“Listen, or you will be killed.”
Perhaps he had never quite been a good person. Perhaps it had been that exact moment that finally defined his behavior. The overarching final moment might have been what defined his actions. In general, maybe it was when he was young, watching the way the government operated. He did not quite care for it in any way, he knew he could do better. For this reason, he intended to do better; It would not take much for someone with his ability to destroy the government and bend it to his own will. He had discovered he was quite practically invincible, after all. He often asked himself, “What would they do against me?”
This moment proved his point exactly. Why should he listen to them? He was stronger than them, smarter than them. He could snap any person in this building like a twig.
The displays he often showed of his power did indeed say a lot, but despite this, he had always often been viewed as a villain, a bully, a bad guy. This was not quite true, he thought, after all, he was doing it to make Newcago a better place. All it took was one solid threat to his status, and he was done. One little piece of evidence, one little challenge, to remind him that maybe, just maybe, he was above them all. The instant it was revealed that he was not almighty, the instant this person stood against him, he was set steadfast in his choices. It was a wound on his arm, done by someone who he had viewed as lesser, not enough to hold the position they held. Steelheart watched them, his eyes shining with rage. Having been dealt the lower hand for his whole life, now, he was finally on top, and rightfully so. So why, why was this happening? Why was anyone allowed to acquire this position just through strength? He murmured to himself, “Why was I never told?” After all, he had been on top from day one. Top of his team, top of his grades. He acquired nothing from these things, as he was considered a bad person. So why was this man at the top when they were about the same?
The wound on his arm burned, or perhaps it was not too bad, if anything, what he truly burned with was anger. He set his jaw, teeth clenched. He took one step forward, then a second, then a third. In the direction of this person, whom had had control over the city from day one. Why? That did not seem right. Steelheart took this person by the throat, slamming them into the wall with great force. It was clear to him that they were now dead, within an instant, their neck snapped. But he somehow felt this was not enough.
The city hall was silent, there was not a noise. In this moment, the man felt power. No one made a move, giving off a tense air, one filled with fear and confusion. Caution. He stood tall, his back straight, his expression blank. There was not particularly any significant thought going through his head, save for one, loud and clear. “This really was for me.” A small hum came from deep in his throat as he turned to the surrounding people. The white hall was quiet, still, stagnant. The smell of blood permeating his nostrils was particularly interesting. Politicians, regular people, weaker epics all looked up the stairs at him with many mixed expressions. He turned, dropping the corpse of the mayor at his feet. “Now. Follow me, or you will be killed.”