When Brock stepped out of his cell, he deactivated his skill and headed straight for the shelter. It was an idiotic move, driven by impulse. The perimeter walls of the stronghold had already collapsed in a roar of fire, leaving behind a landscape of terror. Through the thick, swirling smoke, people scrambled for their lives.
His eyes locked onto a masked figure heading toward a cowering mother and her child. Without a second thought, Brock rushed forward, tackling the assailant. They tumbled into a desperate wrestle on the debris-strewn ground.
"Run!" Brock shouted to the pair.
As they grappled, the masked man drove a blade into Brock's side. He hissed, bearing through the sharp agony, his fingers digging into the man's wrists. He had no weapons, so he scanned the surroundings looking for something he could leverage on. Nearby, a wooden pillar stood engulfed in flames. Brock realized a bit more force would bring it crumbling down.
With a surge of strength, he maneuvered the struggle, dragging and shoving the masked man toward the hazard. The man fought back, but Brock used his momentum for a final, heavy throw. The assailant slammed into the burning support. The pillar groaned and came crashing down, burying the man under flaming rubble. Brock didn't escape unscathed; either the heat and falling debris scraped harshly against his back as he scrambled away.
He quickly tracked down the mother and daughter. They told him others were trapped nearby. Steeling himself, Brock moved through the vicinity, locating survivors and ushering them into a building that was a bit intact.
However, his rescue mission was nearly cut short when he ran into a squad of shelter guards. Seeing his HETRAM-issue uniform, they immediately aimed their weapons at him.
"Wait! I'm helping!" Brock shouted, but the panicked guards were too high-strung to listen.
Just as they were about to pull their triggers, one of the survivors Brock had saved rushed between them. She screamed at the guards, explaining how he had protected them and gathered everyone in a safe zone. The guards lowered their weapons, still suspicious. They asked Brock where he was keeping the survivors and only after he did, did they believe him.
They asked for his help to clear another area off masked figures. Brock agreed, leaving a few guards behind to protect the group before heading back into the fray.
In another part of the crumbling shelter, Anthon Clark moved with practiced efficiency. As a Major Level 6, the peak of the Superhuman bracket, the masked figures and unawakened HETRAM guards were no match for him. Yet the battle was grueling. He was forced to suppress his full power, carefully angling his strikes and limiting his range to ensure the residents weren't caught in the crossfire.
At one point, three masked men used a group of fleeing civilians as human shields. Anthon had to decelerate his sword mid-swing, twisting his body at an unnatural angle to kick a piece of debris as a distraction before manually snapping the necks of the assailants in a blur of speed.
After taking down the last figure in his immediate area, his walkie-talkie vibrated violently.
"Sir... the evacuation... the people... there is a ma—!"
"What is happening at the evacuation center?" Anthon barked. The transmission was a mess of static and screams. Unable to make sense of the report, he sprinted toward the center to see the situation for himself.
He arrived at a grim sight. The guards were dead, and the survivors were being rounded up like cattle. Standing at the head of the carnage was a burly man who wore a cold, mocking smile.
"You're probably wondering why your shelter was targeted," the man said. "Don't blame yourself, Clark. You've done nothing wrong."
Anthon didn't waste words. He lunged, sensing he held a slight power advantage over the stranger. But he quickly regretted the move. Instead of defending himself, the burly man turned his blade toward a nearby group of survivors, decapitating them in a matter of seconds.
Anthon froze in his tracks, his heart sinking.
"I don't need to say more, do I?" the man asked.
"What do you want?" Anthon rasped.
"Your daughter has something we need. Give her up, and we will leave you and your shelter alone."
Anthon staggered. It had been nearly a month since Maya ran away. He had searched for her desperately, only to hear that she was wanted by the HETRAMS. A surge of protective fury took hold of him, and he charged again—but another batch of survivors fell instantly.
"Know your place, old man," the man sneered.
Anthon let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I am as clueless as you are. I don't know where she is."
"Is that so?" the man mused. "Then kill everyone."
Before the order could be fully executed, a thunderous shout echoed through the evacuation center.
"YOU BASTARD!"
The burly man turned toward the source of the voice, his expression shifting to one of dark amusement.
Brock, having teamed up with the shelter guards to escort a final group of survivors, stood at the entrance. His eyes burned with rage as he took in the sight of the fallen innocents and the man standing over them.
"YOU BASTARD... STONE!"
Brock didn't hesitate. He willed the system to surge, feeling the familiar, burning heat of Adrenaline Rush flooding his veins.
[Stats Augmented]
STR: 25 --> 32.5
AGL: 20 --> 26
STM: 16 --> 12 (Rapid Drain Active)
END: 40 --> 52
With his newfound speed, Brock lunged at Stone, but the gap in experience was a chasm. Stone didn't even look his way; he simply snapped a sidekick into Brock's chest. The impact felt like being hit by a freight train, sending Brock flying backwards.
However, that split-second distraction was all Anthon Clark needed. Having already charged, the Shelter Leader closed the distance instantly. Seeing the heavyweights clash, the guards who had arrived with Brock split into two groups: some engaged the HETRAM soldiers holding the center, while others scrambled to guide the terrified survivors toward the evacuation vehicles. In the chaos, no one noticed a dark figure slip silently into one of the departing transports.
Brock struggled to his feet, coughing up a spray of dark blood. His vision blurred, but he could see the center of the room transforming into a death zone. Anthon and Stone were locked in a high-level exchange that distorted the air itself.
Brock realized he was nowhere near their level. His body was a wreck, and his stamina was bottoming out. Turning his gaze away from the titans, he focused on the HETRAM guards threatening the survivors.
"Ten seconds," he wheezed, his eyes glowing with a faint, reddish-purple hue. "I'll make them count."
He became a shadow amongst the rank-and-file soldiers. He bypassed their primary fire, sliding under a rifle barrel to drive his fist into a guard's throat. He didn't stop to check the damage. He spun, using his momentum to shoulder-tackle another guard into a concrete pillar, the sound of breaking bone muffled by the roar of the ongoing battle.
He was like a possessed man, ignoring the screams of his own muscles as he tore through the HETRAM line, determined to clear a path for the survivors.