Chapter 20: Judgment Comes

All across the city, angry viewers slammed their fists on tables, shouted at screens, or stood frozen in disbelief.

In America, gun violence and random street crimes were sadly common—some brushed it off as the price of "freedom." But this... this was different. This was no ordinary crime. Over twenty children, trapped and helpless, were about to be crushed by a rampaging monster. Innocent lives—men, women, families—had already been claimed. The destruction unfolding on the Manhattan Bridge was nothing short of a terrorist attack.

Even the most apathetic couldn't look away.

People who had been running in terror moments ago now hesitated. The cries of terrified children cut through the chaos like a knife. Some men and even women stopped mid-escape, their instincts screaming at them to help, even if it meant risking their lives. A few civilians with firearms began firing—not out of hope of killing the creature, but to distract it, to give the kids a chance.

Of course, not everyone turned back. Some still fled. But amid the terror, the raw contrast of humanity revealed itself—cowardice and courage side by side.

And yet, nearly everyone watching, whether live on the bridge or glued to their TVs at home, began to pray. For a miracle. For something—anything—to stop this nightmare. Maybe, just maybe, the monster would show a glimmer of humanity.

It didn't.

Tears flowed freely. Some couldn't bear to watch any longer. Mothers turned their heads away from the broadcast, weeping quietly. Others screamed helplessly at the screens, shouting for someone—anyone—to step in.

Then, a cry erupted from the reporter on the live helicopter feed.

"Oh my God! Look! Look! What is that?!"

Her voice rang with disbelief and hope.

The camera panned down to the bridge.

From the Manhattan side, a black Ducati motorcycle tore across the broken street at a terrifying speed. Sleek, stylish, and almost futuristic, it seemed to glide rather than drive, barreling toward the chaos.

At first, it didn't draw much attention. New York had its fair share of daredevils, and street racers were nothing new.

But what did draw attention was the path it carved.

The bridge was a mess. Wrecked vehicles, downed streetlights, and police barricades littered the road. Even the police had been forced to halt, unable to move forward.

Yet this bike—glowing faintly with pale golden light—moved effortlessly. As it surged forward, anything blocking its path shattered to dust. Crumpled cars were split in half. Bent lamp posts burst into shards. A path opened before it like divine intervention.

It didn't stop for anything.

And then, to the astonishment of the officers stationed ahead, the rider lifted the front wheel. With a deft pull of the handlebars, the motorcycle soared into the air, gliding like a jet above the crowds and stalled vehicles.

For a full hundred meters, it flew.

Then—BOOM!

It landed on the roof of a wrecked car with a thunderous crash. The shockwave shattered windows in nearby vehicles, scattering glass like snowflakes. The people crouching behind cover screamed and shielded their faces.

But the bike didn't slow. Its wheels dug into the flattened metal, and it continued forward—racing along the tops of the smashed-together cars as though skating over chaos itself.

And then the camera caught a clear image of the rider.

A black suit. White gloves. Brown Oxford leather shoes. A gleaming V-shaped mask. Flowing golden hair, streaked faintly with burgundy.

Gasps swept across New York.

"The Lord of the Night!"

"The Goddess of Judgment—it's her! It's Omega!"

"She's here! She's going to save those kids!"

Even skeptics began to hope. But doubt lingered.

"Can she really stop that thing?"

In a lavish villa on the outskirts of the city, a man watched the screen intently.

Tony Stark sat on the couch, freshly returned from captivity overseas, the dark circles under his eyes revealing his weariness. He hadn't even changed out of his travel-worn clothes.

Beside him, Pepper Potts had paused her company report halfway through and now stood silently, hands covering her mouth, eyes wide.

They both watched the broadcast.

Tony squinted at the screen.

"So that's the 'Goddess of Judgment' everyone keeps talking about," he muttered. "Mysterious enough, I'll give her that."

Over the past two years, Tony had ordered searches, satellite sweeps, and drone surveillance trying to find this so-called vigilante. But she moved like a ghost. No consistent pattern. No known affiliations. Only aftermaths—criminals dead, vampire dens destroyed, and monsters vanished.

Just whispers. And a few blurry photos.

"Can she stop it?" Pepper whispered.

Tony didn't answer. He leaned forward instead, eyes locked on the screen.

Back on the bridge, the situation had become critical.

The monster—an eight-foot-tall horror with bone spurs, bulging muscles, and glowing red eyes—was less than 20 meters away from the stalled school bus. The children inside were frozen with fear. Some cried. Others huddled together.

Their driver slammed the horn again and again, but it was useless.

The beast snarled and lowered its stance. It was preparing to charge.

And then, in that final, breathless moment—

The black Ducati began to change.

As the Goddess of Judgment raced forward, her entire form was enveloped in a pale golden shimmer. Fluorescent arcs of energy flickered around her, obscuring her figure. For a moment, the bike became a blur of light and motion.

When the glow faded—

The Ducati was gone.

In its place was something sleeker, more dangerous. The vehicle had transformed. Its body had elongated, reinforced with black metallic plating. A new glass shield now covered the front. Twin exhausts jutted out from the sides like dragon's wings, humming with power.

And then—

VROOOM!

The rear exhausts ignited with four golden blasts, launching the bike forward at blinding speed. The front wheel lifted, and the entire machine soared into the air.

The force of takeoff caused a parked car below to explode, flipping end over end.

The monster—alert to the danger—stomped hard, cracking the pavement and halting its charge. It snarled and turned.

And looked up.

From ten meters above, the transformed bike plummeted like a meteorite.

The monster roared and hurled a wrecked vehicle upward, trying to swat the falling object away.

BOOM!

The impact rocked the bridge. Fire and smoke burst outward as the motorcycle collided directly with the monster's chest, slamming it into the ground with enough force to shake nearby buildings.

The camera feed trembled. Viewers screamed.

And the world held its breath.

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