My Talent's Name Is Generator

The night over the Goldwing island never had time to settle.

We moved through it without warnings, without speeches about justice or balance. There was no need for words. The decision had already been made the moment Ryn chose arrogance over consequence.

I didn’t lead.

Knight did.

Space bent subtly where he passed, not enough to alert defense, or enough to ripple alarms. His control was surgical now, refined by constant exposure to my space law.

The first Griffin never saw him.

One moment the Transcendent stood at the edge of a balcony, wings folded, senses spread outward in lazy confidence. The next, Knight’s tail slid through his neck and out the other side in a smooth, practiced motion. There was no sound beyond a soft displacement of air as the body went limp.

We didn’t pause. He moved again and I followed.

We didn’t ask questions. We didn’t listen to pleas. We didn’t wait for explanations about loyalty, family, or Prime Galaxy backing. Every Griffin we found was already complicit by presence alone.

The second tried to react.

Golden light flared around his forearms, feathers hardening as he turned but Knight was already inside his space. Shadow wrapped the Griffin’s legs, anchoring him for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Knight’s claws punched straight through the throat, severing both spine and voice in one clean arc.

The third fought harder.

Claws tore through shadow, wings beating hard enough to fracture stone beneath their feet. I watched without intervening as Knight adapted mid-fight, shifting from pursuit to control, collapsing the space behind the Griffin so every retreat became a stumble forward. The final strike pierced through the chest and pinned the heart against the far wall.

By the fourth, fear had begun to spread.

By the fifth, alarms tried to activate and failed.

By the sixth, the remaining Griffins understood exactly what was happening.

One of them attempted to flee the island entirely, launching skyward with desperate speed. Knight didn’t chase. He raised one hand, twisted shadow into a spear, and sent it cutting upward through the air. The Griffin fell from the sky without ever finishing the scream he had started.

The seventh died kneeling.

The eighth died standing.

Only one remained.

The last Goldwing Transcendent stayed where he was, wings folded tight, aura suppressed so deeply it bordered on self-erasure. He didn’t run. He waited.

I stopped Knight with a gesture.

“Leave him,” I said.

We left the island behind the same way we had entered it: quietly. The sea reflected nothing of what had occurred. By the time the night breeze shifted, the Goldwing island was already missing its center of gravity.

The capital lay ahead.

Feradros at night was alive in a different way. Unlike the planet of demons, professionalism existed even at nights. I let my perception spread as we approached.

I noted many Upper Transcendents.

Clusters of authority layered over administrative districts, military centers, commercial estates.

Knight glanced sideways at me as we hovered above the outskirts.

“You’re thinking,” he said.

“I am,” I replied.

“About killing more?”

I tapped my chin once, considering the pull.

“No,” I said finally. “Not tonight.”

Knight raised an eyebrow. “Why stop now?”

I said. “What we need are bargaining chips.”

He nodded once, understanding immediately.

Rudy’s Bar wasn’t hard to find.

It sat exactly where a place like that should, close enough to power to matter, far enough from scrutiny to breathe. The building itself was unremarkable, stone and dark wood, no grand signage. The only mark was a subtle insignia above the door, almost invisible unless you knew to look.

We appeared across the street and walked the rest of the way.

The moment we entered, the sound dipped.

Just a subtle thinning, like everyone had taken a half breath and forgotten to release it. Conversations resumed seconds later, but quieter. More careful.

People recognized us.

The Order of Absolute was famous now.

We moved through the crowd without resistance. Seats opened. Space cleared. No one challenged us, and no one actually fled.

Behind the bar stood a Feran of avian lineage, feathers dark and well-kept, posture relaxed to the point of practiced indifference. His eyes flicked up as we approached, taking in every detail without betraying recognition.

I stopped at the bar.

“Rudy,” I said casually.

The Feran’s hands paused for half a second.

Then he smiled.

“Drinks?” he asked, voice even.

“For both of us,” I replied. “Something strong.”

He nodded and turned away, movements smooth. Around us, the bar slowly returned to its rhythm, though no one sat too close.

Knight leaned against the counter.

“They’re pretending very hard not to stare,” he murmured.

“They should,” I said.

Rudy set the glasses down in front of us, amber liquid catching the light. He didn’t look at the badge when I placed it on the counter between us but I felt the shift in his reaction anyway.

So I asked him directly.

Rudy wiped the counter slowly, deliberately, as if the badge resting there meant nothing at all.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said mildly. “People pass strange trinkets around all the time. Ferans especially. They like theatrics.”

I took another sip from my glass, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable.

“That badge came from Shera Ranthor,” I said. “He told me you were the person to see if I wanted answers.”

Rudy’s hands didn’t stop moving. “Shera Ranthor speaks to many people. I serve drinks. That’s where my involvement usually ends.”

“I’ll ask you once more,” I said calmly. “Who do you contact for Hollow Star?”

Rudy finally met my eyes, brows lifting in polite confusion. “You’re mistaken. I’ve never heard of—”

I exhaled.

And snapped my fingers.

The world stopped.

Sound vanished first. Then motion. Mid-sip people froze with glasses hovering inches from their lips. A Feran laughing at the far table remained caught between breaths. Even the flicker of firelight above the bar halted, flames suspended like painted illusions.

Rudy froze too, cloth halfway across the counter, eyes wide now as realization set in. Only Knight and I remained free to move.

I reached for my glass and lifted it, examining the way the light bent through the liquid.

“You see,” I said softly, “I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”

I tapped the rim of the glass once with my finger.

It dispersed instantly, collapsing into fine particles of Essence that dissolved into nothing before they hit the counter.

Rudy’s pupils shrank.

“That was reinforced crystal,” I continued. “Meant to survive Grandmaster pressure. It didn’t. You are a grandmaster too.”

I leaned forward slightly.

“Now,” I said, voice still calm, “you’re going to tell me who you contact, how you contact them.”

I smiled faintly.

“Or I’ll start tapping things that matter more.”

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