The old, regular Neocab, a flying ride-hailing autopilot car common in Almandale, had just stopped before a gigantic estate carved and built with luxury. It stopped hovering at sight of the estate's golden gate, and soon descended for its passenger to exit.
"The Vancouvers' I Estate LM Sensor (Location Marker Sensor) detected. We've successfully arrived at the destination. Please, retrieve your card, Amy." The automated, mechanical Neocab's system declared.
The seated blonde figure proceeded to retrieve a golden card slipped into the car's system. The door made a mechanical hiss and slid open, allowing passage for the passenger.
"Here we go again," Amy muttered under her breath as she stepped out.
The Neocab's door automatically closed and made its ascent after registering its passenger departure.
The biometric system mounted on the gate had scanned her face and requested her fingerprint before she was granted access into the estate.
The estate's courtyard stretched like a stadium, with several water fountains, manicured lawns, artificial lakes, garden bridges, and patios accentuating it, adding a special touch of appreciative nature aesthetics.
The yard was so big it required vehicular movements to get to the towering, gigantic mansion fixated two-hundred meters away from the gate.
Amy gave a short glance at the fleet of LSVs (Low Speed Vehicles) parked by a side before making her resolve.
She was too exhausted to take the four wheeled tortoises, that she had to use her ability. Yes, the technique consumed a lot of mana, but who cares about that when ya need to lay and sleep your worries away?
She gathered electricity around her body, glowing a magnificent ethereal blue, the atmosphere around her crackling... with a zap, she bolted to the mansion's door.
She materialized before a heavy mahogany door, her breathing irregular from the expense of mana and energy the skill consumed.
Her legs wobbled, not just from the skill she had used, but also from last night's... mischief. She struggled to get a hold, resorting to few breathing exercises to regain composure.
Her breathing soon became regular, face regaining color, nonchalant expression worn like a second skin. The heavy door flung open, and she was brought into the luxury she grew in.
"Oh, the runaway princess is finally back." A young, vibrant voice ushered her in. It was sweet, undeniably soft and clear, like silk wrapped around blade.
"Aunt Clara," Amy muttered under her breath, more amused than annoyed.
"When did you get back, aunt? Last thing I heard about you was your dominating schemes and influence over one of Asia's big shots, that you wrapped a powerful firm around your fingers, puppeteering from the shadows." Amy replied from the doorway, her eyes already gawking the marble tiled stairs spiraling upwards.
"Well, you should know that's more like Clara. Now, young lady, I believe that doesn't answer the question of your whereabouts and why you've failed to keep us updated." Another voice replied her. This one thick, calm but hinting fatigueness carved into its pitch.
Amy turned to the source and acknowledged the presence of her father, a tall, lean man with tiredness etched onto his soul like stubborn ink on a white shirt. The dark bags under his eyes did well to define his bad characteristic.
"Rest," she stared into the man's eyes, disregarding the usual anomaly and his questions. "That's all I need now, Dad."
It was safe to say she didn't feel any nudge of remorse, or maybe she had locked that far away from her. She was already used to this picture; a well known powerful multibillionaire looking like a zombie, the head of Vancouvers hanging onto a thread that differentiated the living from the dead.
"You know we heard about your drama at the the prom night, right?" Clara added, looking up from the tablet in her clutch.
"We even have the video." She smirked, increasing the volume of the device playing Amy's recorded performance.
The sound of her and Syril's dance performance bounced through the walls, each wave striking the fatherly figure's nerves.
"Care to explain to your favorite aunty?"
"What was that all about?! Why do you keep doing this?! I've told you several times... you know why we're doing this, yet you chose to go against my words?!" Amy's father, Jack, lamented, his anger boiling over.
"Just like you don't listen to me." She turned to her father, staring him for few seconds before she shrugged, completely unfazed by her father's turmoil.
"But why him? Why choose a... useless one?!" Jack's frustration was reaching the peak.
That was the turning point for Amy. Her face scrunched in the grotesquest way, her muscles rigid like she was holding a storm in, preventing it from exploding.
"What do you mean by useless?" Her eyes narrowed into dangerous crescents, voice chillingly and barely over a whisper.
"Oh, this is getting fun," Clara fumfered, clearly amused by the father-daughter drama.
"Oh, we did our diggings... turns out you settled for a boy with no ability. How preposterous!" Jack's pitch rose again, sparks of electricity already crackling around his fingers.
"At least he listens to someone!" She sneered back.
"What are you implying?"
She simply shrugged again, walked past Jack, eying the spiraling stairs and already gathering electricity around her body for Bolt Jump. She had had enough of a day and still needed that rest anyways.
However, in Jack's white-hot moment, he flinched his fingers, sending a zap of his own lightning, intending to disrupt his daughter's.
The result was... inauspicious. Jack had only wanted to cancel his daughter's ability, still interested in his own interrogation... unfortunately, he had unintentionally spike his energy, and not only canceled Amy's charge, but blasted her away to the nearest wall, leading to a sprained ankle and an internal rupture.
"No... no, my... princess." Jack struggled with words, all of his anger, the hot fog, dissipated and replaced with a wash of remorse and paternal care.
"I'm sorry. I'm..."
He dashed to her side instantly, his hands reaching to soothe...
*PAH*
A hand slapped his. He turned his head and looked up, surprised to see his own sister, Clara. Her face wasn't squeezed with exasperation, but the look in her eyes told a vivid story of disappointment.
"You've done enough damage." She simply said before wrapping her arms around the poor girl and assisting to her room.
◇◇◇◇
Meanwhile, somewhere in the Upper West, in a manor that seemed more like a fortress, wild, clanking sounds reverberated in an enclosed space like it was World War II.
Scattered on the floor were metallic plates, metal bars, metallic chairs, and many other metallic stuffs. All broken and bending in a grotesque way.
The room was poorly lit, the only source of illumination being a single hanging lamp in the middle of the room.
All of the space, the dismantled objects laying uselessly on the ground, the scratches on the wall, everything, belonged to a crazy individual whose wrath was colder than the metal he controlled, whose silent anger results to intense practices and skills honing.
The calm and composed demeanor he habitually portrayed outside was a facade that was well-known to those who knew him well. A false appearance he managed, to benefit his interests.
"You think you're a big deal?!" He screamed.
It was funny that no one was even there. He wasn't talking to anyone present, but his anger was real. His words fell against the shattered metals and the very own walls that surrounded him, bouncing back to him in useless echoes.
He stretched his arms, raising them with the scattered metals. The metals obeyed, following his order and dancing to his will.
One by one, they clung, every merging sound reverberating endlessly in the enclosure. The metals bent at his will, twisting and breaking in unnatural ways he had control over.
"You think you've made a good shot? That you're now cool?!"
"And I know... that sly electric witch was the one who orchestrated it. A way to disrespect me?!"
"YOU SPAT ON MY FACE, MOTHERFUCKER!" His pitch rose, his hands trembling as he controlled the enmassed metal, still bending and forming something that looked inimical.
"All of those people... the crowd! You disgraced me and left afterwards, letting the insult linger longer than it should!"
"Worse, you ruined my plans! My meticulous arrangements, everything, destroyed!"
The whole floor had been cleaned, all scraps cleared and merged with the singular metallic waste floating in the air.
He had finished whatever he was building. The result; a long, crescented blade with fine edges and smooth surface. It was a master forgery, an object born and shaped by contempt.
His arms were now visibly trembling, the blade threatening to escape his immense control. It's no shocker he had emptied his mana reserve to create the death made in blade. The forgery was perfected with almost all of his mana.
He levitated the gigantic blade higher, straining his control and draining his mana further. His nose was trickling blood, but he cared not. That was his way, his style of honing and mastering perfection.
With a sway of his arms, he released the crescent, and it found its mark. The death blade pierced the wall, and inflicted a deep gorge on the hard wall.
"I'm coming for you, Syril."