Praise Be The Saint

Matthew's eyes never left Marco as they moved through the dark, twisting hallways of the warehouse. His mask was in place, covering his face, but his piercing white eyes—unnaturally bright against the shadows—cut through the darkness like knives. Marco could feel the weight of Matthew's gaze on him, a silent pressure that made every step more treacherous than the last.

Marco led him deeper into the building, past rows of crates and locked doors. The smell of stale air and oil lingered, but Matthew barely noticed. His mind was focused, laser-focused. The vial in his pocket thrummed with an unsettling energy, and he could almost hear the soft hum of power that seemed to radiate from it. Whatever was in that vial—he needed to understand it. But first, there was the vault.

The Vault's Door

They reached the back of the warehouse, and Marco stopped in front of a large, reinforced steel door. The cold metallic surface was unmarked, but Matthew could tell it was built to withstand a tank if needed.

"This is it," Marco muttered, stepping aside. His hands trembled, and his voice was strained with a mix of fear and disgust. "This is where the magic comes in. The boss's personal security."

Matthew didn't respond. He was already studying the door, his mind working quickly, piecing together Marco's fragmented description. Magic, high-tech security, military connections. Whoever had created this vault had gone to extraordinary lengths to protect it.

Marco nervously wiped his hand across his forehead, glancing around as if expecting someone to come charging in at any moment. "You sure you want to do this? Once you try to open it, there's no going back."

Matthew's voice was quiet but cutting. "I don't have a choice. Move."

Marco hesitated before pulling out a keycard and swiping it through a reader on the side of the door. A soft beep echoed in the space, followed by the low hum of machinery coming to life.

Matthew's senses sharpened, his grip on the gun tightening as he watched the mechanisms whir. The door's surface shifted, like it was alive—small grooves appearing, lines of light tracing across its surface.

"Here goes nothing," Marco muttered, pressing a series of numbers into a keypad below the reader.

The light around the door flickered, casting odd shadows across the room, as though the very air itself was resisting what Marco was doing.

The Moment of Truth

Suddenly, the door's heavy steel panels groaned. The door slid open with an eerie, mechanical precision, revealing a darkened room beyond. Matthew's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his heart pounding—not with fear, but with excitement.

This was it—the heart of the gang's operation.

Inside, the room was almost clinical, its starkness a contrast to the chaotic world outside. Metal shelving units lined the walls, and large crates were stacked haphazardly. But it wasn't the supplies that caught Matthew's attention. It was the centerpiece in the middle of the room.

A large glass container, suspended on a raised platform, filled with a strange, pulsing liquid. It glowed softly, its hue shifting in ways that didn't seem possible for any normal substance. This… this was more than just a stash.

Matthew stepped closer, instinctively reaching out.

The Revelation

Marco stood by the door, trying to keep his distance, his face drawn in a grimace. "That's the one," he muttered, barely able to hide his fear. "That's the thing we've been moving—our boss's prize."

Matthew's hand hovered just above the glass. The liquid inside was unlike anything he had ever seen. It wasn't just magical; it seemed alive, as if it were reacting to his presence. His mind raced, and his thoughts began to drift. He knew that this was something more than just power—it was the potential to control the very fabric of reality.

"Why is it so important?" Matthew's voice was calm, but it held an edge.

Marco glanced at him, then looked away quickly. "I don't know much. All I know is that it's the boss's biggest asset. He plans on using it to… well, to do things no one's ever done. That's why it's locked up in here. It's his ticket to the top. He doesn't trust anyone to touch it except for himself, i only have this keycard because of the circumstances."

Matthew absorbed Marco's words, his mind working through the implications. This wasn't just about cash or weapons; this was about raw, untapped power. And it was within his reach.

Taking Control

Matthew's white eyes glinted as he stepped back, pulling the vial from his pocket. For a moment, he considered taking the liquid—experimenting with it, finding out how it worked. But there was something deeper at play here. He didn't need to rush; he needed to control it.

"No one else is touching this," Matthew said, his voice colder than before. "You're not going to report back to your boss."

Marco's eyes widened in horror. "What—what do you mean?"

"I'm taking this, Marco. The gang, your boss—this whole operation? It's mine now." Matthew's lips curved into a cold, knowing smile. "I'll get what I need from this vault and leave the rest to you."

The Shift

Marco stood frozen, his expression a mix of confusion and terror. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

"Oh, I do," Matthew said, his smile growing darker. "I know exactly what I'm dealing with."

Marco opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Matthew moved toward him, the sharp click of his boots on the concrete floor the only sound between them.

"You're not leaving alive," Matthew said softly.

Marco's eyes darted to the door, and then to Matthew's gun, but he knew it was already too late.

Before Marco could react, Matthew fired a single shot. The guard collapsed, his body falling with a heavy thud against the floor. There would be no warnings, no second chances. He had what he needed, and now there was nothing left to stand in his way.

The Power

Matthew stood alone in the vault, the body of Marco lying on the cold floor behind him. He looked at the strange, glowing liquid in front of him and then down at the vial still in his hand. His pulse quickened—he had the power now.

And Gotham, with all its gangs, criminals, and politics, would soon bend to his will.

This was just the beginning.

____

Matthew stood over Marco's lifeless body, his white eyes cold and calculating as he surveyed the scene. The vault was his now, but there was no room for error. No sign of his presence would be left behind. The clock was ticking.

With quick, efficient movements, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. He moved toward the glass container first, studying it carefully. There was a small panel on the side of the platform, and after a few moments of fiddling, he found the release mechanism. The liquid inside the container shivered before slowly draining into an insulated case. It would be safer to move it while it was still contained, less likely to draw attention. Matthew's eyes flicked to the gun still in his hand, and he calmly wiped it clean before slipping it into his jacket.

Emptying the Vault

With the glowing liquid secured, Matthew turned his focus to the shelves, methodically stripping the room of anything of value. There were crates filled with stacks of cash, bundles of expensive electronics, and several weapons caches hidden within the room. Matthew took them all, filling a large duffel bag with as much as he could carry, leaving nothing behind.

The small, almost imperceptible hum of machinery in the walls reminded him that he couldn't linger for long. He needed to make sure the vault was completely emptied, that every trace of his presence was gone.

He moved swiftly, his hands steady as he disassembled the vault's high-tech security systems. The last thing he wanted was to leave a trail that could be traced back to him. He took a few key components from the system—a small but valuable piece of tech that could be used to track down any future attempts at stealing from the vault. He shoved it into his jacket pocket before pulling out a small set of tools from his bag to destroy the security panel completely. It would take a few hours for anyone to restore the systems.

Dealing with Marco's Body

Matthew stood in front of Marco's body. His eyes flicked over the man's now-lifeless form, and his mind briefly entertained the thought of disposing of the body, but he wasn't in the mood for that kind of mess. Instead, he dragged Marco's body across the room and stuffed it into a large crate, sealing it tight. It wouldn't be found until he was long gone, and by then, the trail would be cold.

The clean-up had been too easy. Too methodical. For a moment, Matthew considered how effortlessly he'd moved through the gang's stronghold—how little resistance he had faced. He wasn't just taking what he wanted; he was asserting control over Gotham itself, piece by piece.

Final Touches

Before leaving, Matthew took a moment to look around the vault once more. The darkened room now felt emptier than it ever had. Everything had been stripped of its value, and soon the place would be abandoned, nothing more than a reminder of the gang's failure. He adjusted the mask on his face, ensuring his identity was concealed, and checked the loaded duffel bag at his side.

Satisfied, he walked out of the vault and into the dimly lit hallway. The faint sounds of distant footsteps echoed from behind, but they weren't near enough to be a threat.

He didn't rush. He wasn't in a hurry. There was no need to. Matthew was in complete control now.

The Calm After the Storm

As he exited the building, the night air was sharp, and the cold of Gotham's streets welcomed him back with an eerie stillness. Matthew was no longer the hungry, desperate homeless man he had been hours ago. He was a new force in this city—dangerous, methodical, and ready to claim whatever he desired.

The city had a way of testing people, breaking them down, making them into something else. It had broken him once. But now, Gotham would bend to his will.

Matthew moved through the shadows, slipping into the night. Every step was deliberate, calculated. He had a plan.

And Gotham would soon realize that it had a new king.