Nelson raised his head and met Ethan's eyes. What he saw there was not fear, not even irritation, but something far worse—amusement. Ethan gave him a small, almost friendly smile, and then winked.
"Your powers don't seem very useful," Ethan said softly.
The tone wasn't loud, but it cut deep. The smile that spread across Ethan's face mirrored Nelson's earlier cruelty, only colder and far more controlled.
For the first time since walking through that door, doubt crept into Nelson's mind.
Had he just charged into something he didn't understand?
He tried to yank his arm back instinctively. The moment he moved, his wrist stopped dead. Ethan's hand had locked around it like a steel vise. The bone spur protruding from Nelson's fist was caught between Ethan's fingers, completely immobilized.
Nelson struggled, muscles bulging. It felt like trying to pull free from industrial machinery.
Then came a crisp, decisive sound.
Crack.
Ethan twisted slightly, and the bone spur snapped cleanly in half.
Pain exploded up Nelson's arm.
"Ah—!" His scream tore through the room, high and shrill, completely stripped of bravado. His pupils dilated as he stared at the broken fragment in Ethan's hand. "Who the hell are you? Who are you?!"
Ethan rolled the jagged piece of bone between his fingers, examining it like a curiosity.
"Does it matter?" he replied casually.
He glanced at Nelson's other hand.
That single look shattered what remained of Nelson's composure. He clutched his bleeding fist and staggered backward, fear replacing arrogance in an instant. He had bullied dozens before. None had stood still while he attacked.
Ethan stepped forward.
Nelson tried to swing with his free arm, but the movement never completed. Ethan's hand shot out and seized Nelson by the head. The force behind it was overwhelming. Nelson's skull slammed down onto the marble tabletop with a sickening crack, the impact splitting skin and spraying blood across the polished surface.
Before Nelson could recover, Ethan drove the snapped bone spur straight into his temple.
Puff.
The spur entered cleanly, exited near the opposite side, and embedded itself halfway through.
Nelson's body convulsed violently. His fingers clawed at air. Then the light drained from his eyes.
Ethan released him and let the corpse slump sideways.
"Dogman would've been more accurate," Ethan muttered.
He wiped his blood-smeared wrist against Nelson's shirt with visible distaste.
The body twitched once more before going still. White-gray matter oozed slowly from the wound, mixing with dark blood across the table.
Harris, who had watched the entire exchange from near the wall, swallowed hard. The fight had lasted less than five minutes. Nelson had been feared in these neighborhoods for years, yet he hadn't even managed to leave a mark.
Harris felt a wave of cold gratitude that he had chosen cooperation over ambition. The man standing in his safe house could end him in seconds.
"I handled your problem," Ethan said calmly. "You handle the cleanup."
Harris nodded immediately. For someone accustomed to gray-market business, disposing of a body was routine. He moved quickly and efficiently, scrubbing surfaces, removing blood traces, wrapping Nelson in heavy plastic before carrying him to the trunk of his car. Within minutes he was driving toward rural backroads where inconvenient evidence tended to disappear permanently.
Left alone, Ethan sat on the sofa and opened his system panel in his mind.
The numbers were satisfying.
Killing Nelson had pushed his role-playing value past one thousand. The surge felt different than absorbing sunlight. It was heavier, richer—destruction truly was the fastest way to advance.
His current template progress had not yet reached twenty percent, but the accumulated value was enough to upgrade one ability.
He considered his options carefully.
Destruction Ray would enhance offense. Superhuman Physique would enhance defense.
His attack was already lethal against most opponents. His weakness remained durability. Bullets still bruised him. The lamplighter's blast had sent him flying. Compared to someone like Starlight, who could shrug off a high-caliber rifle without even tearing skin, he was still lacking.
Defense first.
He focused inward and prepared to allocate points—
The disposable phone Harris had given him vibrated.
Ethan answered without hesitation.
"I was dumping the body," Harris said quickly, voice low. "Found something in his jacket. A signal locator."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Locator?"
"I've looked into him before. He works alone. This isn't standard gear. It was active… and it stopped transmitting when we fought."
Silence stretched for a fraction of a second.
"He had backup," Ethan concluded.
"More like someone was watching him," Harris corrected. "If the signal vanished, they'll know."
Ethan ended the call and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to scan the distance.
Five hundred meters away, partially concealed beneath a large oak, a rugged SUV sat idle. Several figures moved with coordinated discipline.
Wilson stood beside the vehicle, headset pressed to his ear.
"The Timberwolf's signal dropped at House Thirty-Seven," he ordered calmly. "Observer, maintain visual confirmation. Don't lose the target."
Days earlier, Wilson had insisted Nelson carry the locator under the pretense of coordination. In truth, he had intended to use him as expendable bait. Wilson had fought Ethan once already at the research facility. He knew how dangerous Subject Fifty-Eight was.
Nelson was the probe.
Wilson was the hunter.
When the signal blinked out ten minutes ago, Wilson's anticipation sharpened.
Six vehicles converged from four directions. Teams of four disembarked, shields raised.
Wilson watched with satisfaction as his front line advanced. The shields gleamed black under the streetlights—reinforced titanium alloy, custom ordered.
Vought's experimental department had analyzed footage from the Sage Forest incident. Ethan's laser output had been estimated at roughly 1,600 degrees Celsius, sufficient to melt most conventional steel.
Wilson had demanded shields rated beyond that.
The result was equipment capable of withstanding at least 2,500 degrees Celsius.
"He can bruise from bullets," Wilson murmured to himself. "He's not invincible."
In his mind, Ethan had transformed from a threat into a manageable anomaly.
A porcupine with spines that could melt steel—but still a porcupine.
Inside the house, Ethan's gaze sharpened as he tracked movement from multiple angles. Teams were closing in quietly from every direction.
So this was the follow-up.
He felt no fear. Only calculation.
If they had come this prepared, they would not retreat easily.
A faint red glow began to gather in his eyes.
"Team leader, visual confirmed!" came a voice through Wilson's headset. "Target spotted near window. Possible eye activation!"
Wilson's expression hardened instantly.
"Change tactics," he ordered without hesitation. "Full assault. Gas first. Maintain shield formation. Advance steadily."
He added, voice clipped and confident, "He cannot break through the shields."