"In our private interview with Weaver, we asked if he had any interest in becoming a regulated Atlan hero. His response was a hard no, saying that he would remain independent throughout his future career—"

  "Turn that off, will you?"

  Pryce cocked the pistol in his hand, his sharp eyes scanning the lit interior of the truck. The surrounding men watched nervously, their crimson masks not allowing for any reveal of their faces. "Today, my friends, we rise out of the shadows that's sheltered us for so long."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Pryce pointed at a whiteboard on the wall, its surface rattling from the truck’s high speed. "We’ll have a 15-minute window before local police get here, and around a 22-minute window before Kitora. We need to be out in ten. Shoot anyone who gets in your way."

  "Yes, sir!"

  The driver’s voice cut through the tension. "We’re almost at our destination. Brace yourselves."

  The men tightened their grips on their weapons, their breaths rapid. Pryce smirked, his finger resting lightly on the trigger; calm in contrast to his men. The truck sped up, and then — CRASH. The back doors flew open, and Pryce led the charge, his boots slamming onto the floor.

  "Nobody moves, nobody dies!" he declared, his voice echoing through the bank’s elegant halls. The spectators froze, their faces pale with fear. Pryce’s men rushed out, their guns trained on the crowd.

  "Wha-What do you want? The money? We don't keep more than three hundred thousand at hand, b-but if you're okay with that number—"

  Pryce’s pistol whipped the teller across her face, the impact sending her crashing to the ground. She stood rapidly to not make Pryce angrier. "I don’t care about your money," he hissed. "The Obsidiorite. Where is it?"

  The teller blinked up at him, blood dripping from her nose. "I-I’m sorry, sir—the what—"

  BANG — A shot in the air. "I said the Obsidiorite dammit! Where is it!!"

  Pryce shook his head, never removing her from the gun's line of fire. "Men! I want you to search every inch of this place until that material is in our hands!"

  "Yes, sir!" As his lackeys begin to search the bank, Pryce begins getting antsy.

  The teller’s voice was low. "This is a mistake..."

  Pryce's breath grazed the ear of the woman. "What was that?"

  "This is a K-Kitora-funded institution, and—"

  BANG. The bullet grazed her ear. "Kitora?" His laugh was undermining. "Oh... I wouldn't put all your eggs in their basket. Men! How's the search?"

  Silence.

  "Men?"

  Pryce turned, his eyes widening. The bank was eerily quiet, his men nowhere to be seen. On the ceiling, a shape lurked — no, a shadow. Before he could fully register it, it lunged at him, slicing through the teller stations.

  "Umbra..." Pryce muttered, spitting blood onto the floor.

  "I like this gun. It's a good one." With a flick of his wrist, Umbra hurled the weapon into a nearby shadow. It vanished, swallowed whole with a ripple.

  "I was hoping you'd stay away."

  "You can't rob a bank without expecting me, Caleb."

  Pryce's foot sent shockwaves across the lobby. Glass, lights — if it wasn't reinforced, it was shattered. "You don't have the right to call me Caleb." His hand slid down to his faintly humming knife. "To you? I'm Vanguard."

  Umbra backed off from the heat of the initial rush, barely slipping past a sudden left hook. Their stares locked, both were here with purpose, neither was here to lose. "Banks aren't your thing. What do you need funds for?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Pryce didn't answer — Umbra didn't expect him to. They were here to fight. Umbra used Pryce's incoming kick to slam him onto the floor, but not before Pryce chucked a hidden blade. Umbra's dodge was clean, but Pryce wasn't aiming for him in the first place. Instead, Pryce hurled himself toward the spinning blade like it had called him back. Gravity did its work on his hair and clothes, pulling them downward as Pryce hung upside down from the ceiling.

  "You actually gonna fight me with your gravity manipulation or what?" Pryce didn’t answer, just acted, hurling his knife deep into Umbra's shoulder. Now it was Umbra that flew through the air, missing the graciousness that Pryce had. With a violent thud, Umbra hit the floor hard, twitched, then vanished — swallowed by a shadow.

  Pryce snapped to his comms device. "This is Vanguard. I've got the Shadow Hero at Chester Bank. He’s not playing mascot today. Send backup, now." A tendril shot from the floor, ripping the comm from his hand; another wrapped around his leg. All he saw now was darkness, and with a blink, he was upstairs.

  Umbra's fist cracked against Pryce’s jaw, but the movement cost him his footing.

  Pryce swept, but Umbra shifted mid-fall, using Pryce's own body to flip over him.

  Pryce landed face-first on the hard marble, but he didn't take the time to rest. With a force reminiscent of Mj?lnir, his knife flew into his hand. He spun off the ground, aiming for Umbra's neck. The hero got cut, but not deep enough to stop him. A tendril slammed Pryce into a wall before he could finish the execution.

  “That was your best shot,” Umbra mocked, “Now answer the damn question.”

  Pryce grabbed the tendril mid-lash. It twitched as he choked it out. It only had one defense, its ability to cut. Pryce's hand got sliced open; blood dripped in streams down his wrist, but he grabbed harder — and tore it from Umbra's shoulder.

  Umbra staggered as he shouted. The moment of agony gave Pryce all the time he needed to bring the hero to the ground. The knife closed in on Umbra's throat, but he twisted, lodging the knife in his already numb shoulder. He gritted his teeth and kicked Pryce off.

  Pryce crashed through the cubicle wall, wasting no time grabbing a computer and throwing it at Umbra. A quick weave let Umbra dodge — but he wasn't fast enough to avoid Pryce's charge. They crashed into another desk.

  Pryce had the top advantage. He scrambled for the nearest object — a fax machine — and slammed it down onto Umbra's head. Once. Twice. Each slam, blood tainted the machine's bottom.

  Umbra had a single opening, the time between the machine coming down. Using it to his advantage, he pulled the knife still lodged in his shoulder and shoved it into Pryce's torso. Blood dripped on the floor as Umbra pushed Pryce closer to the window. In a last-ditch effort, Pryce slashed down at Umbra, but the hero sidestepped and punched him through the glass. "Where is everyone... Anyone..."

  As always, the moment of peace didn't last. Umbra struggled to his feet, disoriented. What hit him? Where in the bank was he? He didn't have a clue. His recovery was interrupted by impact after impact, each one feeling as though it were shattering a bone. There were no shadows, no vision — just pain. One impact outclassed the rest, caving in his stomach and hurling him past the third floor entirely. His back smashed against the underside of the fourth floor. Not enough force to break through, but enough to bounce. He slammed down onto the third floor seconds later.

  The Bronze winged man rose above the third floor, stationing himself midair. His eyes brimmed with malice, intensified by his otherwise calm demeanor. But Umbra didn't have time to fall for the scare tactic. "Dimitri," Umbra's voice laced with familiarity, "who let you out?"

  No answer. No problem. Umbra jumped over the man, whose movement was a blur — a bullet fired at point—blank range. Dimitri curved and stopped himself from overextending.

  "Three years I was in the Ultimax," Dimitri said as his wings flexed.

  "I know. I sent you a letter."

  They both stood straight, forgot their powers, and rushed at each other. Dimitri swung, Umbra dodged, but he was sloppier than his battle with Pryce — The effects of his head injury showed. Dimitri dodged Umbra's incoming headbutt, opening up a counterattack.

  The two went flying through the seven floors of the bank, eventually finding themselves outside. Umbra tried to get out of Dimitri's grasp, but that wasn't going to happen.

  "And live sources are telling us that the Valkyrie has arrived on the scene. The Valkyrie, otherwise known as Dimitri Romano, was put into an Ultimax Prison after an attack at the Mayor's Manor with popular vigilante, Umbra. He was sentenced to life in prison in his public trial, and it's unclear why he's currently out."

  Valkyrie looked over at the news helicopter. "They watch... Like we are animals for their entertainment. Nothing but ants to a higher lifeform, forced to run and fight for pleasure." His voice dripped with disdain. "Soon, they will be the ants, forced to run."

  WHOOSH — Valkyrie hurled Umbra toward the helicopter. Umbra twisted midair, his heart pounding as the ground rushed up to meet him. "Not good, not good, not good—" A shadowy hand shot out, catching him moments before he would have crashed into the helicopter. With a reversal, Umbra shot back towards the bank.

  "You two working together? Didn't see that coming." He said as he landed behind them.

  "Stay out of this, shadow child. It's bigger than you. You wouldn't want people to get hurt."

  Umbra didn't bother considering Dimitri's statement. "What kinda hero would I be then?"

  Pryce, growing ever annoyed, hurled his knife at Umbra. He caught it, but failed to realize that it didn't matter; the result would end up the same. He aggressively flew, trying frantically to fight the air.

  When he got close enough, Dimitri swung his wing, launching Umbra outside the bank. It didn't take long for Crimson Order lackeys to surround the hero, guns in hand. Umbra didn't worry much about the Order members, he was much more worried about the truck that had started floating above the scene. He dove into a shadow as it came crashing, crushing the Order goons in a deafening explosion.

  "Not him..."