Chapter 203 Aftereffect

Liam jumped down from the metal beam, the force of his landing sending a short tremor through the debris-strewn factory floor. Lana took a deep breath, thinking it was over. Dimitri was down, the battle looked done. But Liam had other plans.

Without saying a word, he walked into the deep crater he had created with that monstrous punch. Dust and broken stone crackled beneath his feet as he approached the motionless body. Lana’s eyes followed him, confusion etched on her face.

Liam reached into the pit and grabbed Dimitri by the collar, lifting his limp body off the ground with one hand. Dimitri’s arms dangled. One punch had completely disarmed him. Liam glanced at the exposed parts of Dimitri’s body— from beneath his skin, he could see it: pure metal. Dimitri’s entire skeletal system was metallic, reinforced, unnaturally structured. And even now, Liam could see the skin starting to regenerate. The gash on his forehead was slowly stitching itself back together.

Liam’s lips curved into a cold smile. This bastard wasn’t human. Not completely.

He tightened his grip around Dimitri’s neck.

With a choking gasp, Dimitri was jolted out of unconsciousness. His eyes flew open in panic. His legs kicked violently, his fists slamming against Liam’s forearm in a desperate bid to escape. But Liam’s grip didn’t budge.

It was like trying to bend steel.

Dimitri’s face turned red, then purple. And then—

Crack!

A sickening snap echoed across the factory.

Lana gasped slightly as she watched. She stepped forward instinctively, but stopped. Liam wasn’t done yet.

Liam dropped the lifeless body to the ground like trash, but then bent down again. His hand reached toward one of the long chains still attached to Dimitri’s back. With an effortless yank, he pulled the metallic weapon free and rotated it slightly in his grip, examining the sharp end.

Then he jammed it straight into Dimitri’s throat. The chain pierced through flesh and metal alike.

Not satisfied, Liam pulled it to the side with force, tearing and ripping as he dragged it across the neck. It was brutal, savage, and thorough. The sharp edge sawed through the reinforced metal vertebrae with a screech until finally—snap—Dimitri’s head detached completely.

Liam tossed the head aside like it meant nothing and dropped the body. No surprises. No comebacks.

He stood there for a moment, breathing in deeply, chest rising and falling. Then he turned around.

Lana was already rushing down to him. The fire in her palms was long gone, replaced by trembling hands. She threw her arms around him and held him tightly.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered against his chest, her voice cracking.

Liam exhaled softly and gently caressed her back. His voice was low, calm. "We need to go. Now."

Far in the distance, sirens wailed. Police. Emergency crews. The chaos and destruction had drawn the city’s attention. The noise, the smoke, and the power—they were far too noticeable.

"Someone reported us," Liam said, his eyes scanning the exits. "Probably one of the nearby residents. The factory’s been evacuated for sure."

Lana nodded quickly, and together they made their way out through the back, taking a route that avoided the main roads. The two of them vanished into the maze of alleyways behind the factory, moving fast.

They made it to the hotel within twenty minutes. The building was still quiet, tucked away in one of the less-busy zones of the city.

Liam shut the door behind them and locked it.

It was still early morning. Despite everything that had happened, time hadn’t caught up with the magnitude of their battle. Lana collapsed onto the bed, physically and emotionally drained, but her eyes remained locked on Liam.

He peeled off his ruined clothes, the fabric shredded and stained with blood—some his, most not. He walked into the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror.

The light flickered above him.

He stared at his reflection. Chest bare. He twisted his body slightly, inspecting every angle.

Still human. No wings. No glowing eyes. No monstrous features. Nothing visible that screamed transformation.

He let out a breath of relief.

His face hadn’t changed either. The same sharp jawline, the same piercing blue eyes, though maybe a bit more... intense now. But nothing obvious.

He looked normal.

Good.

Because what he felt inside was anything but normal.

Lana walked quietly into the bathroom, the steam lightly fogging the mirror. Liam stood shirtless, staring at his reflection, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. She didn’t say a word at first. Instead, she slowly stepped closer to him, leaned in, and rested her head against his warm, bare back, wrapping her arms tightly around him from behind. Her grip trembled slightly. Liam could feel the tiny quivers in her body, a silent testimony to how scared she had been.

He lowered his head slightly and spoke in a soft, almost whispering voice. "Don’t do that again."

Lana didn’t hesitate. Her voice came out thick with emotion. "No. If you’re ever in trouble, I’ll always come. Always."

Liam turned around slowly, his hands coming to rest gently on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes, blue meeting green. "But you could get hurt."

She shook her head stubbornly. "You would’ve died if I hadn’t shown up. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have."

Liam had no argument for that. She was right, and he knew it. He sighed heavily before pulling her into a warm hug, kissing the top of her head gently.

"Your hair smells like smoke," he said, chuckling lightly.

Lana playfully punched his chest with a soft glare. "And I have you to thank for that."

She suddenly pushed him backward, her palm flat against his chest. Liam raised an eyebrow as he stumbled slightly.

"What?" he asked.

"I need to wash up," she said firmly.

"Let’s do it together," he said with a shameless grin.

Lana rolled her eyes and closed the door in his face.

Liam smirked, shaking his head as he turned around and walked back to the bed. He sat down on its edge, his eyes drifting to his hands. The weight of everything they’d been through still lingered in the air, but his curiosity was now pulling his thoughts elsewhere.

He raised his arms, attempting to will the wings out again. Nothing happened.

He focused harder, trying to feel the same sensation from before, that shift in his body when they’d first emerged.

Still nothing.

He furrowed his brows and clenched his jaw. "Come on... Just... spread out."

He tried again and again, but it was useless. His back remained bare.

He groaned, leaned forward, and smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I didn’t even get to fly with it... If I knew they were going to be this damn hard to pull out, I wouldn’t have retracted them in the first place."

He sighed and spoke out loud. "System, can you help me bring them out again?"

Ding!

[Unable to comply. Wing manifestation must be learned and controlled by the host alone.]

Liam rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Of course it does."

He leaned back on his elbows, staring at the ceiling for a moment before the thought struck him. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"System... Earlier you said I unlocked a new class. The Aetherial Class. What does it mean? What’s different about it?"

Ding!

[Class: Aetherial-Class – Information is currently locked. Increase level to unlock class details.]

Liam’s face twisted into a grimace. "What? Why is it locked? I thought I earned this upgrade!"

Ding!

[Host is not worthy of the information yet.]

Liam groaned and dropped back onto the bed fully, throwing an arm over his face. "Figures. The one time I actually want answers, and I get a system with an attitude."

The room filled with silence as he lay there, thoughts racing, his body still recovering even if he tried to hide it. The adrenaline had faded, but the weight of power still sat under his skin. He didn’t fully understand what he had become. Not yet. But he would.

And soon.

---

Heavy boots thudded into the shattered remains of the factory. Each step echoed ominously through the broken silence, the crunch of glass and metal beneath the soles sounding like a warning to anyone close by. The police officers who were scattered around the scene—examining wreckage, marking evidence, and extinguishing the small lingering fires—immediately straightened as the man entered. But none dared speak. None even dared to meet his eyes.

He wore a dark trench coat over thick combat gear, his presence alone enough to create a pressure in the air that made the less experienced officers feel like they couldn’t breathe properly. His face was unreadable, chiseled and cold. Every officer stepped back automatically, making way for him without hesitation. The man didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His reputation moved faster than his name.

The factory was in ruins. Crates of imported liquor were shattered, their contents spilled and soaked into the scorched floor. Burn marks trailed across the walls, and smoke still lingered thick in the air despite the steady efforts of the fire suppression team. The central section of the floor was almost completely destroyed—craters, shattered tiles, and collapsed beams marked the site of the battle.

And at the heart of it was a body.

The man walked calmly toward it. He stepped over chains twisted like serpents and past pools of dark, coagulated blood. Dimitri’s body lay there, headless and mangled. His metallic spine gleamed under the torn flesh, wires sparked faintly where they had been severed. The head itself was several meters away. The chains that had once made Dimitri so feared were now draped over his own corpse, rusted slightly with blood and bent unnaturally.

The man crouched slowly, staring at the body in silence. His expression didn’t change. He took in every detail—the angle of the wounds, the bruising along the ribs, the fact that Dimitri’s neck had been snapped before his head was removed. A clean finish. Clinical. Purposeful. No room for uncertainty.

"Someone made sure you stayed dead..." the man muttered under his breath, his voice like gravel sliding across steel.

Suddenly, a ripple shimmered in the air beside him, and another man appeared, materializing like smoke solidifying into flesh. He was dressed entirely in white—white jacket, white gloves, even white boots that seemed untouched by the blood and filth on the floor. His skin was pale, eyes a glowing silver behind a thin visor. He looked otherworldly, and the moment he appeared, the air turned still. The white-clad man looked down at Dimitri’s corpse and then turned to the figure crouched beside it.

"What do you want to do about Dimitri?" he asked in a calm, composed voice.

The man on the ground remained crouched for a moment longer. Then he slowly rose, dusted the ash off his coat, and turned to face him. "Nothing."

The man in white tilted his head, confused. "Nothing?"

The one in black nodded. "He was decent. Strong, even. One of the better ones."

His tone carried a strange weight, not exactly mournful, but respectful. He glanced back toward the body one last time, then began to walk away from the scene, boots heavy against the concrete.

"Whoever killed him..." he continued as he passed the man in white, "they must be decent too."

The man in white followed behind, the two moving like shadows through the smoke-filled wreckage.

"Do you want them found?" the man in white asked.

"I want to know what Dimitri was involved in that got him killed," he said plainly, eyes narrowing beneath his dark hood. "He wasn’t the type to go down like this for nothing."

He paused at the edge of the factory, turning back slightly as sirens wailed louder in the distance. His voice lowered, more to himself than to anyone else.