A dull, burning ache crept through Noir's body, but something deeper flared within—a furious spark that refused to be extinguished. It was not fear, nor despair, but a rising force inside him, as if his soul screamed that his story could not end here. He still had a family, still had vengeance to enact. He still had a purpose.
His legs moved before thought caught up, a burst of primal speed carrying him away from the chaos. He dodged past flaming rubble, his ears still ringing from the shattering impact of Cloud Solslade's blue flame. Spotting a long, sturdy metal pole protruding from the wreckage of the royal plaza, Noir sprinted toward it. With no hesitation, he planted the pole into the ground and launched himself through the air like a human cannonball.
He flew—more a desperate leap than a calculated escape—and crashed into a narrow alley far from the palace. Blood trickled from a gash above his eyebrow, and every breath felt like a knife in his lungs. But he was alive. Barely.
Noir sat there, his back pressed against the rusted wall of a forgotten building, staring up at the smog-streaked sky. The guilt gnawed at him—he had done nothing. No change, no impact. He clenched his fists.
"If I want to fix this… I need to become someone capable of doing so," he muttered, standing up despite the pain.
Five months. That's all he had. Five months until his birthday. Five months to reshape his fate.
He wandered the outer rings of the city, seeking shelter. Door after door slammed in his face. He was just another vagrant to them—dirty, beaten, and unwanted.
Until a pair of kind eyes changed everything.
An older woman, tall and lean with silver-streaked brown hair named Irva, and her son, a quiet but observant boy named Tallo, found him slumped outside a mechanic's warehouse. Rather than turning him away, Irva offered him food, rest, and most importantly—a roof. "You can stay for up to a year, as long as you help out," she said with a soft smile.
For the first time in weeks, Noir cried.
Month 1: The Foundation
Noir's days began before sunrise. He set a strict regimen for himself: 1,000 pushups, 1,000 squats, a two-hour city run (which eventually became two laps), and a one-hour plank that gradually doubled over time.
By night, he worked in Irva's scrapyard, repurposing old tech. He crafted mock weapons, training machines, and even modified gadgets to analyze movement and timing. Tallo often watched in awe.
"I never knew humans could work like that," the boy once whispered.
Noir just grinned. "We can, when we don't have powers. All we have is our will."
Month 2: The Combat Mind
Irva, it turned out, had a hidden past. A retired bounty hunter, she recognized Noir's determination and took it upon herself to teach him hand-to-hand combat.
He learned strikes, parries, balance, and prediction. Each day was grueling, often ending with him bruised and bleeding. But each day, he grew sharper. Quicker. Smarter.
Tallo cheered him on, even drawing diagrams of the fights and tactics. The three formed an unlikely family—one stitched together by kindness and necessity.
Month 3: Becoming a Weapon
By the end of the third month, Noir's body was defined and solid. His reflexes were instinctual. He could craft tools on the fly, disable surveillance with a glance, and take down ten men without breaking rhythm.
He had changed.
But peace never lasts.
The Decree of Destruction
A broadcast buzzed over the city's main square. Holographic projections bloomed across the sky, flickering with crackling menace. At the center, stood Cloud Solslade, his draconic blue form radiating arrogance and power.
"This city has harbored rats for too long," Cloud's voice thundered. "All buildings in Central District are to be destroyed in three days. Any who resist shall burn with their walls."
Noir's heart stopped. That was where Irva and Tallo lived. That was where he had trained, bled, and become stronger.
Word spread like wildfire. People fled in panic, while others sank in despair. Irva, calm as always, began packing. "It was bound to happen someday," she muttered.
But Noir couldn't accept it.
He raced through the city's alleys, gathering information. Then, it happened.
A blaster beam—bright, scorching—screamed down from above and struck the ground just meters from their home. Irva screamed. Noir turned—Tallo was lying on the ground, blood pouring from what was once his left arm.
A hovering drone hovered above, Cloud's holographic face sneering.
"You think you can challenge me?" Cloud's voice echoed through the device. "Come quietly to my citadel, or I finish the boy off and burn what remains of your hope."
Noir froze.
Irva clutched her son, tears streaming down her face as she tried to stifle his screams.
Noir clenched his fists, his eyes locked on the drone.
He had five months to prepare.
But now…
He was out of time.