Umbrella

Ian looked down at the city, at the lights flickering in the darkness. He saw that superhuman—the guy who had been causing trouble in the streets—now sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, head lowered, arms wrapped around his knees, like a wounded beast.

Ian saw the people that guy had hurt—some getting their wounds bandaged in the hospital, some holding their families at home and crying, some giving statements at the police station, fear still lingering on their faces.

He also saw the ordinary people.

They were sleeping, working, eating, arguing, making love, living. As for how to get the people to provide faith, it actually was not difficult.

"All I have to do is become the only savior."

This was not some despicable idea, and Ian really did intend to benefit the people, so how could it not count as a win for everyone? He was not making the people suffer any losses either.

"People always need to believe in something."

Ian did not know whether he was trying to convince Black Box, or himself.

He landed on the rooftop of that abandoned building and stood behind the superhuman. The man sensed his presence and whipped around, his red eyes fixed on him as dark-red light lit up in both hands.

"Who are you?" His voice was hoarse and tense.

Ian looked at him without answering. He simply stood there, barefoot, wearing a black shirt, with a Xenomorph and a dragon crouched on his shoulders. The night wind blew over, mussing his hair and tugging at the hem of his clothes.

The superhuman stared at him for a few seconds, and then his eyes widened. He recognized Ian. Not because he had seen Ian before, but because he felt it—that overwhelming, irresistible presence radiating from Ian.

That