It had been one year and two months since the deaths of his parents—and the fall of the Starr family.
Every night, Alma would walk outside to the graves of his parents, Jack, and Jack's parents, speaking softly to them under the quiet of the stars.
There was a hollow void in his heart. Where there was once love and compassion, now only darkness and sorrow remained.
Nothing to see. Nothing to feel.
The day after his parents' deaths, Alma discovered that his eyes had returned to normal. Though his sclera had regained their natural white color, he retained the strength, speed, and reflexes he had possessed when the Black Eyes were active.
That same day, however, he realized he could still activate a new form of those special eyes—and the pattern they revealed startled him.
Later, he named them the "Evil Eyes."
When activated, his physical strength, speed, and perception were dramatically heightened—far beyond what the Black Eyes had ever given him. He remembered how, just the day before, he had tossed a V-8 engine with ease, despite its considerable weight.
With the Black Eyes, such feats were possible—but with the Evil Eyes, they were effortless.
Yet one thing about these new eyes disturbed him deeply: the numbers they displayed. A symbol tied to the Devil. Alma could never accept them—but he would tolerate their presence, for now.
The first month and a half after the deaths, Alma dedicated himself to rigorous training.
He trained obsessively to improve his reaction speed, muscle strength, agility, and endurance.
Caught up in the intensity of his workouts, he often ate just one meal a day—carefully balancing his intake to ensure he consumed enough protein to fuel his growth.
During this time, there was no sign of J.I.B.R.I.L. agents—but Alma remained constantly vigilant.
The thought haunted him: were they making plans to kill him? Were they on their way even now?
Driven by this fear, he made a critical decision—he would abandon his home permanently.
With the ever-present threat of the organization hanging over him, school was no longer an option. Regrettably, neither was college.
He could only imagine the atrocities J.I.B.R.I.L. might be committing behind closed doors. While he was likely their main target, the thought of other innocent people being harmed by them filled him with a growing, righteous fury.
And then there was the school itself. Alma knew that, given his reputation, the administration would eventually send someone to check on his prolonged absence. They would discover the graves—and realize Alma was missing.
It wouldn't take a genius to draw conclusions.
They would believe he killed his family.
Alma vowed that he would bring J.I.B.R.I.L. to justice—for his loved ones, and for anyone else who had suffered because of them.
Before leaving, Alma prepared for the road ahead.
He retrieved his father's old rusted machete from the shop and meticulously sharpened it using a grinder. When finished, the blade gleamed, sharp and deadly. He sheathed it in its worn black leather case and clipped it securely onto his belt. He would lose his pants before he lost that blade.
From the gun cabinet, Alma selected his father's single-barrel shotgun. Roughly the length of his arm, it was compact enough to be wielded easily with one hand. He slung a chain across his back to hold the weapon in place.
In the smaller cabinet below, he found two medium-sized boxes of 12-gauge buckshot. He stashed the shells into a leather pouch wrapped tightly around his waist. The remaining boxes he packed into his backpack, along with supplies: food, water, a sleeping bag, and a tent he and his father had once used on camping trips.
The memory stung—a bittersweet pang of a life forever lost.
With his parents' car keys—and the house keys—he prepared to depart.
One final look.
The patched hole in the ceiling. The kitchen where meals were cooked with laughter. The living room, once filled with board games and quiet evenings.
The house would either be sold to strangers—or left to decay, another abandoned memory.
It saddened him deeply—but it was inevitable.
Locking the door one last time, Alma turned away.
He loaded the supplies into his parents' car—an old but reliable vehicle—and drove off.
It was his first time behind the wheel, and nerves prickled at him whenever he passed another car. But when the road was empty, he felt at peace.
Later that day, Alma found a small cave tucked into the woods—a temporary refuge. A place to survive for now.
Hours passed as he made the space livable, setting up a rough but functional home. He even managed to bring some of his parents' valuables with him, small tokens of the past.
Now, it was August 14th, 1955.
Over a year had passed since Alma left his house.
As he predicted, a school faculty member eventually visited the house and discovered the graves—and Alma's absence. The police arrived shortly after. Their conclusion was swift: Alma had murdered his family.
Now, there was an active manhunt for him.
But Alma was not idly hiding.
Over the past year, he had scoured the state of North Carolina, searching desperately for any information about J.I.B.R.I.L.—who they were, what they wanted, and what their endgame might be.
Month after month, even into October, his search yielded nothing.
Growing frustrated, Alma drove into the state capital, determined to find a lead.
The city buzzed with life, towering buildings filling the skyline. Yet one structure stood out among the rest—a massive skyscraper that dwarfed its neighbors. Judging by its size, Alma guessed it had over a hundred floors.
No sign marked it as belonging to J.I.B.R.I.L.—but Alma's instincts told him he had found something important.
He pressed the gas harder, parking his car a block away.
Donning black gloves and pulling a mask over his head, he approached the building's rear entrance.
There were no cameras in the back—an oversight he exploited.
Needing a keycard to enter, Alma simply kicked the door open.
The interior was lavish: clear marble floors inlaid with gold, and walls polished to a mirror shine. It looked less like an office and more like a palace.
Moving quickly but cautiously, Alma searched floor after floor, looking for anything—files, documents, anything—that could reveal the organization's secrets.
That's when he found it.
Behind a set of ornate double doors lay a massive server room. Computers processed data at lightning speeds, screens flashing too quickly for the eye to follow.
It was mesmerizing.
From the corner of his vision, Alma noticed a separate, stationary computer—one that displayed only a single screen.
It demanded a username and password.
Information Alma did not have.
The door behind Alma creaked open with a low, almost mournful sound. His heartbeat quickened. Without thinking, he darted behind one of the bulky computer terminals, the cold steel surface pressing against his back. He held his breath, the faint hum of the machines around him masking the sound of his movements.
A man entered the room, his footsteps deliberate, echoing through the empty space. He was dressed in a white lab coat, his face obscured by the dim lighting. The man went straight to the terminal, typing a username—a simple five-character word—and then a password that seemed far too complex for anyone to guess: at least five full sentences strung together. Alma suppressed a groan of frustration. There was no way he could have anticipated something this elaborate.
The man clicked through the system, his fingers dancing across the keyboard with precision, muttering something to himself. Then, the door opened again. A woman stepped inside, her presence immediate and commanding.
"Hey, we need you down in the lab," she said, her voice steady but urgent.
The man nodded without a word and followed her out. The door clicked shut, the lock engaging with a mechanical finality.
Alma waited, his breath shallow in the silence. He hesitated only for a moment before he cautiously stepped out from behind the computer. The screen was still active, displaying a list of files—each one more mysterious than the last.
"Test 1"
"Process 5"
"File 19"
Alma's eyes flicked over the names. They were vague—coded, perhaps—likely referring to some internal project or experiment. He clicked on the first file, Test 1, and the screen flickered as it loaded.
> January 19th, 1952
Subject Name: Elias William
Subject Reaction: In the first few seconds, the subject developed severe rashes and welts across the body. Within one minute, an allergic reaction to Chemical 21-HR closed several blood vessels and constricted the subject's throat muscles.
Extraction of Chemical 21-HR was unsuccessful. The subject grew to a disproportionate size. Pus began to accumulate in the eyes and lips.
The chemical triggered a cellular overdrive, which was mistaken for a viral infection by the immune system, causing the body to attack itself.
Subject Condition: Terminated.
Alma stared at the screen, his stomach turning. Below the text was an image of Elias William—if you could even call it that. The man's body had swollen grotesquely, transforming into a bloated mass of infected flesh. His eyes and lips oozed a yellow, puss-like substance.
The image burned into Alma's mind, but he forced himself to move on, clicking to the next file, Test 6.
> March 24th, 1951
Subject: Ilene Kierra
Chemical 14-QP was implanted into the subject's body. No immediate adverse reactions were observed. Over time, however, the subject's ability to control the chemical increased exponentially.
By the end of the third hour, the subject could fully harness the lightning properties of Chemical 14-QP.
Subject Condition: Alive.
Alma leaned back, his mind racing. That was different—a success story, if one could call it that. But then his eyes flicked down to a new file that was different from the others. A simple, almost cryptic title: Construct.
He clicked on it, and a new screen popped up.
> Each J.I.B.R.I.L. building is anchored by a "Power Core"—a reinforced structure buried deep in the sub-basement, sealed from all public access.
It manages everything: electricity, emergency power, security systems, and environmental control. It is the building's structural keystone.
If the Power Core experiences a violent overload—even the smallest disturbance, like a fire alarm—the building will collapse. In a matter of seconds, floors will pancake, support beams will twist and break.
This is not a flaw. It is a calculated risk, designed for maximum efficiency. One single point of failure.
WARNING: JARED, DO NOT ENTER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
Alma's brow furrowed in confusion. "Who's Jared?" he muttered under his breath. His instincts told him to dig deeper, but something about the warning—so specific, so personal—made him uneasy.
He moved to the next file, the sense of foreboding building in his chest.
This one detailed the locations of dozens of J.I.B.R.I.L. outposts spread throughout the state. Alma's eyes widened in disbelief. They had contingency plans, backup facilities in case one of their buildings was compromised. Multiple hidden bases from which they could regroup, retaliate, or escape.
He grabbed a notebook and pen from his bag and quickly began scribbling down the locations, his hand shaking slightly as the weight of the information settled on him. With the final location written, he snapped the notebook shut and stashed it back in his satchel.
It was time to act.
Alma descended into the building's basement, expecting to find something hidden—perhaps a secret hatch, a hidden door leading to another department. But instead, he found nothing. The basement was cold, concrete walls stretching in all directions, utterly mundane. Disappointment gnawed at him, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no time to waste.
He left the building and drove towards the nearest J.I.B.R.I.L. facility, his mind set. His resolve was unshakable. He was going to end this—their reign over innocent people, their twisted experiments.
As he neared the outskirts of the city, Alma noticed the landscape shifting. The buildings grew fewer, replaced by dense patches of vegetation. He found himself driving through a vast, flat clearing—100 square acres of open land, with no signs of a facility in sight.
Frowning, Alma stepped out of the car and scanned the area. It was unnervingly quiet, the ground still beneath his feet. He felt like he was being watched.
Then, the ground trembled.
The earth beneath his feet shifted, and before his eyes, a massive section of the clearing began to open—an enormous metal door, sliding apart with a sound that was deafening in the stillness.
A sleek, military-grade aircraft shot out from the opening, soaring high into the sky. Alma froze, his heart racing.
Hiding behind a nearby tree, he watched the aircraft vanish into the distance, the doors closing slowly behind it.
Now or never.
He sprinted toward the opening, making it inside just as the doors began to seal shut. He slid into the darkened corridor just in time, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins.
The underground facility was vast, a labyrinth of structures and passageways hundreds of feet below the surface. A ramp stretched down, leading into what appeared to be an entire city. Buildings were arranged in rows, and troops—dressed in identical uniforms to the ones who had attacked him—patrolled the area, moving methodically from one structure to the next.
At the far end of the facility, a massive building jutted out of the cavern wall, dwarfing everything else around it. It was so large, it seemed to command the entire space.
Something inside Alma told him that building was the key. That was where he needed to go.
He moved quickly, carefully descending the ramp and weaving between the buildings, staying in the shadows, unnoticed by the guards. His movements were practiced, silent, until he reached the base of the massive structure.
There, he paused, his breath coming in shallow bursts. The building's entrance was guarded, soldiers moving in and out, completely unaware of his presence.
Alma scanned the area and noticed a series of jagged rock protrusions that led up the side of the building. He didn't hesitate.
Running to the wall, he grabbed hold of the first outcrop and began to climb. His fingers slipped on the rough stone, but he managed to scramble to the top. From there, he carefully pried open a window, using the hilt of his knife to break the glass without making a sound.
Using his shirt to catch the falling shards, he cleared the window completely and crawled inside, landing softly on the carpeted floor.
He was in.
No lights were on, and no cameras in sight. Alma shook his shirt free of any dust and approached the door, opening it slowly. The hinges made no sound.
He slipped through the narrow opening and continued down the hallway, dimly lit by faint overhead lights.
Alma eventually reached the stairwell and began the descent, taking the flight of at least a hundred stairs. Despite the seemingly endless steps, Alma didn't falter. No fatigue, no strain. Whether it was sheer determination or something else entirely, he didn't know, but he was certain of one thing: nothing would stop him.
Reaching the basement floor, Alma found himself in an eerily empty space. No guards, no cameras, just an abandoned feeling that resembled a long-forgotten parking garage.
He searched the area and, as the folder had indicated, discovered a hatch leading to the sub-basement. Reinforced concrete made up the door, but it didn't seem to open easily by hand. Surely, there must have been some mechanical system to trigger it, but no such system was visible.
Alma surveyed the entire floor, scanning for any clues, but found nothing. With a grunt of frustration, he approached the concrete trapdoor and tried to pry it open by force.
"Dang… this is heavy..." Alma muttered, his muscles straining under the pressure.
As he forced it open, a hiss sounded—hydraulic systems releasing unmaintained pressure, fluids rushing through the mechanisms. The trapdoor's mechanical workings groaned and squealed in protest.
But Alma wasn't done.
He summoned the beast from his left eye, its ethereal tail winding around him before latching onto the door with ease. The creature effortlessly gripped the concrete edges, ripping it from its reinforced metal hinges.
The entrance to the sub-basement was now exposed.
With the beast retracting back into his left eye, Alma descended the steps, cautious and aware of the looming danger.
Surprisingly, no alarms went off. Perhaps it was because any loud noise could cause a violent chain reaction, igniting the Power Core and possibly destroying the entire building.
He stepped into an unending network of hallways and corridors, the air heavy with an almost oppressive silence. According to the folder, the Power Core was nearly impossible to locate without a map—and now Alma understood why.
He moved steadily, his only focus on reaching the Power Core. Every door he passed held mysteries, but none of them mattered. Nothing mattered but bringing down this place and all that it stood for.
What felt like hours passed as Alma wandered the dark, maze-like corridors, until he finally found it: the Power Core.
It was a massive sphere of swirling plasma energy, wrapped in chaotic ribbons of yellow, blue, and white. Suspended inside a transparent shell of reinforced nano-glass, encased by concentric stabilization rings, it hummed with more power than Alma had ever felt.
About the size of a house, it wasn't just a power source—it was a miniature sun.
Alma's mind raced as he observed it. This Power Core wasn't just a battery—it was the heart of the building, a generator distributing energy wirelessly to every floor, system, and defense grid. The scale of its design left him in awe. It should have taken decades of research and development to build something like this. But the truth was far more troubling:
This technology was too advanced.
Too precise. It shouldn't exist—not yet.
One question gnawed at him: How?
His gaze remained fixed on the nano-glass casing. Alma summoned the beast once again. His father's shotgun wouldn't be enough to breach the glass, and Alma himself wasn't strong enough to punch through it.
The only option left was the beast.
He trusted the folder's information, but doubt still clung to him. It claimed that the Power Core would take anywhere from 30 seconds to a full minute to explode in reaction to disturbance, and the destruction would be contained to a 20-yard radius.
The beast began to assault the glass, and Alma watched in anticipation. The first cracks appeared, then more followed. Shards of glass began to fall, and with one final powerful blow from the beast, the core's containment was breached.
The Power Core trembled violently, its once controlled energy now spiraling out of control.
Alma wasted no time—he turned and ran.
His heart pounded in his chest as he retraced his steps, sprinting up the stairs that led back to the basement, then up another flight to the first floor, and finally, out of the building.
But as Alma reached the threshold, the Power Core exploded.
It wasn't as the folder had described.
It was far worse.
The explosion unleashed an unimaginable force, obliterating the underground facility in a blinding, colossal flash.
The trees surrounding the site were incinerated, and a shockwave rippled outwards for miles, toppling trees and leveling the landscape. The earth trembled as the entire structure caved in, burying Alma, the troops, and everything else caught inside.
The blast didn't seem to draw attention from the city. To them, it appeared as though a distant lightning strike had occurred.
But Alma was alive.
Rubble shifted, and a hand emerged. Alma clawed his way out, battered and bruised. The force of the explosion was far more powerful than he had anticipated—exactly what he had calculated, but not what the folder had told him.
The beast helped him clear the remaining debris, the force of its strength pushing aside tons of rubble. Standing atop the wreckage of the underground facility, Alma glanced around in disbelief.
His gaze fell upon the spot where his parents' car had been parked.
The site was unrecognizable.
The place where he had left it was now nothing but the smoldering remains of ash—probably the car itself, or perhaps the trees that had once surrounded it.
Either way, it was gone. Utterly destroyed.
There was no hope of restoring it.
Alma stood motionless before the wreckage, a tear slipping down his cheek. The sight of his parents' car—now reduced to nothing—was a painful reminder of what he had lost.
The sound of helicopter rotors reached his ears. He snapped back to reality, hearing the approaching helicopters as they closed in on the site.
Without a moment's hesitation, Alma turned and fled, narrowly avoiding detection as he ran.
Hours later, wounded and limping, Alma reached the cave he called home.
The exhaustion weighed on him, but he knew the war was far from over.
"The battle for this world had just begun."
Without hesitation or a second thought, Alma collapsed onto his bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
The day had now shifted to August 15th, 1955.
Alma stirred, his body awakening.
His wounds, which had once marred his skin, were now completely healed, and he felt an overwhelming surge of energy coursing through him.
His mind quickly shifted to the task at hand. The first order of business was finding another means of swift transportation.
After a brief search, he discovered a truck stranded on the side of a highway. With little effort, he managed to get it running again.
Once behind the wheel, he drove to another J.I.B.R.I.L. facility, parking the truck well out of reach from the inevitable explosion that was soon to follow.
Unlike the last time, when he had been caught off-guard, Alma was determined not to make the same mistake again.
He had learned from his previous encounter, and he would not let it happen again.
Alma infiltrated the facility with ease, moving stealthily through the halls and making his way to the sub-basement. There, he located the facility's Power Core, the heart of the operation, and without hesitation, destroyed it.
But this time, he had prepared for the inevitable fallout. As the explosion rumbled throughout the facility, Alma enveloped himself in the Beast, a protective force that shielded him from the blast and the cascading rubble that followed.
Without missing a beat, Alma repeated the process. One after another, five J.I.B.R.I.L. underground facilities were obliterated, leaving only destruction in his wake. And yet, Alma knew this was only the beginning.
As the moon cast its pale light across a wide, desolate clearing, a violent explosion erupted beneath the earth, shaking the ground with its fury. It marked the destruction of the tenth building that day.
Only a few more remained.
It had been a successful day in halting J.I.B.R.I.L.'s operations, but there was still more to do.
However, overhead, a helicopter appeared, its blades slicing through the night sky.
Alma clawed his way out from the rubble, his eyes lifting to meet the helicopter above. From it, a figure descended, landing lightly on the ground below.
This figure stood just a few inches shorter than Alma himself, garbed in the same attire as the soldiers who had killed his parents a year ago.
However, unlike the others, this one wore a pristine white cloak.
They must have caught wind of Alma's actions and anticipated his next move.
Alma found this hard to believe. He had acted unpredictably, striking in ways that seemed completely disjointed and chaotic.
He had traveled across the state, hitting each facility with no discernible pattern—leaving his enemies unable to predict his actions.
And yet, they had found him.
"We don't take kindly to intruders," a cold, calm voice emanated from the figure, the words dripping with disdain. "Especially terrorists who attack our facilities."
Alma gave no reaction. Her words, her opinion, or even J.I.B.R.I.L.'s motives meant nothing to him. They were like water flowing over a stone—indifferent and fleeting.
His eyes narrowed, and a calm resolve settled over him. He was ready for whatever this encounter would bring.
Suddenly, the black part of his pupils expanded, covering the entire surface of his eyes, activating the Black Eyes.
The woman, unfazed, let out a mocking chuckle. "Was that supposed to scare me?" she taunted, her tone playful but tinged with seriousness.
In an instant, Alma rushed at her, but she effortlessly sidestepped his attack, landing a powerful punch to the side of his jaw.
The force of the blow sent him flying across the ashen field, crashing hard against the ground.
Alma was stunned. The pain from the strike was almost as intense as the explosion he had endured yesterday.
He quickly dug his fingers into the dirt, halting his momentum before he could slide any further.
The woman appeared above him in a flash, her fist poised for another strike.
Alma's eyes widened as he saw her descending toward him. He threw his arm back, meeting her punch with a counterstrike of his own.
The impact of their fists colliding created a shockwave that shook the ground beneath them. Alma was sent skidding backward, while the woman was thrown a few yards away, but she landed gracefully, unfazed.
The Beast emerged from Alma's left eye, wrapping itself around him protectively, its form pulsating with an ominous energy.
The woman raised an eyebrow beneath her mask, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Finally!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with excitement. "This is what I've been waiting for!"
The pilots in the helicopter exchanged nervous glances, their fear palpable in the tense air around them.
Purple energy began to crackle around the woman's body, causing the very air around her to shimmer with raw power. The ground beneath her feet seemed to lift slightly, as if responding to the surge of energy.
Alma's eyes widened in shock at the sight of her newfound power.
Realizing the danger, the helicopter pilots immediately began to retreat, knowing that staying any longer would be catastrophic.
Alma watched as the chains around his torso, his father's shotgun and machete began to move. Anything metal from his body began to vibrate, drawn towards the woman.
He quickly realized what was happening...
"An electromagnetic field?" Alma murmured, his mind racing.
In a blur, the woman swiped her hand through the air, and Alma barely had time to react before the energy surged toward him.
Pain exploded in his right arm as the arc of energy sliced through it. He looked down and saw a long, glowing streak running down his arm. The agony was unbearable, but Alma refused to let her see his weakness.
His right arm was now completely immobile, a heavy, pulsing pain seizing his every movement.
The Beast lashed out at the woman, its tendrils extending toward her with terrifying speed.
But she was faster.
She leapt back, narrowly avoiding the attack. "Wow, that was fast," she commented, her tone returning to its calm, measured quality. "But still too slow."
Another swipe of her hand sent another arc of energy toward the Beast. However, it passed right through it, causing no damage. The arc was now heading straight for Alma.
In a split second, Alma jumped high into the air, narrowly avoiding the deadly energy. The close call sent a shiver down his spine.
As he landed lightly on the ground, Alma began to think of ways to counter her. He tried to activate the Evil Eyes, but nothing happened. There was no response.
He couldn't afford to waste time wondering why they weren't working. He had to focus on the immediate danger.
"Her attack passed through the Beast without leaving a scratch," Alma muttered to himself, his mind working quickly. "Is it intangible?"
The woman, her voice calm as ever, spoke aloud. "It moves with surprising ease, despite being attached to that kid. My attacks seem to pass right through it. It could be resistant to conventional attacks. And yet, this thing alone has killed two teams of highly trained superhumans, and even the Vice-Commander."
Alma's mind raced. "It's not intangible," he thought. "If something is too fast, it simply passes through. The Beast is corrosive, but her lightning-fast arcs don't give it enough time to corrode. The corrosion is based on time."
"I shouldn't underestimate him," the woman thought, eyeing Alma with calculated intent. "He fought the Commander alone, and it was a brutal battle. The Beast's source is Alma. If I can wound him enough, the Beast will vanish." She said, realizing the true severity of the situation. "I'm a little stronger than the Commander, but I'm faster. She lost because she was too slow."
"Alma Daedulus Alastor, your advantage was always speed, and now your outclassed!" With those words, the woman launched herself forward, moving straight through the Beast without a scratch, her movements too fast for Alma to track.
Alma's eyes widened in realization. He immediately began to run, his movements erratic and unpredictable, trying to throw her off.
The Beast, ever loyal, followed him, its tendrils attempting to strike the woman.
But she was always one step ahead.
As Alma turned to evade her, the woman closed the distance, delivering a resounding kick to his back.
The impact knocked the breath from Alma's lungs, his body frozen midair before being hurled forward, crashing deep into the heart of a nearby city.
"Be cautious, Ilene. Alma Daedulus Alastor is not someone to underestimate." A voice crackled in her earpiece, its tone urgent.
Ilene scoffed, her lips curling into a confident smirk. "Really? You think some kid is going to take me down? What was it the organization called him again...? 'The Modern Nightmare'?"
"Ilene, take this seriously." The voice now carried a more serious edge.
"Whatever." She shrugged off her cloak, revealing her face with a defiant flick of her wrist.
Ilene was striking—pale skin contrasted starkly with her dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. An air of undeniable power surrounding her.
She wore a sleeveless black top and matching pants that hugged her toned frame, her movements sharp and deliberate.
With a flick of her ankle, her red high heels propelled her into the air, toward the building Alma had been sent crashing into.
Groaning, Alma pushed himself up, his body stiff from the impact. The beast that had been lurking around him retreated into his eye.
He surveyed his surroundings, then caught sight of Ilene descending upon him.
Acting quickly, he leapt backward just as she landed, the impact collapsing multiple floors beneath them.
Alma crashed onto the same floor Ilene had landed on, objects made of metal levitating around him. Instinctively, he summoned the beast, which enveloped him entirely.
The metal objects flew toward them, but the beast dissolved them before they could make contact.
Alma pulled out his shotgun, aiming it directly at Ilene. The metallic objects Alma had on him did not budge while surrounded by the Beast.
He pulled the trigger, sending a burst of bullets her way—but they halted in midair, frozen in a shimmering barrier in front of her.
She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment, waving her finger at him. "Nuh-uh, not today..." With a snap of her wrist, the bullets were flung back toward Alma, only to be dissolved by the beast before they reached him.
Alma's mind raced. As long as her electromagnetic barrier was active, he couldn't attack her without risking injury. If he used the Beast to strike, she'd retaliate and go for him immediately. But if he held back with the Beast around him, she'd keep launching those deadly arcs of lightning until one of them landed a fatal blow.
Realizing he had little choice, Alma dashed toward Ilene.
In a blur of motion, she sidestepped, unleashing one of her deadly lightning arcs. Alma barely managed to dodge, but his pursuit continued, relentless.
Every time he closed the distance, Ilene's superior speed shut him down. It seemed like he would tire himself out chasing her, but he wouldn't give up that easily.
In a flash of inspiration, Alma grabbed a fire extinguisher and threw it into the beast. But the extinguisher didn't dissolve. Instead, it remained completely intact.
He sprinted toward Ilene again, but this time, the fire extinguisher dissolved within the beast's grasp, releasing a cloud of powder into the air.
Ilene leapt backward, her reflexes quick, but the cloud of powder rapidly filled the room, blurring their surroundings.
Alma reappeared behind her in the midst of the smoke, his fist connecting with the back of her head. The corrosive energy within the beast consumed her electromagnetic field, and part of her hair was torn away.
Seizing the moment, Alma unleashed the beast forward, hoping to devour her completely. But with a desperate leap, Ilene managed to narrowly escape, jumping to the building across from them.
She crashed through the window, shards of glass embedding into her skin as she let out a cry of pain.
The corrosive attack had left her with a searing burn, but she wasn't done yet. With a grimace, she fired an electromagnetic wave at Alma. He barely ducked under it, due to her weakened state, watching the vibrant wave of energy pass inches from his head.
Now, Ilene was on the move, fear setting in. Her earlier bravado had evaporated, replaced with the undeniable urgency of survival.
Alma was relentless in his pursuit, leaping from building to building as he chased her, each of them trying to outwit the other. Ilene's confidence had shattered completely, replaced by nothing but raw fear.
Finally, Alma pounced, the beast engulfing Ilene's electromagnetic field once more. He seized her by the face, ensuring she couldn't escape as the beast began to consume her, its corrosive energy creeping over her body.
Her eyes widened in panic as a tremendous shockwave erupted, forcing Alma back.
The beast retreated into his left eye, and Alma scanned the area, only to find that Ilene had vanished.
Police sirens wailed below, their wail cutting through the tense silence. Alma leaped away, disappearing into the shadows. He sprinted through the city and back into the forest where his white truck was parked.
Exhausted and irritated, Alma slid into the driver's seat. The woman had escaped. So far, she had been the most formidable opponent he had faced.
He drove back to his cave, the weight of the encounter heavy on his mind. Once there, he collapsed into bed, his body aching. The adrenaline of the fight drained away, leaving only frustration.
Sleep claimed him, but his thoughts remained restless.
Tomorrow will be different. He would make sure of it.