it in his mouth with a click.
"It's time to end this."
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Hernandez screamed:
"Kill him!"
Suddenly, the room was flooded with 100 B-rank fighters — each with their own flashy power: fireballs, wind manipulation, reinforced bodies, energy weapons.
Nick stood still.
One second—
WHOOSH.
The next—
Bodies flew.
Slams. Cracks. Screams.
Before the sound of the first strike had faded, the last man hit the ground.
Nick hadn't moved from his spot.
His lollipop crunched lightly.
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"Damn you!" Hernandez roared.
He slammed his fists together.
Fifteen monstrous beings — his Orges — warped into the room. Grotesque giants of mutated power.
One lunged with a massive club.
Nick leaned slightly—
Then snapped a front kick.
BOOOOM!!!
The orge's head detonated, and the shockwave ripped through the roof, tearing through steel and stone like paper.
The others charged — but Nick's hand swiped through the air.
All fifteen orges levitated against their will — then shot backward into the walls like missiles.
Crushed. Silent.
---
Hernandez backed away, pale.
"You may have beaten them... but I still have ten thousand men—!"
A voice behind him cut in.
"No. You don't."
The camera would pan to show—
Kuroi Akuryo, standing calmly, his black suit bloodstained — but not a single drop was his.
Behind him… the field of ten thousand corpses.
Every one of Hernandez's men.
Slaughtered.
Kuroi adjusted his gloves. "Took longer than I thought."
Seated on a broken beam, Gong Yoo stretched lazily.
"Well," he said, standing. "Guess it's my turn."
He walked forward, drawing his blade.
Then— SLASH.
The air split, and the pressure wave obliterated Hernandez's entire complex — buildings, factories, armored walls — gone in one glorious storm of destruction.
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Hernandez fell to his knees. Ash and rubble rained around him.
He coughed blood.
"It's… over."
Nick walked closer.
"Maybe. But you can still live."
Hernandez blinked.
Nick smiled faintly.
"If you can defeat him."
From behind a collapsed column… a figure stepped forward.
Peter.
Wearing a light jogger and jacket, hoodie pulled low over his eyes. Calm. Focused.
Nick looked at him.
"We gave you the month you asked for."
His tone softened.
"Welcome to our group."
Peter nodded, fists clenched.
But Hernandez laughed, blood spilling from his lips.
"You think this kid can stop me?!"
Before he could finish, Harmond, his second-in-command, lunged at Peter from the side—
Peter didn't blink.
WH
AM!
A clean, brutal straight punch — and Harmond was flattened into the ground like a sack of rocks.
Peter turned to Hernandez.
"…Bring it."
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Chapter 7 Ends.
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