The iron gates rose higher than they had expected, black bars layered with glass panels and embedded sensors. Far beyond them, Robert Judd’s mansion sat back from the road like a private fortress, its white stone fa?ade barely visible through thick forest and the curve of a long, immaculate driveway.

  Cameras tracked their approach with quiet clicks.

  Nikolai stopped a step too close. Eugene halted exactly where the pavement markings suggested a visitor should stand.

  A soft chime sounded. A beam of pale blue light swept outward from the gate, slow and deliberate.

  It began with Eugene, a neatly dressed young Asian man.

  The scan traced him from polished shoes upward, lingering over the sharp crease of tailored trousers, the fall of a fitted coat. His posture was straight as if he had been trained never to slouch. The light glided over the sharp line of his jaw, and finally his face. Silver hair, neatly combed. Silver eyes, steady and unreadable.

  “Identity unrecognized.” the system intoned. “Access denied.”

  The beam shifted.

  Nikolai flinched as it washed over him. Worn sneakers, faded jeans with frayed hems, an oversized hoodie that had seen too many laundromats and too much rain. His tanned skin was darker from weeks spent outdoors, his spiky brown hair stuck up in places.

  “Identity unrecognized.” the voice repeated. “Access denied.”

  The gate remained sealed.

  Eugene gave him a flat nod, urging him to speak for himself.

  Nikolai cleared his throat and leaned toward the intercom panel.

  “Uh. Hi. Hello,” he said. His voice echoed awkwardly off the metal.

  “My name is Nikolai… Just Nikolai. I’m here to, uh, apologize.”

  Silence.

  “For yesterday. For the punch. The one I threw. At you. Sir.” He winced and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I genuinely thought you were, you know. Hurting someone. I wouldn’t normally punch a… professor. Or anyone. I mean, I thought you look like a pervert, but that’s not—”

  Eugene closed his eyes in disbelief.

  “I didn’t know you two were dating," Nikolai continued, rushing now. “She seemed upset. Which, okay, maybe that’s just her face, I don’t know, but at the time—”

  Eugene stepped forward, one hand lifting slightly.

  “That will be enough,” he said calmly.

  He faced the intercom, voice smooth, controlled. “Professor, my name is Eugene. I understand that my friend's actions were inappropriate and presumptuous, regardless of intent. He acted without full knowledge of the situation and accepts responsibility for that error.”

  Nikolai stared at him, half relieved, half mortified.

  “There was no malice toward the institution or toward you personally,” Eugene continued. “Only a misunderstanding that escalated regrettably. We are here to express our apologies and to ask that this incident not define his future with Kingsley Academy.”

  The gate gave no sign of having heard him.

  No lights. No response. Only the faint hum of the security system.

  Eugene shifted his weight. “Maybe he’s not home?”

  Nikolai frowned and leaned to the side, peering through the bars. “Do you see that?”

  A smell reached them then. Sharp. Acrid.

  Beyond the mansion, past the trees, a column of thick black smoke rose into the sky, twisting and heavy, staining the afternoon light.

  Eugene’s expression changed instantly.

  He quickly took a single step back, bent his knees, and vaulted over the sprawling gate in one fluid motion. Metal blurred beneath him. He hit the ground running, coat snapping behind him as he shot toward the smoke.

  Nikolai shouted, running up to the gate and slamming his hands against the cold metal. “Eugene!”

  But Eugene was already gone, a silver streak disappearing into the grounds.

  The casual one slammed his fist against the bars, watching the smoke climb higher. “You could at least carry me…” he muttered.

  ____________________________________

  30 minutes earlier

  The Tyrants stood before the sprawling, wrought-iron gates of Robert Judd’s mansion.

  “I ain’t seein’ no doorbell.” Divine squinted at the towering barrier.

  “Is it unlocked?” the Baroness suggested.

  “No. A place this big definitely runs an automatic system,” 666 corrected, voice sharp.

  “That means a sensor, right?” The Pretender asked softly, her hands nervously clasped.

  “Yeah,” 666 said, stepping closer, visor scanning the gate. “We get too close and it triggers. Then maybe we can “politely” ask for the homeowner to allow us in.”

  “Someone’s needed to volunteer,” Havoc said, rubbing the chin of his mask.

  “Exactly,” 666 said with a sly tone. Before Krov could react, 666 shoved Krov hard toward the gate.

  Krov flailed, almost toppling forward and landed exactly where the pavement markings suggested a visitor should stand.

  Beep.

  The security system activated, blue scanning beams lanced across him from head to toe.

  “AAAAAAAAH!” Krov screamed, high-pitched and panicked — like a terrified little girl.

  “Identity unrecognized.” the voice repeated. “Access denied.”

  “Comrades… am I… dead?” Krov tremble before them.

  “Any other suggestions?" the Baroness asked the others.

  “Bet you I can bend the gates.” Divine suggested, already cracking his fingers.

  “That’ll just set off alarms,” 666 warned flatly.

  “Then we go stealth,” Havoc reached into the single, oversized pocket of his dark army vest and pulled out a neatly folded stack of pizza delivery uniforms, each complete with fake glasses and stick-on mustaches.

  The Pretender furrowed her brows.  “Where… Where did that come from?”

  “What do you mean?” Havoc asked, as if the question made no sense.

  Before anyone could respond, the security system cut through the silence.

  “Unrecognized presence detected.” the scanner notified.

  “Scanning in progress.” Red beams flickered over all of them, and they froze under the systematic sweep from head to toe.

  “This is private property.”

  “Identify yourself or authorities will be contacted immediately.” It warned them.

  “Uh… pizza?” 666 quickly blurted out in a moment of panic.

  The beams hovered, analyzing the identification then a short burst of white sparks flickered from the emitters.

  “We’ve been expecting your arrival.”

  “Welcome to the Cyclone Mansion.”

  The tone shifted, polite now, almost cheerful.

  The gates groaned open, revealing a long paved path lined with swaying trees, leading deep into the estate.

  The Tyrants exchanged wary glances, still unsure whether this is a good idea..

  “See?” Havoc said, patting 666 on the shoulder. “The plan worked after all.”

  With careful steps, they crossed the threshold, entering the mansion grounds

  -----

  The main entrance loomed above them like a palace built for someone who wanted to be worshipped. Marble pillars stretched upward like ivory towers, and the balcony wrapped around the front like it was designed for grand photo shoots. Fountains on each side blasted water in spirals, more decorative than functional, and the wide stone steps.

  Divine let out a low whistle. “Looks like some rich folk sneezed and a mansion came out.”

  They climbed the last steps and pushed open the enormous double doors.

  Inside, everything fell apart.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Whatever luxury the mansion once had was buried under destruction and filth. Empty alcohol bottles rolled across the floor when the door opened. Clothes, bras and panties were scattered everywhere — draped over railings, hanging from lamps, even dangling from the top of a chandelier. Half the carpets were stained. The other half were worse.

  “Yeesh,” 666 muttered, stepping around a wet patch. “Why are old people always a pervert?”

  They moved deeper inside, and every step became a negotiation with fate. Used tissues were everywhere, forming little white landmines across the floor.

  The air smelled so foul the moment they entered the living room. It looked like the kind of place where a billionaire threw parties every night and never remembered any of them.

  Velvet couches, empty cocktail glasses, in the middle is a bronze statue in the centre of the room. Positioned dramatically in a manner none of them would like to bring up.

  “Those statues look like they are breeding,” Krov points out innocently.

  “Please…, do not say that,” Havoc advised.

  666 stepped away to look at portraits and posters of women in skimpy clothing covering nearly every surface of the wall. Movie posters, magazine covers, giant framed photos — all featuring women posing in ways that made the house feel even dirtier.

  Divine stared a bit too long at one of them.

  666 scoffed. “Their hair isn’t even natural. Look at that red dye. You can see the filter.”

  Divine didn’t take his eyes off the poster. “What kind of man looks at a woman’s hair instead of her chest?”

  “One with standard,” 666 answered.

  While the two bickered, The Pretender drifted towards a fancy cabinet, taking in the details. Every surface was a shrine to Robert Judd. Articles praising him. Magazine covers deeming him a veteran superhero.

  But one of the photos at the center stood out, It was not crude. Not indulgent. Not coated in the same desperate ego.

  Robert Judd stood in his emerald-green bodysuit, a Cyclone insignia spinning across his chest. His hair was shorter, his smile younger. And around him stood five others, each in their own distinct, colorful costume.

  The Baroness approached quietly and read the small plaque beneath the frame.

  “Cycloneman and The Elites,1993.” she read.

  “So he's a superhero…”

  The Pretender tilted her head slightly. “Was.”

  “Indeed,” the Baroness replied, agreeing.

  The group continues spreading out through the room, each trying not to step on or touch anything questionable.

  As they were looking around, Havoc’s attention snagged on something shiny resting on a marble table. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

  “Found something, comrade?” Krov asked, leaning closer.

  “I’m not sure,” Havoc said, shaking the strange device like it might rattle.

  “I think it is meant to be worn on the wrist. Perhaps it's a watch?” Krov suggested.

  “It’s a very interesting looking watch,” Havoc muttered. It had straps, but the screen was too big and the interface too crowded.

  The display showed the time — 7:26 PM — and under it were a dozen icons. Albums. Music. V-Search. Xhub. Hamsterx. JavClub. And several others that looked even more suspicious.

  “What are these supposed to be?” Havoc murmured, then tapped on the music icon.

  Ding! A text popped up on the screen.

  Your device has been connected to the living room speaker.

  Playing: Party Time Playlist.

  “Oh… my… God.

  Becky, look at her butt. ”

  The song blasted through the mansion’s giant speakers, loud enough to shake the bronze statue.

  “She looks like one of those rap guy’s girlfriends. But, y’know,

  Who understands those rap guys?”

  “What did you do, comrade?!” Krov yelled at Havoc, horrified.

  “I pressed a button..,” Havoc said, completely lost.

  “This is what people listen to nowadays?” 666 unimpressed with the current age of music.

  And instantly the music cut off like it was commanded to do.

  The Baroness let out a long breath.

  “Gracias a Dios,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.

  “Nobody touches anything else!”.The Baroness ordered sharply.

  The Pretender nodded immediately but the others grumbled like scolded children

  The Baroness exhaled again, dragging a hand down her golden mask.

  “Please let that be the end of our trou—”

  “Get the fuck out of my house!!” an unfamiliar voice of a man snapped through the room like a whip interrupting her.

  The room fell completely silent as they turned their attention towards the voice.

  A man stood in the entrance corridor wearing nothing but a green silk sleeping robe — open — revealing far too much wrinkled skin and a pair of leopard-print underpants that looked like they’d lost the will to live.

  There he stood: Robert Judd, in all his disappointing glory.

  His stocky build, salt-and-pepper beard, sagging chest hair, and bleary, bloodshot eyes did nothing to improve his lack of intimidation.

  “So you fuck finnaly came knocking,” he slurred. In his hand was a pristine white gun with a glowing green gem on the side — aimed directly at the Baroness.

  “Didn’t like the speech I gave yesterday?” he snarled, finger hovering over the trigger.

  “What is he talking about?” the Pretender whispered nervously behind the Baroness.

  “Just stay behind me,” the Baroness murmured, extending her arm protectively.

  “Mr. Judd, please calm down,” she said gently. She raised one hand, palm open, cautious but peaceful. “This isn’t what you think. We’re not here to hurt you. We only want to ask questions.”

  “You broke into my house,” Robert snapped, his voice sharp and furious. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

  “Daddy?” a woman’s voice echoed from the hallway behind him.

  A half-naked blonde stumbled into view, wearing nothing but pink underwear and confusion. She blinked at the strangers in her living room.

  “What’s going on?!” she asked, panic rising in her tone and desperately tried to cover herself.

  “Stay back, Sugarlumps,” Robert warned, “Daddy’s a little busy right now.”

  “…He called his daughter Sugarlumps?” Krov whispered, horrified.

  “That’s not his daughter,” Havoc corrected without hesitation.

  “I need you to go to my room and call Mr. Trueman for me,” Robert ordered sugarlump. “Tell him to come here quickly.”

  Sugarlumps swallowed and began backing away nervously—

  “Stand where you are!” The Baroness commanded, making Sugarlump stop immediately in place.

  “There’s no need to involve anyone else,” the Baroness said firmly. “We just want to talk. Then, we'll leave the way we came. Politely.”

  “I’m not scared of you or the association,” Robert growled

  The Baroness glanced at the others, confused by the accusations.

  “ Association…?” she mouthed.

  Everyone shrugged, they were as confused as her.

  She turned back toward Robert, his finger tightening on the trigger, his eyes darting with certainty to pull it.

  “Please,” the Baroness said softly. “We are only here to learn what actually happened to the Tyrants.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Robert demanded, irritation turning into uncertainty.

  “Did you actually see Victory kill them?” she asked

  Robert’s entire face instantly changed—

  anger replaced by pure shock.

  “Fuck!” he gasped.

  “I can’t let you leave now!” He raised the gun fully and opened fire.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The shots roared through the mansion, echoing off marble and glass.

  Sugarlumps shuddered , hands flying to her mouth as she stumbled back, eyes wide in terror.

  The bullets clinked and bounced harmlessly off the same spot on the hardwood floor.

  Robert’s breath hitched as a looming presence suddenly appeared. The two meters tall man built like a tank stood in front of him.

  Divine.

  He had leapt in front of the gunfire, shielding everyone behind him. His tank top was now riddled with bullet holes, but he didn’t show even a hint of pain. His patience, however, had run out.

  “You done it now, pops!” Divine smacked Robert’s into the wall behind him. The mansion shuddered as plaster cracked and dust rained down.

  “Noo!!” bloodcurdling shout escaped Sugarlumps throat, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the sticky hardwood floor

  Robert coughed, blood streaking his teeth.

  Divine slammed his massive hand into Robert’s face, fingers wrapping around his thick neck. With one arm, he hoisted Robert in the air like he weighed nothing.

  “Start talkin’!” Divine demand.

  “That’s enough! You're going to kill him!” The Baroness stepped forward to warn him.

  But Divine ignored her warnings. Robert’s eyes bulge as air fails to escape his throat, tears welling from the pressure.

  The Pretender swallowed hard, eyes darting between Divine and Robert Judd. Wondering if she should do something.

  Krov clenched his fists, taking half a step forward to intervene but Havoc stopped him.

  “Don't, it will only make things worse.” Havoc whispers to Krov under his breath.

  666 head shook slowly, disapproving of Divine’s excessive use of force but didn't bother to intervene.

  “What the fuck happened to the Tyrant?!” Divine snarled watching Robert's face turning blue.

  For a moment, it looked like Robert was about to pass out before he could answer but then—slowly—he shifted his face.

  “Go to hell...” His grin stretched wide.

  Kravoossh!! His jaw unhinged unnaturally. A burst of red energy erupted, a hurricane of fire was unleashed from his mouth. The flames exploded outward, consuming the entire room instantly . The heat blasted through the mansion causing a massive explosion that shook the foundation of the mansion.

  The mansion’s sprinkler system kicked in, spraying water from the ceiling. Steam rose as the flames hissed out and the room slowly cleared.

  Robert’s breath caught in his throat as he struggled to breathe through the thick black smoke and the stinging scent of burnt wood.

  He coughed, wiping soot from his face. As his vision returned he saw what remained of his mansion was a disaster.

  A massive, jagged hole had been blown open across the front wall—exactly where he had unleashed that hurricane of fire. Everything was scorched, melted, dripping, or collapsed. But there was one comforting sight:

  No sign of those costume freaks.

  “Fucking assholes,” he he sneered proudly to himself, exhausted but triumphant. “Don’t you know who I am?” He took a deep breath, and let out a sigh of relief.

  But before he could feel any more sense of relief, his eyes caught something glinting in the corner.

  Through the fading smoke, a strange structure stood by the middle of the room—tall, golden, and moving stood.

  “What the fuck…?” he murmured.

  The golden structure twitched hard , then unfolded like a cocoon peeling open. Inside it, 666 red visors glowed, Krov single eye burning bright white and The Baroness golden helmet gleaming through the steam and firelight.

  “You—!” Before he could say anything more, The Baroness’ golden vine shot forward and wrapped around his face. It clamped his mouth shut and yanked him violently.

  ----

  Outside the mansion, the surrounding forest lay in ruins. Trees were shattered and scattered across the ground, and tiny flames still flickered in the ash-covered soil.

  The Pretender groaned, leaning against a scorched stump. Her entire body throbbed from the blast. She’d taken real damage—bad enough to hurt—but it could’ve been much worse.

  She looked toward the mansion in the distance, barely visible through drifting smoke.

  They had been blasted that far? How did she even survive?

  She tried to push herself up, but stopped upon feeling something soft shifting behind her. Stepping forward, she turned to look.

  It was Havoc.

  He groaned quietly, his body embedded halfway into a tree trunk like someone had hammered him into it.

  “I require assistance,” Havoc muttered in his usual flat tone.

  The Pretender rushed over and grabbed his arm, pulling hard. It was harder than she expected—his body felt stuck to the bark, almost fused into it. When he finally popped free, she stumbled back with a gasp.

  Something was wrong.

  Havoc’s body was… flat.

  Completely flattened, like a paper cutout of himself. As if he had been squashed between her body and the tree.

  “What’s wrong with your body?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “You crushed me with your weight,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s only natural.”

  Havoc gave a dull grunt, raised his thumb to his mouth, and blew. His body inflated like a balloon, snapping back into its normal shape with a soft *fwump*.

  The Pretender was speechless by the lack of explanation he provided.

  Havoc brushed charred bark off his vest, unfazed. “Everyone’s Alright?”

  “That’s fucking fuck!” Divine erupted nearby, bursting out of a split tree and stomping through dirt and cinders.

  “I should've killed him right there and there!!”

  “That's a yes from him,” Havoc noted. He glanced at The Pretender. “What about you, soldier?”

  “Y-yeah, I’m fine,” she answered quietly, brushing soot from her white coat.

  “In that case, we should head back,” Havoc said calmly. “The others may need our help.”

  “Already on it!” Divine called, already sprinting toward the mansion. “Move your ass!” he shouted over his shoulder without even turning.

  “Unbelievable,” Havoc muttered, shaking his head. He grunted and fell into stride, The Pretender close behind him.

  The run back was exhausting. They’d been flung far across the forested grounds. The Pretender’s lungs burned with every breath as she tried to keep pace with them.

  Havoc was unbothered, his pace steady and relentless. Divine moved surprisingly fast for someone of his build, almost gliding between the trees.

  Suddenly, Havoc raised his right hand and came to a stop. The Pretender stumbled to a halt behind him, taking the opportunity to catch her breath.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, panting.

  “He’s sensing something,” Havoc said warily, nodding toward Divine, who had also stopped running and began scanning the ruined forest around them.

  The Pretender looked around, trying to understand what he meant.

  Without warning, Divine changed direction and vanished into the trees, moving faster than the eye could follow.

  “Someone’s coming, Hide!” Havoc’s tone shifted sharply. He dove into a nearby underbrush, disappearing into the shadows without a sound.

  The Pretender froze, caught between panic and indecision.

  “Wha—what?” she stammered, eyes wide. Should she move? Hide? Before she could decide, a voice cut through the air.

  “Don’t move.”

  The tone is sharp, cold, and absolute.

  Above her, the forest seemed to shiver. Branches groaned, leaves trembled. A shadow fell over her, stretching impossibly long across the ground.

  Eugene hovering just above the treetops. Behind him white mechanical wings spread wide, each feather-like panel pulsing with a cold, precise light that cast moving shards of shadow across the forest floor.

  His silver eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, calculating. There was only hatred in his gaze directed towards her.