The system shop hadn't just sold flashy abilities and spooky modes with dramatic names. It sold upgrades. Real ones. Physical augmentation that went way past what Dark Lord Mode gave me for free.

Pills that rewrote muscle fiber density until my body stopped behaving like a polite suggestion and started acting like a weapon.

Elixirs that shaved milliseconds off nerve transmission until reaction time became instinct instead of thought. Treatments that shoved the human body past its manufacturer warranty and straight into experimental hardware territory.

I'd been buying them for weeks. Testing doses. Adjusting combinations. Seeing what broke. Seeing what didn't.

And I'd given them to Soo-Jin too.

Because if this war was going to be real, then pretending to stay human was just cosplay with better lighting.

We weren't superhuman. Not in the comic-book sense. No flight. No lasers. No invisibility cloaks or dramatic theme music.

But speed? Strength? Durability?

We'd climbed past what flesh and bone were supposed to handle.

That's how I crossed fifteen meters in under two seconds. That's how Soo-Jin yanked Linda down before the concrete finished exploding. That's how we got people moving, doors slamming, engines roaring before the world's deadliest sniper could mentally switch targets.

We became something Volkov hadn't planned for.

Something impossible.

"Training," I rasped, blood slicking my teeth. "Lots of training. And luck. Mostly luck."

"Bullshit," Ava said instantly. No hesitation. "But fine. Keep your secrets. Point is, Charlotte and Margaret are alive because you moved like physics was optional. And now Volkov missed his targets, which means he failed his contract, which means Dmitri is going to be furious."

"Good," I muttered. "Let him be furious. Let him come for me next. No, I am going to him!"

"Peter—"

"He endangered my family." My vision dimmed again, gray eating at the edges, but the rage stayed sharp and cold.

"My women. He put Charlotte and Margaret in his scope. He turned my birthday into a fucking active warzone." I swallowed blood. "Now he dies. Not arrested. Not imprisoned. Dead. I'm going to find Maksim Volkov, and I'm going to kill him. Then I'm going to find Dmitri, and I'm going to make him wish he'd stayed vanished."

Sirens screamed into the garage like the world was finally reacting on a delay. Red and blue lights washed over concrete, over shattered glass, over the very large amount of me currently decorating the floor.

Paramedics spilled out of the ambulance in controlled chaos. Shouting. Gloves snapping. Scissors flashing as they cut my shirt away like it had personally offended them.

"Five GSWs!" one yelled. "Shoulder, chest, side, thigh, arm! He's hemorrhaging!"

"Pulse thready! BP dropping!"

"IV now! Move!"

Hands grabbed me. Needles slid into veins. Gauze pressed down on holes that definitely hadn't been there earlier today. The pressure hurt worse than the bullets, but I was running out of oxygen and spite was the only thing keeping me conscious.

Through the noise. Through the pain. Through the gray swallowing my vision whole.

One thought settled in with terrifying clarity.

The Charlotte mission hadn't failed because I got shot.

It hadn't failed because Volkov escaped.

It hadn't even failed because Dmitri was still breathing.

It hadn't completed.

The system had been waiting.

Waiting for me to understand something very simple.

You don't get rewards for half-measures. You don't get credit for mercy that lets enemies regroup. You don't leave monsters alive and then act surprised when they come back with better aim.

You finish what you start.

You burn it all down.

You make sure the people who threaten your family are buried so deep they become geological features.

Dmitri made his move tonight.

Five bullets. A perfect sniper. Millions spent.

All to kill Charlotte and Margaret while I watched.

He failed.

And I was still breathing.

That meant it was my turn.

But he'd also proven something else.

He wasn't going to stop. Wasn't going to vanish again and lick his wounds in some hole halfway across the world. Dmitri had committed. All chips on the table. Revenge or nothing.

Which meant this didn't end with warnings or deterrence or strongly worded threats delivered via intermediaries.

It ended with bodies.

Hades was about to get new tenants.

Several of them.

Dmitri.

Volkov.

Anyone else who looked at my family and thought "acceptable collateral."

They were all going to die.

Not eventually. Not after therapy and self-reflection.

Soon.

The paramedics lifted me onto the gurney, and the motion sent a fresh wave of agony tearing through what used to be my body. I coughed, blood spilling down my chin like I was auditioning for the world's worst vampire cosplay.

"Sir, can you hear me?" one of them shouted. "Sir, stay with us!"

Yeah. Unfortunately. I could hear everything.

ARIA's voice slid into my neural buds, steady and precise. "They're secure. Estate lockdown is complete. They're resisting, but they're safe."

Of course they were resisting. My family treated 'lockdown' like a personal insult.

Ava chimed in next, dry as ever. "You're not going to die, Eros. You're far too angry to die. Statistically speaking, rage is an excellent survival mechanism."

Good to know my personality flaws were medically useful.

The ambulance doors slammed shut. The siren wailed. We lurched forward, and every bump in the road felt like someone reaching inside me and twisting the bullets for fun.

I stared at the ambulance ceiling, lights blurring into white streaks as my vision tunneled.

I thought about Dmitri.

About the exact moment he realized his perfect plan hadn't worked.

About the way Volkov's confidence was going to curdle when I finally stood in front of him.

About all the very creative ways I was going to make them regret existing.

Five bullets.

For my seventeenth birthday.

Great party. Five stars. Would not recommend.

But I was still alive.

Still breathing.

Still very much a problem.

And now?

Now I was pissed.

Dmitri wanted to finish the Thompson family?

He should've made damn sure I was dead first.

Because now he'd given me purpose. Permission. A reason to hunt him across borders and burn every resource I owned. To cash in favors people forgot they owed me. To stop holding back anything.

He made it personal.

And when Peter Carter made something personal?

Bodies stacked up until the problem stopped breathing.

The gray crept in, soft and heavy, finally tipping into black.

I let it take me.

But not before I carved one promise into myself, deep enough that even unconsciousness couldn't scrub it out.

When I woke up, and I would wake up because dying was not on my calendar, I was going to repaint the underworld.

Dmitri first.

Then Volkov.

Then anyone else dumb enough to aim at what was mine.

Hades could start setting the table.

He was about to have guests.

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