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It was the middle of the night in the White House, yet every light was blazing.
The most powerful people in the country had gathered again.
This time, no one spoke. All eyes were locked on the massive central screen.
On it, scene after scene played out—terrifying, unbelievable footage.
The figure in the video was just a teenager—technically still in high school—but in the eyes of everyone watching, he was more frightening than the deadliest terrorist alive.
He could control objects, freeze bullets in midair, move at inhuman speeds… even fly. Each display of power was shocking—and, in a twisted way, intoxicating.
One casual gesture, and bullets simply hung in place. Against him, firearms might as well have been toys.
At last, the military escalated. No more holding back—armor-piercing rounds, RPGs, the kind of firepower meant for full-scale war—were unleashed against a single high-schooler.
The storm of explosions engulfed him, waves of fire sweeping out in all directions. Surely, this time, nothing could survive.
Someone exhaled in relief."Finally. That monster's dead."
"As expected—American firepower is unmatched. Supernatural? Demon? How many divisions do they have?" The smug voices carried through the room.
Others began to relax, color returning to their faces. Truth be told, the thought of a being like that had weighed heavily on them all.
But the most senior figures—the ones at the very top—weren't smiling. Their expressions only grew darker.
"Keep watching," the president said quietly.
The ones who'd spoken froze. Not over yet?
They turned back to the screen. The flames raged on. Seconds passed. Ten… sixty… three minutes… five.
Then, the first sign.
A low, strange hum began to spread outward.
The ground itself seemed to shiver.
And then—
A blast of psychic force ripped outward, tearing the firestorm in half. A figure stepped into view, almost completely unscathed.
It was still the same boy. The only difference was the absence of the Black man's corpse he'd been carrying earlier—and an unmistakable change in his presence. He radiated something far darker, far more terrifying.
His eyes were pure black, deeper than the abyss, more dreadful than any demon's.
Invisible waves of power pulsed from him. Dust scattered. People close by were thrown through the air. Within dozens of meters, walls warped, machinery crumpled, everything bent and shattered as if reality itself were twisting.
He moved. Slowly, deliberately. One sweep of his hand, and dozens of men—and the police cars beside them—folded in on themselves like paper.
Another wave. A tank was reduced to scrap.
Guns, tanks… they were weeds before him, torn up with casual disdain. He moved like a god—no, like something that had no right to exist—erasing anything in his path.
One against a hundred? A thousand?
"Impossible!"
The shout broke the silence, shrill with panic."How can that monster be so strong?!"
The room fell silent again. Fear hung heavy in the air.
"We still have nuclear weapons," someone said finally. "Weapons that can kill gods. Humanity's final word."
"Nukes will end him. They have to."
The president inhaled deeply. "Keep watching."
A chill ran down spines. Could this… thing… withstand even that?
The footage continued.
On the battlefield, the commander made the call: their last resort. Not a nuke, but something close—the so-called sub-nuclear weapon, a fuel-air bomb.
The bomb roared skyward, trailing fire, then struck.
A mushroom cloud rose, the blast annihilating everything for hundreds of meters.
"Is he dead?"
Eyes were wide, unblinking.
Minutes passed. Then—out of the flames—a shape emerged.
Charred black, half-melted, barely recognizable as human… but still moving.
Step by step, he staggered forward, then lifted into the air, disappearing into the clouds.
Good news: the bomb had hurt him.
Bad news: even like that, he could still move. If anyone doubted the danger before, they didn't now.
"One bomb isn't enough. Two or three would do it. Or just use a thermobaric," a general muttered, oddly relieved.
Dangerous? Yes. But not untouchable. And if even a fuel-air bomb could hurt him, then real nuclear weapons—of which the United States had plenty—could surely kill him.
If he could bleed, he could die. That was the only comfort they had.
The president turned to the youngest person in the room, a tall blonde woman.
"Miss Ivanka. It's your turn."
She rose, her 1.8-meter supermodel frame somehow commanding even here.
"You all saw it," she said. "That monster—more accurately, that boy, Andrew—was different after the tank barrage than before. Stronger."
"That's because he… advanced."
Faces darkened instantly.
No one here was a fool. If he could grow stronger once, he could do it again—and the blast he'd just endured might not be his limit.
"Miss Ivanka, what exactly does 'advance' mean? Can he get stronger still? And how do you even know all this?"
The questions came fast, threatening to drown her.
Ivanka was ready. "The extraordinary are ranked: third-class, second-class, first-class. What you saw was Andrew advancing from third to second. If he reaches first-class… trust me, even nuclear weapons will be useless."
"As for how I know… do you remember the battle between a god and a demon?"
Of course they did.
"The victorious god is currently a guest of the Trump family. Everything I know comes from him."
The room's mood shifted. Where there had been doubt—or lewd thoughts—now there was something close to awe.
This woman had spoken to a god.
"Then… could that god kill Andrew?"
Every gaze fixed on her, desperate. If the god could do it, the nightmare would be over.
Ivanka shook her head.
"He won, but was badly wounded. He can't fight again anytime soon. And… he's not a true god, but the messenger of my Lord, the God of Light, Baldr."
"Baldr… one of the Twelve Gods of Norse myth?"
The idea that mythology might be real sent murmurs through the room.
"If Baldr exists… does that mean Odin, Zeus, the Christian God…?"
The whispers grew.
"Enough," Ivanka's cold voice cut through the noise.
"A first-class extraordinary can ignore nuclear weapons and take the world if they wish. Imagine what beings stronger than that are capable of—let alone the true gods."
"And don't fool yourselves. Even if the gods exist, they won't look our way. The only reason Baldr's messenger is here is because his enemy—the messenger of the Dark God Hodr—came to our world first."
"....."