The morning sun poured over Central City like liquid gold, turning glass towers into blazing mirrors and painting long, sharp shadows across the sidewalks.
People moved in their usual hurried rhythm—briefcases swinging, coffee cups steaming, phones pressed to ears—oblivious to the predator walking among them.
Alex Black Veydris kept his pace casual, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, eyes scanning faces and exits out of long habit.
To the world he looked like just another sharply dressed man in his mid-twenties, maybe a finance guy or a tech investor.
Inside, every nerve was tuned to the environment, cataloging threats, escape routes, and potential leverage.
In spirit form, invisible and intangible to everyone but him, Medusa drifted at his side like a shadow made of violet mist.
Her presence registered as a cool pressure against his mind, steady and attentive.
‘I’m not here to make a deposit only…’ Alex thought, lips barely moving.
‘I’m here to make some investments.’
‘Investments?’ Medusa’s mental voice came back clear and measured, carrying that familiar detached calm.
‘Is there a reason?’
‘Indeed.
Plenty.’ He turned a corner, eyes flicking toward a digital billboard flashing stock tickers.
‘First, I need to be rich.
The richer I am, the more time I have to train.
The more equipment.
The more resources.
Freedom costs money—even in a world full of capes and speedsters.’
‘Isn’t investing risky?’ she asked.
‘My knowledge of this is limited… but shouldn’t you handle your money more carefully?’
Alex’s mouth curved into a thin, predatory smile.
‘That would be the case if I didn’t have knowledge of the future.’
He paused at a crosswalk, letting the crowd flow around him.
The date on a nearby newsstand confirmed what the implanted knowledge and television had already told him: March 7, 2012.
Central City.
Home of the Scarlet Speedster.
‘We’re in 2012.
Central City,’ he continued mentally.
‘We know the hero here is called the Flash—a metahuman who can run faster than sound.
Maybe faster than light on a good day.
So we stay quiet.
We stay clean.
We do not get on his bad side.
Not yet.’
‘Understood, Master.
And the investments?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve got a plan.’
The bank was a sleek, modern building of steel and tinted glass.
Alex walked in like he owned the place—because in a few years, people like him would.
He opened an account with calm efficiency, laid out bundles of cash, and began directing funds with surgical precision.
A significant portion went into Tesla—still a speculative darling in 2012, but Alex knew what the next decade would do to that stock.
Another chunk into Apple, riding the post-iPhone wave that was only beginning to crest.
The rest—carefully portioned—disappeared into a cryptocurrency wallet setup for Bitcoin.
He left himself five thousand dollars in cash for immediate needs.
The banker smiled the practiced smile of someone handling six-figure transfers before lunch.
Alex was signing the final forms when the front doors burst open.
“EVERYONE ON THE FUCKING GROUND!
THIS IS A FUCKING ROBBERY!
NOBODY BE THE HERO OR I PUT A FUCKING BULLET RIGHT BETWEEN HIS EYES!”
The scream cut through the lobby like a chainsaw.
Six masked gunmen stormed in—black balaclavas, tactical vests, shotguns and pistols sweeping in wide arcs.
One kicked over a stanchion; another fired a warning shot into the ceiling.
Plaster rained down.
Screams erupted.
Customers dropped.
Tellers froze.
An elderly woman clutched her purse and whimpered.
Alex remained standing for a single heartbeat, eyes half-lidded, expression flat.
Then he sighed.
“For fuck’s sake… really?
Day one?
Really?”
He didn’t move yet.
Just watched.
Cataloged.
Three covering the doors.
Two herding people toward the center.
One—the screamer—already marching toward the teller counters, barking orders.
Amateurs.
Loud.
Panicked.
Noisy weapons.
No visible explosives.
No tech.
No metas.
Basic.
Medusa’s voice brushed his mind, cool and expectant.
‘Shall I materialize, Master?
I can end this in seconds.’
‘No.’ Alex’s mental reply was immediate.
‘Not yet.
We’re still establishing a profile.
No flashy magic.
No petrification.
No Noble Phantasms.
We stay invisible for now.’
He cracked his neck once, slowly.
‘Besides…’
A faint, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘…this might be useful.’
The lead gunman swung his shotgun toward the banker Alex had just been speaking with.
“Open the vault!
Now!
Or I blow your fucking head off!”
…
The lead robber—a broad-shouldered brute with a scarred cheek visible even through the balaclava—swung his head toward Alex like a predator scenting weakness.
“You.
Fancy guy.
Turn around.”
Alex met the man’s eyes for half a second, expression blank, then complied.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Hands up
The shotgun barrel pressed cold and hard against the back of his skull.
“See that, you little shit?” the robber snarled at the trembling banker.
“If you don’t give me access to that vault right fucking now, I’m gonna blow his head off.
Then the next guy.
And the next one.
Got that?”
Screams had died down to whimpers in the lobby above.
The other gunmen kept their weapons trained on the huddled customers, but their eyes kept darting toward the stairs.
In the silence that followed the threat, Medusa’s voice brushed Alex’s mind—cool, steady, edged with readiness.
‘Master…’
‘Do not bother,’ Alex replied mentally, tone flat.
‘He doesn’t have the balls to do that.’
“Okay sir!
Okay!” The banker’s voice cracked as he fumbled with a heavy keyring.
“We just have to go downstairs to the vault—”
“Keep moving, you—” The robber jabbed the barrel harder against Alex’s head.
“You’re going down with us.”
Alex said nothing.
He followed, footsteps measured, posture relaxed.
Like a man being escorted to a business meeting instead of a potential execution.
They descended the narrow stairwell single-file: banker in front, robber behind him, Alex last.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
The air grew cooler, heavier with the scent of steel and old paper money.
At the vault door—thick, circular, gleaming—the banker began working the combination wheel with shaking hands.
Beads of sweat rolled down his temples.
Alex stood motionless, eyes half-lidded, cataloging every detail: the robber’s stance (weight forward, trigger finger too tight), the faint tremor in his grip, the way his breathing had sped up now that the real score was close.
‘Medusa,’ Alex thought.
‘Can you materialize anywhere you want?’
‘As long as there is no magical barrier blocking me… then yes.’
‘Then go.
Materialize in the surveillance room.
Destroy everything there.
And by destroy, I mean incinerate all of it.
So they don’t recover a single digit of footage.’
‘Yes, Master.’
The vault mechanism clunked.
Heavy bolts retracted with a deep, metallic groan.
The door swung inward on silent hinges, revealing rows of safety-deposit boxes, cash drawers, and neatly stacked bundles.
The robber shoved the banker aside and stepped forward, eyes gleaming behind the mask.
That was his mistake.
The instant his attention left Alex, the assassin moved.
Elbow snapped back in a vicious arc—precise, surgical—cracking into the robber’s temple.
The man staggered.
Alex twisted, fingers closing around the shotgun barrel, wrenching it free in one fluid motion.
The robber’s eyes widened in shock as he tried to recover.
Too late.
Alex reversed the weapon and fired once.
Point-blank.
Center mass.
The blast echoed like thunder in the confined space.
The robber crumpled, chest blooming red, dead before he hit the floor.
Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading.
Alex exhaled once, short and controlled.
‘You done?’ he asked mentally.
‘Yes, Master…’ Medusa’s reply carried the faintest trace of satisfaction.
‘Good.
Come down here.
Take as much money as you can carry.
And leave.
I hope you’re fast… because I’m going to have to explain the situation to these people.’
/*
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Shadow Monarch in Danmachi!