Mark's resistance was crumbling. Each strike I landed met less defense. Each time he tried to stand, his legs shook more violently. The System Disabler had reduced him to baseline human capabilities, and those capabilities were failing under sustained assault.

But I felt something unexpected rising in my chest as I fought.

Not satisfaction. Not vengeance. Something closer to… relief.

This was ending. Actually, genuinely ending.

All of it. The eight months of hiding. The guilt over Anthony's death. The weight of being hunted by ninety-one percent of the world. The fear that Mark's tyranny would be permanent. That the policies crushing millions would never be reversed.

I could hear it now—through the walls, filtering up from lower floors. The sounds of combat were changing. Less chaotic. More controlled. Samuel's forces moving through the building systematically rather than fighting for every inch.

We'd won. Were winning. The fortress was falling.

And here, in this room full of shattered monitors and sparking equipment, the architect of eight months of suffering was finally, definitively losing.

"It's not fair!" Mark screamed suddenly, his voice raw with something that sounded less like rage and more like desperation. He tried to block my next strike but his arm moved too slowly. "It's not fair! I did everything right! I implemented the system we needed! Hierarchy! Order! Merit-based—"

I hit him again. Center mass. He folded.

"Justice wins! Justice will always wins against you vile Vales. Your father is a devil and you get to win? That's not how this wor-" Mark shouted, his own being interrupted by his coughs, his vocal cords and throat are ruined, pushing himself up one more time with trembling arms. "That's what's supposed to happen! The righteous prevail! The superior triumph! That's the rule!"

"There are no rules," I said quietly, my next strike calculated to his shoulder. He spun from the impact. "Just people. Just choices. Just consequences."

Mark hit the ground on his knees, blood dripping from his face onto the floor. His scarred features were twisted—pain and incomprehension mixing into something almost childlike.

"Hugo promised," he said, his voice cracking. "He said if I was strong enough. If I was enhanced enough. If I proved myself superior, I'd be owed power. Owed recognition. Owed—"

"Hugo lied," I interrupted. "He lied to you. He lied to me. He lied to everyone he experimented on. That's what monsters do, Mark. They make promises they never intended to keep."

I hit him again. Not as hard this time. The fight was already over. This was just… finishing what needed to be finished.

Mark's attempts to stand were getting weaker. His body was shutting down despite his mind's refusal to quit. Blood loss. Exhaustion. Trauma accumulating faster than consciousness could compensate for.

"I was supposed to rule, they trampled on all of us, killed and hurt all of us….I would avenge them…." Mark mumbled, the words slurring. "Supposed to show them. Show everyone. That the enhanced… that we…"

He trailed off, swaying on his knees.

"You showed them exactly what you are," I said, my voice steady. Final. "A broken person who hurt others because he was hurt first. A victim who became a victimizer. A philosopher of hierarchy who built his throne on suffering."

"I'm Not… not a victim…" Mark protested weakly. "I'm… I'm the—"

Another strike. Clean. Precise. The kind that shut down nervous systems without causing permanent damage.

Mark's eyes rolled back. His body went limp, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of scarred flesh and broken ambitions.

He was Unconscious. Finally. Completely.

I stood there, breathing hard, looking down at the man who'd killed Anthony. Who'd betrayed us. Who'd spent eight months implementing policies that crushed millions. Who'd risen to the highest position of power in human civilization and used it to create hell on earth.

And now he was just… a body on the floor. Beaten. Broken. Powerless.

The fortress had gone quiet. The sounds of combat from below had stopped. Replaced by the organized noise of soldiers securing a building. Orders being called out. Confirmations being given.

It was over.

Actually, genuinely, completely over.

I reached up to the body camera Alexis had attached to my vest. The one that had been broadcasting everything—Mark's madness, his guidance to his own security's positions, the fight, all of it—back to Valeska's equipment. Back to the world through Dubois's network.

I was shocked that it wasn't badly damaged or destroyed during the fight. In fact, it likely saved me a couple times when Mark punched me in the chest. Right now it just had a tiny crack and I was hoping that this wasn't broken. Either in audio or video, as long as it still worked than everyone could see their liberation and victory.

In fact, billions of people had just watched this. Had seen Mark lose. Had witnessed what happened when tyranny met resistance.

I pressed the camera, making sure it was still active. Making sure the feed was still live.

Then I looked directly into the lens. Into the eyes of everyone watching.

"The war is over," I said, my voice hoarse but clear. "Mark has been defeated. Taken into custody. He'll face trial for his crimes. For the policies that hurt so many. For the deaths he's caused."

I paused, making sure the words carried the weight they needed. "There is no World President. Not anymore. That position—that concentration of power in a single individual—it ends today. What comes next, we decide together. Not through hierarchy. Not through System ranks. But through the collective will of everyone who's been affected by these past months."

I could hear footsteps approaching. Samuel's forces, probably. Coming to secure the command center. To confirm what they already knew from the broadcast.

But I kept talking. Kept looking into that camera. Into those billions of watching eyes.

"This wasn't just about stopping Mark. It was about proving that power—real power—doesn't come from enhancement. Doesn't come from job titles or System rankings. It comes from people. From communities. From the collective strength of everyone refusing to accept tyranny as inevitable."

The door burst open. Samuel entered first, weapon ready, his strike team behind him. They swept the room professionally, confirming threats were neutralized.

Samuel looked at me. Then at Mark's unconscious form. Then back at me.

"Is he—?" Samuel started.

"Alive," I confirmed. "Unconscious. Ready for custody and trial."

Samuel nodded, gesturing to his team. They moved to secure Mark, checking vitals, applying restraints, treating him with professional efficiency despite what he'd done.

I turned back to the camera one last time.

"The war is over," I repeated. "There is no World President."

Then I reached up and turned off the camera.

The broadcast ended. The feed went dark. Billions of people worldwide suddenly found themselves staring at blank screens where history had just been made.

And in that command center, surrounded by broken equipment and unconscious tyranny, I finally let myself feel what I'd been holding back for eight months.

Victory.

Not perfect. Not clean. Not without cost—Anthony was still dead, millions had still suffered, damage had still been done that would take years to repair.

But victory nonetheless.

Mark had fallen. His policies would be reversed. The system he'd built on cruelty and hierarchy would be dismantled.

We'd won.

Actually, genuinely won.

I sat down heavily on a nearby chair, my body finally acknowledging the exhaustion it had been ignoring through Superior Endurance. My hands were shaking slightly—adrenaline crash beginning.

Samuel approached, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You did it, my friend. You actually did it."

"We did it," I corrected. "Your military. Valeska's support. Dubois's network. Liang's intelligence. Everyone who believed we could win despite everything saying we couldn't. If even a single one you, including the girls weren't there….then I would have lost devastatingly. It wouldn't even be close."

"Still," Samuel said, grinning that broad, genuine smile. "You're the one who walked into his fortress and beat him unconscious on live television. That part was all you. You shouldn't cut yourself short. How many people do you know that can accomplish such a feat. Those who have come before you and those who will see this in the future will be proud of what was done and what will be."

"That part was just a necessity. I couldn't sit around waiting for everything to work out for me. " I replied. But I was smiling too. I couldn't help it. It took over 3 years. 3 years of running, hidding my identity and fighting but I did it. I won.

The world had just watched Mark fall. Had seen that tyranny wasn't inevitable. That power could be challenged. That people—enhanced or not, high-rank or low-rank—could fight back and win.

Whatever came next would be complicated. There'd be trials. Investigations. Political restructuring. Years of work to undo the damage Mark had done in eight months.

But that was tomorrow's problem.

Tonight, the war was over.

And there was no World President.