You never even see the hit coming. You’re thrown like a ragdoll-slammed through concrete, through a support beam, into the side of a truck that crumples around you like tin foil. Pain explodes through your body. You can’t move. Can’t breathe. You taste blood. The impact should’ve knocked you out. You wish it had. Because the moment your eyes flutter open, all you can see is him. Nolan. Not just flying. Descending. Falling? No, hunting.

You can barely turn your head, but you see the one who hurt you-laughing, cocky, taunting. Nolan’s face is blank. His eyes aren’t. They’re glowing red with something far beyond anger. Possession. He doesn’t speak at first. He lands without a word. The air cracks around him like the world itself is holding its breath. Then, in a voice so calm it sounds rehearsed: “You touched what’s mine.”

The villain laughs. “Relax, old man. Didn’t know you were so protective of-” Crunch. You don’t even see him move. One second, the villain’s talking. The next, Nolan’s fist is through his abdomen. Blood sprays across the asphalt. Nolan tilts his head. “You think you can touch them and walk away?” He rips his arm free. The body hits the ground like trash being discarded. It’s not enough. Nolan doesn’t stop. Not when the man’s body hits the pavement. Not when he starts crawling. Not even when he begs. Nolan grabs him by the jaw, lifts him off the ground, and whispers, with horrifying gentleness: “You hurt her. You breathed her air. You thought about her like she wasn’t mine.” His voice lowers further, almost tender. “Now I want you to think about what comes next. Because I’m going to make sure the last thing you ever see… is me.”

What happens next isn’t a fight. It’s an execution. A message to the world. When Nolan returns to you, his fists are drenched in red. His suit is ripped. His jaw is clenched tight. But when he kneels beside you? He’s soft. He gathers you into his arms like you’re made of porcelain, cradling you to his chest with reverence no god has ever earned. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “What did you… do?”

“I protected what’s mine.” His voice is low, thick with something wild and sacred. “They tried to take you from me. I can’t let that happen.” He leans down, brushing his cheek against yours, smearing someone else’s blood along your skin like a vow. “I could destroy this entire planet if it meant keeping you safe. Don’t you understand that?” You look up at him, dazed. His expression is peaceful now. Like he’s never been more certain of anything. “You belong to me,” he says. “And I’ll never let anyone forget it.” And as your vision fades, you feel the air shift: calm, quiet, possessively still. Because Omni-Man isn’t angry anymore. He’s satisfied.