Nate exhaled slowly.
A decade of hunting. Books, interviews, forums—he’d searched for anything that might crack the system.
Found nothing.
But he learned. More than most.
The System was just a tool. A mindless construct, designed by the great Gods of Velen to aid humanity against the otherworlders. No thoughts. No will. No agenda.
Yet Vega spoke like she had all three.
A sentient assistant, as she put it.
That wasn’t how it worked.
He frowned, turning the thought over. The way she responded—fluid, almost natural. The way she seemed to know what he felt before he even said a word.
Not just an advanced interface. Something else entirely.
A trick? An experiment? A mistake?
Or something deliberate?
“Nathan,” Vega said, softer now. Almost gentle. “I understand this is… unsettling. But I’m not your enemy. I’m here to help. Let me help.”
Help.
The word sat bitter on his tongue.
Help always came with strings. Always.
But what choice did he have?
He let out another slow breath. Set the uncertainty aside. He could analyze it later.
Right now, only one thing mattered.
Revenge.
Not his pride. Not his doubt. Not the quiet unease gnawing at the back of his mind.
The Heroes. The Villains. They had taken everything from him.
And now, for the first time, he had a chance to hit back.
Even if it meant working with Vega.
“Fine,” he said. “We can work together.”
Silence. Heavy. Expectant.
Then Vega spoke, calm and steady.
“Good. Let’s get to work.”
.
.
.
The night wind bit at his skin as he stepped onto the rooftop.
“Find high ground,” Vega had said.
Twelve stories. No elevator. His legs burned. This was high enough.
“Okay.” Nate cracked his neck. “What’s next?”
“To become an efficient Damage Controller, you must first understand how the Damage Control System works,” Vega said. “I believe you grasp parts of it, but due to your mind-fog, not all of it. Right?”
Nate exhaled. Hesitated.
“...Right.”
He remembered bits of the tunnel collapse. Could connect the dots, piece together a clearer picture—
“No need for that,” Vega cut in. “The next Damage Control will tell you all you need to know.”
“Sure,” Nate muttered, bracing himself for another collapse. Or worse.
“Look out over the city, Nathan,” Vega said.
Nate scanned the skyline. The system screen flickered to life.
Ding! Default skill [Hivemind] Activated.
A sharp pang knifed through his skull. Then—voices.
A million of them.
Screaming. Whispering. Yelling. All at once.
What the—
Nate staggered, hands clamping over his ears. It didn’t help. The noise was too much. Too loud. Ripping through his mind like static turned to max.
His breath hitched. Knees buckled.
Stop. Make it stop. Stop!
Filtering…
The storm of voices drained away, leaving only a few. Manageable.
Nate gasped for air, fingers pressing into his temple. The pain lingered—dull, throbbing—but he could breathe now. Stand. Think.
He was about to say, “What the fuck was—” when a shiver crawled down his spine.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Then, a woman’s voice.
Soft. Clear. Too close.
“What is that?” she wondered aloud, confused.
Nate froze.
He felt her confusion. Not just heard it—felt it. Like it was his own. A sharp, foreign sensation twisting inside him.
And then it changed.
Morphed.
Turned into raw, consuming dread.
His heart pounded harder. Faster.
“No… No… Nooo!” she screamed. A piercing wail. Terror-filled.
Nate wanted to scream too—but he couldn’t. Didn’t understand why.
And then—
BOOM!
The ground trembled. Sirens wailed.
The woman’s voice cut off.
A fireball erupted on the horizon, spilling light and shadow across the city.
Nate flinched, arms raised instinctively against the blinding glow.
The dread gripping him eased. Just enough to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
The system screen flickered again.
Damage Detected. Assessing…
Damage Assessed.
Villain Attack!
Damage Score: 57 / Damage Level: Critical.
Immediate Structural Stabilization Required to Avoid Further Destruction and Casualty.
Rewards: +Level, +All Stats, +Strength, +Endurance, +Perception, +Mana.
Nate staggered back, eyes jumping between the system screen and the rising fireball.
“I'm supposed to control that in exchange for these rewards?” His pulse pounded against his ribs.
“Exactly,” Vega said. “You’ll have to get stronger to have your revenge, Nathan. Control Damages like these, and the rewards will make you stronger. Far stronger than any of those pesky bugs.”
Nate swallowed. His fists clenched.
A villain attack. A city in chaos.
And now, he had to fix it.
He exhaled sharply, shoving the fear aside.
“Fine. Tell me what to do.”
“Of course!” Vega sounded almost pleased. Professional, but pleased.
.
.
.
“To control Damage, you’ve been equipped with a set of unique skills,” Vega explained. “The first of which is [Hivemind]. It allows you to detect damage by tapping into the vast human psyche. You experience it firsthand, in real-time. That way, you feel the urgency to act.”
Nate flexed his fingers, jaw tight. He could still hear the woman’s scream, still feel her dread like it was his own.
He had to save her. And the others.
“Next skill is [Magnetic Shift]. It lets you manipulate metal within range. You can use it to clear debris… or, in this instance, travel to the Damage Site.”
Nate blinked. “Travel?”
“Jump off the roof to give it a try.”
He turned toward the ledge. Wind howled past, the streets below stretching into a distant blur of neon and concrete.
“You want me to—”
“Jump! Yes,” Vega said, matter-of-fact. “Best way to test it.”
“You're kidding.”
“I don’t joke, Nathan. I recognize your potential better than you do.”
Nate exhaled. Focused. His pulse hammered, but he forced it steady.
[Magnetic Shift]
The words flickered across his mind like muscle memory. A tingling sensation buzzed through his limbs. Then—
Metal. He felt it. A pull, an awareness, as if every scrap of steel and iron around him had become an extension of his own body.
He clenched his fists. Tested the feeling. A rooftop vent groaned, its bolts creaking as it trembled in place.
Okay. This was real.
“Jump, Nathan.”
He let out a slow breath.
Then he ran.
Three steps. A push. And he was airborne.
The road rushed up to meet him. Wind roared in his ears.
His instincts screamed. His gut flipped.
Then he reached for it. The metal.
A streetlamp.
The moment he locked onto it, the air yanked him sideways. Hard.
Too hard.
He barely had time to brace before he overshot—his trajectory wild, body twisting out of control.
“Shit!”
The side of a building rushed up. He flung his hands out—instinct, desperation—grabbing for anything. The [Magnetic Shift] kicked in just in time, yanking him toward a nearby fire escape instead. His shoulder slammed into the railing. Hard.
Pain jolted through him. His fingers scrabbled for purchase. The metal groaned under his grip, but held.
He grinned. “Not bad.”
“Sloppy,” Vega noted.
“You think?” Nate gritted his teeth, shaking off the sting.
“You pulled too much force without adjusting for momentum. Again. This time, compensate.”
He exhaled sharply. Focused.
The next lamp was ten feet ahead. He reached—pulled—but controlled it this time, easing the force, letting himself move instead of hurling himself like a ragdoll.
He landed. But wrong. His boots hit the metal at an angle, and for a second, he slipped.
His stomach lurched. The street blurred below.
He snatched at the pole with his hand, fingers locking around it just before he lost his balance completely.
Vega sighed. “Better. Not by much.”
Nate flexed his grip, jaw tight. “You wanna do this?”
“I am doing this. Through you.”
He huffed out a breath. Next pole.
This time, he nailed it. The movement felt smoother. Faster. Less like barely surviving, more like actual control.
By the fourth leap, his rhythm clicked. His body knew what to expect. He was learning.
Vega must have noticed too.
“Good. Now keep up that pace, or you won’t make it in time.”
Nate didn’t respond. He was already moving, leaping from pole to pole, the city blurring around him.
The fireball loomed ahead. The wreckage. The chaos.
His landing wouldn’t be gentle.
But he’d get there.
.
.
.
Thirty or so streetlamps later, Nate hit the ground.
Skidded. Rolled. Once, twice—then came to a jarring stop right at the edge of the Damage site.
Pain flared through his side, but he ignored it.
Because Half of Ward 13 was wrecked.
Fire and smoke choked the air. Buildings had caved in, crushing cars beneath slabs of concrete and twisted steel. Glass littered the pavement. Sirens blared uselessly over the crackle of flames.
Nate pushed himself up, wincing. “Hell.”
He scanned the destruction. His ears rang. Screams. Agonized cries. People trapped.
His gut said move. Clear the wreckage. But he wasn’t strong enough. Not yet. And the fire? The smoke? They’d kill him first.
That tunnel—alone—was one thing. This was different.
“…How am I supposed to—”
“Don’t fret,” Vega cut in. “You have everything you need. Time for your next skill—”
Then she stopped.
A pause. A hitch of static. Then—
“Behind you!”
Nate spun.
A fireball, roaring through the air. Barreling straight for him.
No time to think. He lunged sideways, instincts kicking in. Reached—yanked—his power locking onto the metal staircase of the building beside him.
The pull was too strong.
Instead of a clean escape, he slammed into the staircase hard, ribs rattling, breath knocked from his lungs. His vision swam—
BOOM!
The fireball hit the wreckage behind him.
Flames erupted. Heat seared his skin.
And the screams?
Gone.
Nate’s stomach twisted. No. No, no, no—
He scrambled to his feet, eyes locked on the burning wreck.
Then—movement.
A figure emerged from the fire, stepping through the smoke like it was nothing more than mist.
The man dusted his jacket. Smoothed his hair. Then exhaled—annoyed.
“Tch.” He scowled up at the sky. “Try better, you asshole!”
Nate followed his gaze—spotted the caped figure hovering above. A hero.
The man snapped his fingers. The air exploded.
Fire roared outward. Glass shattered. Metal shrieked. Nate threw up an arm—
The hero didn’t flinch. Didn’t feel it.
Then—he moved.
A blur. A fist. A gut-wrenching crack.
The man doubled over. The hero grabbed him, yanked him forward, and dragged him through the flames.
The wreckage collapsed. Fire spread.
Nate dove for cover, heart hammering.
This wasn’t a fight. It was a storm. And only the innocents were swallowed by it.
Just like his family. Twelve years ago.
Nate’s fists clenched. This chaos wouldn’t take him. Wouldn’t break him. No.
He’d make them pay. Every last one of them.
And he’d be damned if another family was destroyed.
He pinned his hands to the scorched ground. Pushed himself up.
“Vega,” he growled. “Guide me.”
