First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess-Chapter 480: Club Fight

Xavier cut the engine a block away from the Aurex Club and let the bike idle.

The building sat ahead of him, washed in controlled light, music bleeding through thick walls, people still filtering in like tonight was just another night. He didn’t rush it. He leaned forward slightly and caught his reflection in the bike’s side mirror.

The mask sat perfectly.

The damage it showed looked natural, uneven, ugly in the way fear respected. He tilted his head once, checked the angles, made sure nothing would snag or restrict him when things turned violent.

He slid the gloves on next, tightening them with practiced motions, flexing his fingers once to feel the response. The gauntlets settled into place like they belonged there. He swung back onto the bike, rolled forward, and didn’t slow down as the Aurex Club rose in front of him.

He arrived in style.

The bike tore up to the entrance, brakes screaming as he cut sideways and let it skid to a stop right in front of the doors. Heads turned. Security moved immediately, hands already rising, mouths opening to say the same rehearsed words they said to everyone who didn’t belong.

"Hey—"

Xavier didn’t wait.

He stepped off the bike and drove forward, fist coming up and crashing into the nearest guard’s chest hard enough to fold him backward into the glass. The doors exploded inward under the impact, alarms shrieking as the second guard went down with his jaw shattered before he could draw.

The club erupted.

Music cut mid-beat. Glass shattered. People screamed and surged toward exits, chairs tipping, tables flipping as panic ripped through the room faster than any weapon. The staff ran. Guests trampled decor that cost more than most people made in a year.

Xavier walked into it.

Another guard rushed him with a shock baton and lost consciousness when Xavier caught his arm and twisted until bone gave way. Someone fired from the side and watched the round die against Xavier’s gauntlet as he stepped through it and broke the shooter’s collarbone with a single strike.

Bodies hit the floor in his wake, security collapsing faster than they could react, training meaningless against something that didn’t care about intimidation or posture. He moved through the main floor like it was already empty, smoke starting to crawl across the ceiling as emergency systems kicked in and lights strobed red.

The private elevator came into view.

Security poured in before the doors even finished collapsing.

Xavier met them head-on.

He moved through bodies with his hands, elbows, knees, using weight and timing instead of flourish. A guard rushed him with a blade and went down when Xavier stepped inside the swing and drove a knee into his midsection hard enough to lift him off the floor. Another tried to flank and caught a backhand that snapped his head sideways and dropped him before he could recover.

Batons came up. Xavier broke arms at the joint. A rifle butt swung and missed; Xavier seized the wrist, twisted, and slammed the man face-first into the floor without slowing. He flowed from one target to the next, never staying still long enough to be surrounded, using bodies as barriers, turning momentum into damage.

A dozen went down before anyone managed to organize.

By the time he reached the elevator, the floor behind him was scattered with unconscious and broken men, alarms screaming into empty air while guests had already fled. Xavier stepped inside and hit the control without looking back.

The doors closed.

The ride up was quiet. It was calm before the storm, except both the calm and the storm was created by the same person.

Xavier lifted a hand and wiped blood from the mask with the back of his glove, smearing it across the damaged surface until the illusion looked even more convincing. He checked his reflection once more in the elevator mirror, head tilting slightly, confirming the mask still sat right, still allowed full movement.

He let out a sigh as he stared at his reflection. He knew what waited above and he was prepared for it.

He thought about Serpent’s Fang and dismissed it again. Drawing it would slow him down. He needed mobility. Speed. If this turned into sustained fire, the gauntlets would only buy him seconds, not safety. This wasn’t overconfidence. It was math.

The elevator slowed.

The doors opened, and the corridor beyond was packed.

Guards lined the length of it in layered ranks, weapons raised, armor tight, fingers already on triggers. There were too many to count at a glance. Too many angles. Too much firepower.

Xavier moved before the doors finished sliding apart.

He lunged forward and hooked the nearest guard by the collar, yanking him into the opening and twisting his body sideways just as gunfire erupted. Rounds tore into the guard’s armor and flesh, his body jerking as he absorbed the impact meant for Xavier.

Xavier didn’t pause.

He ripped the rifle from the dying man’s hands, kept the body tight against his own, and shoved forward as bullets kept coming. He flicked the guard’s wrist outward, glanced at the chrono still blinking there, and shook his head slightly.

"Damn," he muttered. "I’m going to be late."

Xavier kept advancing, boots grinding over shattered tile and spent casings, the guard’s body jerking in his grip as rounds kept tearing into it. He shifted angles constantly, never letting the firing lines settle, forcing the front ranks to hesitate while the back ranks struggled to see past their own people.

Someone shouted an order, and the formation tried to split.

Xavier reacted before it finished.

He shoved the ruined body forward, let it drop, and surged into the opening it created. A rifle came up at arm’s length. Xavier caught the barrel, twisted, and drove his elbow into the man’s throat. Another guard lunged from the side and took a heel to the knee that folded him instantly. Xavier ripped the weapon from his hands and hurled it down the corridor.

Xavier tore one glove off mid-stride and let it fall behind him. His bare hand vanished from sight as the field wrapped around it, distortion bending space tight against his skin. The first wave of guards noticed a fraction too late.

The air snapped.

Rifles wrenched sideways out of hands as if hooked by invisible chains. Men staggered as their footing betrayed them, bodies yanked off balance and slammed into walls hard enough to crack armor. One guard tried to retreat and lifted clean off the ground, pinned there for a second before Xavier sent him flying back into his own line.

Gunfire turned chaotic.

Xavier moved with it, weaving through the gaps he created, striking where telekinesis opened space. He drove a punch into a chest already compressed by force, felt bone give, and let the body drop. He flung another guard into the ceiling and brought him down headfirst, then dragged a third across the floor and smashed him into a column hard enough to dent the metal.

Someone fired a heavy round.

Xavier caught it mid-flight and crushed it in the air, fragments scattering as harmless debris before hitting the floor. He pushed forward again, invisible pressure slamming into the ranks ahead of him, breaking their cohesion and turning numbers into obstacles.

The corridor turned into a pileup.

Men collided with each other, tripped over bodies, struggled to lift weapons that refused to stay where they were supposed to be. Xavier stepped through it like he owned the space, bare hand flexing slightly as he redirected force with precision instead of waste.

Halfway down the corridor, the resistance finally started to thin, fear spreading faster than orders. Xavier adjusted once more, tightening the field, lifting three guards at once and throwing them aside to clear the last stretch.

No matter who stood against him, no matter what weapon they used, against Xavier, they were all weak and worthless.