CHAPTER 54: [54] THE INSUFFERABLE GLORY OF JACK STEELHEART

The smoke cleared like a theater curtain revealing the main act, and Pierre felt his stomach drop. There he was—the walking disaster himself, Captain Jack Steelheart, protagonist of the worst power fantasy ever committed to paper. The blue hair was even more ridiculous in person, a shade so vibrant it looked like someone had dunked his head in paint. His sleeveless vest hung open to display abs that belonged on a romance novel cover, not a battlefield.

Of course he’s here. Of course he’s shirtless. Of course he’s grinning like he just solved world hunger.

Jack stood amid the wreckage of what had been Orellia’s merchant quarter, hands on his hips in a pose that screamed ’I’m the main character.’ The Torres Twins—two hulking brutes with matching scars and cruel grins—had cornered a young woman near the ruins of an amber stall. The merchant clutched a small velvet pouch to her chest, tears streaming down her dirt-stained cheeks as gems scattered around her feet like fallen stars.

"Hey!" Jack’s voice boomed across the harbor, magnified by whatever enhancement his Titan Seed provided. "Leave that lady alone!"

The larger of the Torres Twins—Pierre remembered him from Chapter 47 as Marcus—turned toward Jack with the lazy confidence of a man who’d never met an opponent he couldn’t crush. "And who’s gonna make us, pretty boy?"

Jack’s grin widened, revealing teeth so white they practically sparkled. "Someone who believes in protecting beautiful ladies from scum like you!"

Jesus Christ. He actually said that. Out loud. In public.

On the ship’s deck, Gideon lowered his axe completely, his scarred face slack with confusion. Even the pirates in the longboat had stopped their arguing to stare at the spectacle unfolding on shore.

"Is that idiot seriously picking a fight with the Torres Twins?" one of them muttered.

That ’idiot’ is about to demonstrate why I hated this story so much.

Marcus Torres let out a low, rumbling laugh. "You hear that, Luis? This peacock wants to play hero!"

Luis, the smaller but more vicious of the brothers, cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed across the water like gunshots. "Should we tell him what happened to the last guy who tried?"

"Nah," Marcus rumbled, hefting a club studded with iron spikes. "Let’s show him instead."

The amber merchant scrambled back against the ruins of her stall, making herself small, as if trying to merge with the broken stone. She looked to be about twenty, with honey-colored hair that caught the afternoon light. Her dress had once been elegant—silk the color of sea foam—but now it was torn and stained with dust.

Marcus charged first, his massive frame moving faster than should have been possible. The club whistled through the air, aimed directly at Jack’s skull. A normal person would have been reduced to paste.

Jack didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he turned toward the terrified merchant, his blue eyes sparkling like cut sapphires. "For you, my lady! With the power of your feelings, I’ll protect everyone!"

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Energy erupted from Jack’s chest—a visible shockwave of crackling pink and blue light that made the air itself shimmer. The power was undeniably immense, a force of nature given form and direction. It struck Marcus Torres like a freight train, lifting his three-hundred-pound frame off the ground and hurling him backward through the marketplace.

Marcus’s body became a cannonball. It smashed through the first stall, sending pottery exploding into clay shrapnel. A second stall, laden with silks, ripped apart, throwing colorful banners across the cobblestones like festive wounds. He plowed through a third, and the air filled with the ghost of a thousand crushed spices.

There it is. The Boobie Boost in all its glory.

Pierre watched the devastation unfold with the sick fascination of someone witnessing a train wreck. The shockwave didn’t stop with Marcus—it kept going, a expanding ring of destruction that toppled market stalls, shattered windows, and sent innocent bystanders diving for cover.

A elderly spice merchant scrambled to save his inventory as jars of saffron and cardamom exploded around him. A young couple clutching their infant fled as their jewelry booth collapsed in a shower of silver and gold. An amber craftsman wept openly as a lifetime’s work of carved figurines turned to powder.

And through it all, Jack stood triumphant, his grin never wavering.

"My shop!" The amber merchant Jack had ’rescued’ fell to her knees amid the wreckage of her stall. Her carefully catalogued gems lay crushed beneath chunks of stone and wood. "My grandmother’s collection—it’s all gone!"

er gaze shifted from the ruins to Jack. The fear was gone. In its place was a hollow-eyed emptiness, a despair so profound it had burned past tears.

Some hero.

Luis Torres had survived the blast by diving behind a stone fountain, but even he looked shaken by the casual display of destructive power. He peered over the rim, his usual sneer replaced by something approaching respect.

"Marcus!" Luis called to his brother, who lay groaning in the ruins of what had been a bakery. Loaves of bread and broken pottery surrounded him like a monument to collateral damage.

Jack dusted off his hands as if he’d just finished a light workout. "Sorry about that! Sometimes I don’t know my own strength!"

The young merchant looked up at Jack through tear-filled eyes. "You... you destroyed everything."

For a fraction of a second, the grin faltered on Jack’s face, a shadow of confusion clouding his eyes before being burned away by that same bright, empty confidence.

"Don’t worry! I’ll make sure the bad guys pay for all the damage!"

Marcus Torres struggled to his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. His club lay in pieces twenty feet away, the iron spikes scattered like broken teeth. But instead of retreating, he seemed energized by the destruction around him.

"Now that’s more like it!" Marcus laughed, wiping blood from his mouth. "I was getting bored with small-time thugs!"

Luis emerged from cover, a wickedly curved knife glinting in his hand. "Brother, I think we found ourselves a real challenge!"

On the ship, Alyssa had moved to stand beside Pierre at the rail, her green eyes wide with disbelief. "Who is that maniac?"

"The protagonist," Pierre muttered.

"The what?"

"Nothing." Pierre gripped the rail hard enough to make his knuckles white. "Just the kind of person who thinks power solves everything."

Gideon had completely forgotten about their fight, his attention captured by the chaos unfolding on shore. "That’s some serious firepower."

Jack, meanwhile, was already squaring off for another exchange with the Torres Twins. His chest began to glow again, that same obnoxious pink and blue energy coiling within him, crackling with the promise of another devastating, indiscriminate blast.

He’s going to do it again. He’s going to level half the town to stop two thugs.

The remaining villagers scattered like leaves before a hurricane, abandoning their livelihoods to escape the ’hero’s’ protection. Children cried as their parents dragged them away from the square. Elderly merchants leaned heavily on walking sticks as they fled, leaving behind the work of decades.

Jack’s power built to a crescendo, the air around him shimmering with barely contained energy. The Torres Twins braced themselves, but they weren’t the real targets here—every innocent person, every fragile livelihood, every carefully built dream in a three-block radius was about to become acceptable casualties in Jack Steelheart’s glorious battle for justice.

Pierre found himself leaning forward, his hands gripping the rail so tightly the wood creaked. Every instinct screamed at him to do something, anything to stop what was coming. But he was too far away, and even if he could reach the square in time, what could he possibly do against that kind of raw power?

This is why I hated the story. This exact moment right here.

Jack drew back his fist, energy crackling around his knuckles like captured lightning. His face wore that same insufferable grin, the expression of someone who’d never once considered that his actions might have consequences beyond the immediate problem he was solving.

The ’hero’ everyone deserves.