News helicopters broke through the cloud cover just as the snow and ice collided again.
From above, the town of Liddle looked unreal.
Jagged blue glaciers had ripped through several blocks, frozen structures jutting up like shattered teeth—while white snow spiraled around it in violent currents, grinding it down piece by piece. The two forces looked alive, colliding in bursts of wind and frost that swallowed streetlights and emergency vehicles alike.
Spotlights swept across the destruction.
Cameras zoomed in.
And suddenly the fight wasn’t local anymore.
It was national.
———————————————————
LIVE NEWS FEED — NATIONAL BROADCAST
“This is Channel 7 breaking coverage,” a reporter shouted over the roar of helicopter blades. The footage shook as the pilot adjusted altitude. “What you’re seeing right now appears to be another anomalous engagement, not even a full day after the New York Incident.”
The camera zoomed in on Tila standing atop an ice spike, snow swirling around her like a storm.
“Authorities have not confirmed identities,” the reporter continued, voice strained, “but military presence is visible across multiple blocks, and witnesses claim individuals are using—” she hesitated, clearly choosing her words carefully, “—abilities beyond conventional explanation.”
The camera panned to the red lightning flashing high above where Savannah and Xila clashed.
“We urge viewers at home to remain calm—”
The feed cut briefly to footage of civilians being evacuated, ambulances weaving through frozen streets, police shouting into radios.
———————————————————
ACROSS THE COUNTRY
In living rooms, bars, dorm rooms, and quiet suburban homes, people stared at their screens.
A mother clutched her child closer.
College students paused mid-party, stunned into silence.
A group of veterans in a diner watched without speaking, eyes dark.
“What the hell is that?” someone whispered.
“Is this… is this the third pulse!?” another asked.
Phones lit up everywhere.
———————————————————
SOCIAL MEDIA — LIVE FEED
Comments flooded in faster than platforms could filter them.
@T-Rexlover14: THIS HAS TO BE THE SECOND PULSE. THEY SAID NEW YORK WAS A ONE-TIME EVENT. LIES.
@GhostSignal77: Blue ice vs white snow??? Governments hiding literal super soldiers now???
@Terryisntshort: Look at the timing. California, New York, then THIS. Wake up people!
@HannahVStar: WAIT THAT GIRL STREAMING FROM INSIDE??? IS THAT JESSIE??
@X1235: It’s military experiments gone wrong. They’re losing control.
@Pastor47: The Church warned us. Signs of judgment everywhere.
@Jtruckford: I’ve seen combat. That ain’t human.
Some cheered.
Some panicked.
Some watched like it was the greatest show they’d ever seen.
Hashtags exploded—#SecondPulse, #SnowVsIce, #WhatIsHappening—climbing faster than moderators could contain.
———————————————————
Back above the frozen streets, the helicopters circled lower, cameras zooming tighter as snow devoured ice and red lightning cracked across the sky.
The nation watched.
And for the first time since New York, the question wasn’t if things were changing.
It was how much worse they were about to get.
————
Jason Foyer stormed through the White House.
His purple suit jacket hung slightly crooked, wrinkles pulling at the seams like he’d thrown it on in a rush, but the cats-with-hats tie sat perfectly straight—ironed and absurdly pristine.
His face told another story.
“This is unacceptable,” he snapped at a cluster of aides scrambling out of his path. “Who signed off on this? Who cleared a live engagement without full protocol review?”
No one answered fast enough.
Jason didn’t slow.
The marble floors echoed under his shoes as screens along the hallway flashed footage of snow and ice tearing through a city block. Staff whispered urgently into phones. Secret Service agents shifted positions as he passed, already recognizing the rage coming with him.
“The Devil’s Den isn’t a street gang,” he barked at one official trying to brief him. “They’re one of the strongest cults on the planet. There are only about a hundred-forty of them worldwide. That means they operate at the scale of a small country! Who thought escalating against them mid-crisis was a good idea?!”
The official stammered something about field intel.
Jason waved him off. “Field intel doesn’t override strategic sanity!”
He turned sharply, pointing at a cluster of White House workers frozen near a monitor.
“You—get me confirmation on every Veythari deployed and enemy Judicators. I want ranks, traits, and chain-of-command clearance.” His finger shifted to another. “And someone tell A.A.A.P media relations to stop pretending this is contained. The entire nation is watching a live disaster.”
They scattered.
Jason reached the corridor leading to the Vice President’s office and finally paused.
He took a long breath, smoothing down his jacket, tugging his tie into place.
His reflection in the glass looked tired.
Angry.
“This mess,” he muttered to himself, “needs to be cleaned up now.”
He pushed the door open without knocking and stepped inside, already preparing the speech he knew would piss everyone in the room off.
———
Savannah crashed through the skeleton of an abandoned building, splintered beams and dust exploding around her as she tore through the upper floor. Wind spiraled tight around her body, cushioning every impact, slowing what should have been bone-breaking force into something survivable.
She hit the ground in a handstand.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
For a moment, she balanced there—before flipping backward just as the structure detonated into a storm of red lightning.
The building folded inward, windows bursting out in a violent bloom of heat and debris.
Xila stepped out of the crater at its center.
Smiling.
No… she was grinning wide and feral, this was where she wanted to be.
Savannah exhaled slowly.
“…Oi,” she muttered under her breath.
This wasn’t easy.
Every instinct she had was screaming that this woman was beyond reckless—beyond sane. She moved like pain was a hobby and consequence was a joke.
Savannah knew the name now.
The Judicator called the Red Beast. A+ rank.
And she lived up to it.
Short, choppy blonde hair spilled across Xila’s face in uneven layers. Her eyes burned red—half-lidded and dangerous in a way that made people hesitate before even breathing near her.
Her olive military-style jacket hugged her frame, high collar stiff and unyielding, gold buttons catching flashes of red light. A worn patch rested on her chest, scuffed with history. Black gloves wrapped her hands, fingers flexing as faint lightning crawled across them.
Even standing still, she radiated pressure.
The kind that made crowds step back without knowing why.
Savannah rolled her shoulders, wind gathering again around her ankles, waiting for permission.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, her green eyes locked on Xila. “You’re definitely a problem child.”
Xila tilted her head, amused by words.
They stood in the ruined street, each realizing the other wasn’t backing down.
Savannah steadied her breathing as the wind curled low around her feet.
This woman’s Core Attribute had to be a Supreme Skill.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
When a Core Attribute manifested as a Supreme Skill at its base nature, it didn’t just enhance an ability—it rewrote how it behaved. That lightning wasn’t just electricity. It understood her. It bypassed defenses like it was targeting something deeper than flesh or armor.
Metaphysical.
That’s why her attacks couldn’t simply overwhelm it.
Normal lightning didn’t act like that.
Even if it was red.
Xila tilted her head, watching her think, red eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Du bist ziemlich beeindruckend, kleine Maus,” she said casually.
(You’re quite formidable, little mouse.)
“Vielleicht bist du eher eine Katze, hm?”
Savannah blinked, confused by the language but not the tone.
Xila laughed. Unhinged and thrilled. She spread her arms as she took small steps forward.
She kept talking, voice lighter, almost conversational despite the destruction around them.
“Heute ist wahrscheinlich mein letzter Tag am Leben,” she said with a wide smile.
(This is probably my last day alive.)
“Also machen wir etwas daraus, das sich lohnt.”
Her grin sharpened.
“Die meisten Veythari brechen so leicht. Ich will nur sehen, ob ich dich brechen kann, bevor sie mich t?ten.”
Savannah didn’t understand the words—but she understood the vibe.
And then the world snapped back into focus.
A helicopter spotlight cut across the town, bathing both of them in harsh white light. The distant roar of news choppers and military aircraft pressed in, reminding her this wasn’t just a fight anymore.
The world was watching.
She’d been so focused on minimizing collateral—on containing this beast—that she hadn’t noticed how visible this had become.
But she didn’t get time to think about it.
Red lightning exploded beneath Xila's feet, propelling her forward in a violent blur.
Savannah’s eyes sharpened instantly, wind surging up to meet her—
Wind compressed into a tight sphere in her palm before exploding outward—a focused blast of high-pressure air that shattered cars and ripped chunks from the ruined street as it raced toward Xila.
Xila didn’t dodge.
She lifted one finger.
Bolt of Intent.
Red lightning flickered—not at the blast itself, but at the decision behind it. The strike carved through Savannah’s attack path, disrupting the flow of wind at its source. Gale Cannon fractured mid-flight, splitting apart like a thought interrupted halfway through.
Savannah’s eyes narrowed.
She pivoted instantly.
A spiraling column of wind erupted around her, pulling debris upward into a violent cyclone. The vortex roared outward, crushing inward pressure meant to trap Xila inside its rotating wall.
Xila grinned and stepped straight into it.
Lightning snapped around her body, feet barely touching the ground as she carved through the vortex like a hot blade melting ice.
Savannah layered her next move on instinct.
Vacuum Implosion.
The air vanished.
A localized void formed around Xila—pressure collapsing inward, dragging loose rubble, shattered glass, even the lingering red sparks toward the center. The space compressed with terrifying force. Xila smiled and blasted multiple bolts through the implosion—
Then Savannah twisted her wrist.
Reverse Technique.
The implosion inverted.
Instead of pulling, it detonated outward—an explosive repulsion that launched the entire attack away from nearby buildings, redirecting the devastation into the empty sky. But the shock wave knocked away a few helicopters. Causing some to spiral out of control.
She landed lightly, breath heavy. She looked up with a sigh.
“Damn…”
Xila appeared in front of her.
No warning.
Just red lightning flashing—and suddenly she was there.
They collided, shockwaves ripping outward as kicks and punches flew faster than most eyes could track. Savannah spun into a rising heel kick; Xila caught it with her forearm and drove a knee forward. Savannah twisted aside, wind cushioning the impact as she slammed a palm into Xila’s ribs.
The ground cracked beneath them.
Concrete shattered into spiderweb fractures as they separated, then launched again, trading blows that bent metal railings and punched craters into the street and started to crack surrounding buildings.
Wind howled.
Red lightning screamed.
The entire fight tore through the town—rooftops splitting, moving and parked cars shredded, streetlights snapping under the pressure waves. Helicopter spotlights chased them as they moved block by block, neither fully retreating, neither willing to give an inch.
Savannah felt it then.
This wasn’t just raw power.
Xila was enjoying it.
And despite herself—
Savannah was starting to grin too.
She slid back across the cracked pavement, boots skimming over air instead of ground.
Wind gathered tight around her body.
A sphere of turbulent air wrapped around her like a living shield, deflecting falling debris and lightning blast before they could touch her skin. The barrier rippled with pressure, bending incoming force just enough to keep her moving.
She smirked despite the chaos. “I’m not the best at Image Revelation,” she muttered under her breath, half joking, “but I dabble.”
Her hands moved.
Tempest Barrage.
The sky fractured into motion as countless air-spears formed overhead—thin, razor-sharp currents dropping like a storm of invisible blades. The ground split under the rain of impacts, chunks of asphalt bursting upward as the barrage chased Xila through the street.
Xila’s smile didn’t fade.
She raised her hand.
Crimson Sentence.
Red lightning descended slowly. Like a verdict being read aloud. The moment it touched Savannah’s presence, the air tightened, pressure trying to declare her guilty of something unseen.
Savannah reacted instantly.
Feather Step.
Her body lightened, wind lifting her like a falling leaf as she twisted away, movements impossibly fluid. She floated for a second—
—but the bolt curved after her anyway.
“…What the hell—”
She thrust both hands forward.
Cyclone Wall.
A massive rotating wall of wind erupted between her and the lightning, spiraling currents strong enough to grind concrete to dust.
She inverted the flow.
Reverse Technique.
The wall tried to trap the strike—redirect it—send it back toward Xila.
The lightning ignored it.
It slipped through the vortex like the barrier didn’t exist, cutting straight for her.
Savannah barely dodged.
Xila followed immediately with another surge—
Mercy Denied.
A ruthless burst of red energy snapped outward, punishing hesitation, punishing defense, punishing anything that looked like restraint.
Savannah twisted aside just in time.
The attack didn’t miss.
It struck the town behind her.
Windows shattered. A balcony collapsed inward. People inside nearby buildings screamed as red lightning ripped through walls, their silhouettes flashing in the glow before vanishing into smoke and dust.
Savannah froze for half a second.
The screams hit a nerve.
Her stomach churned violently, memories flashing—the camp, the blood, the weight of it all happening again.
A wave of sickness rose in her throat.
She forced it down.
No.
Not now.
She tightened her fists, wind roaring louder around her body as she refocused on Xila.
If she lost control here—
More people would die.
—————
Inside mobile command centers, armored vans, and sealed government offices, the response came fast.
But not fast enough to matter.
E.R.O technicians leaned over glowing screens, fingers flying across keyboards as they attempted to cut live feeds. “Kill Channel Seven’s uplink,” someone shouted. “Delay the civilian drones—loop old footage if you have to!”
A.A.A.P analysts argued over each other, voices sharp with urgency.
“We can’t just blackout everything—people will know!”
“They already know!” another snapped, slamming a tablet down. “You can’t hide a storm of ice and lightning ripping through a goddamn town!”
Across the country, news stations flickered.
Some feeds froze mid-sentence.
Others abruptly switched to emergency banners or unrelated segments—weather reports, traffic updates, anything to pull attention away.
But it was too late.
Clips had already spread.
Phones streamed from balconies.
Jessie’s cracked camera captured the scene from inside the warehouse.
Helicopter footage was mirrored and reposted faster than moderators could flag it.
———————————————————
COMMAND CENTER
“We’re pushing a revised narrative,” a press liaison announced, voice tight. “Unstable Weather Event. Civilian evacuation underway. Avoid terminology tied to supernatural activity.”
Someone laughed bitterly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
On a massive wall of screens, social media feeds rolled like a waterfall.
#SecondPulseWasReal
#RedLightning
#SnowGlobeLiddle
#SuperHumanFight
Millions watching.
Millions speculating.
Millions refusing to look away.
———————————————————
ONLINE
@Gregshortsrock: THEY’RE CUTTING THE FEED. WHY CUT IT IF IT’S JUST WEATHER???
@Inmymommabasement: Government panic means this is bigger than New York.
@P162022: That’s not military equipment. I did three years of active service and never seen some shit like that.
@TruthisPulse: SECOND PULSE CONFIRMED. THEY CAN’T HIDE IT NOW! ALIENS! IT’S GOTTA BE ALIENS!
Conspiracy channels went live instantly, dissecting slow-motion footage frame by frame. Influencers debated whether the snow user was “a hero” while others called the red lightning “a public execution.”
Every attempt to suppress the narrative only made it spread faster.
——————
Back on the battlefield, Savannah barely registered any of it.
But the command teams watching her did.
An E.R.O officer rubbed their face, exhausted. “Containment failed,” they muttered. “Public exposure is irreversible.”
An A.A.A.P director exhaled sharply.
“Then we don’t hide it,” they said. “We reframe it.”
No amount of scrambling behind the scenes could put the lid back on what had escaped.
