THIRD PERSON POV
The Next Day…
Killganon Estate – Manhattan, New York...
Alec Killganon's morning had been perfect from the start.
The sun had hit just right when he drew back the curtains, casting gold over his penthouse suite like the universe itself was tipping its hat to him.
The bitter coffee tasted sweeter. The brisk chill in the early November air felt invigorating rather than biting.
Even his bad knee—nagging him since college lacrosse—seemed to forget its usual complaints.
Most importantly, the phone call he'd been waiting eighteen years to hear had finally come through.
The family lawyers confirmed it: Killian was out. Scrubbed clean from every record, inheritance clause, and trust registry. A ghost.
Alec had signed the papers himself, pressing the pen with the weight of finality.
There was a spring in his step as he walked the marble halls of the Killganon estate.
His voice carried as he joked with his sons over brunch. Even Jennifer noticed his good mood; he'd performed so well in bed last night that she teased him over eggs and bacon about taking performance enhancers.
Alec only smirked in reply.
For the first time in years, Alec Killganon felt untouchable.
The living room television murmured in the background—financial tickers, muted voices of news anchors. Alec barely paid attention, swirling the last sip of orange juice in his glass like it was a victory toast.
He had earned this. He had won.
Then the broadcast cut to a press conference, live from Midtown.
The anchor's words drifted into Alec's ear half-formed at first, then sharpened like glass:
"We're live outside the newly purchased Blackwell Tower, where an unexpected announcement is being made by the Blackwell Family and—Killian… Killganon? Grandson of Killganon Pharmaceuticals' CEO and Founder Elias Killganon."
The glass froze halfway to Alec's lips. His smirk faltered. The sound of Jennifer's fork clinking against her plate suddenly seemed deafening.
The camera shifted. A familiar face filled the screen, grinning slyly but unmistakable. Alec's blood ran cold.
And just like that, his perfect day collapsed.
___________________________
KILLIAN'S POV
Blackwell Family Press Conference – Midtown Manhattan
The crowd's energy buzzed against my skin—press badges flashing, cameras whirring, microphones jostling like feeding sharks.
I watched them all, knowing their worth. Their heartbeats quickened.
I grin, using my newly created skill, [God's Eye], to watch the expression of pure horror and shock on my father's face as he watches this.
Since the target audience is here, we shouldn't keep them waiting.
I activate [Charm], and create a new skill for public speaking. [Silkspeech].
The two are the virtually the same, but latter works verbally and is much more potent because it only targets a person's auditory senses.
With the two skills active, I step onto the podium and smile.
The crowd hushed as I stepped onto the podium, twelve of my new security detail cutting an imposing path through the chaos.
Reporters craned their necks to see me. Some smiled without knowing why.
Others fumbled with their questions, their hostility blunted by something they couldn't name.
I smiled, crisp and sharp as a razor.
"Hello. Many of you don't know me—but that's alright. My name is Killian Killganon. Well… it was." I let the words hang, savoring their weight.
"As of yesterday, I was formally disowned by my father, Alec Killganon—fourth child of Elias Killganon, founder and CEO of Killgan Pharmaceuticals."
Gasps rippled through the press line. Cameras zoomed in, shutters snapping.
"So now," I continued, "my name is as it always should have been: Killian Blackwell. Son of Trisha Blackwell… and current head of the Blackwell family.
We are here to announce our emergence into the world of business."
I gestured to the towering building behind me—sleek, black steel and glass catching the noon sun like a blade.
"I'll take your questions now."
A swarm of voices rose at once, but one cut through:
"Mr. Blackwell! Do you harbor any intentions of entering the pharmaceuticals market, given your… history?"
I let the pause draw out until it felt like the whole city was holding its breath.
"The Blackwell Family will be entering the technology sector first," I said evenly. "But yes… Killgan Pharmaceuticals will fall. And it will fall by my hand. Even if nothing else is remembered from today, remember this—" I leaned forward, voice dropping to a blade's edge. "—you shouldn't wound that which you lack the power to kill. The era of Blackwell begins now."
The crowd erupted. Questions shouted, cameras flashed, chaos swirled. I simply walked off the stage, bodyguards parting the sea of reporters.
Alfred held the limo door open for me with his usual unshakable calm.
"Where to, sir?" he asked as I slid into the leather seat.
"The warehouse I told you to buy. And activate [Mirage]. I don't want anyone tailing us."
"Yes, sir. Five minutes."
As the limo glided through Manhattan traffic, I crafted a new skill—[Omni-Technopathy]. With a thought, I reached into the data streams of the city, plucking Alec Killganon's secure number like a thread from a web.
I sent the message under the alias 'KB' :
Your opening move failed. My counter was premeditated. Take this seriously. Don't posture. Don't try to be tough. Because even ice is hard… until it's hit with heat.
I grinned, watching the digital confirmation of delivery pop on my mental display.
Somewhere in Manhattan, Alec Killganon's hands were trembling as the message and contact information erased itself.
The game has been active since the very beginning. And its a pity that it was only now that he realized... He was a player all along...