The White House fell silent.
Noah Vale stood in front of President Ellis, his expression calm—almost indifferent.
"It's just bending your knees," he said evenly. "Don't tell me you're physically incapable of doing that."
Ellis felt like he was being stared down by something ancient and predatory. Sweat ran down his face, his breath uneven.
Behind Noah, Vice President Rodriguez forced a smile.
"Do I need to kneel too?" he asked lightly.
Noah didn't even look at him.
Someone like Rodriguez? He'd kneel without hesitation if it meant survival. There was no weight behind it.
Noah's attention stayed locked on Ellis.
"I said kneel," he repeated, his tone flat. "Do I need to say it again?"
The tension snapped tight.
Then Noah tilted his head slightly, a faint trace of amusement in his eyes.
"Guess you still don't understand your position."
He started counting.
"Three."
Ellis's legs began to shake.
"Two—"
The word dragged out, heavy with pressure.
Something inside Ellis broke.
His knees buckled—
But before they could hit the ground—
A hand moved faster.
Thud.
The sound was dull, final.
Everyone froze.
Ellis's body was gone from view—his head and upper torso driven straight into the pavement, buried beneath shattered stone and concrete. Blood seeped up through the cracks, pooling silently.
Noah withdrew his hand, expression unchanged.
"He really thought I cared about the gesture," he muttered. "Why make it harder on himself?"
A faint flicker of violet energy passed through his eyes as he turned.
"Hey."
Rodriguez flinched. "Y-Yes?"
"You're the President now," Noah said casually. "Any objections?"
Rodriguez blinked, stunned.
Then his face twisted into something halfway between a smile and panic.
"No objections," he said quickly. "None at all. I appreciate the… promotion."
Noah shrugged.
"Good."
Rodriguez hesitated, then asked carefully, "And… you don't want the position yourself?"
Noah gave him a look.
"I don't need a title to control things," he said. "You answer to me. That's all that matters."
Rodriguez nodded immediately. "Of course. Absolutely."
He swallowed.
This wasn't power.
This was survival.
"And your orders?" he asked, lowering his head slightly.
Noah thought for a moment.
"Make a global announcement," he said. "Tell them the United States is under my control. If anyone has a problem with that, I'll pay them a visit."
Rodriguez winced.
"That… might be difficult."
Noah's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Explain."
Rodriguez raised his hands quickly.
"It's not reluctance," he said. "The nuclear detonation caused a massive electromagnetic pulse. Most of the electrical infrastructure across the continent is down. Communications are… unreliable."
Noah glanced around.
Even this close to the epicenter, the effects were obvious.
Car alarms blared without reason. Streetlights flickered or died completely. Communication systems had gone dark. Electronics had failed in cascading waves—circuits burned out, signals scrambled, entire networks wiped offline.
It was a mess.
"…Fine," Noah said at last. "Fix it as fast as you can. Once things are back up, contact me through Fisk."
Rodriguez nodded quickly. "Understood."
Noah didn't wait.
He pushed off the ground—
And vanished.
The shockwave from his departure rippled outward, rattling everything in its path.
Only after he was gone did Rodriguez finally let out a breath.
Then—
Several dull thuds echoed nearby.
He turned sharply.
Four or five Secret Service agents lay on the ground, motionless. Their hands were still on their weapons.
Dead.
Rodriguez felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He hadn't even seen it happen.
They must have tried to act the moment Ellis died—
And Noah had eliminated them instantly.
With the electromagnetic pulse crippling communications, most of the public had no idea what had just happened.
But governments did.
Those with access to satellite data had already locked down the information.
Still—
It didn't take much to connect the dots.
"The United States has surrendered."
The realization spread quietly among world leaders.
The entire conflict had lasted less than an hour.
And the most powerful nation on Earth had fallen.
But when faced with something that could walk through a nuclear explosion…
There weren't many options left.
Dignified death.
Or survival.
"His position is changing!"
A researcher's voice cut through the tension in a European command center.
All eyes snapped to the screen.
A streak moved across the satellite feed at impossible speed.
"Where is he heading?"
A pause.
Then—
"…Europe."
Silence.
Cold, heavy silence.
Noah didn't know—or care—about the panic spreading ahead of him.
He moved in a straight line across the Atlantic, his speed tearing through the sky, leaving visible shockwaves in his wake.
The United Kingdom was already preparing.
Inside a secure government chamber, the Prime Minister's face was pale.
"He just took the United States," someone said. "Is he coming for us next?"
"What do you think?" the Prime Minister snapped. "We surrender. What else is there to do—fight him?"
No one argued.
Twenty-five minutes later—
Noah arrived.
He crossed over six thousand kilometers without slowing, descending toward London.
The officials waiting for him had already made their decision.
But Noah didn't land immediately.
Instead—
He flew.
Low.
Fast.
Circling the outskirts of the city.
At ten times the speed of sound, his passage tore into the earth itself. The ground split and fractured beneath the pressure, carving a massive trench around London.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
From above, the pattern became clear.
A crude, unmistakable shape etched into the land—pointing directly at the city.
A statement.
A warning.
"…Is he drawing?" someone whispered.
The Prime Minister stared at the satellite image, his expression stiff.
There was no subtlety here.
No ambiguity.
This was domination.
A few minutes later, Noah finally descended into the city.
He walked forward casually, as if none of this required effort.
"The U.S. communications are down," he said. "So I'll borrow yours."
No one answered.
They couldn't.
Three minutes later, a global broadcast went live.
Across the world, screens flickered back to life.
The British Prime Minister sat rigidly in front of the camera, face tight with controlled tension.
And behind him—
Seated comfortably, like he belonged there—
Was Noah Vale.