Chapter 16: The Falling Sky
Julian sat amidst the wreckage of the VIP suite, his mind reeling. A burning curiosity flickered through his shock. He remembered the afternoon clearly; when he had seen Ethan just a few hours ago, the boy still carried that same meek aura, shoulders hunched, refusing to fight back. And now? Not only did he stand tall enough to look Julian in the eye, but he had also become a literal monster in combat.
His pulse thundered in his chest as he stared in disbelief. It was impossible. A transformation this drastic didn't just happen in a mere four hours.
However, his bewilderment was swiftly swallowed by a scorching sense of disgrace. Watching his henchmen get mercilessly pummeled while he remained frozen in fear was an insult to his ego he couldn't overlook. His inner circle had always pegged him as a coddled rich kid, entirely unaware that he had secretly spent years in private combat training. He wasn't a world-class fighter, but he was confident he could hold his own against a handful of ordinary attackers.
Driven by the arrogant belief that his "refined" technique would easily crush Ethan's "gutter" style, Julian let out a primal howl and surged forward. He lunged with a meticulously practiced strike, targeting Ethan's jaw, fully expecting the scholarship kid to recoil in terror.
He didn't.
Ethan leaned back just an inch, the punch whistling harmlessly past his nose. Before Julian could even think of resetting his stance, Ethan's hand became a blur. A palm strike slammed into Julian's mouth, followed instantly by a sharp, agonizing hook to the gut. Julian's world spun. He hit the floor hard, the metallic tang of blood filling his throat. He reached up, his fingers find the jagged gaps where two of his front teeth used to be. He had ended up just like his crooks—broken and groveling on the carpet.
Realizing he couldn't take Ethan down physically, Julian turned to the only power he had left: authority. With trembling, bloody fingers, he fumbled for his phone and dialed the floor manager.
"Dave! Get to Room 808 now!" Julian screamed, his voice slurred and whistling through his missing teeth. "McCain has gone insane! He's attacking the guests! Bring everyone!"
On the other end of the line, Mr. Dave didn't stop to wonder how a "meek waiter" like Ethan could possibly hospitalize a room full of VIPs. All he heard was that his golden goose, Julian Vance, was being touched. He summoned the bar's security team—four burly men in black suits—and sprinted toward the VIP wing.
When Dave kicked open the door to Room 808, he stopped dead. The scene was a nightmare. The expensive velvet was stained with spilled Krug, the marble table lay in shards, and his favorite high-spenders were wailing on the floor. Most shocking of all was Julian, the "Prince of the Golden Dragon," huddled in the corner with a crimson face and a shattered smile.
Stunned but fueled by panic, Dave pointed a shaking finger at Ethan. "You... you animal! Do you have any idea who you've touched? Guards! Take him down! Break every bone in his body!"
The security team surged forward. These were professionals who dealt with rowdy crowds every night. But against Ethan's new Body stats, they might as well have been made of glass.
Ethan moved like a shadow. He used the momentum of the first guard's rush to throw him bodily into the second. He delivered a lightning-fast kick to the third man's kneecap and a devastating palm strike to the fourth man's solar plexus. In less than a minute, the professional security team was a pile of groaning meat at Ethan's feet.
Mr. Dave's legs turned to jelly. The outcome was so impossible, so terrifying, that his nervous system simply gave out. A warm, shameful wetness spread across his trousers as he realized he had just sent his best men into a meat grinder. The room began to reek as Mr. Dave literally pissed himself in pure, unadulterated terror.
Ashamed, embarrassed, and seeing Ethan take a slow, predatory step toward him, Dave scrambled to his feet. He didn't look back. He bolted from the room, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor as he headed straight for the only person who could handle a "demon" like this.
He ran straight to the Owner's Office at the top of the building.