Chapter Nine: Not Yielding an Inch

Before the corporate drone instincts of Elia’s DNA could fully register in his linguistic system, a thought stirred. So that trio of rings flying toward him, proclaiming “Welcome to the Senesto Legion,” wasn’t a one-way ticket to hell after all, but a genuine job offer? Yet their invitation lasted only three seconds—wasn’t that a bit... odd?

Elia’s mind raced: once he understood the stance of the person before him, the crisis seemed less insurmountable. But only a rookie fresh from the nest would think that way—

He locked eyes with Senesto, illuminated by the rings’ glow. In that instant, a tacit understanding flashed between them like lightning. Elia’s hand shot out toward his weapon, barely having time to confirm whether he touched a gun or the Book of Fate. Meanwhile, Senesto’s golden light blazed brighter, coalescing from the ring in his hand into a translucent yellow longsword pointed directly at Elia!

Taking flight once more, one hand behind his back, Senesto spoke calmly: “I had hoped to skip this step tonight.”

Elia knew better: every ordinary company has a mutual selection process between employer and employee. A contract from a villainous organization like Senesto’s isn’t something signed on a whim.

When the ring slipped onto his finger, it clearly said: You are about to be conquered.

Obviously, anyone who mistook the Senesto Legion’s ring for a miraculous cheat code was not just risking overtime like 007—but possibly death, followed by their parts being sold off piecemeal, each serving a different master.

To speak with Senesto on equal terms, one must prove their strength.

To refuse Senesto’s invitation, one must prove their strength even more.

In short: this battle must be fought, whether one desires it or not.

After all, the visitor bore ill intent.

But when Elia reached for his weapon, his heart sank—where the Book of Fate should have been, transformed and ready, there was nothing.

He was certain it had never left his pocket, yet his fingers passed through empty air, touching a cold gun handle.

Elia couldn’t tell which was colder—his fingertips or the pistol—but he controlled his expression, steadily drawing the gun and aiming at his foe, though his sole thought was:

Doomed.

Which is superior, a firearm or a cold weapon?

Usually, the former—but only if the latter lacks supernatural power.

Senesto not only wielded the powers granted by his ring but was also a battle-hardened martial arts master, evident from his balanced stance.

For a moment, Elia almost reflexively called for Superman to save him—after all, face is nothing compared to life! But Senesto anticipated this, diving from the air the instant Elia moved, swinging the translucent longsword down as if to sever his wrist!

Elia blinked not once and pulled the trigger—though this was his first time firing a gun.

At the same time, he tried once more to summon the soul-digging sensation he felt when using the Book of Fate’s intimidation skill. He sensed the book responding from afar to its “guardian,” but some force imprisoned it, causing it to struggle and inch closer.

Fairly speaking, Elia’s shot was precise.

Yet the alien was unbothered. The yellow lightsaber struck the metal like a tidal wave, melting it into molten iron in the blink of an eye. Senesto pressed forward relentlessly, a faint smile playing on his lips, as if to say: Is that all?

—

Suddenly, a thunderous crash erupted!

Elia’s vision blurred as deafening impacts rang out before him. Countless silver chains pierced the door behind him; half climbed up his legs, pinning him down, while the rest twisted into a roaring dragon to face Senesto!

Elia recognized these as the very chains that had wrapped around his arm during his deal with the Book of Fate.

Now, they were feral and nearly uncontrollable—writhing like serpents, bombarding the enemy while tightening around Elia’s calves, immobilizing him. Caught off guard, Senesto was forced to retreat, his longsword morphing instantly into a shield glowing faintly yellow.

His expression changed—defensive but solemn—as he looked at Elia, demanding, “What is this thing?!”

Elia barely had time to respond.

He struggled to regain control over the Book of Fate, a feeling like gripping the reins of a wild horse. The night breeze fluttered, his clothes soaked with sweat, muscles trembling uncontrollably. Waves of exhaustion surged from within.

Yet perhaps the earlier pact—becoming the guardian of the Book of Fate and gaining usage rights—was taking effect. As the struggle prolonged, Elia finally felt he seized the beast’s lifeblood.

“Stop—”

He took a deep breath, voice flat and weary, speaking in the Book of Fate’s language.

At first, the chains did not respond.

Then, suddenly enraged, Elia gripped the chains now coiled around his waist, suppressing his anger as he growled low, “I said stop!! Don’t you hear me?!”

Across from him, Senesto’s mind buzzed with a sudden thunderclap. The alien froze midair, muscles tense, pupils dilated, heart pounding, cold sweat streaming down his forehead and temples. He eyed Elia warily, noticing a thick blackness crawling like cancer from the Earthling’s hand gripping the chains, spreading upward across his chest and neck, halting just before obscuring Elia’s face—only fading long after.

Elia barely maintained the visage of “Elia Esposito” with his last ounce of strength.

After several breaths, the silver chains entwining both loosened and collapsed, slithering to the floor like mollusks before retreating into Elia’s jeans pocket, vanishing beneath Senesto’s gaze.

Senesto exhaled quietly.

Then he sheathed his weapon and asked, “What was that? Are you controlling it, or is it controlling you?”

Elia remained silent.

Senesto suddenly sensed a weakness in this man. Stroking his mustache, he shifted tone to a sincere one: “Join the legion, and I’ll help you deal with this trouble. How about it?”

Elia realized ignoring him was futile.

Expressionless, he again reached into his pocket. Senesto instantly became alert; golden light flared, enveloping him like a turtle shell.

Elia’s emotions swung wildly; by now he was somewhat numb. Seeing this, he couldn’t help but smile.

He asked with a hint of amusement, “Again?”

Senesto clenched his fist behind his back.

Just as he was about to speak, a youthful, sleepy voice sounded behind Elia: “...Dad?”

Half an hour earlier, Ophelia Esposito had been awakened by the sounds of fighting outside the door.

—

She hid inside, resolved to stay still—if she didn’t see or hear anything, she could pretend none of it was happening. Whether Elia lived or died was none of her concern. Yet after tossing and turning for a while, the once comfortable bed suddenly felt studded with nails, stabbing at her spine. Metallic clashes rang incessantly, accompanied by vivid mental images. Several times she nearly threw off the covers to sit up, but the palpable menace and chill in the air froze her in place, forcing her to curl up again.

Darkness and the thin blanket enveloped the trembling little girl like a cocoon.

In her hand was a knife.

An ordinary kitchen knife, yet one that gave her the courage to survive and defy fate.

Her palms were slick with cold sweat; she nearly lost her grip on the smooth handle.

—

Ophelia could not fall asleep. She lay silently, listening intently until the noises outside ceased completely. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably as she wondered: Is it over? Who won?

Elia... or his enemy?

After what felt like an eternity, a sudden thought struck her as she shifted: Elia could escape.

He should be able to run away, yet he stood at the door, facing a potentially formidable and dangerous opponent, refusing to leave until the end.

Why?

Was there something in this house he was unwilling to abandon?

Staring at the ceiling, its dark edges blurred in her vision like strange eyes watching her, Ophelia felt dizzy, her nose twitching as if she might cry. But her tears were not for Elia, nor for fear. At that moment, she made a decision:

I have to see for myself.

No matter if Elia... no matter if Dad lives or dies, I have to look once.

So she took the knife, barefoot and clad in pajamas, and silently crept to the door.

Before her eyes stood the ajar door and a familiar figure.

At that moment, Ophelia’s body moved before her mind could catch up, and she blurted out, “...Dad?”

Senesto froze.

Elia was stunned as well.

All were taken aback by this sudden variable entering the battle. Senesto, a father himself, knew the formidable power a being could unleash when protecting someone they cared for deeply.

No wonder Elia refused to yield an inch!

Senesto had been close to convincing him to join the legion, but now with the little girl’s appearance, who knew what a father might do?

Sure enough, Elia reached into his pocket with a grim expression, opening his mouth to curse. Senesto’s impulse to speak was tainted with hesitation, preparing to use his ring defensively—

At that moment, a rush of wind sounded overhead.

The protector of the metropolis, the Kryptonian, and current leader of the Justice League hovered high above. His rare serious expression carried a strong warning:

“Have you two not been arguing here long enough?”