167 THE PSYCHIC, THE STONE DIGGER AND THE BARTENDER
Zairgid drove Weira back to her hotel, and the ride turned unexpectedly pleasant. They laughed easily, conversation flowing from trivial topics to personal dreams.
Zairgid found her presence magnetic — every word she spoke drew him in deeper.
By the time they neared the hotel, his thoughts were entirely occupied by her.
But Weira didn't seem eager to leave just yet.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" she asked, glancing at him with a playful smile.
Zairgid grinned. "Where do you suggest?"
"I know a place," she said.
She directed him toward an artificial lake on the edge of the city — a tranquil park often used for picnics and quiet rendezvous.
The lights from nearby towers shimmered across the water like ribbons of silver.
They sat by the lake, talking, laughing, sharing secrets. For a moment, Zairgid felt like the world had slowed to just the two of them.
It was the happiest he'd been in months.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice thundered in his head — it was Damen's voice.
"Zairgid, wake up! Wake up now!"
-----
Damen had a bad feeling about the girl with Zairgid. Being a psychic wasn't a problem on its own — but psychics were dangerous.
He bolted out to the street, scanning both sides, but Zairgid was already gone.
"Damn it, he didn't even tell me where he's going," Damen muttered.
Then he remembered the tracking feature.
He opened his mining app and switched on Zairgid's tracker. A mini-map flickered to life in his vision — a blinking dot appeared, pulsing like a heartbeat.
It was Zairgid.
Without hesitation, Damen took off running.
He found them in a park not far from the lake. Zairgid stood by the water's edge, smiling faintly, lost in some blissful trance.
Damen frowned, "Something is wrong. Zairgid's expression is empty, almost like he's being drugged."
Weira sat alone on a nearby bench, watching him with a calm, cold detachment.
"What the hell are you doing, buddy…" Damen whispered under his breath.
Then, out of nowhere, a group of men in black suits appeared.
They bowed slightly to Weira before moving toward Zairgid. Damen's pulse spiked as he saw them binding Zairgid's ankles with heavy weights.
From the mist, a small boat drifted in.
To Damen's horror, Zairgid walked toward it as if under a spell …. and stepped onboard without resistance.
Realization hit him hard.
This wasn't just some date gone wrong. This was a setup. A murder by psychic control.
Weira was making Zairgid walk to his death.
Damen's eyes flared. There was no time to think … only to act.
In a surge of light and shadow, his body changed. Metal, energy, and ancient markings fused into form.
He became Dark Halo … Damne's Annunakin form was unleashed.
------
Weira watched as Zairgid stepped onto the boat.
"Now walk to the controls… and drive to the middle of the lake," she whispered into his mind.
Everything was going according to plan. She had seduced Zairgid, drawn him in with charm and curiosity — until her psychic tendrils found their way into his mind.
Slowly, she had taken control.
The lake was to be his grave. A perfect suicide. A perfect murder.
But then the evening sky dimmed.
The sun's glow was swallowed by an approaching shadow — vast and alive. From the darkness, a figure emerged.
A being wrapped in energy and void.
In the center of his chest blazed a silver ring — like the halo of a fallen angel.
The halo pulsed once, then flared to brilliance. Energy gathered around it, folding reality into a storm of plasma. A beam erupted — brighter than the sun, screaming downward.
"What—what is this!?" Weira cried, shielding her eyes as the world turned white.
The next instant, Zairgid collapsed in the boat, unconscious. Weira's psychic hold on him shattered.
The park exploded in chaos — plasma tore through steel and stone, melting the bench where Weira had sat, scorching the ground to black glass.
When the blinding storm ended, a smoking crater marked the spot.
Above it, the dark figure hovered, Black Halo, his form rippling with residual dark blue energy.
Then there was movement.
Weira rose from the crater, untouched.
Her personal force field barrier shimmered faintly around her, weakened by the plasma but still intact.
A smirk crossed her face. "Black Halo… I've been waiting for you."
Black Halo's voice roared from above. "Waiting for me? You should be thankful if I let you live."
The air shuddered.
Suddenly, an unseen force dragged him downward, slamming him toward the earth. He caught himself midair, shock flashing through his silver eyes.
There were others in the park.
From behind Weira, two figures stepped into view — both radiating powers.
One casually juggled a boulder the size of a car, tossing it from hand to hand as if it weighed nothing. The other extended his arm, conjuring a spear of ice from the very air, its tip glinting like glass under the dim light.
Black Halo straightened, the silver ring on his chest blazing again.
"So that's how it is," he muttered. "A psychic… a stone digger… and a bartender."
------
Damen's visor flickered with data as he scanned the three meta-humans.
Moody — Rank B Psychic.
Juggler — Rank B Gravitic Manipulator.
Mojito — Rank B Cryomancer.
After the latest software improvement, he could see a brief description of his target's powers whether it was human or creature.
"Why are you waiting for me?" Damen demanded, his voice echoing in the darkened park.
Moody smirked. "We know that boy isn't easy to deal with. He has a secret guardian — you, Black Halo. And we're here to kill you too."
Damen chuckled coldly. "Just the three of you? You think that's enough?"
Juggler dropped his boulder with a thunderous thud. "One on one, maybe not," he said, grinning, "but together — nobody escapes us."
Suddenly the air compressed.
The gravity around Damen surged — his body was crushed downward, forced from the sky to the ground like a meteor. The pavement cracked beneath him.
"What the hell—? Gravity powers?" he grunted, struggling to move.
"Gravity Force Multiplier! Nobody in the same rank as me can escape my gravity," Juggler shouted, clenching his fists. The field around Damen intensified. Every breath felt like lifting a mountain.
"Damnit", Damen cursed.
"I've heard you're a close-combat type," Juggler sneered. "But you'll never get close to us as long as I'm here."
Then Moody's eyes flared violet. "Let's see how your mind holds up. Nobody under Rank B can resist my control."
A wave of psychic static rippled through Damen's skull. His vision blurred ….. then shifted.
Suddenly he was no longer in the park.
He was back in his old classroom with the smell of chalk, the hum of fluorescent lights coming alive.
"What the hell is happening here?"
Two boys stood before him: Thames and Onda.
His old bullies.
They shoved him against the wall, laughing, punching him in the ribs. He was helpless again — smaller, weaker, trapped in his own memory.
"This… this isn't right," Damen gasped.
He knew he was dreaming …. but it felt real.
He tried to summon his power, but it was slipping away, his strength buried in the nightmare.