Aisha was on her knees, her breath coming in ragged, painful sobs as she watched the Void Host casually dismember what was left of her team. The cold, calculating look in its eyes was a wound deeper than any physical one. The boy was gone. The thing that wore his skin was a monster. Nneka, her face a mask of furious desperation, had managed to crawl to their ruined comms unit. She was screaming into the broken device, her voice a desperate, frantic plea.
"Div Six! Div Six, this is Operative Nneka! We have an unclassified asset, an anomaly with a Class-A signature! We are facing a Null-Kinetic. Repeat, a Null-Kinetic! We are taking heavy casualties! Requesting immediate backup! We're at—"
The Void Host, as if bored by the conversation, simply raised a hand. The comms unit, with its blinking lights and a half-dozen wires, simply ceased to exist. It didn't explode. It didn't melt. It was just gone, as if the concept of it had never been.
"I have heard enough of your pathetic wailing," it said, its voice a dry, rasping echo. It looked at Aisha and Nneka with that same cold, terrifying curiosity. "It's your turn to entertain me."
And then, a sound cut through the silence. A deep, resonant hum that spoke of power that was not of the Void, but of the Earth itself. A low, rolling vibration that shook the very ground they stood on. The Void Host's head tilted slightly to the side, a gesture of mild annoyance.
"They're here," Nneka whispered, her face pale with relief and a new kind of dread.
A massive form crashed through the ceiling of the factory, a blur of motion and raw power. He was a mountain of a man, his skin a dark, glistening black, covered in intricate, glowing red scars that pulsed with a deep, internal light. He held no weapon, for his hands were the weapons themselves. This was Captain Akanni, the legendary leader of Division Six and a Scion of the earth-bending Founders. He was known for his calm, his power, and his unyielding will. He was followed by his team, a group of silent, deadly operatives who moved as one, their every motion a testament to their skill.
"The reports didn't do you justice," Captain Akanni said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that was as comforting as a warm fire in a storm. His glowing red eyes, which were a stark contrast to Kwandezi's swirling purple abysses, were fixed on the Void Host. "A Null-Kinetic. A truly remarkable ability. But you're not a monster. You're just a very angry child."
The Void Host simply smiled. The expression was not one of humor, but of pure, cold malice. It raised its hands, and a vortex of dark, shimmering energy swirled around it, a growing storm of nothingness that would consume the entire city. "Come," it said, and the very air was filled with a chilling invitation. "Let us play."
The captain's team moved in a flash. They were not an unorganized rabble like Aisha's team. They were a well-oiled machine, each operative a specialized instrument of destruction. They hit the Void Host with everything they had. One operative, a woman with a power signature of electricity, unleashed a torrent of lightning. It simply disintegrated into nothingness. Another, a man with pyromancy, launched a massive fireball. It was extinguished as if it had never been lit. The Void Host did not fight them. It simply stood there, its power nullifying every attack, its eyes watching them as if they were performing for its amusement.
Then, the Void Host struck. It raised its hand, and the ground beneath Captain Akanni's feet began to twist and warp, the concrete turning into a jagged, organic nightmare. The Captain, a master of his own earth-bending power, used his will to fight back. The ground groaned and shook, but he was winning. The Void Host was powerful, but it was not a master of the Earth.
However, the Void Host was a master of everything else. While the captain was occupied, it simply raised its other hand and made a simple gesture. A dark, ethereal flame, a manifestation of the Void itself, shot out, consuming the bodies of the operatives. They didn't scream. They didn't cry. They were simply erased from existence, their bodies disintegrating into a cloud of ash. The Void Host had no interest in a drawn-out, messy fight. It wanted to get to the point.
Captain Akanni roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage. He was not just a captain. He was a father, and he had just lost his children. He summoned all the power he had, all the fury and grief that was in his heart, and he slammed his hands to the ground. The very earth rose up, a massive, towering fist of solid concrete that was a testament to his sheer will.
But the Void Host was not impressed.
"Pathetic," it said, its voice filled with a cold, terrifying amusement. "Your sentiment is… inefficient."
Just as the earth fist was about to strike, the Void Host raised its hands, and a massive, all-consuming vortex of dark energy began to form above it, its power so immense it was pulling the very light from the sky. It was a weapon of mass destruction, and it would consume the entire city. Aisha and Nneka, their hearts filled with despair, could only watch, knowing that this was the end.
And then, for a single, fleeting second, the vortex stopped. The Void Host flinched, its head tilted to the side, as if listening to a distant whisper. A powerful, emotional surge rippled out from it, a wave of pain so profound it made Aisha gasp. The apathy in its eyes was replaced by a single, crushing emotion: self-loathing.
It was Kwandezi. He was back.
He raised a single hand to his chest, his eyes, still glowing with a purple light, filled with a primal agony. He felt the sheer, monstrous power of the Void Host within him, the part of him that was free from his guilt, the part of him that was about to destroy the very city that his mother had loved. He couldn't let that happen. Not after everything. Not after he had already killed her.
With a powerful, agonizing scream, he plunged his hand into his own chest. His hand, covered in the dark flames of his power, was his weapon, and his own body was his enemy. He grabbed his heart, a physical manifestation of his guilt and sorrow, and with a raw, agonizing roar, he ripped it out, a violent, brutal act of self-sacrifice. His body, wracked with agony, simply slumped to the ground, the brilliant purple light in his eyes fading into a dull, lifeless glow.
The vortex of nothingness dissipated, and the world was bathed in light once more. The Void Host was gone. Kwandezi, his chest a gaping, bloody wound, was a silent, unmoving form on the ground.
Captain Akanni and his remaining team members, their faces ashen, surrounded the boy. They had seen the wound. It was fatal. He was dead.
But as they watched, they saw it. A single, small, bright pulse of light at the edge of the wound. The bleeding had stopped. The skin was knitting together, a slow, agonizing process. The heart, which lay on the ground, was no longer his. He was a monster, yes. But he was also immortal. His heart was no longer the source of his life.
They had captured him. They had contained him. But they knew with a cold, terrifying certainty that this was not the end. It was only the beginning.