Chapter 86: 86

| Chicago - August 8 Isabelle "Dizzy" Cordova moved like a shadow through the dimly lit corridor, her breathing steady despite the high stakes. This was a covert operation—quick, clean, no unnecessary noise. Her mission: take down Bryce Rock, the head of a criminal empire suspected of being a metahuman with shape-shifting abilities. Her team was a handpicked squad from A.R.G.U.S., a government agency formed in the wake of the Appellaxian attack in 2003, the same event that had given rise to the Justice League. While the League dealt with world-ending threats, A.R.G.U.S. handled what spilled over—metahuman containment, classified research, and small-scale superhuman threats like this one. Initially led by Steve Trevor, the agency was now under the iron grip of Amanda Waller, a woman who knew how to weaponize loyalty and fear in equal measure. Dizzy had joined A.R.G.U.S. as part of a deal to stay out of prison. She'd cut ties with Nova, ensuring his hand in her past executions of corrupt figures in the city remained buried. She wore gray and black tactical gear, optimized for stealth. It was bulletproof, had reinforced gloves, and the helmet had night vision. Her custom semi-automatic handgun—a gift from Agent Graves, the man who had given her the opportunity for revenge after her family was murdered—sat holstered at her side, always within reach. She carried an assault rifle as well, its suppressor attached. They weren't expecting full-blown superhuman resistance, as Bryce Rock had only been suspected of having shape-shifting abilities. Her superior, Daemon Rose, a figure of legend in A.R.G.U.S. circles, led the infiltration. Cloaked in matte black tactical gear with a helmet concealing his features, he was a ghost in the field. Dizzy and eight other agents followed, their footfalls silent on the polished floors of the penthouse. They had breached the perimeter with military precision, neutralizing guards with silenced weapons and close-quarters combat. Now, only a single door separated them from Bryce Rock. Daemon Rose signaled a halt with a raised fist. The team immediately froze, pressing against the walls of the hallway, weapons trained forward. Daemon produced a sleep gas grenade, twisted the pin, and cracked the door open just enough to roll it inside. For a moment—nothing. No sound, no movement. Then, the door slammed open, nearly knocking Daemon Rose back. Bryce Rock stepped out, utterly unfazed. He was tall and imposing, his bald head gleaming under the dim light. A red mark slashed across his right eye like war paint. His black leather jacket fit snugly over a muscular frame, and his dark pants blended into the shadows. He stood there, a slow, menacing grin stretching across his face unnaturally. Dizzy's instincts screamed at her. The gas should've worked. Daemon Rose didn't hesitate. "Fire." The hallway exploded with suppressed gunfire, but Bryce Rock stayed still, his body rippling unnaturally as bullets bounced off his form. Oh no. The team's worst-case scenario had just come true. Their weapons couldn't harm Bryce Rock. Dizzy raised her rifle, already adjusting for the new threat. This just got complicated. ** The mission had gone to hell in an instant. Bryce Rock had torn through A.R.G.U.S. operatives like a child ripping paper dolls apart. Now, their team was in full retreat—at least, what was left of it. "Fall back! Now!" Daemon barked, voice sharp as a blade. Dizzy moved on instinct, pushing herself back into the corridors of the penthouse, her heart hammering in her chest. Two of their agents were already dead—Dale and Nicholson—their bodies twisted unnaturally on the floor, faces frozen in expressions of pure horror. The stench of blood filled the air where one of them had been punctured clean through, their guts exposed like a grotesque sculpture. "You really thought your little gas trick would work on me, Byth Rok?" he mocked, voice laced with amusement as he sauntered forward. "Come on. Try something else. I like to see you struggle." His form shifted, bones cracking, flesh warping. His arms and tongue elongated, becoming like tentacles. Daemon Rose cursed under his breath. "Move, move, MOVE!" Dizzy didn't need to be told twice. She vaulted over a desk, sliding into cover behind a toppled bookshelf, reaching for her comm device. If this was the end, Nova needed to know. He needed to know what happened here—to know who was responsible, to keep Chicago safe. To stop Byth Rok. She tapped out a message with quick, frantic fingers over the sound of her squadmates dying. As soon as she sent it, she peered out from her hiding spot. Daemon Rose hadn't run. Instead, he stood just a few feet away, gripping the inhibitor collar they had brought with them—their one chance at survival. Their eyes met, and in that instant, they understood each other. The only way out was through. Daemon made the first move. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a flashbang straight at Byth Rok's feet. There was a sharp, piercing bang, followed by an explosion of white light. Byth roared in frustration, his elongated eyes forced shut as the intense light burned his retinas. He staggered back, limbs scraping against the walls as he swung blindly. Dizzy didn't hesitate. She ran. Racing to the far end of the room, she raised her pistol and opened fire. The bullets wouldn't kill him, but that wasn't the point. Distraction. Misdirection. Give Daemon an opening. Her shots were precise, every bullet pinging off the walls, the floor, even glancing off his hardened skin—anything to create a cacophony of noise that masked Daemon's footsteps as he closed in from behind, inhibitor collar in hand. For a moment, it looked like they might pull it off. Daemon was inches away. The collar was almost there. Then Byth's arms morphed into something monstrous. Each limb turned into a grotesque, serpentine creature, coiling and writhing with jagged teeth, slit-pupil eyes, and twitching ears. One head turned toward Daemon. The other locked onto Dizzy. The realization hit too late. Daemon barely had time to abort his approach before the serpent-arms struck, their razor-sharp fangs sinking into the neck of their tactical suits, lifting them off the ground. They struggled, but Byth's grip was like iron, his elongated limbs stretching them high above the floor, dangling them like broken puppets. "Quite clever," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "But not enough. Now, you'll be joining the rest of your team in the afterli—" Then the ceiling burst open. From above, a figure clad in purple and gold descended, arms behind his back, eyes glowing with golden energy. Nova.