Chapter Text

100 years ago the Earth teetered on the precipice of annihilation.

Once majestic cities, symbols of humanity’s mastery over nature, now lay in ruins; graveyards where the noise of everyday life was replaced by the chaotic cacophony of bullets and drones. The surface was overrun by a relentless tide of mechanized harbingers of doom known as Raptures, remorseless and unstoppable.

In these desperate times, the three great sorcerer clans—the Zenin, the Gojo, and the Kamo — suffering from both the reincarnation of Sukana and the rapture invasion, saw an opportunity to recement their dominion amidst the chaos and save what remained of their numbers. For generations these clans had been the keepers of cursed energy, a potent force drawn from the deepest recesses of the human psyche. Volatile and raw, this energy served as the cornerstone of their might, a weapon forged to combat malevolent entities known as curses, manifestations born from humanity's collective fears and loathing, unseen by all but those trained to vanquish them.

Curses were not mere apparitions; they embodied human misery. In the shadows, some lingered weakly, whispering of despair, while others rose in grotesque, powerful forms, capable of wreaking widespread destruction. As the world crumbled, curses thrived, feeding on the despair that seeped through the remnants of humanity

The clans, beset by greed and always vigilant in preserving their power, approached what was left of the world’s fractured governments with a proposition. They offered their strength in exchange for sanctuary within the Ark, humanity's last stronghold. However, they were careful, revealing only fragments of their ancient knowledge, keeping their true capabilities hidden for themselves. Desperate to survive, the remaining governments accepted the offer and began integrating cursed energy into their defenses. Yet, they remained unaware of the full extent of the power at their disposal, potential that might have turned the tide if only it had been fully unleashed.

The Ark, a marvel of human ingenuity, became both a sanctuary and a prison. Within its sprawling depths, the three clans carved out new fiefdoms and spread their tendrils of influence far and wide. As the years passed and the Raptures continued to prowl the desolate surface above, the clans grew complacent, their once-vaunted discipline eroding into arrogance and insularity. They insulated themselves from the harsh realities faced by the lower tiers with their power protecting them from the scarcity and suffering that plagued the masses.

Their role as protectors of humanity became little more than a formality, their vigilance dulled by the passage of time. The curses that emerged within the Ark, though potent, were easily quelled, their presence a mere shadow of the terrors that had once roamed freely. The clans, now weakened by inbreeding and self-indulgence, clung to their ancient status, even as their abilities waned. The mastery of Cursed Techniques—those unique, inherited abilities that had once made them formidable—became increasingly rare. These techniques, capable of manipulating the very fabric of reality, now manifested only in diluted forms, their true potential slipping further into obscurity with each passing generation.

Yet not all within the clans were content with this decline. A faction, small but fervent, saw the dangers of their stagnation and sought to rekindle the strength of old. Persuading the Ark's governing council, they initiated a program to recruit new blood—individuals from the lower tiers who exhibited latent potential in cursed energy. These recruits, often plucked from the brink of destitution, were thrust into a world of secrecy and peril, where their lives were forfeit to the whims of their new masters.

Among these outsiders was a recent grade one sorcerer, a prodigy who had quickly grown disillusioned with the secrecy, the politics, and the disdain that the clans held for those not born within their hallowed halls. The Ark’s gilded halls held no allure for him, nor did the empty promises of the clans. He had seen too much—felt the weight of the despair that clung to the air like a suffocating shroud. He would tear down the old ways, challenge the strongest, and reshape the world as he saw fit—or die trying. For in every fight, he found the truth he sought, even if it was a truth he could never fully admit: that in the heat of battle, in the face of death, only then he was finally at peace.

-

The Outer Rim’s desolate streets sprawled before them, a grim testament to the forgotten remnants of the world left behind by the Ark. The stench of decay hung in the air, mingling with the distant echoes of wind howling through the broken remains of buildings. Dim lights flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows that danced around the two cloaked figures walking side by side. Anāman, broad-shouldered and with a complexion that hinted at Mediterranean roots, moved with a slight swagger, his expression a mix of irritation and lingering disappointment. He shot a glance at Takumi Gojo, tall, lean, and gray-haired, who walked with a quiet, measured grace.

“I was looking forward to that pie,” Anāman muttered, annoyance edging his voice. “Couldn’t this wait until after dessert?”

Takumi’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his pace remained steady. “This isn’t just about pie, Anāman. We’re still on assignment, in case you’ve forgotten. The curse in that old warehouse? Or did you even bother to read the file?”

Anāman straightened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I read it. Nasty little thing, isn’t it? Likes to hide in dark corners, looks like a bat… or a spider? Maybe both.”

Takumi stopped abruptly, the dilapidated warehouse looming behind him as he turned to fix Anāman with a knowing look. His tall frame loomed as he crossed his arms. “You didn’t read it, did you?”

Anāman shrugged, the grin not leaving his face. “Details, details. I figured you’d fill me in on the boring parts. Besides, how tough can it be?”

Takumi let out a deep and weary sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he shook his head. “Anāman, you’re impossible. But this is serious. This plan to fake your death? The path you’re on… it’s dangerous. More dangerous than you seem to realize. I’ve seen others with your fire burn bright and then burn out, leaving nothing but ashes. I don’t want that for you.”

Anāman waved a hand dismissively, his tone light, though there was a spark of something sharper in his eyes. “You worry too much, Takumi. But this isn’t about burning out or making some grand statement. The Raptures are out there, tearing everything apart, and the clans? They’re too busy hoarding their power to do anything about it. Someone needs to step up, and if it has to be me, so be it.”

Takumi’s brow furrowed, frustration creeping into his voice as he unfolded his arms. “You’re right about the clans, but you don’t have to throw yourself into the fire to prove that. There are other ways—smarter ways—to make a difference. You’re up against more than just the Raptures. The system we’re entrenched in… it’s a battle you can’t win alone.”

Anāman stopped abruptly, turning to face Takumi, his posture relaxed but his gaze steady. “I’m not trying to win some war by myself, Takumi. I’m just doing what needs to be done. The clans have their own agendas, and that’s fine. Let them sleep in their gilded cages. But I’m not going to sit around and wait for the world to collapse. If I have to walk this path alone, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Takumi’s heart ached at the determination in Anāman’s voice, a determination he had seen before in others, with tragic results. His left hand briefly twitched towards his side, his fingers almost grasping for a hand that wasn't there. He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as a wave of guilt washed over him. “I never wanted this for you, Anāman. I brought you into this world as a kid, thinking I was giving you a purpose, a place where you could use your talents. But now… I wonder if I’ve only put you on a path that will destroy you.”

Anāman’s irritation softened for a moment, replaced by something more thoughtful. He took a step closer and craned his head to look at Takumi. “You think too much, old man. I ain’t ever blamed you for bringing me into the fold. I made my own choices. You gave me a way to fight back, and that’s all I ever wanted. So stop beating yourself up over it.”

Takumi looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was the same unshakable confidence that both reassured and worried him. “You’re still so young, Anāman. You think you’re invincible, that you can take on the world and come out unscathed. But I’ve seen what this kind of resolve can do to someone. It breaks you down, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left. I don’t want that for you.”

Anāman’s lips curled into a small playful smile, though his eyes held a seriousness that belied his words. “I’m not invincible, Takumi. I know that. But I’ve made my choice. This is the only way I see that I can make a real difference. And if it costs me… well, I’m willing to pay that price.”

Takumi stared at him for a long moment, his expression a mixture of sadness and resignation. He knew there was no changing Anāman’s mind. The young man was as stubborn as he was talented, and Takumi could see that his resolve was not something that could be easily swayed.

“Alright,” Takumi finally said, his voice soft but firm. “The binding vow is in place, and I’ll keep your secret. But just know, I didn’t want this for you. I wanted you to find a different way, a safer way. But if this is what you need to do, I won’t stand in your way.”

Anāman nodded, his expression returning to its usual relaxed state, though a flicker of gratitude passed through his eyes. “Thanks, Takumi. I know you’re looking out for me, but this is something I have to do. Don’t worry—I’ll be careful. You’ve taught me well.”

Takumi managed a small smile. “I hope that’s enough,” he murmured, stepping back and raising his hands to activate a barrier. “Good luck, Anāman. And don’t forget—we still have a curse to deal with before you go off saving the world.”

Anāman gave a mock salute, his grin returning. “Wouldn’t dream of skipping out on that. After all, who knows if your old ass would be able to handle it without me?”

Takumi watched as Anāman turned and walked away, his figure slowly sinking into the shadows as he approached the warehouse in the distance. A heavy weight settled in Takumi’s chest, a whisper of doubt gnawing at his resolve. Had he just set Anāman on a path from which there was no return?

-

As Anāman neared the decaying warehouse, the hairs on his arms prickled, a subtle, almost electric sensation that hinted at the cursed energy swirling around him. He glanced briefly at Takumi, who had already begun weaving the barrier, his hands moving with practiced precision. The faint shimmer of the barrier flickered into existence, encircling the dilapidated structure like a net, its presence felt more than seen, sealing them off from the outside world.
Anāman exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cold air, and reached into his coat. The document Takumi had pushed into his hands earlier emerged, crumpled and worn at the edges. He unfolded it with a casual flick, the paper crackling as his eyes lazily scanned the dry, clinical descriptions of the curse he was sent to exorcise. “Malevolent spirit, manifests from the deep-seated fear of human trafficking… limbs… organs…” he muttered under his breath, barely paying attention as he flipped through the pages. His gaze moved from line to line, disinterested, his mind already half-drifting back to thoughts of the dessert he’d left behind. But just as he was halfway through, a sudden, overwhelming surge of malevolence washed over him, snapping his focus back to the present.

The curse struck without warning, a blur of grotesque limbs and misshapen organs lunging from the darkness. Anāman’s lips curled into a grin, his pulse quickening as he leaped backward, narrowly avoiding the twisted mass that slammed into the ground where he had just been standing.

The curse, a grotesque amalgamation of dismembered limbs and organs twisted into a spider-like form, moved with unsettling agility. Its many eyes, glowing with a sickly yellow light, tracked Anāman with predatory focus. But instead of fear, a spark of exhilaration flared in Anāman’s chest. His face contorted into a mad grin as the creature’s limbs jutted out at odd angles, pulsing with a wet, organic squelching as it moved.

When the curse lashed out again, its disjointed limbs tearing through walls and floor with terrifying ease, Anāman’s grin widened. He dodged, moving with a fluidity that seemed almost effortless, his body a blur as he twisted and spun away from the creature's attacks. The shadows around him writhed with malevolent intent, but he reveled in it, feeling alive, his senses sharp and focused.

The curse lashed out, disjointed limbs tearing through walls and floor with terrifying ease. Anāman dodged. Fluid. Precise. The shadows writhed around him, closing in. The curse wasn’t just powerful—it was cunning. Anāman could feel its gaze analyzing his movements, calculating its next strike. He let out a low chuckle, eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

As he darted across the crumbling floor of the warehouse, narrowly avoiding the creature’s relentless assaults, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy. Every dodge, every near miss, sent adrenaline surging through his veins. The creature’s twisted form shifted and contorted with each failed strike, but Anāman was always one step ahead, dancing just out of reach.

The curse suddenly changed tactics, its legs sinking into the ground as it prepared something more devastating. Anāman’s instincts screamed at him to move, and he responded without hesitation, a laugh escaping his lips as he leaped back just as the ground convulsed beneath him. The floor rippled, and with a horrifying lurch, a wave of disembodied limbs—each twisting and clawing independently—erupted from the surface, surging toward him like a grotesque tidal wave.

He sprang to the side, narrowly avoiding the mass of writhing flesh and bone. The impact shook the warehouse, debris raining down, and yet, even as a second wave rose, larger and more chaotic than the first, he felt only a deep-seated thrill. He dove to the side just as the wave crashed down, barely missing him, and he let out a breathless laugh.

His mind worked furiously, not in desperation, but in eager anticipation of his next move. The curse was relentless, its limbs tearing through the ground with terrifying ease, but Anāman was relentless too, his body moving with a speed and grace that spoke of years of experience—and enjoyment. He lived for moments like this, when the stakes were high and the outcome uncertain.

The creature hesitated, as if gathering its strength for another attack, and Anāman saw his chance. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance, a fierce smile on his lips as he prepared to strike at the curse’s core. But even as he moved, he knew he wasn’t fast enough. Not yet.

Without a second thought, he drew upon his cursed energy, activating "Ruinous Gambit." Power surged through his body, amplifying his speed to near-supernatural levels. His vision blurred at the edges ,the price of the technique he had used, and his sight was now impaired, the world around him dimmed and unfocused. But the rush of energy, the sheer exhilaration of pushing his limits, drowned out any concern. He felt alive!

He launched himself forward, faster than the eye could follow, aiming directly for the core of the creature.

But as he descended, the blurred vision betrayed him. The curse shifted at the last moment, and Anāman’s attack missed its mark, his fist slamming into the twisted mass of limbs instead. The impact sent a shockwave through the creature, but it wasn’t enough. The curse roared in fury, its many eyes burning with renewed intensity as it lashed out, forcing Anāman to retreat.

He landed lightly, a breathless grin still tugging at his lips. Vision impaired, the world around him little more than a hazy blur, but the challenge only excited him more. His senses were heightened, his heart pounding. He closed his eyes, tuning into the sound of the creature’s movements, the feel of its cursed energy pulsing through the air.

The curse, enraged by his near strike, began to prepare its attack again. Anāman could hear the limbs scraping against the ground, feel the oppressive energy building as the creature readied itself to unleash another tidal wave of disembodied flesh. A shiver of excitement ran down his spine—he had only moments before it struck again.

With his eyes closed, Anāman tuned into the curse’s presence, feeling its core pulsing with malevolent energy just beneath the surface. He visualized the layout of the warehouse in his mind, mapping the curse’s movements and aligning them with the sound and energy he sensed. His grin widened, preparing the final blow to end the fight.

As the curse’s attack began to rise once more, Anāman moved. This time, he didn’t rely on sight but on the rhythm of the curse’s energy. He launched himself forward, his speed blinding as he cut through the air. The curse’s limbs surged toward him, but he was already ahead of them, his body a blur as he twisted and dodged with precision.

With a final burst of speed, Anāman closed in on the core, his fist crackling with cursed energy. The curse reacted too late, its mass contorting in a desperate attempt to defend itself. But Anāman’s strike was true, guided by the sense of the curse’s energy rather than sight.

His fist connected with the core, and the cursed energy exploded outward, shattering the creature’s form in a cataclysmic burst. The disembodied limbs and organs disintegrated, vanishing into nothingness as the warehouse echoed with the curse’s final, agonized cry.

Anāman landed lightly on the cracked concrete floor, his breath coming fast as his enhanced speed began fading with his vision returning, but his grin still in place. The adrenaline still buzzed in his veins, a heady mix of triumph and satisfaction coursing through him. The once chaotic, decaying warehouse was now eerily still, the remnants of the curse completely eradicated. He let out a deep, satisfied breath, savoring the moment, his eyes alight with the afterglow of battle.

As he turned to leave, the dim light filtering through the broken windows cast long shadows across the floor, the remnants of the curse’s malevolent presence still faintly lingering in the air. Anāman knew that this was only the beginning of his new journey. The Raptures, the curses, the endless battles—they were all part of a larger, more dangerous game. And he was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a small, nondescript bomb and planted it on the ground. He set the timer, the device’s quiet beeping the only sound in the desolate space. Without a second glance, Anāman melted into the shadows, disappearing into the night as if he had never been there at all.

In the distance, Takumi watched as the barrier surrounding the warehouse shimmered and then collapsed. A heartbeat later, the night sky lit up as the warehouse exploded, a plume of fire and smoke rising into the air. Takumi’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable as he sighed and turned away, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders.

-

Days later, in the grand hall of the Gojo Clan’s headquarters, Takumi stood before the clan elders. The cold light from the high windows cast long, sharp shadows across the marble floor, the air thick with the scent of incense that did little to mask the underlying mustiness of old power. Takumi’s posture was rigid, his face an unreadable mask as he finished his report.

“…The explosion was caused by a gas pipe rupture in the warehouse during the fight with the curse,” he said, his voice steady, practiced. “Anāman was unable to escape in time.”

The room was silent, save for the faint creak of an elder shifting in his seat. Their eyes, hooded and indifferent, regarded Takumi with the same dispassion they might have for a piece of paper. One elder, his face etched with the lines of age and scorn, leaned forward slightly.

“A tragic end for such a promising young sorcerer,” he murmured, the words heavy with insincerity. His gaze sharpened, piercing through Takumi as he continued, “But that is the risk of trusting outsiders. Perhaps if we had kept a tighter leash on such a wild mutt, he’d still be alive.”

A few of the other elders exchanged amused glances, their quiet chuckles echoing off the cold stone walls. Takumi’s jaw tightened, the tension barely visible, but he lowered his head in a gesture of submission as the elder waved a dismissive hand.

“You’re excused, Takumi,” the elder said with a faint smirk. “We’ll consider the matter closed.”

Takumi bowed deeply, then turned on his heel, his steps precise and measured as he left the hall. The words "matter closed" clung to him like a shadow, but as he walked down the long corridor, he caught sight of a figure in the distance—a blond young man with piercing eyes. Their gazes locked briefly, the man’s eyes blazing with barely concealed anger. Takumi kept walking, his pace unhurried, as if the weight of his deception were no burden at all.

-

Across the city, in a small, dimly lit office, Anāman lounged in a worn leather chair, idly tapping his fingers on the armrest. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, a frown creasing his brow. The minutes dragged, and his impatience grew, gnawing at him like an itch.

A flickering television in the corner droned on, filling the room with the voice of a newscaster:

“...reports of disappearances continue to rise in both the Ark and the Outer Rim. Authorities are still investigating the connection to the mysterious warehouse explosion last week, but so far, no leads—”

Anāman yawned, stretching his arms overhead as the newscaster’s voice faded into the background. The dull hum of the report barely registered, drowned out by his growing boredom. He reached for the remote and flicked off the television just as the door creaked open.

A woman entered, her steps light, a sealed envelope in her hand. She approached him with a polite, professional smile and handed him the envelope with a slight bow. Anāman’s fingers tore it open, his earlier impatience forgotten as he scanned the contents. His lips curled into a smirk.

“Congratulations,” the woman said, her tone smooth and formal. “You’ve been accepted as a commander. Welcome aboard…John Smith.”

Anāman glanced at the name on the letter, the smirk never leaving his face. He crumpled the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. The past was behind him, and this new role—whatever it entailed—was exactly what he had been waiting for. He didn’t need to think about what was lost or what lay ahead. All that mattered was the here and now.

And right now, everything was falling into place.

Chapter Text

John Smith sat in the briefing room, his new commander’s insignia still unfamiliar on his uniform. Just a day had passed since his so-called "graduation" into the role, and now, here he was, being handed his first mission. The speed of it all caught him off guard—he hadn’t expected to be thrown into the field so soon. Still, he remained unconcerned. A mission was a mission, and he had no reason to question his orders.

The mission control operator, Shifty, addressed the room with brisk efficiency. “We’ve received intel about a Nikke search patrol in distress. You’re being deployed as a quick reaction force to assist. Each of you will be paired with a team of Nikkes. Move swiftly—this situation could escalate fast.”

John listened without much interest, his focus drifting as the operator continued. Shifty began listing the Nikke units and their assigned commanders. When she mentioned the name Marian, something about it tugged at his attention briefly, but his mind quickly started to wander. He wasn’t one to get attached or worry about the details. After all, as an experienced sorcerer, he was confident that a beginner's mission for a newly graduated commander would be easy to handle.

Dismissed from the briefing, John moved through the motions of preparation with practiced ease. He slung on his heavy olive green standard issue trench coat, holstered his sidearm and left his commander's cap in his locker. He didn’t bother acknowledging anyone as he boarded the transport ship, his mind already elsewhere. As he took his seat, he noticed a flash of somewhat familiar eyes in the periphery of his vision—bright and piercing, though he couldn’t place where he had seen them before. He shrugged it off, sinking into his seat as the ship's engines roared to life.

Before he knew it, the gentle hum of the transport lulled him into sleep, his thoughts drifting to something far more mundane—a slice of apple pie, warm and sweet. The dream was vivid, almost tangible, the taste of the pie lingering on his tongue as he drifted deeper into slumber.

-

Suddenly, the world around him erupted into chaos.

The transport ship plummeted, flames licking at the fractured hull as it spiraled uncontrollably toward the ground. The acrid stench of burning metal filled the cabin, mingling with the sharp tang of smoke. Metal groaned and screamed, a cacophony of alarms blaring around him as the ship rattled with every violent shake. John’s hand tightened around the armrest, his knuckles white, but his gaze remained fixed on the inferno outside the window. The ship shuddered violently, sending a jolt through his body as sparks erupted, tearing through the clouds. Despite the chaos, John’s face remained a mask of calm, his mind coldly focused.

A blast rocked the ship, and suddenly the cabin filled with smoke and blinding light. The world tilted sharply, gravity yanking him upward, trying to tear him from his seat. For a brief moment, he floated, weightless in the tumbling wreckage. Then the ship nosedived, and everything slammed downward.

Impact. Metal screamed and twisted. Then… darkness.

Pain lanced through him as consciousness clawed its way back. The sharp taste of blood filled his mouth, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke. John lay pinned under a massive slab of debris, each breath a painful, laborious effort under the crushing weight on his chest. He could feel the cold metal pressing into his skin, the remnants of the crash strewn around him like a battlefield. Despite the agony and the rising panic, his mind remained eerily calm, his thoughts methodical. He needed to get out, but he couldn't risk revealing anything unusual. Not here. Not now.

The cursed energy pulsed beneath his skin, eager to be unleashed, a force ready to tear through the twisted metal with just a thought. But he hesitated. Here, surrounded by the wreckage and the possibility of survivors, he couldn't afford to slip. The Ark's residents knew nothing of cursed energy, and one wrong move could expose everything. Letting that power loose now would ruin all he had painstakingly constructed. His grip on the cursed energy tightened, his breath steadying as he forced himself to wait. He couldn't risk anyone seeing something they shouldn't.

As if the universe sensed his indecision, the debris shifted on its own, and the pressure on his chest lightened. A firm hand gripped his arm, yanking him free with surprising strength.

The cold air of reality flooded back in, and John gasped, his vision clearing. He looked up, directly into the eyes of his rescuer.

“Commander! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Smile if you can hear me!” Marian’s voice was sharp, urgent, cutting through the lingering haze in his mind.

John blinked, grounding himself in the present. His gaze traveled over her form, taking in every detail—her crisp white garrison cap perched neatly atop her long, brown hair, the strands falling past her shoulders in soft waves with bangs framing her face. A blue ribbon tied her hair back, matching the blue of her necktie and detached sleeves that stood out against her sleeveless shirt. The brown belt around her waist added contrast, cinching the sharp lines of her outfit that seemed so out of place with the softness of her expression.

Her hands, encased in black gloves, rested at her sides, while her legs, clad in dark pantyhose, ended in polished black shoes that made each step seem both graceful and powerful. Everything about her presence was meticulously put together, a blend of elegance and strength that commanded attention.

And yet, none of it held him as fiercely as her eyes. He stared into them—purple, deep, alive with an unshakable determination.

But for a heartbeat, those eyes weren’t hers.

The world around him blurred, the present dissolving into something darker. He was no longer on a crashed transport ship but submerged in a rushing torrent of dark, icy water. It surged over him, dragging him down, suffocating him. Bodies drifted in the current, their eyes wide, mouths twisted in silent screams. He tried to tear his gaze away, but it was drawn, inexorably, to a young girl—her lifeless eyes locking onto his, filled with an emptiness that mirrored the void in his own heart.

The water around her grew darker, blood seeping into the current, and her gaze sharpened, cold and accusing. Slowly, almost mechanically, her arm rose, her finger extending toward him, as if she were pointing directly at his soul. The weight of her silent accusation bore down on him, a chilling reminder of a guilt he could never escape. The pressure of the water increased, pulling him deeper into the darkness. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

And then, as suddenly as it came, the vision was gone.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice rough but steady. He pushed himself upright, testing his limbs, his movements precise and controlled. He glanced at Marian again, the unsettling similarity still echoing in his thoughts. “Marian, right?”

“Yes, Commander,” she replied, nodding quickly. “We were attacked en route. The transport’s down, and any Rapture nearby will be on us soon.”

John took a deep breath, brushing the dust from his uniform with deliberate calm. The chaos, the crash, the flashback—it was all just noise, distractions he’d already compartmentalized. He nodded, his eyes sweeping over the wreckage around them. Twisted metal and scorched earth stretched out under a darkening sky, the remnants of the ship scattered like forgotten toys. There was no time to dwell on the past, no time for doubt.

Marian hesitated, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer, concern flickering in their depths. “Commander, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost tentative. “That crash…”

“It’s nothing,” John cut in, his tone clipped, final. He glanced at her, the echoes of the past still fresh in his mind. “We have a mission. Let’s be ready.”

-

John and Marian emerged from the wreckage of the crashed transport, the scene around them a chaotic landscape of twisted metal and shattered glass. The once-sturdy ship now lay in ruins, its charred remains smoldering against the ashen sky. The acrid stench of burning fuel filled the air, mingling with the sharper, more metallic scent of exposed circuitry and scorched wiring. Every breath was thick with smoke, each step crunching over debris that had once been part of their vessel.
John’s senses were on high alert, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the destruction. The crash site was a beacon, a clear sign of vulnerability that would soon attract unwanted attention. His mind, ever calculating, began to map out their next moves with clinical precision. This was a situation that demanded swift, decisive action—any delay could prove fatal.

Beside him, Marian moved with practiced efficiency, her rifle held at the ready as she took point. Her posture was tense but controlled, her eyes scanning their surroundings with a sharpness that reflected her experience in the field. Every movement she made was deliberate, measured—there was no room for error here. Despite the chaos that had unfolded just moments ago, she exuded a calm focus, the kind that only came from countless battles and near-death experiences.
As they advanced cautiously through the wreckage, the remnants of their transport ship loomed around them like the skeleton of a great beast. The ground was littered with fragments of the ship’s hull, twisted and blackened by the explosion that had brought them down. The heat from the still-burning sections of the wreckage radiated outward, creating an oppressive, stifling atmosphere that clung to their skin. John could feel the faint pulse of cursed energy within him, simmering just below the surface, a constant reminder of the power he kept carefully contained.

But it wasn’t just his own energy he was aware of—there was something else, something foreign yet strangely familiar, emanating from Marian. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lurking beneath the surface. He pushed the sensation aside for now, focusing instead on the task at hand. There would be time to ponder these mysteries later—if they survived.
Suddenly, Marian froze, her rifle snapping up to her shoulder. "Commander, I’ve got movement—five o’clock, low to the ground," she whispered, her tone calm but urgent.

John followed her line of sight, his heart rate quickening as he spotted the telltale glint of metal limbs skittering through the debris. His mind immediately recognized the threat: Raptures. These weren’t the hulking, destructive behemoths but smaller, spider-like drones designed for reconnaissance and skirmishes. Fast, deadly, and relentless.

"They’re flanking us," John observed, his voice steady, betraying none of the tension rising within him. "We need to take them out before they surround us."

Marian nodded, her posture shifting into a defensive stance as she moved forward. "Please, stay behind me, Commander. I’ll handle this."

John watched as Marian took the lead, her movements fluid and precise as she advanced on the approaching Raptures. Her rifle barked sharply, each burst of gunfire finding its mark with lethal efficiency. Yet, despite her skill, the numbers were against her. The Raptures moved with mechanical precision, encircling them, their numbers swelling as more crawled out from the shadows.

John’s eyes darted to a chunk of debris nearby. Without hesitation, he let his cursed energy flow just enough to enhance his strength. With a swift motion, he picked up the debris and hurled it at the nearest Rapture. The metal flew through the air with the force of a bullet, smashing into the drone and sending it crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks.

Marian glanced back briefly, her eyes widening as she saw the destroyed Rapture. "Good throw, Commander," she called out, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and surprise. "But please, stay behind cover!"

John gritted his teeth. Damn, she noticed. He needed to be more careful. Drawing too much attention to himself was a mistake—he couldn’t afford to let her or anyone else suspect what he was really capable of. He’d have to find a way to help without being seen.

"Focus on what’s ahead, Marian," he said, keeping his voice level. "Watch your left—there’s another group moving in."

Marian nodded and shifted her aim, firing at the approaching drones with precise, controlled bursts. Meanwhile, John moved silently to the side, keeping low as he scanned the battlefield for anything else he could use. He spotted a heavy piece of concrete, but this time, he made sure his position was obscured by the wreckage.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the concrete hurtling toward a Rapture on Marian’s blind side. The impact was devastating, but John was careful to stay hidden, ensuring Marian couldn’t see where the attack had come from.

"Marian, two o’clock! Use that pile of rubble for cover—there’s a choke point just behind it!" John shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos with calm authority. He kept himself partially hidden as he spoke, making sure her focus stayed on the battle, not on him.

Marian didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward the indicated position, her movements swift and sure. Just as she reached the cover, a barrage of Rapture fire tore through the air where she had been standing moments before. From her new vantage point, she unleashed a withering hail of bullets, taking down several more Raptures in quick succession.

The battlefield became a blur of motion. Marian moved with deadly precision, her rifle never wavering as she targeted the oncoming drones. Yet despite her efforts, the Raptures continued to swarm, their relentless advance forcing her to push herself to the limit. John stayed low, his cursed energy flowing through him as he manipulated the battlefield in subtle ways—flipping debris to trip up advancing Raptures, flinging small rocks to misdirect their sensors—all while ensuring his actions went unnoticed.

But the relentless assault began to take its toll. As Marian ducked to reload, a Rapture managed to land a glancing blow, its sharp limb slashing across her chest. The force of the impact sent her staggering back, her rifle slipping from her grasp as she instinctively brought a hand to her chest.

John’s eyes narrowed as he saw the damage—a tear in Marian’s uniform, dangerously close to the synthetic skin near her chest. The wound wasn’t deep, but it had exposed enough to be a problem. Marian was trying to keep herself covered while continuing to fight, but the torn fabric was hampering her movements, making it difficult for her to maintain her usual precision.

Marian quickly regained her footing, but John could see the strain in her posture. She was trying to cover the tear with one hand while still holding her rifle, clearly uncomfortable and distracted.

She’s too focused on keeping that covered, John thought, his mind working quickly. She won’t be able to fight like this. He knew most commanders wouldn’t care—they didn’t see NIKKEs as anything more than tools. But John wasn’t like most commanders.

"Marian, pull back to me," John ordered, his tone firm but with an edge of urgency. "Now."

She hesitated for just a second before obeying, retreating to his side while keeping her rifle trained on the remaining Raptures.

"Commander, I can still fight," she insisted, her voice resolute, but John wasn’t listening to her words—his focus was on the tear in her uniform, the way she held herself to cover the exposed area. He knew she was embarrassed, trying to maintain her dignity even in the heat of battle.

"Yeah, I dont doubt that," he replied, his tone light as he shrugged off his commander’s coat. "But not if you’re worried about giving the enemy an eyeful."

Without waiting for a response, he draped the coat over her shoulders, making sure it covered the tear completely. The coat was oversized for her smaller frame, but that wasn’t the point. "Keep this on," he added, his voice steady but with a hint of his usual flippant attitude.

Marian looked up at him, surprise flashing in her eyes before she quickly adjusted the coat. The fabric was heavy and protective, but more importantly, it allowed her to focus on the fight rather than her exposed chest. "Thank you, Commander," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and relief.

John gave her a half-smirk, his expression nonchalant. "Don’t mention it. Besides, it looks better on you anyway."

Marian blinked, clearly caught off guard by the compliment. She didn’t quite know how to respond, but the corner of her mouth quirked up in a small smile.

"Now, let’s finish this," John said, turning his attention back to the remaining Raptures. "We’ve got more of them closing in from the east. Stay close and let’s get it done."

With renewed focus, Marian nodded and raised her rifle, moving with more confidence now that she wasn’t worried about the tear. She stayed close to John, still intent on protecting him, while he continued to assist discreetly, ensuring his actions went unnoticed.

The remaining Raptures fell quickly under their combined assault, and soon the battlefield fell silent, save for the crackling of fires in the distance. Marian lowered her rifle, breathing heavily but with a look of quiet satisfaction on her face. John surveyed the area one last time, ensuring there were no remaining threats.

"Let’s move before more of them show up," he said, his voice back to its usual, laid-back tone. "The rendezvous point isn’t far."

Marian looked down at the commander’s coat draped over her, adjusting it with a small, appreciative smile. "I’ll return this to you as soon as we’re safe, Commander."

"Keep it," John replied, already turning to lead the way. "You make it look good."

“Thank you, Commander,” Marian finally said, her voice softer as she adjusted the trench coat around her shoulders. The fabric was heavy, draping over her frame like a shield. She could feel its warmth, an unfamiliar sensation for someone like her—a Nikke used to being treated as little more than a tool. “I’ll take good care of it.”

John shrugged casually, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s move before more of them show up. The rendezvous point isn’t far.”
Without waiting for a response, John took the lead, his posture relaxed yet alert. Marian followed closely, her eyes flicking between the path ahead and the man guiding her. The city around them was a labyrinth of destruction, the remnants of a world that had long since crumbled. Once-towering skyscrapers now lay in ruins, their twisted steel frames reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands. The streets, once alive with the hum of daily life, were now eerily silent, the occasional distant rumble or echo of falling debris the only reminders of the destruction that had befallen this place.

What caught Marian off guard, though, wasn’t the devastation—it was John. He moved through the ruins with an ease that didn’t make sense, not for someone supposedly on their first mission. His steps were confident, almost too confident, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings with the sharpness of someone who had done this many times before. He seemed to anticipate every obstacle, directing Marian to follow him through narrow alleyways, beneath crumbling overpasses, and across precarious bridges that spanned deep chasms where the city had split apart.

“Commander,” Marian’s voice broke the silence, her tone cautious but curious. “You seem… awfully familiar with this kind of terrain. According to your record, this is your first mission.”

John didn’t miss a beat, flashing her a grin that bordered on cocky. “First official mission, yeah. But let’s just say I’ve had plenty of unofficial experience. Urban ruins like this? They’re all the same—once you know what to look for.”

Marian tilted her head slightly, still watching him with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “What should I be looking for?”

John glanced back at her, his grin widening. “Look for signs that the city’s been shifting—loose debris, disturbed dust, that sort of thing. It means the structure’s unstable or that something’s moved through recently. And always listen for echoes. In places like this, sound travels weirdly, but if you know what you’re hearing, it can tell you where the danger is before you see it.”

Marian nodded, absorbing the information. Despite his nonchalant attitude, there was no denying that John knew what he was talking about. Still, it didn’t quite add up, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to him than he was letting on. His calm demeanor, his almost cavalier attitude—it didn’t match what she expected from a Commander on his first mission. But there was something reassuring about it, something that made her trust him despite the oddity of it all.

They continued their careful journey through the city’s ruins, John leading them with the confidence of someone who knew every crack and shadow of the urban jungle. As they approached a large open square, the remnants of a once-bustling marketplace, John held up a hand, signaling for Marian to stop. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the area, taking in the faint tracks left by Raptures that had passed through recently. He frowned, his instincts prickling with the sense of a trap.

“Too exposed here,” he murmured, more to himself than to Marian. After a moment, he turned to her with a decisive nod. “We’ll go around. There’s an underground passage just ahead—it should lead us closer to the rendezvous without drawing attention. Stick close, and keep your eyes open.”

Marian followed without question, trusting his judgment implicitly. As they descended into the passage, the darkness closed in around them, the air growing damp and heavy with the scent of mold and decay. John moved steadily, his senses sharp, every step deliberate. He could feel the subtle shifts in the air, hear the distant echoes of potential danger, but the passage remained eerily silent.

Marian, walking close behind him, hesitated before speaking, the thought weighing on her. “Commander… this is different. Most Commanders, they don’t treat us Nikkes like you do. They… don’t really care.”

John glanced back at her, his expression softening briefly. “We are a team, Marian. And I look out for my team, no exceptions.” He then flashed a quick grin, adding with a wink, “Besides, can’t have my first mission going off the rails. Gotta make a good impression, right?”

She smiled, a small but genuine expression that seemed to light up the darkness around them. “You’re different, Commander. I… I’m glad I’m under your command.”

“Glad to have you with me, Marian,” John replied, his voice carrying an easy confidence. “Just stick with me, and we’ll get through this. I promise.”

They emerged on the other side of the passage, the city above seeming quieter, as if the worst of the Rapture patrols had been left behind. The buildings gradually gave way to more open spaces, the desolation of the urban landscape becoming more pronounced as they neared the outskirts. John continued to lead them, his eyes always scanning for movement, his mind constantly calculating the next best move.

As they approached the rendezvous point, John slowed their pace, raising a hand for caution. The area ahead was littered with the remnants of battle—shattered Raptures, spent shell casings, and scorch marks from energy weapons. The tension in the air was palpable, the silence almost oppressive.

“Stay alert,” John murmured to Marian, his voice low and measured. “This doesn’t look good.”
Marian nodded, her rifle at the ready, her eyes sharp as she surveyed the battlefield. “Roger that, Commander. I’ve got your six.”

John moved forward carefully, every sense on high alert as they navigated the treacherous terrain. The signs of combat were fresh, the ground still warm from recent explosions. It was clear that whatever had happened here, they were not the first to arrive.

-

As John and Marian approached the rendezvous point, the eerie silence was interrupted by the distant crackle of gunfire. The two moved cautiously, their senses heightened, as the ruins of the city loomed ominously around them.

They rounded a corner and spotted two Nikkes entrenched behind a makeshift barricade. One of them, Rapi, had a calm and collected demeanor. Her long light-brown hair peeked out from under a black beret, and she was clad in a sleek black outfit with red-orange accents, her assault rifle held ready in her hands. The other, Anis, was more animated, her frustration evident as she paced restlessly. She had short brown hair, yellow-brown eyes, and a curvier figure accentuated by her form-fitting black jacket and crop top. A grenade launcher hung from her shoulder, and several 40mm grenades were strapped to her gear.

"How long are we going to wait here?!" Anis exclaimed, her voice tinged with impatience and anxiety. "We're sitting ducks out here!"

"We'll wait until they come," Rapi responded evenly, her gaze steady as she scanned the horizon.

Anis threw her hands up in exasperation. "Did you not see how hard they went down?! You saw that explosion! What are the odds of them coming out of that alive?"

"We haven’t received any confirmation of death," Rapi replied, her tone resolute.

"So we’re waiting here until we do? This is absurd!"

Before Rapi could respond, Marian stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension. "Everyone! Friendlies approaching from behind!"

Anis jumped, spinning around with a startled expression. "Ah! You scared me!"

Rapi’s eyes widened slightly as she saw Marian and John approaching. "Marian? The Commander is here with you?"

Anis stared at them in disbelief. "Are you serious? How did you survive that explosion? I get that you're a Nikke, but isn’t that one a human?!"

John stepped forward with a grin, his tone light and playful. "Built different, I guess."

Anis narrowed her eyes, suspicion evident in her gaze. "Huh, what are you on about? That explosion was massive…Something’s fishy about this. Are you really the Commander?"

"Last time I checked," John replied with a teasing smirk. "But feel free to double-check. Wouldn't want to disappoint."

Rapi stepped forward, her expression serious. "Excuse me for a moment." She activated her scanner, her eyes narrowing as she read the Commander identification code. After a moment, she nodded. "The squad 04-F Commander has changed."

Anis looked taken aback. "Rapi, we don’t even know them! How could you—"

Rapi cut her off, her voice firm. "Now’s not the time to argue! There are Raptures right ahead of us."

Anis grumbled but couldn’t deny the truth in Rapi’s words. "Well… that much is true."

Rapi turned back to John, her expression resolute. "From now on, you’re in command. As our former Commander is unable to issue orders at present, no formal procedures are necessary to transfer authority. The situation is urgent. I’ll explain the details once the battle is over."

John nodded, his demeanor becoming more serious. "Understood."

Rapi then turned to Marian, her tone curious but focused. "You said your name was Marian? What branch are you from?"

"Silver Gun," Marian replied. "Machine Gunner."

Anis, still skeptical, glanced at Marian before checking her credentials. After a moment, she nodded, satisfied. "…It checks out."

There was a brief pause before Anis turned back to John. "Alright, Commander. What’s the next move?"

John quickly assessed the situation. The area was crawling with Raptures, their mechanical forms lurking in the shadows. The remnants of recent battles were scattered across the battlefield, and the tension in the air was palpable.

"First, we clear the immediate area of Raptures," John said, his voice calm but authoritative. "Then we regroup and move to Commercial Street—it’s too dangerous to stay here."

Rapi nodded in agreement. "Yes, Commander."

Anis grinned, her earlier frustration giving way to a more eager stance. "Let’s get this party started!"

The team moved swiftly into position, following John’s lead. As they advanced, the Raptures emerged from the shadows, their mechanical limbs clicking menacingly against the rubble. John remained calm, his eyes darting across the battlefield as he issued orders.

"Rapi, take the left flank! Anis, cover the right with suppression fire! Marian, hold the center and keep their advance in check!" John’s voice was steady, cutting through the chaos.

Rapi moved with precision, her assault rifle firing in controlled bursts as she systematically took down the Raptures on her side. Anis, true to her explosive nature, unleashed a barrage of grenades, the concussive blasts echoing through the ruins as she decimated the enemy ranks.

Marian held the center, her machine gun roaring as she laid down a relentless stream of fire. The Raptures tried to push forward, but her accuracy and sheer firepower kept them at bay.

John watched the battle unfold, his mind racing as he analyzed the situation. A group of Raptures was attempting to flank Marian, their stealthy approach almost undetectable amidst the chaos. With a quick movement, John flicked his wrist, using his cursed energy to discreetly send a chunk of debris hurtling toward the Raptures. The impact caught them off guard, disrupting their advance.

"Marian, shift your fire to the right! You’ve got incoming!" John called out.

Marian responded instantly, adjusting her aim and mowing down the Raptures that had been trying to flank her. She glanced back at John, her eyes briefly reflecting surprise at his keen awareness.

The battle raged on, with John’s tactical guidance keeping the team in sync. He continued to provide support, subtly using his cursed energy to tip the scales whenever the situation grew too intense. The Raptures were relentless, but under John’s command, the team remained one step ahead, outmaneuvering and outgunning their mechanical foes.

Finally, the last Rapture fell, its metallic carcass clattering to the ground. Anis lowered her grenade launcher with a satisfied grin. "Well, that was easy," she quipped. "Looks like we’ve got a decent Commander after all."

Rapi approached John, her tone nuetral. "We’re Rapi and Anis. Thanks for the assistance, Commander."

Marian, still catching her breath, turned to John, her expression curious. "Rapi… why did you ask my Commander to take lead of your squad all of a sudden? It’s not exactly common practice."

Rapi’s silence spoke volumes, and Anis’ earlier grin faded as she processed the situation.

"He tried to shoot at the Raptures with a human weapon," Anis explained, her voice tinged with sadness. "Hurling obscenities at them all the while. He knew those pea shooters couldn’t put a dent in a Rapture, but…"

Marian’s expression hardened, her voice carrying a sharp edge. "You two failed in your duties. You let him die."

Anis bristled at the accusation but kept her voice steady. "You’re wrong! We’ve always been willing to protect the Commander, no matter what, even if that meant sacrificing ourselves! But just because we’re willing to put our lives on the line doesn’t mean he’ll always be safe…"

There was a heavy silence as Marian considered Anis’ words, the weight of them hanging in the air. Finally, she nodded, the anger in her gaze softening. "…I see."

Rapi, sensing the need to move on, addressed John. "Commander, could you tell us your name?"

"Just call me John," he replied, his voice lightening.

Anis quickly accessed her console, checking his background. After a moment, she looked up, surprised. "This Commander… he’s a total rookie."

Rapi’s eyes widened slightly. "…What?"

Anis smirked, shaking her head in disbelief. "He just graduated from the military academy yesterday."

John chuckled, unfazed by the revelation. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises."

Rapi regained her composure, her focus returning. "Let’s move to Commercial Street. It’s too dangerous here."

Chapter Text

The team moved cautiously through the remains of Commercial Street, a ghost town of twisted metal and broken glass. The ruins of what once were vibrant shops now stood like hollow, crumbling skeletons. Every step they took echoed in the eerie silence. John walked with his hands in his pockets, looking more like he was on a casual stroll than in the middle of a search-and-rescue mission. His relaxed attitude stood in stark contrast to the tension around him, though it didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

Rapi, always alert, was far less casual. Her eyes swept over the ruins, scanning for any sign of movement. Though she kept her professional demeanor, she had been observing John’s behavior closely since the start. Something wasn’t adding up, and she had questions.
“Commander,” Rapi spoke, her tone steady but firm as she approached him. “A moment, if I may.”

John turned his head lazily, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

Rapi hesitated for a moment, careful with her words. “I understand you have recently taken up your post, but considering the circumstances, I’m… curious. We were in the middle of a critical mission when we called in for backup, and we lost our Commander during an ambush. With all due respect, I wasn’t expecting someone who graduated… yesterday.”

John raised an eyebrow, clearly more amused than offended. “Ah, yeah. That. Fresh out of the academy. Guess they wanted to throw me into the deep end right away.”

Rapi kept her tone neutral, though it was clear she was still wary. “I see. We’re not dealing with an easy situation, Commander. The squad we were sent to find went dark 46 hours ago, and we’ve already encountered heavy resistance. This mission is dangerous. I want to make sure we’re all prepared for what lies ahead.”

John leaned casually against the crumbling remains of a storefront, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “ Trust me, I’ve got a plan. We’ll find that missing squad—no problem.”

Anis, who had been listening nearby, smirked as she folded her arms. “Oh, a plan, huh? Mind sharing it with the rest of us? Or do you at least know the coordinates? Since, you know... the last Commander had them before... well...”

John grinned, clearly unfazed. “Coordinates, huh? Yeah, about that... I might’ve tuned out during that part of the briefing. Details can be overrated.” He paused dramatically, then added, “But don’t worry, I’ve got this. My expert detective skills and keen instincts will guide us to that missing squad, no problem. Just give me a little time to find some tracks and—”

Marian, standing nearby, interrupted with a raised eyebrow. “Commander, I have the mission coordinates. They were uploaded into my system before deployment.”

John blinked and looked over at her, momentarily thrown off. “Oh? You’ve had the coordinates this whole time?”

Marian nodded, her expression calm. “Yes, Commander. I can lead us to the last known location of the squad.”

Anis snorted, clearly enjoying the moment. “Guess those 'expert detective skills' won’t be necessary after all, huh?”

John shrugged, still grinning. “Hey, I’m adaptable. Always good to have a backup plan, right?”

Rapi, observing the exchange, remained composed but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. While John’s laid-back attitude was one thing, his calmness during combat, his ability to quickly assess the battlefield… It didn’t line up with the behavior of a fresh graduate. Most new Commanders would be nervous, but John seemed almost too comfortable.

“Commander,” Rapi began, her eyes narrowing slightly, “you handled yourself well earlier, even in the heat of battle. I expected someone with less experience to struggle with tactical decisions. But you didn’t hesitate. That’s unusual for someone new to the field.”

John waved a hand dismissively, his grin widening. “What can I say? I’m a quick learner. Besides, it’s all about keeping a cool head. No need to overcomplicate things.”

Anis tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips as she watched him. “Yeah, sure. Cool head, huh? I dunno, though. You handled those Raptures like you’d been doing it for years.”

Marian stepped in once more, cutting off the brewing tension. “We don’t have time for this. The Commander may be new, but we’re a team now. Let’s focus on the mission.”

Rapi gave Marian a brief nod, though she still cast a curious glance at John. “Agreed. We’ll follow your lead to the coordinates.”

Rapi exhaled, letting the tension in her shoulders relax slightly. She was still uneasy about John’s leadership style, but Marian’s competence was reassuring. “Understood. Let’s move out.”

Before Marian could take the lead, she turned to face Rapi, her expression firm. “One more thing. Don’t question the Commander’s decisions again.”

Rapi stiffened slightly at the directness of Marian’s words. “Marian—”

“You couldn’t protect your last Commander,” Marian said bluntly, though her tone wasn’t unkind. “But you’re still here, and now John is our Commander. We all need to trust him if we want to make it through this.”

Rapi’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. “I understand. I won’t bring it up again.”

John waved dismissively. “No need for the dramatics. Let’s just focus on getting to those coordinates, yeah? We’ve got more than enough problems to deal with without turning on each other.”

Anis leaned in toward Rapi and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I think I like this new Commander. He’s kinda fun.”

As Marian began to lead them deeper into the ruins, Rapi fell into step beside her, glancing back at John now and then. Something still wasn’t sitting right. A fresh-out-of-the-academy rookie shouldn’t be this calm, this aware of tactical situations, and able to lead in combat without hesitation. But now wasn’t the time to press further.

As they moved through the shattered streets, Anis leaned into Rapi with a low chuckle. “You notice how strange our new Commander is?”

Rapi kept her eyes forward, her voice steady. “He’s the Commander now. We don't really have a choice in the matter, we have to trust him.”

Anis snorted, her suspicion not entirely gone. “Yeah, sure”

-

The ruins of Commercial Street stretched out before them, each step echoing through the eerie silence. As they walked, Anis sidled up to Marian with a teasing grin.

“So, what’s with the Commander’s coat?” she asked, her voice dripping with mischief. “Didn’t think you’d go for the oversized look.”

Marian’s cheeks flushed as she tugged the trench coat tighter around her shoulders. “It’s... not like that,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the ground. “My shirt got damaged during the crash and the fight with the Raptures... The Commander gave me his coat to... cover up.”

Anis raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Ohhh, I see. Damaged shirt, huh? So, did the Commander catch a peek before he gave you that coat?”

Marian’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, her cheeks flushing even more. “What? No! I mean... I don’t think so...” She trailed off, her embarrassment clear as she shot a quick glance at John, who was still leading the group, oblivious to the teasing behind him.

Anis raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Relax, Marian. I’m just teasing . But you don’t actually think the Commander sees you like that, do you? To them, we’re just machines, you know? The last thing on his mind when he looks at us is... well, you know.” She glanced over at John, her voice rising just enough to catch his attention. “Right, Commander?”

John slowed his pace, his head turning slightly at the sound of his name. His gaze briefly flickered to Marian, and for a moment, something unspoken hung in the air. He looked back at Anis, his expression serious, his voice calm. “Actually... I do.”

Marian’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around the fabric of the coat. She quickly looked away, her face flushed a deeper shade of red. Anis blinked, her grin faltering for just a second.

John’s eyes lingered on Marian for a brief moment longer before he turned back toward the path ahead. His voice, usually casual, had a weight to it now. “You’re not just machines to me.”

Anis chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of her head. “Well, that’s... something,” she said, glancing between Marian and John. “Guess we’ve got ourselves a Commander who’s full of surprises.”

Marian kept her gaze down, heart racing as a stray thought crept into her mind. Did he see...? She shook her head quickly, trying to push the thought away, but her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the collar of the coat. The warmth of the fabric reminded her of that brief, disorienting moment when John had draped it over her during firefight. Had he...?

John must have sensed the shift in mood, because without missing a beat, he reached into his pack and pulled out a couple of ration bars. He handed one to Marian first. “Here. I know you don’t need it, but... sometimes it helps.”

Marian hesitated, blinking at the offering. She didn’t need food, but something about the gesture made her chest tighten. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she accepted the ration.

John turned next to Anis, offering her a bar as well. She raised an eyebrow but took it with a grin. “Well, I won’t say no to a free snack.”

He approached Rapi last, holding out a ration bar, but she shook her head with a polite smile. “I’ll pass, Commander. I don’t require it.”

John nodded, slipping the extra bar back into his pack. “Fair enough.”

As they moved on, the silence returned, but this time there was a subtle shift in the air. Marian walked with her eyes forward, her fingers still clutching the coat tightly. Her mind raced, heart fluttering for reasons she couldn’t quite put into words. She shot a quick glance at John, who was walking just ahead, his expression more serious than usual.

Every time their eyes met—even for the briefest second—a strange discomfort settled in John’s chest. He quickly looked away, the weight of her violet gaze pulling him into a place he didn’t want to go. That look... It reminded him too much of something else. Of faces he couldn’t save. Of the dark, icy water pulling him under. Of failure.

He blinked and cleared his throat, trying to shake the memories, but they clung to him like shadows. The guilt gnawed at him, hidden beneath his calm exterior, but it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. He couldn’t let that show—not now.

Anis, chewing on her ration, leaned towards Marian with a sly grin. “Are you embarrassed that he might have seen something, or maybe you wanted him to take a closer look?”

Marian’s face went beet red. “It’s not like that!” she whispered harshly, her eyes darting toward John.

Anis chuckled, nudging her playfully. “I'm just joking.”

John caught bits of their conversation but kept his focus ahead, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He could feel Marian’s eyes on him occasionally, but he didn’t let it show that her gaze unnerved him. Instead, he kept moving forward, trying to push the weight of his past out of his mind.

Rapi, who had been silently observing the interactions, glanced at Anis with a raised eyebrow. “You really like stirring things up, don’t you?”

Anis shrugged, still grinning. “What can I say? Gotta keep things interesting.”

The team continued their trek through the ruined streets when the crackle of static burst into their earpieces.

“Commander, this is Shifty from the Ark Intelligence Department. Do you copy?”

John raised a hand, signaling the others to stop. “Loud and clear, Shifty. Go ahead.”

Rapi, already scanning the area, tensed up as the communication went through. Anis crossed her arms, her brow furrowing.

“Shifty,” Anis interrupted before John could say anything else, her voice dripping with suspicion. “Mind explaining why the transport ship was sent into an area crawling with Raptures equipped with anti-air weapons? You practically handed the commander over to them.”

There was a brief pause, the hum of distant static filling the silence as Shifty seemed to process the accusation. “Anti-air weaponry? That shouldn’t be possible. Our intel showed no such threats in the area.” Rapi stepped forward, her voice firm but even. “Shifty, I’d like a full copy of the black box data.”

Another pause. “Of course, Rapi. I’m currently analyzing the black box data from your ship, I’ll send it over once I’m done. For now, stay on alert.”

Anis rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “with friends like these who needs enemies?”

John’s posture straightened, his instincts flaring as a familiar pulse crept into his senses. The cursed energy thrummed faintly in the air, but this time, it wasn’t from him. He swung around trying to pinpoint it but energy disappeared before he could get a lock on its position.

“Commander,” Shifty’s voice returned, this time with urgency. “I’m picking up multiple Rapture signatures converging on your location. They’ll be on you within minutes.”

John’s eyes swept over the surrounding ruins, noting the natural cover the crumbled buildings provided. His mind worked fast—setting up an ambush would give them a massive tactical advantage. Without a weapon of his own, he would need to be creative with his cursed energy to stay unnoticed.

“Alright, everyone,” John said, his voice calm but authoritative. “We’ve got incoming. Let’s set up an ambush. Rapi, Anis, we’ll use the rubble for cover and force them into a kill zone.”

Rapi nodded, already moving to take position behind a cluster of fallen debris with clear sightlines down the street. “I’ll take high ground. There’s enough cover here to create a crossfire.”

Anis grinned as she scrambled to a vantage point behind a crumbled wall. “I’ve got grenades ready. We’ll blow them to pieces before they even know what hit ‘em.”

Marian, standing near John, nodded, gripping her weapon tight. “I’ll hold the center with you, Commander.”

John’s eyes darted around, calculating the battlefield. His cursed energy hummed beneath his skin, but with Rapi and Anis nearby, he had to be more cautious than ever. One wrong move, and his secret could be blown.

“Everyone, stay hidden until they’re in the kill zone,” John ordered. “We’ll open fire when they’ve fully committed.”

The minutes stretched on, the distant mechanical clanking of Rapture limbs drawing closer with every second. The squad remained perfectly still, every movement controlled and precise.

Then, they saw them.

The first wave of Raptures emerged from the rubble—a scouting unit of lighter, agile machines. Behind them followed the heavier infantry, designed for direct combat. They moved in a predictable line, unaware of the ambush awaiting them.

“Hold,” John whispered, eyes narrowing as the lead Rapture moved into range.

The Raptures moved closer, right into the middle of the open street. A perfect choke point.

“Now!” John commanded.

Rapi’s gunfire was the first to cut through the air, her precise bursts targeting the lead Raptures, each shot clean and efficient. Anis followed immediately, lobbing grenades with a wild grin. The explosions tore through the enemy ranks, sending metal limbs and debris flying through the air.

Marian opened fire from the center, her aim steady as she suppressed the flanking Raptures, forcing them to stay within the kill zone.

John, keeping his cursed energy carefully hidden, extended it just enough to manipulate the environment. He flicked a pile of rocks at blinding speed, striking a Rapture in its exposed weak spot. The machine stumbled, falling to the ground before it could react.

The Raptures, caught completely off guard, scrambled to regroup, but the squad’s ambush was already overwhelming them. Rapi and Anis continued their relentless assault, maintaining superior firepower and tactical positioning.

John stayed in the background, subtly using his cursed energy to shift debris and launch small pieces of rubble with deadly accuracy. Every motion was calculated to appear as part of the natural chaos of battle.

Another grenade from Anis exploded, sending a wave of force that ripped through the remaining light Raptures. The heavier units struggled to react, their movements slower and more cumbersome.

“Keep them pinned!” Rapi shouted, her voice calm despite the chaos. She reloaded in a fluid motion, her next shots hitting their marks with lethal precision.

John spotted a larger Rapture—a heavily armored unit—emerging from the rear, its reinforced plating making it a significant threat. His eyes flicked to a nearby chunk of concrete. Without hesitation, he channeled his cursed energy, launching the debris with enough force to knock the machine off balance.

Rapi noticed the shift, her eyes narrowing as she fired at the exposed joints. The Rapture stumbled, and Anis delivered the finishing blow with a well-placed grenade that tore through its armor.

Within minutes, the ambush had ended. The street was littered with the remains of the Raptures, their twisted metal forms smoking in the aftermath.

John stood, surveying the scene, his breath steady. They had executed the ambush perfectly, but he knew he had to be more careful with how much cursed energy he was using. Rapi’s sharp gaze lingered on the debris for a moment, but she said nothing, her attention returning to the battlefield.

Anis let out a loud whistle, slinging her grenade launcher over her shoulder. “That was way too easy! Maybe we need a bigger challenge next time.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Rapi replied, her tone serious. “That was a small scouting unit. We’ll need to stay alert in case more show up.”

John nodded, walking over to where Rapi and Anis stood. “Good work, everyone. Shifty, the area’s clear for now, but I want constant scans for any additional movement.”

Shifty’s voice crackled back over the comms. “Copy that, Commander. I’m still analyzing the black box data, but I’ll keep scanning the area and send over the full report to Rapi once I’m finished.”

Rapi glanced at John before giving a curt nod. “Make sure you do.”

The squad moved cautiously through the crumbling remains of the city, the weight of the mission pressing heavily on their shoulders. Marian led the way, her steps sure as she guided them deeper into the heart of the ruins. The silence was almost unbearable, the tension thickening with every step.

“They’re over here,” Marian said softly, her voice distant, as if speaking from somewhere far away. “The missing Nikkes... I can feel them.”

John furrowed his brow, feeling a strange pulse in the air—faint, but unmistakable. A flicker of cursed energy, just at the edge of his senses, building up and disappearing, as if a powerful sorcerer were nearby, manipulating the energy. His mind raced, trying to pin down the source, but it was erratic, slipping away before he could fully grasp it.

Rapi’s eyes narrowed, suspicion gnawing at her. She quickened her pace until she was beside Marian, her voice sharp. “How do you know where they are, Marian? We haven’t gotten any updates.”

“I just know,” Marian responded, her tone unnervingly calm. She kept walking, her eyes locked straight ahead. “I can feel them.”

John’s unease grew. That cursed energy—it was growing stronger, but something was off. He could sense the traces of it flickering around Marian, but it couldn’t be her, could it? He glanced at her again, trying to focus on the energy source, but it slipped through his grasp like smoke.

Suddenly, the earpiece crackled to life once more. “Rapi,” Shifty’s voice came through, tight with urgency. “I’ve finished analyzing the black box data. Sending it to you now.”

Rapi’s visor flickered as the data was uploaded. She studied it carefully, her expression hardening as she read through the information. Without a word, she stopped in her tracks, her rifle rising slowly until it was trained on Marian.

“Marian, stop,” Rapi ordered, her voice cutting through the air like ice.

Marian hesitated, her steps faltering as she turned slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Rapi aimed her rifle slowly, leveling it at Marian’s head. “There were two explosions inside the conveyor during the crash—caused by the explosives we were supposed to use for this mission. Those explosives wouldn’t go off without an external detonation signal.” Her grip tightened on the rifle. “That detonation signal came from you, Marian. What are you trying to achieve?”

John’s heart pounded as Rapi’s words hit him. Marian? No... that’s not possible... His mind was reeling, but he still felt the cursed energy, growing stronger, pulsing from Marian’s direction. His thoughts raced, the strange sensation making him doubt what was in front of him.

Marian turned fully to face them now, her expression a mask of confusion. “Rapi, no. I didn’t do anything—I don’t know what’s happening.”

John took a step closer, torn between the growing sense of dread and the cursed energy swirling around her. His gaze locked onto Marian, trying to sense what was really going on. The energy—it wasn’t just any cursed energy. It was erratic, distorted, like it was fighting to break free.

Rapi’s eyes narrowed further, her finger twitching on the trigger. “Start talking now, Marian. Or I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

Marian’s lips trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to cry, shaking her head in disbelief. But then, something changed. She froze. The color drained from her face, and her body went still, her eyes locked onto the horizon.

John’s breath caught in his throat. Something was wrong—very wrong.

“Over here...” Marian’s voice was barely a whisper, flat and devoid of emotion.

John’s stomach twisted as he watched her. Her eyes... they had changed. The once deep violet was now a cold, glowing red, staring out with a blank, empty gaze. Her face showed no emotion, no recognition, just a mechanical emptiness. “Over here...” she repeated, louder this time, her voice hollow.

“Marian!” John shouted, stepping forward, but her head jerked unnaturally toward him. The cursed energy he had been sensing earlier—it was coming from her. It wasn’t a sorcerer. It was her.

Her red eyes locked onto John, and the sense of cursed energy intensified, swirling around her like a storm. The energy was violent, like something far beyond simple Rapture corruption. The flickering energy John had been sensing wasn’t disappearing—it was transforming.

“Over here...” Marian said again, her voice distorted now, as if someone—or something—was speaking through her.

John’s heart raced, his mind trying to make sense of it all, but then, without warning, two thick black metallic tendrils erupted from the darkness of a nearby building. They shot through the air, wrapping around Marian’s arms and legs, lifting her off the ground with terrifying speed.

The trench coat John had given her slipped from her shoulders, fluttering to the ground like a discarded memory.

“Marian!” John yelled, rushing forward, but the tendrils pulled her further into the shadows of the ruins.

Her body hung limp in the grip of the tendrils, but then, just before she disappeared into the darkness, her eyes flickered, the red glow fading back to their natural violet for just a moment. Her hand, trembling and weak, reached out toward John, her lips moving in a silent, desperate plea.

Help.

And then she was gone, yanked into the abyss, her final whisper carried away by the wind.

The ground beneath them trembled, the air thick with the dark energy of the Rapture. John stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the spot where Marian had vanished, his heart pounding in his chest. The coat lay crumpled on the ground before him, a haunting reminder of what had just happened.

“What the hell just happened?!” Anis yelled, her voice shaking with a mix of confusion and anger.

John’s hands clenched into fists, his cursed energy roiling within him, desperate to be unleashed. He wanted to scream, to tear apart whatever had taken her, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t let them see. His pulse hammered in his ears, and a single thought dominated his mind.

“Chase after it!” John barked, his voice raw with urgency.

“Commander, wait!” Shifty’s voice crackled over the comms, her tone sharp. “You can’t just run after a Tyrant-class like that. It’ll get you killed!”

“John, stand down,” Rapi added, moving swiftly to block his path. “We need a plan. Charging in blindly won’t help Marian.”

But John’s eyes were already locked on the distant form of Blacksmith, disappearing deeper into the ruins, with Marian still ensnared in its grotesque tendrils. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. “I’m not letting her die!” He darted forward, ignoring their protests.

“Damn it!” Rapi hissed under her breath as she and Anis quickly followed. “Shifty, keep us updated on that thing’s movements!”

“Got it! It’s fast—get ready!” Shifty’s voice replied.

John sprinted through the crumbling streets, weaving between piles of debris, his heart pounding with adrenaline. His cursed energy pulsed within him, restrained but surging with each step. Ahead of him, the monstrous form of Blacksmith loomed large, its massive, spider-like legs skittering over the ruins with unnerving speed. The ground shook with each heavy step it took, sending small rocks tumbling as it moved.

“John! Slow down!” Rapi shouted from behind, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Blacksmith turned suddenly, the red lights across its armored carapace flickering with ominous energy as it launched a volley of bombs from the cannons mounted on its back. The bombs detonated in mid-air, sending shockwaves and debris flying in all directions.

John skidded to a halt just in time, narrowly dodging a blast. He turned, his eyes wild with determination. “Anis, Rapi—use the debris for cover. I’ll draw its fire!”

“Wait, what?” Anis yelled, disbelief coloring her voice. “You’re gonna be bait? That thing will rip you apart!”

But John had already moved, darting out into the open to grab Blacksmith’s attention. The massive Rapture’s mechanical eyes whirred to life, locking onto him. Its massive legs shifted, adjusting its stance as the barrels of its machine guns spun to life.

Bullets rained down, tearing through the ground as John zigzagged across the battlefield, narrowly avoiding the lethal barrage. He could feel the cursed energy humming beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed at any moment, but he couldn’t use it—not yet. He had to stay discreet.

Anis took the opportunity, sliding into a better position behind a shattered building. She cocked her grenade launcher, aiming carefully before firing off a well-placed shot. The grenade exploded near Blacksmith’s side, sending shards of metal and debris flying.

Rapi moved in next, taking advantage of the distraction. She fired a series of precise bursts, aiming for the Rapture’s joints and weak points. Sparks flew as her bullets struck true, chipping away at Blacksmith’s heavy armor, but the massive creature barely seemed phased.

John darted to the side, narrowly avoiding another hail of bullets. He spotted a pile of debris and flung himself behind it for cover. His breath came in ragged gasps as he watched Blacksmith’s cannons charge again, the red glow of its central core intensifying as it prepared for another onslaught.

“Rapi, Anis—get ready for another opening!” John yelled, his mind racing. He had to find a way to slow it down.

Blacksmith’s massive legs began to churn forward again, its machine guns rattling as it relentlessly advanced toward John. He had to think quickly. He spotted a large piece of rubble nearby and, with a quick flick of his hand, threw it crashing into Blacksmith’s leg joint. The impact wasn’t enough to seriously damage the Rapture, but it caused it to stagger, just for a moment.

“Now!” John called.

Anis fired another grenade, this time hitting the weakened joint. The explosion tore into Blacksmith’s armor, sending a spray of metal and energy sparks into the air. Rapi followed up with more precise shots, targeting the exposed components.

Blacksmith roared, its cannons shifting, launching more bombs in rapid succession. The bombs arced through the air, headed straight for Rapi and Anis.

“Move!” John shouted, his heart pounding as he watched the bombs fall. Anis dove behind a large piece of concrete, barely escaping the explosion. Rapi rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast as the bombs detonated with deafening force, the shockwave rippling through the battlefield.

John gritted his teeth and pushed forward, using the momentary chaos to close the distance between him and Blacksmith. He could see its bright red energy core embedded in its center, lights pulsing with power. That had to be its weak spot.

“Shifty, can you find a vulnerability in this thing?” John shouted into the comms, panting as he ducked behind another crumbling wall.

“I’m scanning now,” Shifty replied. “Its core is vulnerable, if you focus fire on it, it will destroy it. The Machine guns are especially weak at its lower joints!”

John pushed forward, weaving between chunks of debris and collapsed buildings. “Rapi, Anis—hit those machine guns! I’ll draw its fire!”

“John!” Rapi’s voice was filled with frustration, but she knew they had no choice. “Fine! Just don’t get yourself killed.”

“Got it, Commander!” Anis added, her voice tinged with her usual cocky grin. “Let’s wreck this thing.”

Blacksmith suddenly reared back, its mechanical arms shifting as the barrels of its twin machine guns spun back to life. The guns roared, bullets spraying in a deadly arc toward John as he sprinted through the ruins.

John’s instincts screamed at him, and he dove behind a crumbling wall just as the bullets tore through the air, riddling the ground where he had been standing moments before. Dust and debris exploded into the air as the machine guns continued their relentless barrage.

“Now!” John shouted into his comm, rolling to his feet.

Rapi moved swiftly, her rifle trained on Blacksmith’s right gun. She squeezed the trigger, each shot precise and methodical, aimed directly at the mounting joint of the machine gun. Sparks flew as her bullets connected, causing the gun to stutter and momentarily jam.

“Got it!” Rapi called out. “One down, but it’s still dangerous.”

“Working on the other one!” Anis grinned, loading a grenade into her launcher. She aimed carefully and fired. The grenade sailed through the air before slamming into Blacksmith’s left machine gun, the explosion sending a shockwave through the battlefield.

Blacksmith staggered, its machine guns momentarily disabled, giving the squad precious seconds to advance.

John moved swiftly, sprinting toward the creature. He had to keep it distracted, had to give Rapi and Anis more time to target its core.

Blacksmith’s red central core pulsed dangerously, its energy visibly fluctuating as the damage started to take its toll. The Rapture screeched, the sound an awful blend of mechanical whirring and an almost beastly roar. Its massive legs adjusted, bracing itself as its remaining cannons charged with energy, preparing for a devastating attack.

“John, the core’s exposed!” Rapi shouted. “If we hit it now, we can take it down!”

John nodded, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the glowing core at the center of Blacksmith’s chest. This was it—this was their chance to end it.

“Anis, hit it with everything you’ve got!” John yelled, his voice hoarse but determined.

“You got it!” Anis called back, already loading her next grenade. She fired, the explosive arcing through the air and hitting Blacksmith squarely in the chest. The explosion rocked the massive Rapture, and for a brief moment, its movements faltered.

“Rapi, now!” John shouted, charging forward, his gaze fixed on the core.

Rapi didn’t hesitate. She fired a series of well-aimed shots, each one striking Blacksmith’s core directly. The red orb flickered wildly, its energy surging as cracks began to form along its surface.

Blacksmith screeched again, its mechanical limbs thrashing as it struggled to regain control. But just as the squad was about to press the attack further, the Rapture retaliated.

Without warning, two metallic tendrils shot out from its sides, moving with terrifying speed.

John barely had time to react as the metallic tendrils whipped through the air. They slammed into him with a force that sent pain shooting through his ribs, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He was yanked off the ground, dragged through the air like a ragdoll. His vision blurred, his surroundings a spinning whirlwind of destruction, before the tendrils hurled him into the side of a crumbling building.

The world seemed to explode in a blur of concrete and dust as John crashed through the structure. He slammed into the far wall, his body crumpling to the floor amid the rubble. The room spun, his ears ringing from the impact. His cursed energy, which had been surging within him, now pulsed wildly, demanding release.

"Commander!" Rapi's voice rang in his ear, frantic.

John groaned, his vision swimming. Through the haze of pain, he managed to push himself to his knees, gritting his teeth against the agony that throbbed through his body. He couldn't let them see him like this—not now. Not when Blacksmith was still out there, still a threat.

“Focus on Blacksmith!” he shouted, his voice rasping but commanding. "Don't worry about me—just bring it down!"

He could feel the tension in the air, the distant sounds of Rapi and Anis engaging the massive Rapture, but they weren’t going to last long. Blacksmith was relentless, and without a weapon of his own, John knew he needed to do something drastic.

Hidden from sight by the ruined building, he finally allowed himself a moment of clarity, his thoughts turning to the cursed energy pulsing within him. He was alone now, concealed from Rapi and Anis’ view. No one would see what he was about to do. He could use Ruinous Gambit.

With a deep breath, he activated his cursed technique.

Immediately, John felt the familiar surge of power flood through him, focusing his energy to enhance his strength. But as always with Ruinous Gambit, the risk was there—the random cost. His senses dulled, and a sudden wave of dizziness swept over him, nearly making him stumble. The world blurred, his hearing muffling into a distant hum, the outlines of the battlefield shifting into vague shapes.

John's vision dimmed, his balance swaying dangerously. His grip on the tendrils slackened, his mind swimming in confusion. No... focus... He had no time for weakness now. His body threatened to betray him, and for a moment, he feared he might let go, leaving Blacksmith unchecked.

But he forced himself to hold on, tightening his grip on the tendrils with trembling hands. He couldn't lose control—not yet. The cost of his technique roared in his mind, threatening to drag him under, but John focused through the fog, steadying himself against the wreckage of the building.

Through the haze, he felt the raw power surging into his muscles. The cursed energy burned through him, feeding his enhanced strength, his body suddenly capable of more than it was before. The tendrils still gripped him, but John’s enhanced strength surged to the surface, overpowering the disorientation. With a guttural growl, he yanked on the tendrils, pulling with every ounce of power he could muster.

Blacksmith screeched as the force of John's pull dragged its massive body across the battlefield. Its legs skidded against the ground, the creature’s bulk no match for the sudden surge of strength. Dust and debris flew as the giant Rapture lurched forward, momentarily thrown off balance.

John’s vision remained blurred, his body threatening to collapse under his sensory confusion, but he held on. He could feel the ground shudder as Blacksmith struggled to regain control, but the creature was disoriented, its legs scrambling to find purchase as it was dragged backward, the mechanical screech of its limbs piercing the air.

"Rapi, Anis!" John shouted, his voice strained but commanding, knowing they couldn’t see what he was doing. "Now! Focus on the core!"

Rapi’s sharp eyes caught the opening. She didn’t hesitate, her rifle already trained on Blacksmith’s exposed core. She squeezed the trigger, sending precise bursts into the red, flickering orb at the center of the Rapture’s chest. The shots struck true, cracking the glowing core, causing it to flicker violently.

Anis followed up with another grenade, her signature grin widening as she watched the explosive arc through the air. It slammed into Blacksmith’s chest with a resounding boom, the explosion rippling through the beast's frame. The Rapture screeched again, this time in agony, as its core began to shatter.

Rapi’s final shot rang out, piercing the cracked core with deadly precision. The red orb sputtered, then exploded in a cascade of sparks and energy, sending a shockwave through the battlefield. Blacksmith let out one last tortured screech as its massive frame collapsed, its legs folding in on themselves as it crumpled to the ground in a heap of twisted metal and shattered machinery.

John released his hold on the tendrils, collapsing back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The world still spun around him, his senses dulled and chaotic, but he had done it. The battle was over.

“John!” Rapi’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and concerned.

He forced himself to stand, dismissing his cursed technique as he was leaning against the ruined wall for support. “I’m fine,” he managed to rasp, pushing the pain and disorientation down.

The smoke cleared, revealing the wreckage of Blacksmith, its body lying still on the battlefield. Marian’s limp form could be seen tangled in the remains of the Rapture, but she was alive.

“We did it,” Anis breathed, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “We actually did it.”

He turned his gaze toward the fallen Rapture, his fists still trembling as he tried to steady himself. There was no time for rest. Marian needed him, and whatever happened next, he would be there to make sure they brought her back.

Chapter Text

Shifty's voice crackled over the comms, a rare softness threading through her usually clinical tone. "Considering there was only a 12.4% chance of success, I'd say that was a job well done."

Rapi surveyed the battlefield, her gaze steady but heavy with sorrow. The landscape was a graveyard of twisted metal and scorched earth, the remnants of war strewn like broken toys. "I'll check for survivors from the Vanguard." Each step she took felt deliberate, slow as though the weight of the fallen pressed against her feet. After a moment, she shook her head. "No survivors. All units have been neutralized. Their parts have been... ransacked."

Anis kicked a stray piece of debris, her usual levity stripped away. "What about Marian?"

A faint groan, barely a whisper, sliced through the quiet devastation. "Over here," Marian’s voice rasped, fragile against the backdrop of destruction.

John's chest tightened. His heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. He pushed past the wreckage, feeling his pulse in his throat as he scanned the debris. Then he saw her—Marian, broken but still alive. Relief surged through him, crashing into the pit of his stomach like a stone.

"Marian!" he gasped.

Anis knelt beside her, her eyes widening as she scanned Marian’s vitals. The color drained from her face. "This is bad," she whispered, her voice hollow. "Her brain’s already been corrupted."

A leaden silence settled over them. The wind howled through the battlefield, cold and empty. Shifty’s voice pierced the stillness, devoid of her earlier warmth. "You all know the protocol. Any Nikke with irreversible brain damage must be... terminated. The Commander must carry it out."

John’s blood ran cold. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the world around him. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "There has to be another way."

Rapi approached, her face unreadable, but the anguish in her eyes mirrored his own. She handed him a sleek, silver pistol. "This firearm is standard issue for... situations like this. It's designed for minimal suffering. Humans can operate it. Just get in close.”

John stared at the weapon, his reflection distorted in the polished surface. The cold metal felt alien in his hands, heavier than it should have been. Anis gently touched his arm, her eyes soft with sorrow. "Maybe I should do it," she offered. "You shouldn’t have to—"

"No," Rapi interrupted, her voice firm but edged with something softer. "Nikkes are prohibited from terminating our own kind. It has to be you, Commander. If we hesitate, she could become an Irregular."

His vision blurred, past and present crashing together in his mind. Faces from another time—bodies floating in the river, a woman reaching for him, her eyes wide with terror. The cold indifference of his comrades, their backs already turned as they walked away, laughter echoing in his ears.

"Commander," Rapi’s urgent voice snapped him back to the present.

Marian’s gaze met his, clear despite the flickering lights of her failing systems. She managed a faint smile, a small but radiant light in the darkness. "Over here, Commander."

His throat tightened. The words felt stuck, lodged behind the weight of his guilt. "Marian, I..."

She reached up, her fingers brushing against his, guiding his trembling hand to wrap around the pistol. Her touch was warm, steady. "Thank you for lending me your coat," she whispered, her voice like a soft breeze, fragile but full of meaning.

"Don’t do this," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath. "We can fix this. We can save you."

She shook her head gently, her expression calm, accepting. "Some things can’t be fixed, John." Her thumb rested over his on the trigger. "It’s okay."

Time seemed to slow. The world narrowed to the space between them—the weight of the pistol, the fragility of her smile, the unspoken understanding passing in the silence.

A tear traced down his cheek, cold against his skin. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

She leaned forward ever so slightly, her smile never wavering. "Me too."

Their fingers tightened together.

Bang.

The sharp report of the pistol echoed across the desolate landscape, a final punctuation to the battle’s brutality. Marian’s body relaxed, her eyes fluttering closed as if drifting into a peaceful sleep. John stood frozen, his breath catching in his throat as he watched the life drain from her. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

John knelt beside her, his hands shaking as he fetched the coat he had lent her earlier. With trembling hands, he draped it over her still body, laying it upon her like a shroud. His fingers lingered on the fabric, unwilling to let go.

"No signs of life," Rapi confirmed softly, her voice a distant echo.

Shifty's voice returned, muted now, carrying a rare hint of sorrow. "Official confirmation of death received. Mission parameters fulfilled. Return to the Ark when ready."

Anis turned away, her shoulders shaking as she wiped at her eyes. "Damn it," she muttered, her usual bravado stripped away, leaving behind only raw grief.

The trio stood in heavy silence, the weight of loss settling over them like a suffocating fog. John stared at the pistol still clutched in his hand, the cold metal pressing against his palm, a stark reminder of the line he had crossed. His reflection stared back at him, distorted in its polished surface.

"Commander," Rapi said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "We should go."

He nodded absently, his gaze still fixed on Marian’s serene face. With a shaky breath, he placed the pistol back into its holster and pulled his coat tighter around her, a final gesture of respect.

They began the somber walk back, the ruins of the city a bleak backdrop to their retreat. The sky above was a tapestry of grays, the sun obscured by thick clouds that threatened rain. Each step felt heavy, as if the ground itself was trying to pull them under.

As they moved away from the battlefield, John’s surroundings began to blur again. Voices from the past whispered at the edges of his consciousness.

"She didn’t stand a chance," a callous voice remarked, echoing from his memories.

"Not our problem," another scoffed. "Collateral damage."

He saw the face of the drowning woman once more, her desperate eyes locking onto his as she was pulled under by the churning waters. He had reached out, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, weighed down by indecision and fear. The sorcerers beside him had laughed, their backs already turned as they walked away.

"Help her!" he had screamed, but his voice was lost in the roar of the river and the indifference of his comrades.

"Commander?" Rapi's voice broke through the fog.

He blinked, the haunting images receding but leaving a dull ache in their wake. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just... thinking."

Anis gave him a concerned look. "You sure you’re okay? You seem... distant."

He forced a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll be fine."

-
They had called a transport ship to take them back to the ark.

The soft hum of the transport ship’s engines filled the silence inside the cabin. The rhythmic vibration beneath their feet was a steady reminder of the distance between them and the battlefield they had just left behind. The air felt heavy, thick with grief, exhaustion, and something unspoken that lingered in the shadows of the cramped space.

John sat at the back of the transport, his gaze distant as he stared out through the narrow window. His shoulders slumped, his body tense as if the weight of what had happened clung to him like a shroud. His hands rested limply on his lap, fingers trembling ever so slightly. The coat he had draped over Marian was gone, left behind as a token of respect on the cold battlefield. But the haunted expression on his face—eyes hollow, jaw clenched—caught Anis’s eye. With each passing moment, he seemed to sink further into himself, retreating from the world around him.

Across from John, Rapi sat quietly, her rifle leaning against her leg. She watched him carefully, her brow furrowing in thought. Anis, sitting next to her, leaned back in her seat, her usual carefree attitude dulled by the weight of what had transpired.

"He's not himself," Anis muttered, her voice low. She glanced at Rapi, tilting her head towards John. "He’s... different."

Rapi nodded, her eyes never leaving John. "I noticed it too. Ever since Marian... died."

Anis frowned, her brows drawing together in confusion. "Yeah, but... he only just met her, right? I mean, I get being upset, but the way he's acting... It’s like he lost someone he’s known for years. And Marian was a Nikke. Humans don’t usually react this way when one of us is lost."

Rapi’s gaze softened. "Most Commanders wouldn’t blink twice at losing a Nikke. We’re just machines to them, tools to be used and discarded."

Anis bit her lip. "Exactly. But John... He’s been acting like nothing phases him since we met. Now? It’s like the weight of the world’s crushing him."

Rapi shifted, glancing at John again. His face was set in a mask of grief, eyes unfocused, lost in a memory. She had seen men like him before—men who would hide their feelings and uncertainties beneath a mask of overconfidence.

"Maybe," Rapi began cautiously, "there’s more to him than what we see. Something we don't know about him."

Anis raised an eyebrow. "You think so? I dunno... I mean, we’ve all got our baggage, but he’s acting like he failed her on a personal level."

Rapi’s expression tightened. "He hesitated when it mattered. It wasn’t just about protocol. It was... something else."

Anis leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You think he’s been through this before?"

Rapi nodded, her face grim. "I think so. the look on his face... It’s like he was reliving something."

The cabin fell into silence again, the hum of the engines filling the void. Anis bit her lip, trying to piece together what little they knew about John. His cocky attitude had been a front, and now that front had cracked wide open.

Rapi leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "It's not for us to figure out," she murmured. "For now, we just need to get back to the Ark."

Anis glanced at John again. He hadn’t moved, his eyes still locked on the window, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing the landscape rushing by. He was somewhere else entirely, trapped in his mind.

"You think he’ll be okay?" Anis asked softly.

Rapi didn’t answer for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was filled with uncertainty. "I don’t know."

The transport ship descended quietly, the soft hum of its engines fading into the tranquil rustle of the trees surrounding the hidden elevator. The landscape below them was unassuming—dense foliage and natural greenery stretched out for miles, the perfect camouflage for one of the Ark's hidden entrances. Raptures rarely ventured into areas like this, and if they did, they wouldn’t think to look twice at what appeared to be just another stretch of untamed wilderness.

The ship hovered briefly before touching down gently on the ground, the subtle glow of its landing lights illuminating the dense underbrush. The hidden elevator, built seamlessly into the natural landscape, was barely discernible. To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing more than a small clearing surrounded by ferns and moss-covered stones. But Rapi, Anis, and John knew better.

The entrance to the Ark lay beneath it, concealed from view—an underground sanctuary shielded from the chaos above. The elevator itself blended into the surroundings, the door panels camouflaged to look like bark and vines, as though the forest itself had swallowed the metal and steel. It was a clever design, built to withstand prying eyes and the constant threat of Rapture attacks.

John stepped off the transport last, his expression still clouded, eyes heavy with the weight of recent events. He walked silently behind Rapi and Anis, lost in his own thoughts as they approached the hidden elevator. Rapi signaled the hidden panel, and the "foliage" parted, revealing a smooth, metallic door.

As they waited for the elevator to arrive, Rapi broke the silence, her voice firm and cutting through the tension. “Shifty,” she said over the comms, “what happened with Marian and the corruption?”

Shifty’s voice crackled through, still calm despite the gravity of the situation. “The code implanted in Marian’s brain was acting as a navigator,” she explained. “It guides Nikkes to Blacksmith’s location. That way, they’re delivering the Rapture’s food straight to its doorstep.”

Anis frowned, her brows knitting together as she processed Shifty’s words. “But she was acting completely normal before she went haywire. It was like a switch flipped.”

“That’s probably because of the Commander,” Shifty responded without hesitation. “A Nikke’s highest priority is protecting their Commander and obeying their orders. I’m willing to bet the corruption started the moment she met John. That’s when her priorities shifted out of order. She became defenseless around Blacksmith—the corruption was more severe than we thought.”

Rapi’s jaw tightened as she stepped closer to the elevator. "When did it start?" she asked quietly.

Shifty seemed momentarily confused. "What do you mean?"

"When was she first corrupted?" Rapi repeated, her tone growing sharper.

Shifty was quiet for a moment before responding, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice. "I’d assume during the mission. Ah, yes…"

Rapi's eyes narrowed as she stepped toward the elevator, her mind working through the possibilities. "You said she was the one who sabotaged the transport ship, right?" Her voice was cold, logical. "Then she must have already been corrupted by that point. And that transport came directly from the Ark."

John, who had been silently watching the exchange, stiffened slightly at Rapi’s words. A sense of unease settled over him, but he stayed quiet, listening intently.

Shifty's response was sharp, almost panicked. "Are you saying the Aegis barriers are broken!?"

“No,” Rapi said calmly, shaking her head. “The Aegis barriers are strong—they would have picked up on any corruption immediately. Something isn’t right.”

Anis glanced between them, a sense of dread growing in her gut. "Rapi, what are you trying to say?"

Rapi remained silent for a moment, her gaze focused on the elevator door as it slid open with a soft hiss. The cold air from the underground system drifted out, mixing with the scent of the forest. She stepped inside, her voice low but filled with suspicion.

"Well..." She paused, as if choosing her next words carefully, before turning to face John and Anis. "If Marian was corrupted before she boarded the transport… then how did it get past the Ark's security systems?..."

“Something about this whole thing stinks,” Anis muttered, crossing her arms. “And I don’t like it.”

-

The soft whir of monitors and the sterile glow of holographic screens filled the dimly lit room. Deputy Chief Andersen stood tall and rigid behind his desk, his uniform pristine, a picture of order and control. His sharp eyes scanned the report in front of him, the light from the screens casting angular shadows across his stern face.

"Mission accomplished with minimal losses," Shifty’s voice reported over the comm, her tone professional and steady. "The Blacksmith Tyrant-class Rapture was neutralized, and while there were no survivors from the Vanguard unit, the mission was deemed a success. Commander John Smith performed exceptionally. All members of his squad returned alive bar one”

Andersen’s eyes lingered on the word exceptional. His fingers idly tapped on the edge of his desk as he mulled over the details. “Understood,” he said in response, his tone measured. “Send me the full mission analysis and any relevant footage.”
"Understood, sir," Shifty replied. “One more thing—Commander Smith has requested some personal time. He seems... shaken by the events involving the loss of one of the Nikke’s under his command”

"Noted," Andersen replied. He cut the connection, leaning back in his chair. His gaze shifted to another holographic window, displaying John Smith's academy record.

Average.

That’s the word that defined John Smith’s training. Average in every measurable aspect. His physical capabilities, his tactical assessments, even his psychological evaluations all fell within normal, unremarkable ranges. Nothing stood out. Nothing to raise any flags. Except, of course, for one detail.

"Orphan," Andersen muttered to himself. John’s background was largely blank, and the note about his orphan status was the only piece of personal information in his file. Unusual but not unheard of, especially for those who had joined the Ark's military seeking a new life.

Still, something felt off. Too average. It wasn’t just that John Smith had average results, but that they were almost perfectly average. Every score, every test, seemed to blend into the background. As if the data had been crafted to ensure he never stood out.

His mind wandered to the break-in that had occurred several weeks ago at the Ark's record-keeping facility. A small event at the time, dismissed by most because nothing appeared to have been stolen. But Andersen had always been suspicious of it, especially since the area that was broken into stored records of deaths—specifically records that could have linked to individuals who were orphaned around John’s age.

Coincidence, perhaps. But Andersen had learned not to believe in coincidences.

His attention returned to the mission footage Shifty had sent over. He fast-forwarded through the standard combat sequences—gunfire, explosions, the chaos of battle. Nothing out of the ordinary. Rapi and Anis performed well under pressure, and John coordinated his team effectively, just as the report had stated. There was no indication that he had been anything other than the competent Commander his squad believed him to be.

But then something caught Andersen’s eye—a single frame that could have easily been missed.

He paused the video, eyes narrowing. There, in the corner of the frame, barely visible amidst the smoke and debris, was John’s silhouette. The moment was almost imperceptible, but Andersen’s trained eye saw it clearly. John, standing in the ruins of a destroyed building, his hand gripping one of Blacksmith’s massive tentacles.

And pulling it.

No weapon, no advanced tech. Just John, using his bare hands.

Andersen zoomed in on the image, the blurred silhouette becoming sharper. There was no mistaking it—John had physically pulled the Rapture’s tentacle, destabilizing the massive creature long enough for his squad to finish it off. And yet, no ordinary human could have done such a thing. Not without help.

"That’s the final piece," Andersen murmured, his suspicions confirmed.

John Smith wasn’t just a standard Commander. He was something else. And now, Andersen was almost certain of what that was.
A sorcerer.

Andersen leaned back in his chair, his mind racing through the implications. Sorcery had long been a topic shrouded in secrecy within the Ark. After careful negotiations years ago, the Sorcerer Society had agreed to certain terms—namely, that their activities would remain hidden, kept out of the Ark’s affairs. But if John was a sorcerer, it meant that someone, somewhere, had broken those agreements.

The real question now was whether John was working alone or if the Sorcerer Society was involved in something bigger. Were they acting in secret? Had they infiltrated the military with larger plans in motion?

Andersen’s gaze returned to the frozen image on his screen. He knew he had to tread carefully. Revealing too much too soon could force John or his possible allies into action. And Andersen needed more information before making his move.

He opened the comm line again, his voice steady as he gave his next order.

"Shifty, I want the Commander brought to my office for a debriefing. Handle it discreetly."

Shifty’s response was immediate. "Understood, Deputy Chief. I’ll bring him in as soon as possible."

Andersen closed the connection and rose from his desk, pacing slowly as his thoughts raced. There was more at play here than just one man with forbidden powers. The Sorcerer Society was moving again, and if they were violating their agreement with the Ark, it could signal the start of something dangerous.

"Let’s see what you’re hiding, John Smith," he muttered to himself, a cold determination settling over him.
-

John walked down the long, dimly lit corridor, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting faint shadows across his face. Each step was deliberate, measured, as his boots echoed against the polished floor. His hands, loose by his sides, flexed once, then relaxed, as if testing the tension in his body.

The events of the day lingered in the corners of his mind, but with each passing step, he pushed them further away, burying them in the recesses of his thoughts. His jaw clenched subtly, and he let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His emotions—raw, churning—needed to be caged.

The tension in his shoulders melted away as he straightened his posture. His expression, tight and strained, smoothed into something neutral, almost indifferent. The flicker of pain that had been dancing in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a steady, unreadable gaze.

As he walked, his fingers brushed against the inside of his trouser pockets, feeling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. It was a subtle gesture, one that no one would notice, but it anchored him. Each breath, each step, was an act of erasure, wiping away the remnants of what had been and replacing it with what he needed to be.

A faint shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a practiced smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His pace never faltered, never quickened. His mask slid into place like an old friend, familiar and unbreakable. By the time he reached the final stretch of the corridor leading to Deputy Chief Andersen’s office, the man who had hesitated at Marian’s death was gone.

In his place stood Commander John Smith—calm, unflinching, and unreadable.

He stood in the dimly lit hall, just outside Deputy Chief Andersen’s office. Shifty’s request for him to come here had been unceremonious, her tone giving away nothing. He stood before the door now, the faint hum of machinery and the low murmur of voices barely audible through the thick walls.

As he raised his hand to knock, a subtle prickle of energy brushed against his senses. A barrier, he thought immediately, his instincts kicking in. It was crude—almost clumsy, by sorcerer standards—but it was designed for one purpose: detecting the presence of sorcery, and more importantly, sorcerers. If triggered, it would send a signal somewhere, likely to whoever set it up.

‘Amateurs’, he thought, lips twitching in the faintest hint of amusement. The Ark might be full of advanced tech, but this wasn’t sorcery they were dealing with. Whoever set this up didn’t expect anyone with real experience to stumble into it.

John took a slow breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he knelt down slightly, his fingertips grazing the smooth floor. His mind was already working through the options, analyzing the flow of energy around the barrier. This wasn’t the time to dismantle it outright—breaking it would raise alarms. Instead, he needed finesse.

Hand-to-hand combat was his strength, a skill he’d honed over years of sorcerer training. His cursed technique, Ruinous Gambit, was potent but unpredictable. The drawbacks, combined with his average control over cursed energy, meant that in terms of raw power, he wasn’t exactly at the top. Grade One Sorcerer status wasn’t what it used to be—standards had slipped over the years—but even still, he wasn’t exactly the most formidable in terms of sheer energy reserves, didn’t possess reverse cursed technique or a domain expansion that would elevate one to grade one status.

But what had elevated him to Grade One wasn’t his cursed technique. It was his mastery over barrier techniques.

Most sorcerers underestimated barriers, viewing them as secondary to offensive or defensive curses. But John had made a name for himself by using them in ways others hadn’t considered—by dismantling and repurposing barriers during his missions. He was the most skilled sorcerer at barrier techniques alive, considering the previous most skilled had been felled by his own hands.

A basic barrier like this one operated on a simple principle: detect and signal. The moment a sorcerer or sorcery was detected, a message would be sent, probably routed to whoever had set it up. In theory, it was foolproof in its simplicity. In theory anyway, reality had a bad habit of introducing unexpected variables like John into the mix.

He flexed his fingers, channeling a thin stream of cursed energy through his hand. Slowly, methodically, he began constructing a barrier of his own, weaving his energy into the crude structure already in place. His own technique layered over the existing one like a second skin, threading itself between the detection points, almost as if it were a second net cast over the first. John adjusted the flow of his energy, easing it into the cracks of the barrier, finding the weak points.

His cursed energy flowed like thin wires through the barrier, coiling around its anchor points, pulling just enough to shift the entire detection system into his own simple domain. The signal, meant to alert someone, would now go nowhere. If someone checked the system, they’d see everything functioning perfectly—no alerts, no disturbances. And best of all, they’d have no idea he was inside it.

With the barrier now nullified, John stepped forward, pressing the panel to Andersen’s office. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the dim, oppressive space inside.

Deputy Chief Andersen sat behind his desk, his posture immaculate, his eyes as sharp as ever. He looked up as John entered, a calculating gleam in his gaze.

"Commander Smith," Andersen said, his voice calm, measured, but with a hint of something else lurking beneath. "Come in and have a seat. I’ve been expecting you."

John slid into the chair across from him, draping his body over it. His gaze flicked briefly over the room, noting the muted hum of the Ark’s machinery filling the room. Flashing an easy grin, John spoke with a light, almost flippant tone “You called, Deputy Chief?”

Andersen didn’t react to the tone, though the slight narrowing of his eyes suggested he was weighing every word. “I’ve been going over the report from your most recent mission,” he began, his voice calm, controlled. “It seems you handled the situation with considerable skill. You achieved success despite… some setbacks.”

John’s grin widened. “I aim to please sir”

Andersen didn’t immediately reply. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against his desk. “You performed well, Commander. Better than expected, actually. The feedback from Shifty was glowing.” He paused, letting the compliment hang in the air. “Quite the leap from your academy records, wouldn’t you say?”

John shrugged, leaning back slightly. “Sometimes it’s a matter of being in the field. Testing in a classroom doesn’t always tell the whole story.”

Andersen’s eyes remained steady on him, as though weighing his response. “I suppose that’s true. Some rise to the occasion when the stakes are high.”

John met his gaze evenly, not reacting to the comment. If Andersen was trying to prod him, he wasn’t going to bite.

“Speaking of complications,” Andersen continued, his voice softening in a way that didn’t match the words, “I understand you requested some personal time after the incident with one of your Nikkes.”

John’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, I figured a day off wouldn’t hurt after all that. Clear the mind, you know”

Andersen’s expression remained unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “There’s pressure from higher up, and due to the success of your last mission, you’ve already been assigned to another one.”

John let out a low whistle, his grin returning. “No rest for the wicked, huh? Guess I should have expected that. So, I’m back with Rapi and Anis, then?”

Andersen’s eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for someone paying attention to notice. “You’ve been through the academy, Commander,” he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge. “You should know that Commanders don’t go on consecutive missions with the same Nikke squad. That’s standard protocol.”

John held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just asking, Deputy Chief. Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Andersen watched him for a moment longer, his gaze cold and calculating. “You’ll be assigned to Absolute Squad for your next mission,” he said finally, each word measured. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them. One of the Ark’s best.”

John let out a low chuckle, his confidence unshaken. “Absolute Squad? Heard a lot about them. Top-tier, right? Well, I guess they needed a top-tier Commander to match.”

Andersen’s smile returned, thin and sharp. “I certainly hope you live up to those expectations, Commander. Absolute Squad operates at a different level than what you’ve experienced so far.”

John leaned forward, his grin widening as he met Andersen’s gaze head-on. “Don’t worry, Deputy Chief. I plan on exceeding them.”

There was a beat of silence before Andersen nodded, though the tension in the air hadn’t lifted. “Eunhwa, leader of absolute, will fill you in on the mission details. I suggest you prepare accordingly. You’re dismissed.”
John rose from his seat, his expression calm as he offered a brief nod. “Understood, sir.”

He turned toward the door, ready to leave, but before his hand reached the panel, Andersen spoke again, his voice carrying a sharp edge.

“Commander.”

John paused, glancing back.

“Just remember,” Andersen said, his tone smooth but carrying a weight to it, “You’re being watched. Let’s hope that confidence of yours isn’t misplaced.”

John held his gaze for a brief moment, then gave a small nod. “Sure thing, Deputy Chief.”

With that, he turned back, pressing the door panel. The door slid open, and John stepped out, the tension of the office fading behind him as the door sealed shut once more.

As John left Andersen’s office, the room fell into an uneasy silence. The faint hum of the monitors persisted, casting a sterile glow on Andersen’s desk as he leaned back in his chair. His fingers tapped idly on the surface, his sharp eyes narrowing in thought. A moment later, the door to his office slid open once again, this time revealing a figure whose presence seemed to fill the entire room with an air of authority and strict discipline.

Ingrid stepped in, her posture straight, arms crossed over her chest. Her white and red uniform, pristine and militaristic, matched the no-nonsense look on her face. There was a weight to her steps, purposeful and commanding, like a drill sergeant ready to snap orders at any moment.

"Andersen," she began without preamble, her voice brusque. "I don’t have time for your games. What’s going on with this new Commander?"

Andersen raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Always straight to the point, Ingrid. It’s one of the things I appreciate about you."

She didn’t sit, of course. Instead, she stared down at him, unimpressed by his pleasantries. "I’m not here for compliments. You asked for Absolute Squad for a reason. Is this about the sorcerer?"

Andersen’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention. "Yes. Commander Smith. A curious case, to say the least."

"Curious isn’t the word I’d use," Ingrid said, her tone sharp. "He’s more than just some fresh graduate. I read the mission reports. He performed well—too well for someone who supposedly just got out of the academy."

"Indeed," Andersen agreed, leaning forward. "Which is why I assigned Absolute Squad to him. I want to see what he’s capable of under more... strenuous circumstances."

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed. "You think he’s working with the Society?"

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out." Andersen’s voice took on a more calculated tone. "There’s no concrete evidence—yet. But his background, his abilities, and the gaps in his personal history… they don’t add up. I’ve seen too many patterns not to recognize one forming here."

Ingrid scoffed, her arms still crossed. "You think he’s another one of their agents?"

"It’s possible," Andersen said, his voice calm, analytical. "Whether he’s working with the Sorcerer Society or if he’s acting on his own, we need to know. If the Society is involved, they’re already carrying out activities that they promised to keep in check. We can’t afford to be caught unaware."

Ingrid shifted slightly, her eyes glinting with irritation. "So, what do you want from Absolute? I’m not here to play guessing games."

"I need you and Absolute Squad to push him," Andersen said, his tone firm. "See what he’s really capable of. Test his limits. If he’s working with the Society, he’ll slip up, and we’ll see where his true loyalties lie."

"And if he isn’t?" Ingrid’s voice was cold.

"Then we figure out if he can be brought into our fold," Andersen replied smoothly, his fingers steepled in front of him. "If we can use his talents for the Ark. But make no mistake, Ingrid, if he proves to be a threat—"

"He’s dead," Ingrid finished, her voice flat. "Absolute Squad can handle it."

Andersen gave a small nod. "Exactly. If he becomes a liability, They have my full authority to put him down. Discreetly."

Chapter Text

John stood in front of the mirror, the cold water running over his hands. He cupped some in his palms and splashed it onto his face, letting the chill of it snap him back into the present. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, reflecting off the sterile surfaces of the bathroom, but all John could focus on was his own face staring back at him in the mirror.

He looked tired, more so than he should. His eyes, usually sharp, seemed clouded with something he couldn’t quite place. He gripped the edge of the sink, leaning forward as the water dripped from his chin. His mind kept circling back to Marian, her eyes as she mouthed ‘Help’ whilst being pulled into the darkness by Blacksmith’s tendrils.

Why did it bother him so much? He had seen death before—countless times. He’d taken lives when necessary, and it never lingered like this. Yet Marian’s death, like the civilians before her, clung to him. A weight in his chest that wouldn’t lift. It was different when it was people like her. Innocent, maybe. Caught in the storm of an unending war.

He sighed, wiping his face with a towel. The cold water hadn’t done anything to clear the fog in his head. Why does it matter? he thought. Marian, the civilians, the faces from his past—they were all just casualties of something bigger, right? And in this world, survival often meant accepting the collateral damage.

He could kill without flinching if he had to. He knew that much about himself. It wasn’t even a question. Yet, this gnawing feeling, this unsettled guilt, made him wonder if something was wrong with him. Most sorcerers—or soldiers, for that matter—learned to detach themselves. But every now and then, that small part of him cared, even when he didn’t want it to.

Is there something wrong with me? The thought hit him harder than he liked to admit. If he could just suppress that part of himself—the part that felt the weight of every loss—maybe then he’d finally be able to move forward without hesitation, without the ghosts from his past pulling him under.

He stared into the mirror again, his reflection gazing back at him, empty-eyed. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the man looking back. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs before exhaling slowly. He couldn’t afford to let these thoughts drag him down. Not now.

With another splash of water on his face, he stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair. The briefing started by now, he thought, glancing at the clock on his comms device. I’m late already...

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. If he was going to be late, he might as well make the most of it. The thought of the sterile, tense atmosphere of the briefing room didn’t exactly appeal to him at the moment.

He grabbed his new coat from the hook by the door, pulling it over his shoulders. There was a corner store nearby that sold decent food—better than whatever they’d be offering in the mess. And he had time. He always had time, didn’t he?

With a resigned sigh and a half-smirk, John turned toward the door. Maybe a quick bite would clear his head more than the cold water ever could. The briefing could wait.

-

John stepped into the briefing room, not bothering to glance at the time. The quiet hum of the Ark’s facility droned in the background, and he could immediately feel the tension thick in the air as the door hissed shut behind him. He was late—he knew that. Forty-five minutes late, to be exact. But if his entrance was any indication, he didn’t seem to care.

Seated around the table were the members of Absolute Squad. He hadn’t met them personally, but their reputation preceded them. The best of the best, Ark’s elite, and now they were his new team.

Eunhwa was the first to lock eyes with him, her cold stare like ice on his skin. She sat with her arms crossed, the crisp lines of her uniform emphasizing her rigid posture. Her gaze was a storm of disdain and judgment, like she was mentally filing him away in a category marked "Unworthy."

"You’re late," she said, her voice biting, no room for pleasantries. "And not just a little late. Forty-five minutes. If you can’t even show up on time, I don’t know how you expect to command us.”

John blinked innocently, throwing her a lazy grin as he strolled to the head of the table. “Forty-five minutes, really? Feels like I just blinked. Time flies when you’re… what was it again?” He scratched his chin theatrically. “Oh, right. Being considerate.”

Eunhwa’s scowl deepened, her eyes narrowing in pure contempt. “Considerate,” she repeated slowly, each syllable laced with venom. “You think you’re being considerate by making the entire squad wait?”

John sat and leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered by her rising anger. “Well, you guys are Absolute Squad, aren’t you? Figured you’d appreciate a little extra time to prepare.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, but she kept her tone measured, barely. “Absolute Squad doesn’t need time. We’re already prepared. It's the weak links we need to worry about.”

“Oh, I see,” John replied with an exaggerated shoulder shrug. “So, you’re saying you didn’t need me here at all. I should’ve just skipped the entire thing then.”

Eunhwa’s eyes flared with frustration, and John could tell he was getting under her skin. Perfect. He’d always enjoyed poking at the ones who took themselves too seriously.

To her left, a soft laugh interrupted the rising tension. Emma, with her long blonde hair and warm smile, watched the exchange with a twinkle in her eye. She seemed to be the friendly one—at least, friendly compared to Eunhwa. "Oh, come on, Eunhwa. It’s not the end of the world. Besides, he’s here now.” She turned her attention to John, her voice gentle but with an underlying firmness. “Good to meet you, Commander. I’m Emma.”

John shot her a grin, appreciating the lightness she brought to the situation. “Good to meet you too, Emma. Always nice to be greeted by someone not looking like they want to kill me.”

Eunhwa snorted. "You should be so lucky."

Emma chuckled again, but her gaze shifted to the quiet figure sitting a little further away. Vesti, the smallest of the trio, was huddled in her seat, her wide eyes darting around nervously. She didn’t say anything, her face partially hidden behind her hands. John had heard of her too, the "Reaper," they called her, despite her delicate and timid demeanor. She was known to be the deadliest among them—something he found hard to believe, looking at her now.

Vesti glanced at him for the briefest of moments, her cheeks reddening. “H-Hi, Commander,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper before her eyes dropped to the table again.

John raised an eyebrow, but smiled softly at her. “Vesti, right? I’ve heard good things.”
She blinked at the compliment, clearly not used to being singled out. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve as she nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

Eunhwa’s sharp voice cut through the brief moment of ease. “You may think you can joke your way through this, Commander, but let me make one thing clear—this squad is the best for a reason. If you want to lead us, you’ll need more than your pathetic sense of humor. I expect perfection.”

John met her glare with a playful smile, leaning forward in his chair. “Perfection, huh? Well, I guess I’ll just have to try and keep up.”

Eunhwa’s scowl deepened, her lips curling in irritation. She wasn’t one to be toyed with, and John’s casual attitude was doing little to earn her respect.

But that was fine by him. He wasn’t here to make friends, at least not yet. Absolute Squad had a reputation, and if they were half as good as the rumors said, he’d figure out a way to earn their trust. Eventually. For now, though, ruffling a few feathers seemed like a good way to get a feel for the dynamics.

"So," John said, breaking the tension with a light clap of his hands. "What’s next on the agenda? Or did I miss the whole briefing?"

Eunhwa shot him a withering look. “You missed the entire briefing.”

Emma smiled gently, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, Commander. We can go over the details again.” She glanced at Eunhwa. “Right?”

Eunhwa didn’t respond immediately, her icy gaze still fixed on John. After a long moment, she sighed, clearly resigned to dealing with him, at least for now.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s start from the beginning. But don’t expect me to repeat myself again.”

Eunhwa stood at the front of the briefing room, her posture rigid and military-like, her gaze fixed on the display as she began the mission debrief. "We have a missing Nikke squad," she said coldly, her tone as sharp as ever. The holographic display behind her flickered, showing maps of the region and the last known location of the squad in question. "The squad radioed for help, but immediately after the transmission, they disappeared. No further contact."

John sat back in his chair, visibly uninterested. "Another missing squad, huh?" he muttered under his breath, but loud enough to ensure Eunhwa could hear him. "Seems like deja vu."

Eunhwa's eyes flicked toward him, her expression showing a hint of irritation. "This situation is different. There's no evidence of Raptures. No wreckage. No destroyed equipment. Just... nothing." She turned her attention back to the map. "Your last mission was in a warzone with a clear enemy. This, however, is an investigation."

John sighed dramatically, barely stifling a yawn, his hand rustling in a bag of crisps he had somehow produced. As Eunhwa continued explaining the details of the mission—mentioning coordinates, contingency plans, and procedures—John reached into the bag and pulled out an opened bag of crisps, munching on them loudly.

Eunhwa's eye twitched, but she pushed on, ignoring the blatant lack of respect. "Our objective is to investigate the area, uncover any signs of the missing Nikkes and the threat they faced, and bring them back if possible."

As she continued, John leaned over to Vesti, who was sitting awkwardly in her chair, trying her best to focus on the briefing. "Want a chocolate bar?" he whispered, holding out a piece of candy toward her while chewing on his crisps. Vesti’s eyes flicked nervously toward Eunhwa, who was laser-focused on the display, but she timidly shook her head.

John just shrugged, popping the chocolate bar whole into his mouth alongside the crisps before loudly crumpling the crisp bag, drawing an even harsher glare from Eunhwa. She paused in her speech, clearly biting back some sharp retort, but after a moment, she resumed, her tone growing frostier with each passing second.

"The squad’s last known coordinates are here," she gestured to the map. "This is where we’ll begin our investigation. Be prepared for anything."

John raised his hand lazily, waving it as if he were a bored student in class. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Missing squad, no Raptures, mysterious disappearance." He leaned forward, still chewing. "When exactly did this squad go missing?"

Eunhwa’s eyes narrowed at him, as if annoyed he had only now decided to ask a relevant question. "Two months ago."

John froze, his lazy demeanor fading just slightly. He swallowed the last remnants of the chocolate bar, wiping his hands on his pants. "Two months? And we’re only now looking into this?"

The room went silent for a beat as his words hung in the air. It was a fair question, and one that nobody seemed eager to answer. Emma glanced at Eunhwa, while Vesti fidgeted nervously in her seat.

Eunhwa's expression remained unreadable, though there was a tension in the room that hadn’t been there before. "The reasons for the delay in investigation are classified," she replied curtly. "All you need to know is that we're assigned to the mission now."

John leaned back in his chair again, his brow furrowed. "Classified, huh? Convenient."

Eunhwa ignored the jab, finishing the briefing with crisp efficiency. "We leave at 0500. Be ready." With that, she turned off the display and walked out of the room, her back straight, not giving John another glance.

John watched her leave, popping another chocolate bar into his mouth. He didn’t like it when things didn’t add up. Two months was a long time to wait for an investigation, especially for a squad that had supposedly disappeared in mysterious circumstances. Something wasn’t right.

-

The next morning, the quiet hum of the Ark’s elevator provided a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. The group stood in silence as the lift ascended toward the deployment zone. John, looking as relaxed as ever, was leaning casually against the wall, holding a small box with an apple pie inside. He nonchalantly bit into the pie, chewing slowly, savoring the sweet taste.

Across from him, Vesti stood stiffly, clutching an identical box in her hands, but unlike John, she hadn’t taken a bite. Her eyes kept darting nervously between her squadmates, her hands fidgeting as she gripped the box a little too tightly. The scent of the pie was tempting, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to eat it under the current circumstances.

Eunhwa, standing rigid with her arms crossed, radiated annoyance. Her eyes burned holes into John, who seemed completely oblivious—or perhaps he just didn’t care. A similar apple pie box was clutched in her hand, though her knuckles were white from how tightly she was gripping it. The tension between her and the box was almost palpable, and it was clear she was doing everything in her power to keep herself from snapping.

Emma, on the other hand, was enjoying her own apple pie without a care in the world. She took dainty bites, her expression one of pure contentment. "Mmm, this is delicious, Commander. You sure know how to pick them."

Eunhwa’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze flicking between Emma and John, clearly on the edge of losing her patience. Finally, she spoke, her voice icy and restrained. “You were supposed to be here at 0500. You’re fifteen minutes late.”

John shrugged, taking another bite of his pie and speaking between mouthfuls. “Fifteen minutes isn’t that bad. Basically on time, right? I even woke up early for you guys—picked up breakfast and everything.”

Eunhwa’s eyes flared with irritation, her grip tightening on the pie box in her hand. “We don’t need your breakfast. We need punctuality.”

John waved his free hand dismissively. “Relax, we’re still on schedule. Besides, how can you stay mad while holding something as good as apple pie?” He took another exaggerated bite, enjoying himself far too much. His casual attitude was clearly not doing him any favors with Eunhwa.

Emma giggled softly, clearly amused by the entire exchange. "I don’t know, Eunhwa. The Commander has a point. This pie is pretty good."

Eunhwa shot her a glare that could freeze an ocean, but Emma merely smiled back, completely unfazed.

John glanced at Vesti, who was still holding her untouched pie, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Vesti, you’re not going to let that pie go to waste, are you?" he teased lightly, raising an eyebrow.

Vesti’s face turned a light shade of pink, and she shook her head quickly. “N-no... I’m just... not hungry right now.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and her grip on the box tightened even further as if it were a lifeline.

Eunhwa’s patience finally snapped, and she slammed the box of pie down on a nearby ledge, her eyes blazing with frustration. "This isn’t a joke, Commander. We’re on a serious mission, and you’re treating it like a stroll in the park."

John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, giving her an easy smile. “Eunhwa, you need to relax. This mission is as serious as any other, but there’s no harm in enjoying ourselves a little, right? Keeps the spirits up.”

Eunhwa clenched her fists, clearly holding back a tirade. “I expect perfection from this team. And that includes you.”

John simply shrugged again, finishing off the last of his pie and crumpling the empty box. “Well, perfection or not, at least we won’t be hungry on the battlefield.”

The elevator hummed as it continued its ascent, the tension still thick in the air, but John remained as laid-back as ever. Emma smiled to herself, Vesti shuffled nervously, and Eunhwa—well, Eunhwa’s glare said it all.

As the elevator doors slid open and the team stepped out into the wild expanse of the surface, the stark contrast between the Ark’s cold, metallic interior and the overgrown ruins around them was immediate. The air was thick with humidity, and the landscape—overrun with dense foliage—was a living reminder of the world that had been lost.

John, of course, treated the journey with his usual lack of seriousness. As they began their trek toward the coordinates, Eunhwa led the group, her posture rigid and military-like. Her expression remained cold, her eyes scanning the horizon with sharp precision.

Naturally, John couldn’t resist messing with her.

“So, Eunhwa,” he began, sidling up next to her as they pushed through the dense underbrush. “You ever think about cutting loose? Y’know, taking a break from the whole ‘perfect soldier’ routine?”

Eunhwa’s gaze didn’t waver. Her eyes stayed fixed on the path ahead. “Do not speak to me unless it’s mission-related.”

John smirked, swatting at a bug buzzing too close to his face. “Aw, come on. We’ve got a long walk ahead. We might as well get to know each other.”

Her jaw tightened, but she kept moving, every step measured. “There’s nothing to know.”

“Nothing at all?” John raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Not even a little secret hobby or guilty pleasure? Maybe you binge soap operas in your spare time?”

For a moment, Eunhwa’s lips twitched—a reaction so brief that John almost missed it. But she quickly schooled her expression, her voice colder than before. “I’m not like you. I don’t waste time with distractions.”

John chuckled. “Gotta say, that sounds exhausting. What’s the point of putting your life on the line if you don’t even take time to enjoy it every once in a while?”

Eunhwa stopped abruptly, turning to face him with an icy stare. Her hand flexed around the strap of her rifle. “You don’t know anything about me,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “So don’t pretend you do.”

John’s smirk only widened. He was getting to her, and he knew it. “You’re right. I don’t. But I’d like to.”

She exhaled sharply, unwilling to engage any further, and resumed her march, her back even straighter than before. Behind them, Emma glanced at the two with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused by the back-and-forth, while Vesti kept her head down, eyes darting nervously.

John chuckled to himself, falling back into place. “Cold as ever,” he muttered under his breath.

As the hours of trekking continued, the sky shifted from an overcast gray to a faint amber hue as the sun began its descent. The wind picked up, rustling through the dense foliage, bringing with it a sense of quiet unease. John, ever the one to break the silence, slowed his pace until he found himself alongside Vesti, who had been keeping to the back of the group, her small frame nearly swallowed by the oversized weapon strapped to her back.

John glanced at her, noticing her nervous glances and the way she seemed to shrink into herself as they moved forward. Vesti looked like a walking contradiction—carrying a massive rifle but looking like she’d rather disappear into the ground than be noticed. He figured she could use some loosening up. Plus, awkward silence wasn’t his style.

"So, Vesti," John started, his voice light with mock seriousness. "How’s it going back there in the land of silence and Rocket Launchers?"

Vesti blinked, caught off guard, her eyes darting toward him before quickly looking down at the ground. “Uh... I’m fine, Commander,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

John gave her a sideways glance, his smirk creeping onto his face. “Yeah? ‘Cause no offense, but you kinda look like you’ve seen a ghost—or maybe a really bad tax audit. You sure everything’s good?”

Vesti fidgeted with the strap of her Rocket Launcher, her fingers tightening around it. “I’m just... not great at talking.”

John chuckled. “Talking’s overrated anyway. It’s not like it’s, you know, required for survival or anything.” He kicked at a small stone, watching it roll ahead. “But hey, I’m not exactly the best at it either, yet somehow people keep putting up with me. Must be the charm.”

Vesti blinked again, this time with a faint hint of confusion. “You?”

“Yep,” John replied with exaggerated confidence. “King of awkward moments, right here. You think I was born smooth? Nah, I just keep talking until someone tells me to shut up. Surprisingly effective.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Vesti’s lips, though she quickly hid it by looking down. “I... wouldn’t have guessed.”

John’s grin widened. “See? Stick with me, you’ll be rambling in no time. Or at least, you’ll learn how to handle my rambling. One of the two.”

Vesti’s grip on her Rocket Launcher loosened, and John noticed her shoulders drop just slightly, as if she were starting to relax. His usual teasing tone still lingered, but he wasn’t blind—he could see she was on edge. And while sarcasm was his go-to, he figured he should throw in a little sincerity for good measure.

“So,” he continued, his voice a bit softer but still casual, “you’ve got quite the beast strapped to your back. That thing looks like it could take down a building or two. You ever get into any close calls with it?”

Vesti’s eyes flicked to the Rocket Launcher on her back, her face turning a light shade of pink. “It’s not... as heavy as it looks,” she murmured, gaining a bit more confidence. “It’s... just my job.”

John raised an eyebrow, his smirk still present but a little more genuine. “That’s one hell of a job. I can barely imagine dragging that thing around, let alone using it in a fight. Gotta say, you must be one hell of a shot.”

Vesti’s blush deepened, and she looked away. “I... I try my best.”

John chuckled again, keeping his tone light but letting a hint of respect creep in. “Well, if your best is as good as they say, maybe one day you can teach me a thing or two. I could use some pointers. Who knows, maybe I’ll even look half as cool carrying one of those monsters.”

Vesti blinked, surprise flashing across her face. “You... want to learn from me?”

John grinned, this time more genuine. “Why not? From what I hear, you’re one of the best. And me? I’m just a guy trying to keep up. Gotta stay sharp, right?”

For the first time since they’d started walking, Vesti gave him a small but noticeable smile, her expression softening. “Thank you... Commander.”

John waved her off with a mock-disappointed shake of his head. “John. Just John. Unless you’re going to start calling everyone ‘Commander’ when we’re out here. Which, I gotta say, would be confusing.”

Vesti giggled softly, her smile lingering as they walked. The tension between them eased, and John couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Sure, he’d cracked a few jokes, but there was more to this than just banter. Even the quiet ones needed to know they weren’t alone.

Ahead, Eunhwa shot him a sideways glance, her expression as cold as ever, but John just shrugged it off. He knew she wasn’t impressed by his casual approach, but he wasn’t here to win her approval. He’d get under her armor eventually, one joke at a time.

Emma, walking just ahead, glanced back and caught his eye. She flashed him a warm smile, clearly appreciating his effort to connect with Vesti. John returned the smile, giving her a quick nod. He might be playing the long game with Eunhwa, but with the others, he was making headway.

As they trudged further along the overgrown path, the weight of the dense wilderness seemed to press in on them from all sides. The sky was a blanket of dull gray, and the towering ruins of the old world loomed like silent sentinels around them. It wasn’t the most pleasant of landscapes, but John had never been one to let his surroundings dampen his mood.

John sidled up beside Emma, who had been keeping a steady, unhurried pace. Unlike her more rigid squadmate, Emma carried herself with an easy grace, her face framed by a soft, welcoming smile.

"So," John began, offering her one of his signature grins, "you’re the one who keeps everyone sane in this squad, huh?"

Emma chuckled, glancing at him. “I suppose you could say that. Eunhwa does the leading, and Vesti... well, she’s great in combat. I just try to make sure we all keep it together.”

John nodded, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “Seems like you’ve got your work cut out for you with Eunhwa. She looks like she’s one sarcastic comment away from tossing me off a cliff.”

Emma laughed softly, the sound light and genuine. “Eunhwa takes things very seriously, but she means well. She just has a very specific way of showing it.”

John smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So, no chance of her cracking a smile anytime soon?”

Emma shook her head with amusement. “Don’t count on it. But you never know, Commander. You might surprise her one of these days.”

John grinned, letting his eyes wander briefly to where Eunhwa marched ahead. “Surprise her, huh? Maybe I’ll bring her another apple pie next time. Works on most people.”

Emma smiled at him warmly. “Maybe not. I’m warning you, Commander, you’re in for a challenge. Eunhwa doesn’t budge easily.”

John leaned back slightly, as though considering his next move. “I do love a challenge. But how about you, Emma? What keeps you from losing it out here with two polar opposites for teammates?”

Emma’s eyes softened as she brushed aside a low-hanging branch. “Oh, I find my peace where I can. Besides, it helps when you’re used to taking care of people. I like making sure the squad is doing well—physically and emotionally. It’s part of who I am.”

John grinned, his tone still playful but with a note of respect. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure things don’t get too gloomy around here. Can’t have us all turning into stone-faced soldiers like Eunhwa.”

Emma laughed again, the sound light and genuine. “Just don’t push her too far. We still need her in one piece.”

John winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my teasing to a minimum... probably.”

As they continued along the path, the wind carried with it the rustling of the undergrowth. John glanced at Emma again, his smirk softening. Beneath the teasing, he could see how much she kept the squad in balance, and he respected that. Every team needed someone like her—someone who kept things from falling apart, even if they didn’t get the credit for it.

Ahead, Eunhwa shot him a glance, her expression unreadable, but John just shrugged. He knew winning her over would take time, and honestly, he wasn’t in a rush. Emma, on the other hand, caught his eye and flashed him a warm smile, clearly appreciating the effort he was putting into the squad.

The wilderness grew quieter as they neared the coordinates. The wind seemed to die down, and even the distant hum of wildlife faded into an eerie silence. The squad slowed their pace as they approached the destination, all eyes scanning their surroundings with heightened awareness.

John, still chewing on the remnants of a snack he’d pulled from his pack, suddenly grew serious as the weight of the situation pressed in. The coordinates were dead ahead, but something was... off. There were no signs of a fight. No scorch marks, no debris, no telltale signs of a struggle that would usually accompany a Nikke squad going dark. Just... silence.

The clearing they entered was wide, with a few broken-down structures, their rusting metal frames long overtaken by creeping vines. The earth beneath their feet was undisturbed, the grass swaying lazily in the breeze. It was as though no one had been here in months, let alone recently enough for a battle to take place.

John’s brow furrowed as he came to a stop, his hands resting on his hips as he looked around, scanning the area with an almost puzzled expression. “This is it?” he muttered under his breath, double-checking his map display. “Doesn’t look like much of a battleground to me.”

Eunhwa stepped forward, her eyes sharp, narrowing as she swept her gaze across the terrain. “There’s no sign of any combat. No damage to the area. No signs of Rapture involvement.” Her voice was cold, but John could hear the hint of suspicion behind her words.

Emma moved closer to Vesti, who stood a bit behind the group, her hands gripping her weapon tightly as she glanced around nervously. “Maybe it’s a false reading,” Emma suggested gently, though even she didn’t sound convinced.

John crouched down, running his fingers through the soil beneath his boots. It was undisturbed, soft, and unmarked. “No bodies, no wreckage, no nothing,” he said, standing back up and dusting his hands off. “This place doesn’t look like it’s seen action in a while.”

Eunhwa, her jaw tight, glanced at John. “This doesn’t add up. A squad doesn’t just vanish without leaving a trace.”

John nodded, his eyes still scanning the quiet clearing. "So we’ve got a squad that radios for help, and then poof—they’re gone. No Raptures, no battle, just... nothing. Anyone else think that’s weird?”

Vesti shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting from side to side as if expecting something to jump out at them. Emma placed a calming hand on her shoulder, but even Emma’s normally calm expression held a hint of unease.

“Coordinates are exact,” Eunhwa stated, tapping her wrist terminal. “This is where they were last reported.”

John folded his arms, staring out at the horizon. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and the quietness of the scene only made his instincts scream louder. “So, we’re two months late to find an empty field?” he mused aloud, a slight grin pulling at his lips despite the seriousness of the situation. “Feels like we’re chasing ghosts.”

Eunhwa shot him a sharp look. “This is no joke. We need to figure out what happened here.”

John’s grin faded as he met her stare, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. But I’m telling you, something doesn’t sit right with this.”

The squad stood in silence for a moment, the gravity of the situation settling over them. The coordinates had led them here, but all they’d found was an empty clearing, no closer to solving the mystery of the missing Nikkes.

Emma, her eyes soft but worried, looked at the rest of the group. “What do we do now?”

John stared out into the distance, his mind already racing with possibilities, the silence around them growing heavier with every second.

“We investigate,” John said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “There has to be something here. We’re not leaving until we find out what.”

And with that, they began their search.

Chapter Text

John stood in the middle of the clearing, hands on his hips as he surveyed the quiet, empty landscape. The wind stirred lazily through the overgrown grass, and the sky remained heavy and overcast, casting a muted light over the scene. It was unnervingly peaceful, considering they were supposed to be at the location of a missing squad. Something was wrong, and John could feel it.

He glanced around at his team, each one waiting for his instructions. “Alright, listen up,” he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone than usual. “We need to sweep this area. There might not be any obvious signs of a battle, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find. We’ll split the area into sections and cover it systematically. I don’t want us missing anything.”

The terrain was varied—patches of overgrown grass, clusters of trees, and rusted remains of old-world structures scattered across the ground. The wind whistled faintly through the leaves, and the rusting remnants of a forgotten tower groaned in the distance. John gestured toward the open space ahead, his mind focused despite the tension in the air.

“First off, we’re going to divide the area into manageable sections,” John continued, scanning the surroundings. “I’ll set up a grid. Eunhwa, you take the far side, covering those large boulders and the treeline beyond it. Emma, you’ll handle the eastern side by those old ruins. Vesti, you’ll sweep through the center and cover any gaps in between.”

Each of them nodded, and John pointed out the key landmarks to define their individual sections. “Keep an eye on those landmarks—rocks, trees, anything that stands out. Stay in visual or radio contact, and if you find anything, let the rest of us know.”

They all moved to their assigned sections, but John continued, “We’ll use a line search method. Spread out evenly, about thirty meters apart. Move forward in a straight line, and make sure to cover every part of your section. Don’t leave anything unchecked.”

As Eunhwa walked toward her assigned area with military precision, she glanced back at John, who was carefully overseeing the team’s movements. The way he laid out the plan with such ease, despite his usual laid-back attitude, surprised her. Maybe there was more to him than just a lazy jokester.

John clapped his hands, bringing their focus back. “If you come across anything suspicious, mark it. We’ll double-check any points of interest after the initial sweep. And don’t forget—if you feel like something’s off, it probably is. Trust your instincts.”

Emma gave a light nod, her usual warm demeanor tinged with quiet determination as she started toward her section. Vesti moved quickly to her spot in the center, though she still seemed nervous, clutching her weapon tightly.

“Last thing,” John added, popping a piece of gum into his mouth, “if we don’t find anything obvious, we’ll switch it up. Maybe spiral out from the center and work our way outward.”

Eunhwa, scanning her section with sharp, focused eyes, couldn’t help but glance at John once more. He had been all jokes and distractions before, but now... now he was commanding the scene with clarity and purpose. He might be unpredictable, but he knew what he was doing.

John noticed her looking and shot her a quick grin. “See? I can take things seriously when it counts.”

Eunhwa gave him a curt nod, but she was beginning to reconsider her earlier assumptions about him. Maybe he wasn’t just a cocky slacker after all.

John stood at the edge of the clearing, his eyes flicking between the quiet landscape and the team dispersing to their assigned sections. The wind rustled through the tall grass, a soft, eerie sound that did little to shake the feeling of wrongness hanging over the area. There wasn’t a trace of the missing squad, no signs of a struggle, and the emptiness gnawed at him.

He cracked his knuckles, feeling a restless energy building. “I’m gonna get a better view from higher ground,” he said suddenly, not giving the others a chance to question him. Without waiting for their reactions, he turned and strode toward the tallest structure nearby—a rusted, skeletal tower that jutted out from the overgrown ruins.

Eunhwa, already focused on her grid search, glanced up from her section, her eyes narrowing as she watched John. Suspicion flickered in her gaze, but she said nothing, merely turning back to her work with calculated precision. Whatever she was thinking, she wasn’t sharing it, at least not yet.

John made quick work of the tower’s base, scaling the rusted metal beams with surprising ease, despite their decay. His foot slipped once on a particularly weathered section, but he recovered quickly, his mind already on the task at hand. Higher ground meant a better vantage point, and if there was anything to be found, this would be the best way to spot it.

As he climbed, John’s thoughts began to drift. Something was off about this whole situation, and not just the lack of evidence. It gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

Finally reaching the top of the structure, John took a deep breath, steadying himself as he perched precariously on a narrow platform. The view stretched out before him, an expanse of rolling hills, broken ruins, and dense forests. From this height, the terrain looked deceptively calm.

He activated Ruinous Gambit.

The familiar surge of cursed energy rushed through him, amplifying his senses. His eyesight sharpened, bringing the distant landscape into crisp focus. He could see further than ever before, each detail—rocks, leaves, the faint movement of branches—coming into view. But with the strength came the drawback. His sense of balance wavered.

John’s footing slipped, his hand shooting out to grab the beam beside him. His heart raced as he struggled to steady himself, the world tilting dangerously for a moment. The increased visual clarity was almost dizzying, and the sudden loss of equilibrium made his position on the tower precarious.

“Easy, easy...” he muttered to himself, gripping the metal tightly. His breath came in sharp bursts as he fought to regain control. The downside of Ruinous Gambit was unpredictable—sometimes minor, sometimes near-fatal. This time, it had chosen to mess with his balance.

His pulse thudded in his ears as he forced himself to focus. Slowly, he adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly and spreading his weight to compensate for the imbalance. The cursed technique hummed through him, his sight still enhanced, but he could feel the tension in his muscles as his balance wavered.

For a long moment, he stayed perfectly still, letting his body adjust to the strange pull. Then, with deliberate care, he resumed his search. His eyes scanned the horizon, the treetops, the ruins, every detail sharper and clearer than before.

But there was nothing. Not a hint of the missing squad, no movement, no traces of a battle. Just... nothing.

As he surveyed the area below, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Eunhwa, far below, was glancing up at him. Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths. She was watching him, tracking his movements with an intensity that made John pause.

He flashed her a grin from his perch, pretending to be unbothered by her gaze. She returned to her search without a word, but John could feel it. She was suspicious, though she was hiding it well. Whatever she was thinking, it was clear that Eunhwa wasn’t going to let anything slide.

John shook his head, turning his attention back to the search. He didn’t have time to dwell on what Eunhwa might or might not be thinking.

John squinted against the distance, forcing himself to focus through the waves of nausea that had started creeping up on him from the moment he activated Ruinous Gambit. The loss of balance was messing with his head, making the height seem even more precarious than it was. His footing felt unreliable, his body swaying slightly even though he wasn’t moving.

“Just breathe,” he muttered to himself, gripping a rusted beam for support. His enhanced vision was sharp, but the price was steep. The entire world below seemed to tilt unnervingly as if it might slide out from under him at any moment.

He scanned the terrain again, sweeping over the overgrown foliage and the jagged ruins, searching for anything out of place. For a long time, there was nothing—just the same eerie calm, the same empty landscape. Then, after what felt like hours of intense focus, something caught his eye.

A glint of metal. Barely noticeable, even with his enhanced sight.

It was small, almost insignificant, hidden among the dense greenery near one of the collapsed structures in Vesti's section. If he hadn’t been looking from this height, he probably would have missed it entirely. The metallic reflection flashed in the light for a split second before vanishing again.

John blinked, forcing himself to look again. It was definitely something. "Finally..." he muttered through clenched teeth.

He quickly raised his comms, trying to push down the nausea swirling in his gut as he steadied himself on the beam. “Vesti, I need you to check something.”

Vesti’s voice crackled through the radio, her tone shy but focused. “Y-yes, Commander?”

“I’m seeing a small glint of metal near your section. North side, by the collapsed building, close to that twisted tree. You might’ve missed it before—it’s pretty small. Can you check it out?”

There was a brief pause before Vesti responded, her voice slightly uncertain. “Uh... I already passed through that area, Commander, but... I’ll check again.”

“Good,” John said, forcing a smile that he knew she couldn’t see. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

He watched as Vesti carefully moved toward the location he’d pointed out, her figure almost dwarfed by the sprawling ruins. The nausea hit him again, his sense of balance threatening to throw him off his perch. He clutched the beam tighter, feeling the cold, rusted metal bite into his skin as he fought to keep himself upright.

Breathe. Focus.

The technique was taking its toll, but he couldn’t afford to release it yet—not until they found something concrete. He’d already risked enough by using it in the first place. He just had to hold out a little longer.

From his vantage point, he saw Vesti pause, crouching down to inspect the ground near the twisted tree. Her hands moved carefully through the thick grass, brushing away leaves and debris. Then, suddenly, she stopped.

“Commander,” Vesti’s voice came through the radio, quiet but urgent. “I think I found something. You were right... it’s small, but it’s definitely metal.”

John let out a breath, the knot in his chest loosening slightly. “Good work, Vesti. Mark the spot, and I’ll be down in a minute.”

His vision swam for a moment, his head spinning as the lack of balance hit him harder. He cursed under his breath, gripping the beam for support once more. He needed to get back to solid ground before he ended up face-first in the dirt.

John leaned against the rusted beam, his breath uneven as the nausea from Ruinous Gambit continued to gnaw at his insides. He couldn’t afford to keep the technique running any longer; it was messing with his sense of balance too much. With a deep breath, he dismissed it, feeling the cursed energy pull back into his core, allowing his equilibrium to slowly return to normal.

The world steadied, though the nausea still clung to him like a persistent fog. "Better..." he muttered to himself. At least now he could climb down without the risk of toppling over.

Carefully, John began his descent, moving with deliberate slowness until his boots hit the solid ground. He took a moment to reorient himself, shaking off the lingering dizziness, before heading toward where Vesti had found the small metallic object.

By the time he arrived, the rest of the team had gathered. Vesti was crouched beside the glinting piece of metal, examining it closely. Emma stood nearby, her expression thoughtful, while Eunhwa, arms crossed and brow furrowed, kept a close watch on the proceedings.

“What’ve we got?” John asked as he approached, his usual cocky grin back in place.

Vesti looked up, still a little nervous but more confident now that she’d found something. “It’s a small fragment... definitely metallic. I think it’s from a Nikke.”

John crouched beside her, glancing at the shard of metal. It was small—easily missable if you weren’t looking for it—and partially buried in the earth. "Good find, Vesti."

Eunhwa, her expression skeptical, knelt down as well. She pulled out a multi-tool from her belt, pressing a button to activate its scanner. The device hummed for a few seconds before the screen displayed the results.

“Goddessium alloy,” she said, her voice crisp. “No doubt about it. This comes from a Nikke.”

The air around them seemed to grow heavier as the significance of the find settled in. A piece of a Nikke—one of the missing squad, perhaps—left behind in an otherwise undisturbed clearing. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Eunhwa’s eyes flicked up toward John, narrowing slightly. "How exactly did you see something this small from your position all the way up there?"

John froze for a split second, but quickly recovered. Then, with a grin, he shot back, "Well, I saw it reflect the glare from your massive forehead."

Eunhwa’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening ever so slightly, but she didn’t take the bait. Her face remained stony, though the air around them grew noticeably colder. "Focus on the mission, Commander," she said icily, brushing off the remark with military precision.

Emma, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though she quickly covered it up with a cough. Vesti looked between them, confused and unsure if she should laugh or stay silent, her nervousness palpable.

John smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I’m focused. Let’s get back to work."

Emma chuckled softly from the sidelines, her voice light as she tried to ease the tension. “Well, whether it was your sharp eyes or something else, I’d say this was a good call. We’ve got something to work with now.”

John stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands and grinning. "Exactly. And if we’ve found this, there might be more nearby. Let’s keep searching—see if we can find anything else that might point us in the right direction."

Vesti quickly marked the area, placing a small flag beside the fragment while the others stood back up, preparing to continue their search.

The squad spread out once more, resuming their search, the seriousness of the situation hanging over them. It didn’t take long before small, scattered pieces of evidence began to emerge from the undergrowth and ruins. Emma was the first to find something—a torn fragment of fabric, caught in the branches of a bush, barely visible among the greenery.

“This looks like part of a uniform,” she called out softly, holding up the small, faded piece of cloth.

John and Eunhwa came over, and he inspected it closely. "Could be from one of the missing Nikkes."

"Definitely," Eunhwa said, inspecting the fabric with a critical eye. "It’s the same material as standard-issued gear."

A little further ahead, Vesti found a few drops of dried blood, just barely visible on the cracked concrete. The crimson stains were dark and old, but still undeniable.

"Blood here," she called out, her voice quiet and tense.

The squad moved cautiously, working in a grid formation, their attention focused and alert. John kept an eye on Eunhwa as she knelt beside a cluster of disturbed earth, her sharp gaze scanning the ground. She carefully pointed out faint tracks—so expertly hidden they were almost invisible to the untrained eye.

"Tracks," she said, her tone clipped. "they've been deliberately covered."

John raised an eyebrow at that. "Covered? Not Raptures then."

Eunhwa nodded, her eyes focused on the ground. "No, these are too clean for Raptures. Someone tried to hide them."

John stood in the middle of the clearing, his hands on his hips as he took in the scattered clues they had found. The wind rustled through the overgrown grass, carrying with it an eerie stillness that hung over the area. There wasn’t much—a torn fabric here, some dried blood there—but the pieces were slowly coming together.

"Alright," John said, gathering the team around him. "Let’s piece this together. The Nikkes were ambushed—fast, efficient, and precise. This wasn’t a drawn-out battle. It was over in minutes."

He pointed to a patch of ground where Emma had earlier found the torn fabric. "Here’s where one of them was hit, probably the first. The fabric matches the uniforms. Whoever attacked them got close enough to strike right in the center of the group."

Emma frowned, glancing between the evidence and John. "An ambush from the middle? Doesn’t that seem... strange?"

John nodded. "Exactly. Normally, an ambush hits from the outside, but this one started from the inside of the formation, which means their attacker was already among them, or had a way to breach their defenses before they even knew what was happening."

He gestured toward a few other blood spots and disturbed ground. "Three of the Nikkes didn’t last long. They went down quickly—likely in the first few seconds of the attack. This spot, where we found the bloodstains, is where two of them probably fell. The other? Further back, retreating toward the outskirts of the formation."

He turned and pointed toward the spot where the metal chip had been discovered, the original clue that had started unraveling the mystery. "The last one made it further out, trying to get away. That’s where the distress call came from. She was desperate, likely injured, but still fighting to survive."

Emma, holding a piece of fabric in her hands, glanced down at it with a mixture of sorrow and unease. "And then... they were all gone."

"Taken," John corrected, his voice firm. "Whoever attacked them didn’t leave the bodies behind. They cleaned up after themselves. That’s why we haven’t found any remains. But..." He paused, glancing at the others, "they weren’t perfect."

Eunhwa, who had been quietly scanning the ground, looked up sharply. She knelt down and motioned to the ground beneath her. "They tried to cover their tracks. Expertly done, but not well enough."

John crouched beside her, eyeing the faint impressions in the dirt. They were almost invisible—subtle signs of someone moving through the area, expertly masked but just perceptible enough for a trained eye.

"Humanoid tracks," Eunhwa continued, her voice clipped. "Someone walked out of here, carrying the bodies. Probably the ones who did this. The tracks head north."

John studied the tracks, his mind racing. "So whoever hit this squad wasn’t just any attacker. They were professionals."

Eunhwa stood up, brushing dirt off her hands. "We need to follow these tracks, Commander. See where they lead."

John nodded, his usual cocky grin absent, replaced with a look of focused determination. "Yeah. But first, we take pictures for the report." He gestured for the others to start documenting the clues they had found—torn fabric, bloodstains, the metal fragment. Each piece of evidence was carefully photographed and marked, the team working silently and methodically.

Once the documentation was complete, John straightened up and motioned toward the tracks Eunhwa had uncovered. "Alright. We’ve got a trail. Let’s see where it takes us."

As they prepared to move out, Eunhwa cast another glance at John, her sharp eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. There was something about him—something she needed to figure out.

Without saying a word, she turned and led the group north, following the faint trail into the wilderness. Whatever had happened here, the answers were waiting at the end of that trail.

The team pressed on, following the faint trail left behind by the attackers. The wind had picked up slightly, rustling through the overgrown foliage and carrying with it the distant, mechanical hum of Raptures. They weren’t close, but they were out there—waiting, watching. John’s eyes swept the horizon, squinting at the distant shapes moving slowly against the skyline.

“There,” Eunhwa said quietly, pointing toward the horizon. “A small group of Raptures.”

John followed her gaze and spotted them. It wasn’t a large force—maybe four or five, no more than scouting units—but they were in the way, and they needed to be dealt with before the team could continue.

He half-expected the entire squad to move in, but to his surprise, Eunhwa turned to Vesti. "Vesti, take care of them."

Vesti, without hesitation, pulled her rocket launcher from her back, ready for action. Her quiet, reserved demeanor hadn’t shifted, but there was something deadly in her movements—a cold efficiency that reminded John why Absolute had such a fearsome reputation.

John raised an eyebrow as Vesti prepared to go off alone. "Wait... she’s going by herself? Shouldn’t we all go? It’s a group of Raptures, not a stroll through the park."

Eunhwa shot him a sideways glance, her expression as sharp as ever. "Vesti can handle it."

There was no hint of doubt in her voice, and as John looked between her and Vesti, he realized they weren’t underestimating the Raptures—they were just that confident in Vesti’s abilities.

Vesti gave a shy nod, slinging the heavy launcher over her shoulder before heading out toward the distant Raptures with silent determination. John watched her go, feeling a faint twinge of something, maybe concern, maybe curiosity. She was quiet, timid even, but the way the others spoke about her... it was clear she was something else entirely.

As Vesti moved off, John felt something strange. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless, a flicker of energy in the direction of the Raptures. He frowned, trying to focus on the sensation, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Cursed energy?" he muttered to himself. He couldn’t be sure. His skills in sensing cursed energy had always been... lacking. It was frustrating, being one of the many things he had never quite mastered, but this felt like it. Or maybe it was something else entirely. The lack of clarity gnawed at him, especially with Vesti now in the thick of it.

In the distance, the sky lit up with a series of explosions. The ground shook slightly underfoot as Vesti engaged the Raptures, the booming echoes of her rocket launcher sending plumes of smoke into the air. For a moment, the horizon was a battlefield of fire and destruction, but it was over almost as quickly as it began. The distant sounds of battle faded, leaving only the silence of the wilderness behind.

A short while later, Vesti returned to the group. She walked calmly, the massive rocket launcher slung back over her shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Her face was as impassive as ever, her quiet demeanor unchanged. There wasn’t a scratch on her, and she didn’t look the slightest bit fatigued.

John glanced at her, impressed despite himself. "Well, that was quick."

Vesti gave a small nod, her eyes darting down as if unsure of how to respond to the compliment.

"Good work," Eunhwa said, her tone brisk as ever. She glanced at John, clearly expecting him to fall in line.

John smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Guess I’ll leave the heavy lifting to her next time."

The group resumed their search, moving along the trail once more. The brief interruption hadn’t slowed them down, but John couldn’t shake the feeling from earlier—the flicker of energy, the hint of something he couldn’t quite place.

The team continued their search, following the faint trail of humanoid tracks through the wilderness. The landscape grew bleaker as they moved further from the Ark, the wind whistling through the sparse trees and stirring up dust along the way. Despite the growing tension, John kept his usual demeanor, but inside, a growing sense of unease was beginning to gnaw at him.

They came across a patch of dirt—perfectly smooth, untouched by the elements or the passing of animals. It stood out in contrast to the rest of the disturbed ground they’d been tracking. John knelt beside it, his fingers brushing the surface.

Something wasn’t right. The tracks leading up to this point had been carefully covered, expertly hidden, but this? This patch of dirt was different—sloppy, rushed, almost too obvious. He glanced at the others, noting that no one else seemed to think anything of it. John kept his suspicions to himself, feeling a prick of wariness crawl up his spine.

He was starting to feel like this mission was full of hidden dangers—strange circumstances that didn’t add up. First, the odd ambush tactics, now this. Someone was playing a different game, and he wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Something’s been buried here,” Eunhwa stated, breaking his thoughts as she crouched down next to him. “Recently disturbed.”

John stood up, his eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting something to emerge from the quiet landscape. That familiar flicker of cursed energy returned, so faint it almost slipped past his senses, but he felt it—a subtle presence leaking from the ground beneath them.

“Start digging,” John ordered, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of tension. He kept his suspicions about the sloppy cover job to himself, not wanting to sound paranoid just yet.

Emma, Vesti, and Eunhwa didn’t hesitate. They grabbed their tools and began to dig, working quickly but methodically. The soil gave way easily enough, and after several feet of digging, they hit something solid.

Emma pulled back, brushing dirt away to reveal a large, twisted carcass. The animal had been dead for some time, its body contorted unnaturally. A stench filled the air as they uncovered it, causing Vesti to grimace.

Emma stared at the body, confused. “Is this just... some predator’s hideout? Maybe it buried its kill for later?”

John frowned, feeling that same sense of wrongness creeping up on him. “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “That’s too easy. This was placed here deliberately.”

Eunhwa stood beside him, nodding in agreement. “It’s a diversion. Whoever buried this was trying to throw us off.”

John’s mind raced as they cleared more dirt from around the carcass. He was starting to see a pattern—a trail of misdirection, something that didn’t sit right. This was all too convenient. Someone was leading them somewhere, and he was beginning to question the nature of the mission itself.

As they dug deeper, Vesti’s shovel hit something metallic. The sound echoed hollowly, and everyone froze for a moment.

“Found something,” Vesti called out, wiping away the remaining dirt.

It was an old, rusted door, hidden beneath layers of soil and debris. The door was ancient, its metal pitted and corroded with time. But what caught John’s attention wasn’t just the door itself—it was the talisman hastily plastered on its surface. The symbols were crude, barely holding together, like someone had slapped it on without fully understanding how it worked.

John crouched closer, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the talisman. He could feel it now, the cursed energy leaking from behind the door, restrained only by the sloppy barrier. Whoever had sealed it hadn’t known what they were doing—or worse, didn’t care.

The others were focused on the door, but John couldn’t shake the growing suspicion in the pit of his stomach. The tracks, the burial, the sealed door—it was all leading to something, but he couldn’t figure out what. And for the first time, he felt a chill of doubt about the mission they’d been sent on.

“There’s cursed energy behind this door,” John muttered, though mostly to himself.

Chapter Text

John stood before the door, his eyes narrowing at the crude talisman sloppily stuck to the rusted surface. The lines of the seal were uneven, symbols half-formed and smudged as if the person who placed it barely understood what they were doing. It didn’t meet the standards of Jujutsu Society—not even close. It reminded him of something else, though—something he had felt recently. His mind flickered back to the barrier outside Andersen's office. The similarities made him uneasy, but he shoved the thought aside. This wasn't the time to dwell on connections.

He tore the talisman off with a quick, fluid motion. As soon as it came loose, a faint pulse of cursed energy stirred in the air, barely noticeable, but there. John tensed for a moment, waiting, but nothing came. The door remained still, the cursed energy faint and leaking, just as he’d sensed before.

Behind him, Emma stepped forward, frowning. "Commander, let me go first. We don't know what's down there. It could be dangerous."

John turned, raising an eyebrow at her. "Dangerous? Yeah, probably. That’s why I’m going first."

Eunhwa stepped in as well, her cold, clipped tone cutting through the moment. "It’s protocol, Commander. Nikkes go first. We’re designed for combat; you’re not. You should stay behind."

John could hear the concern in her voice, but it was buried under layers of discipline and authority. Emma gave him a soft, pleading look, while Vesti hovered nervously in the background, clutching her weapon.

John smirked, letting his usual cocky mask slip back into place. "I appreciate the concern, but I’m the one calling the shots. You don’t follow protocol out here, you follow me."

Eunhwa’s eyes narrowed, but before she could argue, John held up his hand. "I’ll take the lead, and you three cover me. That’s an order." His voice was sharp, cutting through any objections they might have.

Emma hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she nodded reluctantly. Eunhwa’s jaw clenched, but she stepped aside, clearly unhappy with the decision but not willing to challenge his authority outright.

Satisfied, John turned and gripped the door handle. It groaned in protest as he wrenched it open, revealing a dark, metal staircase leading down into the depths. Deep claw marks lined the walls, jagged and raw, as though something had been trying to claw its way out. The air inside was damp and stale, a cold draft hitting them the moment the door swung open. The darkness beyond felt thick, oppressive, like it was swallowing the light from their flashlights.

“No lights down here,” John muttered. “Flashlights on."

The others flicked their lights on, beams cutting through the black void ahead of them. John stepped onto the stairs, the metal creaking under his weight as he began the descent. Behind him, Emma, Eunhwa, and Vesti followed, their weapons at the ready, though none too happy about their current formation.

As they descended, the atmosphere became more suffocating. The claw marks grew deeper and more erratic, carving jagged patterns into the walls. John kept moving, his flashlight sweeping across the space, taking in every detail.

He could feel something—an unease that settled deep in his chest. The layout, the dark, enclosed space... it felt disturbingly familiar. But he kept that to himself. The last thing he needed was to give them more reasons to question him.

A few steps behind, Emma spoke up. “Commander, are you sure you should be going first? If something’s down there...”

John shot a quick glance over his shoulder, his smile widening in the dim light. “Relax, I’ve got this. If something jumps out, I’ll give you plenty of time to take it down.”

Eunhwa let out a low, disapproving sound. “This isn’t a joke. You shouldn’t be so reckless.”

John didn’t answer. He focused on the stairs ahead, already feeling the cursed energy flickering somewhere below. It was faint, barely there, but enough to put him on edge. As they moved deeper, he started thinking about the possibilities. Cursed spirits, rogue sorcerers... things could go south quickly.

He might need to ditch them if it came to that. John’s mind raced with thoughts of creating a quick talisman to place on them for protection. He’d used them before, simple barriers that could keep lower-grade spirits away, but whether they’d hold up against a stronger threat... well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

The others seemed unaware of the energy in the air, but John couldn’t afford to drop his guard. He didn’t trust the mission, not fully. There were too many strange circumstances, too many things not adding up. And on top of that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Andersen knew more than he was letting on.

After this mission, John would have to talk to Andersen—figure out if the Deputy Chief was suspecting something about him. For now, though, he needed to focus on getting through this. His grip tightened around his weapon as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The air was colder here, the darkness thicker. His flashlight swept across the space, revealing an underground chamber scarred by violence. Claw marks everywhere, deep gouges in the walls that screamed of something primal, something dangerous.

The group moved through the narrow hallway, their footsteps echoing off the metal floor as they approached a series of old, decrepit lab rooms. The doors groaned as they opened, revealing sterile, barren spaces inside. Each lab they entered had been meticulously cleared out; dusty shelves, empty drawers, and stripped-down equipment lined the walls. There wasn’t a trace of anything useful left behind.

“Cleaned out,” Eunhwa muttered, running her fingers along one of the shelves. “Whoever was here didn’t want to leave anything behind.”

“Looks like they were thorough,” Emma added, shining her flashlight into a dark corner. “Not even a scrap of paper.”

Vesti, quiet as always, trailed behind, her gaze darting around the room nervously. John swept the room with his flashlight. He was starting to feel more uneasy, though he’d never admit it to the others. The fact that there was nothing here, no equipment, no signs of life—only heightened his suspicion. Someone had been here, and they had made sure to cover their tracks well.

As they walked into the next lab, a faint noise caught John’s attention. Something skittering in the walls. His body tensed momentarily. In the shadows, a small, grotesque creature with a human-insect hybrid face crawled out from a crack. A flyhead curse.

Without hesitation, John shifted his hand slightly, releasing a subtle pulse of cursed energy. It was quick, almost effortless, and the creature dissipated into nothing before anyone else could see it.

"Another empty room," he said casually, brushing off the tension that had briefly filled the air. The others moved along, none the wiser. John hadn’t noticed that Vesti had seen the curse out of the corner of her eye and tensed up in fear, nor did he see Eunhwa glance his way, her expression tightening in thought.

John continued down the hall, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. “Hey,” he said abruptly, stopping in front of a small, side room. “I need to take care of something. Nature calls.”

Eunhwa shot him a sharp look. “We’re in the middle of a mission.”

John grinned, unbothered. “Yeah, and this won’t take long. I’ll be right back. Stay put.”

Before they could argue, he disappeared into the small room, shutting the door behind him. The room was cramped, with a rusty sink and cracked tiles. John turned on the faucet, the sound of running water masking his true intentions.

Quickly, he pulled out a few scraps of paper he had pocketed from the lab and began drawing talismans. His hands moved with precision, sketching the intricate symbols he needed. The cursed energy in the air hummed as the markings took shape, and soon, three talismans were complete.

Protection charms, just in case things went south. John didn’t trust the situation they were walking into, and these talismans could give him an edge if it came down to it. He tucked them into his jacket, the faint pulse of energy reassuring him.

With that done, John splashed some water on his face, composed himself, and unlocked the door. He stepped out into the hallway, the same grin on his face as if nothing had happened.

“All good. Let’s keep moving,” he said, hands casually in his pockets. Emma gave him a soft smile, and the team fell into step behind him once more.

As they continued to sweep the labs, John moved with a deliberate, almost casual pace, keeping an eye on his surroundings. With each step, he worked covertly, slipping the talismans he had crafted into the pockets of his team members. His movements were subtle, perfectly timed between glances, ensuring that no one noticed what he was doing.

First, he approached Emma. Her focus was entirely on the equipment scattered around the room, her usual warm demeanor unguarded as she knelt to inspect a corner of the lab. As she leaned in closer to a piece of machinery, John brushed past her casually, dropping a small talisman into her pocket. She didn’t even flinch, too focused on her task.

Next was Vesti, who was already on edge, her wide eyes darting around the empty space as if expecting something to jump out at them. She kept her hands close to her body, fidgeting nervously. John slipped behind her, using the pretense of moving toward a shelf as cover. The talisman was in her jacket pocket before she even noticed he was close.

Eunhwa, of course, was the most difficult. Her eyes were always sharp, always calculating. But John had learned how to read her rhythm. As she moved toward the next lab, scanning the room with her usual cold precision, he timed his approach perfectly. With a quick motion, he brushed past her, seemingly adjusting his sleeve. The talisman slipped into her pocket in one smooth, effortless motion.

Satisfied that his team was protected without them even realizing it, John moved to the next room where they came upon a door, different from anything they had encountered so far. It was thick, almost imposing, made from reinforced steel that seemed out of place compared to the rest of the facility. The door had no obvious keypads or locks, just a solid mass of metal.

"Looks like we’ve hit a dead end," Emma remarked, placing her hand on the cold steel. "This thing’s not going anywhere."

John stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he felt something shift in the air around the door. The closer he got, the more he sensed it. A barrier. Not just any barrier, but one intricately woven with cursed energy. The layers were dense and expertly placed, stronger than almost anything he had encountered before. Almost. He pressed his palm against the door, feeling the thrum of cursed energy beneath the surface.

“There’s something here,” John muttered to himself, examining the barrier. The energy was meticulously constructed, designed to prevent any forced entry, but there was a subtle flaw—a tiny imperfection that he could exploit if necessary. It was higher than any Jujutsu Society standard barrier, whoever had set this up knew what they were doing.

Eunhwa stepped up next to him, her eyes locked on the door. “It’s solid. We’ve gathered enough information. The mission’s complete,” she stated firmly. “We should head back.”

John felt a flicker of frustration. This door was clearly hiding something important. There was more to this place, and he wasn’t about to walk away just because a door stood in their way.

“Head back? We’re just getting started,” John countered, keeping his gaze on the door. “I want to know what’s behind this thing.”

Eunhwa’s eyes narrowed. “Our mission is reconnaissance. We don’t have the equipment to open something like this.”

John’s gaze shifted upward, noticing a small vent perched just above the door frame. A grin spread across his face as he gestured to it. “Who says we need to open the door? There’s another way in.”

Emma glanced up, frowning. “The vent? That thing’s tiny, Commander. None of us are getting through that.”

John rolled his eyes with mock exasperation. “Maybe none of you. Nikkes weigh too much for that vent to hold up. But I’m not a Nikke.”

Before Eunhwa could react, John leaped forward, using her as a launchpad. His boot landed squarely on her forehead, propelling him upward toward the vent. “Thanks for the boost!” he called, already halfway up.

Eunhwa froze, her entire face turning red as the other two stepped back. John grabbed the vent’s edges and yanked it free with a clatter, ignoring the bubbling fury from Eunhwa below. The others wisely kept their distance, but Vesti couldn’t hide a small giggle at the sight of Eunhwa’s shaking form.

“I’ll be quick,” John said, pulling himself into the vent. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“You—” Eunhwa started, her voice shaking with anger. A throbbing angry vein appeared on her temple, threatening to burst.

John twisted his body, sliding into the vent. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” he said, his voice echoing back.

Emma chuckled softly, clearly trying to hold back laughter. Vesti, for her part, took another step back, looking nervously between Eunhwa and the vent.

-

John moved carefully through the vent, the cold metal pressing against his palms and knees as he inched forward. The farther he crawled, the stronger the pulse of cursed energy became, growing heavier with each movement. It was thick in the air now, almost suffocating, and John knew he was approaching the edge of the barrier that sealed the room beyond the door.

He stopped just short of it, taking a moment to assess the situation. The barrier was expertly crafted, layers of cursed energy interwoven in a complex, meticulous pattern. Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing—no easy weak points, no obvious openings. But John had dealt with barriers like this before. It was a matter of carefully untangling each thread without alerting the system to his presence.

Drawing a deep breath, John placed his hand against the barrier. His cursed energy flowed into it slowly, cautiously. The key was to find the smallest openings, places where the cursed energy in the barrier was weakest. His energy probed carefully, feeling out the intricate layers, looking for that one slip in the pattern, that faint inconsistency where he could start to work.

As his energy flowed, it began to slowly dissolve the barrier, unraveling one layer at a time. It was a delicate process, much like dealing with a highly secure lock—each step had to be precise, subtle, and controlled. The wrong move would alert whoever had set this barrier, potentially triggering alarms or worse. He couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Piece by piece, he dismantled the barrier, threading his energy through the gaps in the cursed layers, carefully rerouting the flow of energy so it wouldn’t collapse all at once. The process was slow, requiring full concentration. He felt the resistance at every turn, like a dense wall of pressure pushing back against him. But John’s cursed energy slipped through the cracks, weakening the structure bit by bit.

As he worked, his mind wandered back to the mission. Something was off. He knew it from the moment they were assigned to investigate the missing Nikke squad. Two months was far too long to wait for an investigation like this. Andersen had to be involved somehow. The Deputy Chief had been digging into his background too closely. John could feel it. The questions during their earlier conversation, the subtle tension... it was all pointing to one thing: Andersen knew John was a sorcerer. Or, at the very least, suspected him. That made this mission feel more like a setup. If Andersen was trying to expose him, he would have to make sure he got back to the Ark before Absolute, to confront Andersen first. Better to go on the verbal offensive, catch him off guard, and control the narrative.

He focused on the task, but his mind kept spinning over the details of the lab. It had been meticulously cleared out. There wasn’t a trace of anything left behind—not even scrap notes. That was too clean, too professional. John wasn’t convinced it had been done by the Jujutsu Society or the lab’s original owner. No, this had the Central Government written all over it.

The timing of their investigation made it clear. The government had probably swept through the lab after the disappearance was reported, giving them enough time to clean it out before sending Absolute to investigate. The sloppy talisman at the entrance only added to the suspicion. It hadn’t been placed with the care or expertise a Jujutsu sorcerer would have used—it was rushed, almost like someone with no experience had been tasked to seal it off.

Whoever was behind this wanted to ensure nothing remained. A regular Jujutsu sorcerer or the lab’s owner wouldn’t have bothered with removing every piece of equipment, especially not the stuff that was useless without the research. That left the government as the prime suspect.

The cursed energy in the barrier flared for a moment as John hit a particularly strong layer. His focus sharpened as he gently wove his energy through the dense knot, loosening it just enough to bypass the strongest defenses. He needed to be methodical, precise, to leave no trace of his intrusion.

As John continued to weaken the barrier, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The amount of cursed energy in this place was concerning. Whatever had happened here, it had left a thick residue, and that worried him. There shouldn’t be this much cursed energy outside the Ark—at least, not as far as he was aware.

If there was a sorcerer responsible for this, it couldn’t be someone from within the Jujutsu Society. The Society wouldn’t operate in the open like this as far as he was aware, and they certainly wouldn’t leave such a large energy footprint behind. That meant one of two things: either there was a rogue sorcerer operating outside of the Ark, or someone new had come into play. Someone dangerous.

John’s hand stilled for a moment as the realization settled in. He was dealing with something far bigger than a missing squad. This was a cover-up, a mess of government interference, and possibly a rogue sorcerer powerful enough to leave cursed energy traces this strong. He had to see this through, no matter the cost.

Finally, the last layer of the barrier dissolved. John grinned and slipped through the opening. The others were probably still waiting by the door, frustrated and wondering what was taking him so long. But John knew he had to be careful. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone—not yet. Not until he had a clearer picture of what was happening here.

John landed softly, boots crunching against the grime-covered floor. The air inside was thick, damp, and stifling—a mixture of rot, old blood, and something sour that hung in the air like a palpable weight. The contrast between this lab and the sterile, meticulously cleared-out ones they'd passed earlier was jarring. The room beyond the sealed door had been left untouched. No one had gotten this far, and the mess that greeted him painted a violent, disturbing picture.

His flashlight cut through the suffocating darkness, revealing a scene that reeked of violence. Unlike the methodical clean-up from earlier, this room had been abandoned mid-chaos. The ground, slick with a thin layer of dried blood, glistened under the beam of his flashlight. The volume of blood was alarming—too much to have come from a single person, or even a group. Either there had been a massacre here, or, more concerningly, someone had been using reversed cursed technique to heal wounds repeatedly, creating an endless loop of injury and recovery.

John’s eyes narrowed as he moved deeper into the lab. The walls were marred with brutal gouges, deep and jagged, as if something powerful had been attacking with savage intent. His gaze followed the marks, which grew more erratic the farther into the room he went.

His boots scraped against the grime-covered floor as he moved through the dimly lit room, the flashlight casting long, eerie shadows across the mess of blood and debris. The air was stagnant, thick with the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that clung to everything in the lab. His eyes swept the room, taking in every detail, every scratch, every mark.

Something gnawed at him, an unsettling feeling crawling under his skin. This place wasn’t like the other labrooms they had passed through. Whoever had been here last left in a hurry.

His flashlight caught on the deep gouges in the walls, brutal claw marks that looked like they had been raked through steel with terrifying force. They weren’t haphazard or random; they had purpose. His first instinct had been that the victims of some twisted experiment had fought for their lives, but now, looking more closely, it felt wrong. This wasn’t an act of desperation. Whatever had made these marks wasn’t defending itself—it was attacking.

John crouched, his eyes narrowing as he examined the floor. Amid the smeared blood and debris, something else stood out—footprints. They were faint, but they were there. His pulse quickened as he traced the prints carefully, trying to make sense of them.

One set of footprints was unmistakable: traditional Japanese sandals, the kind worn by oldschool Jujutsu sorcerers. The precise outline of the sole pressed into the blood was clear. But the other set gave him pause. Sneakers, or trainers, as some would call them. But something was wrong. The size of the footprints was inconsistent, as if the person’s gait or step had changed mid-stride, their steps erratic but not in the way of someone panicking or fleeing. More like... shifting.

John's brow furrowed as he tried to piece it together. The Japanese sandals suggested a sorcerer, someone familiar with the cursed energy world. The sneakers—possibly a rogue, or an outsider. But the inconsistency in the prints bothered him. It didn’t make sense. Why would someone’s footprint change size like that?

He straightened, his mind turning over the possibilities. This room had seen a fight, that much was clear.

On one of the walls, a row of puncture marks stood out, perfectly circular, as though something sharp had pierced through the steel. The holes were uneven in size, with some smaller and clustered together, while others were wide and gaping, the metal around them warped from the force of the attack. Some of the punctures had torn straight through into the adjoining rooms, indicating the power behind the strikes.

John’s stomach twisted as his flashlight traced the scene. The lab wasn’t just a place for research—it had been used for something far darker. Rusted metal tables were overturned, with broken surgical tools scattered across the floor. Blood-smeared scalpels, bone saws, and clamps littered the space, many of them twisted and broken from whatever struggle had taken place. On one table, a set of rusted restraints hung limp, their straps frayed and stained. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what had been restrained here.

Vivisection.

Along one wall, John noticed a series of metal boxes, each large enough to contain something—or someone. The boxes were sealed shut, their thick locks rusted but intact. The edges of the boxes were dented and scraped, as if something had tried to pry them open, but the force wasn’t enough to break through. They sat there like silent sentinels, reflecting his flashlight in dull, distorted gleams.

John approached the nearest box, gripping the edges firmly. It was heavier than he had expected, the metal creaking under his grip as he tried to lift it. His muscles slightly strained against the weight—this thing had to be over 400 kilograms. He grunted as he hauled it onto the restraining table in the center of the room, the sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the silence.

He stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, his heart pounding in his chest. Whatever was inside these boxes wasn’t ordinary. He could feel the weight of something far more than just metal.

John's breath caught slightly as he pried open the heavy metal box. The creak of the lid echoed through the room, cutting through the silence like a blade. Inside, the contents were worse than he had expected, though he barely registered it anymore.

A Nikke lay within the box—dead, cold, with pale skin marred by surgical scars. Her body was crumpled, lifeless, and covered with the faint, unnatural pallor of preservative chemicals. The sight of her twisted limbs, her once-strong body reduced to a specimen on display, didn’t evoke much more than a tired sigh. Not a flicker of shock or sadness. John simply stared, indifferent.

He hated that feeling—this cold, numb detachment whenever he saw a dead body. He hated how the sight barely registered in his mind anymore. But the memory of Marian, that haunted look in her eyes just before he pulled the trigger, clung to him like a shadow. Her death weighed heavy, searing itself into his mind, just like every other loss he couldn’t forget. And yet, here he stood, unable to feel anything for this dead Nikke who was nothing but a stranger.

Was it selfishness that kept him detached? Did his inability to care for strangers, but his inability to forget the deaths of those close to him, speak to some flaw within him? He had fought beside Marian, seen her as more than just a machine, but this Nikke... this body in front of him... she was just another casualty in a long line of bodies.

"Am I broken?" he muttered under his breath, the words barely more than a whisper. His fingers lightly traced the edge of the surgical scars that criss crossed her torso, almost mechanical in their precision. The pattern seemed deliberate at first, clean cuts that indicated whoever performed the surgery knew exactly what they were doing.

But as he examined more closely, something seemed off. The scars didn’t follow a complete pattern. They stopped, abruptly, as if whoever had been operating on her had either rushed through or left it unfinished. His brow furrowed at the inconsistency.

His eyes drifted lower to her stomach. Something was strange about it. The synthetic flesh felt different here, almost too soft. The consistency of the artificial material was off, subtly but unmistakably. His fingers pressed along her abdomen, tracing the seams with a growing sense of unease. It wasn’t right.

Grabbing a surgical knife from the nearby table, John positioned it over the thin line where her flesh changed texture. His mind raced as he made the first incision, his hand steady but his thoughts frantic. He cut carefully, pulling back the synthetic skin, revealing the layers underneath—still artificial. Still Nikke.

But as he cut further, something shifted. The texture, the color—it was no longer artificial. It wasn’t Nikke flesh anymore. His breath hitched as he stared at the exposed flesh beneath the surface.

It was human.

Real human tissue, soft to the touch. John's hand trembled slightly, his mind reeling from the revelation.

"This... this can’t be possible," he whispered to himself, pulling back more of the synthetic skin to reveal the full extent of the horrifying truth. The boundary between Nikke and human had been blurred, merged in a way that was neither natural nor right. He needed to explore the lab more.

John moved through the dim, grotesque corridor of the lab, the echoes of his footsteps lost in the oppressive, heavy air. The unsettling revelation about the Nikke’s body had shaken him, but he pressed on, determined to uncover the full scope of what was happening here. Every step took him deeper into the heart of this place.

His flashlight swept across the walls, and he grimaced as more signs of the struggle became evident—deep gashes in the steel, blood splatter on the floors and ceilings, and the occasional piece of machinery, broken and twisted beyond recognition. The atmosphere grew heavier the deeper he ventured, like the air itself was becoming thick with decay and corruption.

He approached a large, reinforced door at the end of the corridor. Its thick steel frame was imposing, but what caught his attention was the glass viewing panel set into the door. Or at least, it should have been glass. It was covered in some kind of viscous material, rendering it completely opaque, preventing him from seeing what lay beyond. Something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He reached for the door, trying the handle, but it was locked tight. Not surprising, given the security measures in place throughout this entire lab. Still, he wasn’t in the mood for subtlety. Clenching his fist, he summoned cursed energy into his hand, reinforcing his muscles, feeling the familiar hum of power ripple through his arm.

John’s fist smashed through the door, sending echoes ricocheting through the silent lab. The air inside was thick, suffocating. His flashlight flickered across the room, cutting through the oppressive dark, revealing a scene that felt plucked from a nightmare.

The walls. They pulsed, alive with a thick, grotesque mass of brain-like flesh. Veins of crimson and black crisscrossed the surface, pulsating in a slow, nauseating rhythm. The organic tissue had swallowed everything—the walls, the ceiling, the floor—all fused into one throbbing, living horror. The wet, fleshy surface glistened in the weak light, the stench of decay so thick it clung to his lungs with each breath.

His boots squelched as they sank into the slick layer of blood and viscera that coated the floor. Bodies hung suspended in the mass, twisted and grotesque. Limbs stretched at impossible angles, their torsos swallowed by the tissue as if they were being slowly consumed. The bodies twitched faintly, some barely clinging to life. Whatever horror had happened here, it hadn’t ended quickly.

Then, a tearing sound.

A wet, unnatural rip echoed through the room as something fell, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. And then another. And another.

John's light flickered over the four figures that had dropped from the fleshy ceiling. Nikkes—but mutilated beyond recognition. Their limbs were warped and elongated, arms twisted grotesquely, torsos bloated and misshapen. Flesh from the pulsating walls had fused with their bodies, creeping along their skin like living vines. Their movements were jerky, unnatural.

The sound of their bones creaking as they rose to stand filled the room, their heads twitching to unnatural angles. Every movement they made was accompanied by the sickening sound of flesh stretching too far, too thin.

They stood there, swaying slightly, their malformed bodies crackling with barely restrained violence. John’s flashlight flickered again, briefly catching the details of the horror before him. Their faces were twisted, some beyond recognition.

His light landed on the figure in the middle.

White hair, pulled tight over a face twisted by the grotesque fusion of flesh and metal. His breath hitched in his throat.

Then he saw them—the eyes.

Blue.

John’s stomach twisted in horror as his flashlight illuminated those bright, electric blue eyes.

Chapter Text

John felt the oppressive chill of the lab creep under his skin as the four Nikkes advanced, their twisted, monstrous forms moving with an unnatural precision that sent a wave of nausea through him. Each step they took was a grotesque mockery of life—elongated limbs twitching, twisted joints cracking with every motion. It was as if the experiments that had ravaged their bodies were still ongoing, flesh caught somewhere between human and machine. A shiver ran down his spine, a primal fear coiling in the pit of his stomach. Despite that, his heart pounded with something darker, more dangerous.

This was the kind of fight that thrilled him. Something he shouldn't enjoy.

The white-haired Nikke moved first, her eyes like pale blue voids that gleamed faintly in the dim, sterile light. Her body was tall, far too still, as if her movements weren’t hers but controlled by some unseen force. Every motion was calculated, deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. The quiet confidence in her demeanor spoke of certainty, as if she had already decided how this would end, and it wasn’t in John’s favor. The longer he looked at her, the more wrong she felt—like staring into something that had forgotten what it was supposed to be.

John’s gaze flicked to the others, his chest tightening as he took in their malformed bodies. A blonde Nikke crouched low, her body contorted like some feral beast barely contained. Green eyes flashed with hunger, impatience, and as she shifted, her limbs moved with a liquid fluidity, as though she wasn’t quite walking on the ground at all. The fabric of her clothes, torn and dirty, clung to her gaunt frame, fluttering unnaturally in the still, sterile air. It was as if the lab itself recoiled from her presence, unwilling to touch her.

Behind her loomed a taller Nikke, her body swathed in pulsing, wet brain matter, which writhed across her scalp like something alive, something that shouldn’t be there. The rhythm of its pulsations matched an invisible beat, sick and hypnotic. Her face was a blank mask of emotionless detachment, as if all traces of humanity had been drained from her long ago. Even without visible eyes, John could feel her gaze—cold and hollow—piercing through him like a marionette's strings, waiting to tighten, waiting to pull him apart.

The last one—short and muscular, with cropped blue hair—moved like a machine designed to destroy. Her body was a coiled spring of raw power, and her gaze… her eyes were far too sharp, far too cold. They studied him, dissected him like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Each movement she made was tight, precise, as if she could crush him without breaking a sweat. The air around her felt heavier, suffocating.

A slow grin tugged at the corners of John’s lips, the fear that gnawed at him twisting into a sick thrill. The lab felt claustrophobic now, the shadows closing in, the sterile walls crawling with the remnants of violence. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. But he was.

This was going to be a brutal fight.

And something about that made him feel alive.

Before he could even take a breath, the white-haired Nikke moved. Her hand flickered toward him, and John instinctively stepped back, raising his guard. But nothing came. The air around her shimmered, warping as if space itself was bending to her will. His stomach dropped—she had the ability to manipulate space. He knew what that meant: Satoru Gojo’s powers. He was in serious trouble.

She lunged. John twisted, catching her wrist mid-air, but the space around her distorted, and suddenly her arm seemed to draw him in. He grunted, shoving her back, and she staggered, her face emotionless despite the misstep.

The blonde Nikke came next, a blur of speed. John barely had time to parry her first strike, her fist whistling past his ear. His heart raced, a thrill coursing through his veins. She was fast. Too fast. He caught her by the shoulder, spun her away, but she didn’t stumble. Instead, she slid across the slick floor as if there was no friction at all, gliding effortlessly back into position.

“Frictionless,” John muttered, his mind whirling. The blonde was controlling the environment, turning it into her personal slipstream. His movements would be slow and clumsy here, while she’d have the advantage. His pulse quickened. This was going to be fun.

But there was no time to think. The tall Nikke, with the writhing brain matter, flicked her wrist, and John felt something tighten around his arm. Invisible threads. He yanked hard, but the spectral cords held firm, pulling him off-balance. Panic flared in his chest for a brief moment—he couldn’t see the threads, couldn’t tell where they were coming from. The pressure tightened, threatening to trap him.

"Not yet," he thought, gritting his teeth. With a quick twist of his body, he used the momentum to slam his foot into her chest. The impact wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her threads loosen. He broke free, heart hammering.

He barely had time to breathe before the short blue-haired Nikke charged in. She moved like a wrecking ball, her fists flying toward him in rapid succession. John ducked under one punch, barely blocking the next, but her sheer strength sent shockwaves through his arm. She grinned, eyes gleaming with a dangerous energy.

John’s breath was coming fast now, his muscles already burning from the constant pressure. They weren’t giving him any room to move, their attacks synchronized like a pack of wolves. It was exhilarating—and terrifying.

The white-haired Nikke’s eyes glowed faintly as she stepped forward again, and the air between them shifted. John felt it instantly—his body being dragged toward her by an invisible force. He planted his feet, trying to resist, but the pull was too strong. He skidded forward, barely managing to twist his body as he was yanked toward her, just in time to avoid her follow-up strike. Her fist slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force, sending cracks spider-webbing across the floor.

John gasped for breath, adrenaline coursing through him. Every nerve in his body was screaming, but his mind raced. He had to think, had to figure out a way to break their rhythm.

Suddenly, his feet slipped out from under him. The ground—smooth, frictionless again. The blonde Nikke’s ability. John’s heart raced as he struggled to get back up, his limbs sliding uselessly across the slick surface. She was on him in an instant, moving like a shadow, her movements almost lazy in their grace.

He cursed under his breath and kicked off the wall, expecting the frictionless effect to slow him, but instead felt his boots grip solidly. He propelled himself out of the frictionless zone, shooting forward, heart pounding in his ears, just as the short Nikke and the tall one slammed their heels into the spot he had just vacated. The ground shattered under the force of their missed attacks.

John rolled to his feet, barely managing to gain some distance. His body screamed in protest, but he couldn’t stop now. His breath came in ragged gasps, every muscle in his body tensed and burning. He could feel the fear gnawing at him, the sense that he was losing ground. But alongside it, there was a thrill—this was a real fight.

The white-haired Nikke’s eyes gleamed with frustration now. Her control over space flickered, her Infinity imperfect. John saw it. He felt the cursed energy waver. She wasn’t invincible. She wasn't Gojo.

“Come on,” he growled, more to himself than to them. His mind raced through strategies as they closed in again, their cursed techniques overlapping, making it impossible for him to take them on one at a time.

The tall Nikke flicked her fingers, and spectral threads shot toward him again. John spun out of the way, but the short Nikke was already there, a fist aimed at his ribs. He blocked, his arm vibrating from the impact, and retaliated with a sharp elbow to her side. She grunted, but her eyes gleamed with excitement, as if she was enjoying this as much as he was.

The blonde Nikke moved in again, her body a blur. John ducked under her punch, but she slid effortlessly past him, her movements frictionless, her feet barely touching the ground. He had to think of something—fast.

As she swept in for another strike, John felt a sudden shift in the air. The white-haired Nikke was using her space manipulation again. He braced himself, but this time, instead of trying to resist, he let the pull drag him forward, using the momentum to slam his fist into her chest. Her control over infinity seemed to be limited.

She gasped, staggering back, her control over her cursed energy flickering once more. John didn’t hesitate. He followed through with a knee to her gut, sending her crashing into the ground. His heart raced with exhilaration.

But the others weren’t letting up. The tall Nikke’s threads whipped toward him again, and the short one closed in with a barrage of kicks. John twisted, barely avoiding the strikes, but one of the threads wrapped around his ankle, yanking him off-balance. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air.

Pain flared through his body, but there was no time to stop. The blonde Nikke was already there, her eyes wild with excitement, her fist aiming for his head. John rolled out of the way, using the frictionless surface to his advantage. He slid across the slick floor, narrowly dodging another attack from the short Nikke, her foot crashing into the ground where his head had been moments before.

John’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body aching, his mind racing. He was outnumbered, outmatched—but that only made him want to fight harder. The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, but it was drowned out by the rush of adrenaline.

The white-haired Nikke’s eyes glowed once more, and John felt the familiar tug of her cursed technique pulling him toward her. But this time, he was ready. He grinned through the pain, letting the force yank him forward—only to twist at the last second, driving his fist into her side again.

She staggered, gasping, and John used the opening to run across the wall. The blond tried to make the wall beneath his feet frictionless, but her cursed energy wouldn't stick. He launched himself toward the others. He wasn’t done yet.

Not by a long shot.

John’s body ached with every movement. He had landed a few solid blows, but they weren’t enough to give him any real breathing room. The Nikkes moved like a well-oiled machine, their attacks perfectly synchronized, each of them relentless and vicious. He needed to create some space—just long enough to catch his breath and reassess.

The lab around him was a maze of metal and glass—cold, sterile, but full of potential. His eyes flicked to a row of steel tables covered in equipment, broken test tubes glittering on the ground, and the reinforced walls that boxed them in. If he could use the environment to his advantage, maybe he could slow them down, or at least buy himself a moment.

The blonde Nikke lunged again, her speed blinding. John barely had time to react as she closed in, her fist a blur aimed at his face. He twisted out of the way, feeling the rush of air as her strike missed by inches. His mind raced. They were too fast, too coordinated. But her speed came with one weakness—She had to rely on momentum.

As the short Nikke followed up with a brutal kick aimed at his ribs, John ducked and kicked off the nearest wall, using it to vault himself over her strike. His body moved on instinct, propelled by sheer adrenaline. He landed on a metal table, his boots skidding slightly across the surface as the blonde Nikke’s frictionless curse still lingered in the area.

The others were right on him. He could see the white-haired Nikke’s cold, calculating eyes tracking his every move, her blue eyes focused, her hand already glowing as she prepared to manipulate the space around him again.

He slammed his foot against the table, sending a shower of shattered glass and equipment toward the Nikkes. It wouldn’t hurt them, but it was enough to disrupt their momentum. The blonde Nikke tried to a stop, her feet slamming into the ground in a wasted attempt to slow herself across the frictionless ground, while the tall one flicked her wrist, her spectral threads slicing through the air to clear the debris.

John’s muscles burned as he launched himself across the room again, vaulting over another table and kicking off the wall to propel himself faster. He could feel the Nikkes closing in, their speed matching his, but he had a plan now—he just needed to keep moving.

His feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted toward the far end of the lab, his body a blur of motion. The air around him whipped past at an insane speed, the lab’s sterile walls becoming streaks of color as they moved at mach speeds. He could feel the pressure in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins as he pushed himself harder, faster.

Behind him, he heard the sound of shattering glass and metal as the Nikkes tore through the lab in pursuit. He glanced back and saw them—four blurs of motion, each moving at mach speeds, their cursed techniques crackling in the air as they closed the distance between them. The white-haired Nikke’s eyes were locked on him, her hand glowing with the familiar distortion of her space-warping technique.

John grinned despite himself. This was insane. His heart pounded with a mix of fear and exhilaration as he realized just how fast they were moving. Every second felt like it was stretched thin, the world blurring around him as they moved at speeds most people couldn’t even comprehend. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a chase through hell.

As he approached the far wall, he spotted a series of brain matter tendrils acting as scaffolding near the ceiling, along with a row of hanging lights. Perfect. He kicked off the floor, launching himself upward just as the white-haired Nikke’s hand flickered. The space around him distorted, pulling him backward with terrifying force. John gritted his teeth, pushing against the pull with every ounce of strength he had. He slammed his hand against the flesh scaffolding, using it as an anchor to keep himself from being yanked back into her grasp.

The Nikkes were relentless. The tall one flicked her fingers, and John saw the faint shimmer of spectral threads darting toward him, but he swung upward, using the momentum to flip himself onto the scaffolding. The threads missed him by inches, slicing through the air where his legs had been moments before.

“Close, but not close enough,” John muttered, his breath ragged.

From his elevated position, he had a brief moment to survey the room. The Nikkes were already adjusting their positions, moving with terrifying speed to cut off his escape routes. The blonde Nikke was below, her body gliding effortlessly across the floor, her eyes locked on him like a predator tracking prey. The short blue-haired Nikke was scaling the wall, her movements a blur as she prepared to leap toward him. The tall Nikke’s threads were already in motion, slicing through the air, seeking to trap him.

But John wasn’t going to wait around. He kicked off the scaffolding onto the roof, the frictionless cursed technique failing to act on the walls and ceiling he shot across the room like a bullet. The air screamed in his ears as he moved, dodging the spectral threads and sliding past the blonde’s grasp. His body moved on instinct now—every twist, every dodge perfectly timed to avoid their strikes.

The white-haired Nikke narrowed her eyes, her frustration evident as she raised her hand again. John felt the pull of her space manipulation once more, but this time, he was ready. He angled his body mid-air, using the pull to slingshot himself in the opposite direction, right toward the far wall. His body hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, but he rolled to his feet, keeping his momentum.

The lab was too small. He needed to get out of this confined space before they boxed him in completely. His eyes darted to the reinforced door on the left side of the room—the exit.

John grinned, adrenaline surging through him as he sprinted for the door, his body a blur. The Nikkes were right behind him, but he had the advantage now. He kicked off the ground, using the lack of friction to propel himself faster than he ever had before. The air warped and burst around him, his speed reaching the threshold of mach 2.

With a burst of force, he slammed into the door, breaking it off its hinges as he exploded into the hallway beyond. The Nikkes followed, crashing through the shattered door frame with terrifying speed. Their cursed techniques crackled in the air as they closed the gap, but John had bought himself a few precious seconds.

The hallway stretched out before him, narrow and filled with more machinery and equipment. Perfect for what he needed. John darted forward, weaving between the obstacles, his mind racing. If he could just keep them off balance for a little longer…

He spotted a stack of heavy metal crates up ahead. With a sharp twist of his body, he kicked the crates as he passed, sending them toppling behind him. The sound of crashing metal filled the hallway as the crates blocked the Nikkes’ path, slowing them down for a moment.

John's breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself harder, faster. He could hear them closing in, their footsteps a rapid staccato as they moved at impossible speeds. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t.

As he rounded a corner, John spotted his opportunity—a large, reinforced window overlooking a large interior space within the facility. Without hesitating, he threw himself toward it, his body moving at mach speeds. The glass shattered under the force of his impact, and for a brief, exhilarating moment, John was free—soaring through the air of the lab, the cold wind biting at his skin as he plummeted toward the ground below.

The Nikkes burst through the broken window behind him, their forms a blur as they followed him into the dark. John could feel the air pressure shift around him as the white-haired Nikke activated her space manipulation again, trying to pull him back. But he was too fast now, his body already accelerating toward the ground at breakneck speeds.

With a final burst of energy, John twisted mid-air, kicking off a nearby wall and launching himself forward. The Nikkes were relentless, closing the distance between them, but for the first time in this fight, he felt a flicker of hope.

John’s boots slammed into the floor as he bolted down another narrow corridor, the wind screaming in his ears from the sheer speed. The lights above blurred into streaks, the machinery and walls whipping past him in a haze. His heart pounded, his muscles burning, but the rush of adrenaline drowned out the exhaustion.

His mind raced. He couldn’t keep this up forever. He had already felt the strain of their cursed techniques working together, grinding him down. But now he was seeing patterns. The white-haired Nikke distorted space around her in short bursts, and the blonde—her frictionless domain—was only affecting the floor.

It clicked.

His feet skidded on the ground as he barely managed a turn, the frictionless curse kicking in, making it hard to find purchase. That was it. The blonde’s power only affected the ground. If he wasn’t touching it, he could move freely—no more sliding, no more struggling to stop himself. And if he timed it just right…

He slammed his feet into the floor, propelling himself forward with another burst of speed.

Behind him, the blonde Nikke’s eyes gleamed, her lips curling into a grin. She was about to use her cursed technique again. John could feel the sudden shift in the air, the sensation of the ground losing its grip. His feet began to slip, sliding uncontrollably as the frictionless field took hold.

John grinned back. This was what he was waiting for.

The moment the floor lost its grip, John threw himself upward, launching his body toward the ceiling with every ounce of strength he had. The ceiling was rough, industrial, but solid—he could get a grip.

His fingers found purchase on a metal beam, and he used the momentum to swing his legs forward, changing his momentum so now that he was facing the way he came. The air around him shimmered as he forced as much cursed energy into his fist, forgoein precision, while she sped forward on the ground, unaware of the trap he had set.

Her green eyes widened in shock as she felt the sudden change in energy—a flicker of realization crossed her face, but it was too late. John shot down from the ceiling like a missile, his body twisting mid-air as he launched himself directly toward her. Time seemed to slow, the world blurring into slow motion as his body sliced through the air.

The moment her eyes met his, John could feel her panic. Her cursed technique had made it impossible for her to stop, to change direction, and she had no idea he would strike from above.

His breath slowed, heart pounding in his chest, as cursed energy surged through him, crackling beneath his skin, the hum of power ready to be unleashed. Time seemed to stretch, the world narrowing to a pinpoint as he spotted his opening.

His fist clenched.

Now.

With every ounce of strength, he twisted his body, fist cutting through the air with devastating precision. The moment his knuckles made contact with her neck, the air around them detonated in a pulse of cursed energy.

CRACK.

In an instant, the world erupted into a maelstrom of black lightning and sparks. Reality seemed to tear itself apart at the point of impact—space compressing, warping, as John’s cursed energy collided with hers. The shockwave rippled through the air, tearing through the ground beneath them as the Black Flash ignited.

It was like nothing John had ever felt before. His body buzzed with raw power, his senses alive with the sharp, electric thrill of perfection. Black sparks arced out from his fist, crackling like a storm unleashed. For a brief moment, the cursed energy around him hummed with perfect harmony—his energy and the universe aligning in a single, euphoric strike.

His breath caught in his throat as the thrill of the Black Flash overtook him, lightning dancing around his arm as the blonde Nikke’s body jerked violently. The force of the blow snapped her neck with a sickening crack, her head twisting at an unnatural angle as her lifeless body was launched backward. Blood sprayed into the air, the arc of crimson illuminated by the black lightning still rippling from his hand.

The ground beneath him shattered, cracks spider-webbing out from the point of impact. The sheer force of the Black Flash sent her body skidding across the floor, smashing into the far wall with a dull, lifeless thud. The frictionless domain around them flickered and died, the cursed energy evaporating into the air.

John stood still, fist still raised, black sparks fading into the air around him. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins, but the feeling of the Black Flash lingered. It was like a high—a rush of perfection that left him breathless and wanting more. His body buzzed with the afterglow, the power coursing through him, making everything seem sharper, clearer.

He had landed a Black Flash.

And it felt like touching the edge of the universe.

The blonde Nikke’s body lay crumpled at the far end of the room, blood pooling beneath her. The thrill of the kill was tempered only by the realization that this was far from over.

John’s hand lowered slowly, his breath still ragged, his mind buzzing with the aftershock. The black lightning danced around him, the remnants of the Black Flash fading into the air.

But he couldn’t celebrate. Not yet.

John landed in a crouch, his breath ragged, blood dripping from his hands. For a moment, there was silence, the other Nikkes frozen in place as they registered what had just happened. John’s pulse pounded in his ears.

From across the room, the white-haired Nikke stepped forward, her icy blue eyes locking onto him. The space around her shimmered with the telltale distortion of her cursed technique—Infinity. She was preparing for her next move, her expression cold and unshaken by the destruction around her.

John grinned, his blood still singing from the Black Flash. The thrill of the fight coursed through him, the euphoria still fresh in his mind.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing. “Let’s see if you’re ready for this.”

The fight was far from over, but for the first time, John felt that surge of invincibility that came with the perfect strike.

John stood in the center of the wrecked lab, blood dripping from his fist, pooling on the cracked floor beneath him. His breaths came in ragged bursts, his knuckles throbbing from the impact of his last strike. The three remaining Nikkes fanned out, their twisted bodies moving with an eerie, predatory grace. Their eyes locked onto him, calculating, waiting for the next move.

The white-haired Nikke’s cold blue eyes gleamed, space warping subtly around her, while the tall Nikke’s spectral threads writhed in the air, ready to ensnare him. The short blue-haired Nikke flickered in and out of view, her mirages blending with the shadows.

For a moment, everything was still—until the distant sound of rumbling footsteps echoed through the corridor. The heavy thrum of Absolute's approach. Eunhwa’s voice, distorted but growing clearer, rang out in the distance, cutting through the oppressive tension in the air. Reinforcements.

Chapter Text

Absolutes distant footsteps grew closer as it reverberated through the walls.

John's mind raced as he sized up his opponents, his breath hitching with the realization of what he was up against. The white-haired Nikke was the most dangerous—her mastery over space felt like a vice tightening around him, the faint shimmer of her Infinity flickering between them. He could sense it: if she gained even a fraction more control, this fight would turn into a slaughter. The fear gnawed at him, but beneath it, excitement flickered.

The tall Nikke with the writhing brain matter stared at him, her spectral threads hovering like limbs of an unseen predator. Each thread was a potential noose or razor, meticulously controlled and waiting to slice through flesh. She needed to be kept at a distance—far enough that her threads couldn't ensnare him. That was a job for Eunhwa and Vesti. Eunhwa’s sniper rifle could pin her down, and Vesti’s rockets would disrupt her web of threads, forcing her on the defensive.

The short Nikke with blue hair was standing in front of the other two. Her cursed technique was related to creating illusions of herself that attacked from every direction. Emma’s minigun, with its overwhelming spray of bullets, was the key to breaking through her fakes. She could suppress the illusions, forcing the real Nikke to retreat or risk being torn apart.

That left the white-haired one for him.

John’s eyes narrowed, tracking her every movement. She was the heavyweight of the trio, the one who could turn the tide. He clenched his fists, feeling the warmth of blood against his palm. He could see flashes of Gojo’s legacy in her—the echo of a power that had once stood at the pinnacle of sorcery. It sent a thrill through him, but he couldn’t let his excitement cloud his judgment. He had to be ruthless, precise, and faster than she could predict.

The Nikkes tensed, their forms bristling with barely contained violence. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder—Eunhwa, Emma, and Vesti were almost there. John had seconds to decide. He glanced down the dim corridor, the cold, sterile walls pressing in on him.

“Alright,” he muttered, feeling the anticipation coil within him. Blood dripped steadily from his fist, pooling on the floor. He locked eyes with the white-haired Nikke, who stared back with predatory calm.

"Let's end this," he whispered to himself, bracing for the final clash.

-

Eunhwa led the way down the corridor, her sniper rifle slung over her shoulder, eyes sharp and alert. The thundering footsteps of Absolute echoed off the walls, each step a countdown to the chaos ahead. Emma and Vesti flanked her, their weapons primed and senses on high alert. They had heard the distant sounds of combat—the clash of bodies and the faint hum of cursed energy. Whatever was happening up ahead, it was beyond anything they had anticipated.

They rounded a corner, and the sight before them was immediate and jarring. Out of the darkness, the tall Nikke with brain matter hurtled toward them, her body limp and mangled. The stench of blood and burnt metal filled the air. Eunhwa reacted on instinct, spinning to kick the body away, sending it careening back down the hallway. But before it could crash into anything solid, John appeared in a blur, leaping from the shadows.

His expression was a mix of adrenaline and grim determination. Twisting mid-air, he launched a powerful kick that sent the Nikke’s body slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. The impact shook the corridor as she crumpled to the ground, motionless.

The short blue-haired Nikke and the white-haired one charged forward, their movements synchronized. The short Nikke’s foot swung toward John’s side while the white-haired Nikke’s fist shot straight at his head. John blocked both attacks, his arms absorbing the blows, but their combined momentum sent him skidding back, landing just a few feet in front of Absolute.

Emma’s minigun whirred to life, ready to unleash a torrent of bullets, but John raised a hand, halting her. “I’ll explain later! We need to work together to take them down” he barked, his voice edged with urgency.

Eunhwa’s face twisted in frustration. She lowered her rifle but kept her eyes trained on the two Nikkes. “You better,” she snapped. “But just so you know, we’ve been aware that you’re a sorcerer from the beginning, dumbass.”

John shot her a glance, momentarily stunned but with no time to react to her blunt admission.

He quickly shifted back into combat mode. “Alright, listen up. Here’s the plan.” He pointed toward the tall Nikke’s crumpled body. “Eunhwa, Vesti, keep her at a distance. Use the rockets to destroy her threads.”

Eunhwa nodded, her eyes narrowing. “Got it.”

“Emma, focus on the short one with blue hair. She’s using her cursed technique to create illusionary duplicates. Your minigun can suppress her movements and disrupt the fakes.”

Emma gave a thumbs up, determination in her eyes.

John took a deep breath, locking eyes with the white-haired Nikke. “I’ll handle her.”

Eunhwa huffed, voice dripping with resolve. “Just don’t die, Commander. A lot of people have questions for you after this.”

John met her gaze, a small, grim smile on his lips. “Trust me. I don’t plan on it.”

John surged forward, leading the charge with a burst of speed. Emma’s minigun roared to life behind him, bullets shredding the illusions of the short blue-haired Nikke. John used the opening, springing off the ground and twisting mid-air. He drove his foot into the back of the short Nikke’s head with a bone-rattling kick, sending her hurtling. She careened toward Emma, but Eunhwa and Vesti were ready. Vesti’s elbow connected with her ribs, followed by Eunhwa’s brutal knee to the gut, keeping the Nikke off balance.

John’s attention shifted to the tall Nikke, who was struggling to rise. He seized the moment, grabbing her and hurling her down the corridor. Eunhwa’s sniper rifle cracked, a precise shot sending the Nikke flying back even further, followed by the howl of Vesti’s rockets. The missiles streaked toward her, detonating in fiery explosions that lit up the corridor.

The white-haired Nikke moved, her hand raised to warp space around the rockets, but John was already on her. Their eyes locked as they collided, sending shockwaves through the narrow space.

John and the white-haired Nikke clashed fiercely, their strikes a blur of motion. His fist slammed against her haphazard infinity, cursed energy crackling with each impact. She swung, her cursed energy glowing, but John ducked, twisting around her strike and driving his elbow into her side. She staggered, her control faltering for a moment.

But she recovered quickly, manipulating the space around her to pull John closer. He gritted his teeth, feeling the pull of her Blue technique, but he used the momentum to drive his knee into her ribs, forcing her back.

Meanwhile, the short Nikke charged at Emma, her illusions still flickering. Emma fired, the bullets tearing through the illusions, while Eunhwa moved in with a punch that knocked the Nikke off course. Vesti followed up with a powerful kick, sending her sprawling.

The tall Nikke, stunned but not defeated, began to rise, her threads twitching. Eunhwa’s rifle cracked again, another shot keeping her at bay, while Vesti’s rockets detonated near her, forcing her back.

John and the white-haired Nikke continued their duel, each strike more desperate than the last. John’s movements were sharp, calculated, as he pressed her, refusing to give an inch. But just as he was about to land another hit, space twisted violently, and in a blink, both he and the white-haired Nikke vanished, swallowed by her cursed technique.

-

John’s vision blurred as the world around him twisted violently. The cold, sterile corridor was gone, replaced by the vast, open sky. He felt a sudden weightlessness, his stomach lurching as he and the white-haired Nikke reappeared high above the ground, suspended in the open air. The wind howled in his ears, a deafening roar that drowned out everything but the frantic beating of his own heart.

They were falling.

John’s mind raced, fear clawing at the edges of his consciousness. The cityscape below was a dizzying blur of steel and glass, the ground rushing up to meet them at terrifying speed. There was no time to think, no time to plan—only the instinct to survive. The white-haired Nikke’s eyes glowed with a predatory intensity, her body twisting gracefully in the air as if she were weightless, unfazed by the plummet.

John snarled, adrenaline surging through him as he launched himself at her with all his strength. His fists blurred, a flurry of punches aimed at her head, her torso—anything to break through her guard and turn the tide. But each strike slowed almost immediately as it neared her, like moving through thick, invisible molasses. His blows stopped just inches from her skin, held back by an unseen force.

He tried again, pouring every ounce of power he had into his attacks, but it was useless. His fists came to a halt, trembling in mid-air, unable to reach her. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as the horrifying realization sank in. She had done it. She had mastered her cursed technique—her Infinity. A barrier of infinite space now surrounded her, impenetrable, untouchable.

John’s heart pounded, his fear swelling into something all-consuming. He was trapped, his every strike rendered meaningless. The vastness of her power hit him like a wave, drowning him in the hopelessness of the situation. He had seen this technique before in the clans’ history books—Gojo’s invincibility, the untouchable state of Infinity. But now, it wasn’t just words. It was here, it was real, and it was between him and survival.

The white-haired Nikke’s expression didn’t change. She remained calm, almost disinterested, as if John’s attacks were nothing more than a nuisance. Her eyes, pale and empty, locked onto his with a chilling detachment. She raised her hand, moving with effortless grace, and backhanded him across the face. The blow sent John spinning, his vision flashing white as pain shot through his skull. He tumbled through the air, disoriented and powerless, like a ragdoll caught in a storm.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue,” she uttered, her voice cold and serene, as if she were simply stating a fact.

A glowing blue orb formed in her palm, swirling with compressed space and cursed energy. She hurled it at John with casual precision. The orb struck him in the chest, and for a moment, everything stopped. John’s momentum was halted, his body suspended in mid-air as if caught in an invisible net. The pressure was immense, squeezing the air from his lungs, compressing his very being. It felt like the world was collapsing in on him, every atom in his body crushed by the weight of her cursed technique.

John gasped, struggling to break free, but before he could even move, she was on him. The white-haired Nikke shot forward, her hand glowing with cursed energy as she slammed into him with bone-crushing force. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, stars exploding in his vision as the two of them were sent hurtling toward the ground. She twisted in the air, effortlessly controlling the descent, her mastery over space allowing her to maneuver with unnatural precision.

John’s fear spiked as he felt her arms lock around him, her grip like iron. She wrenched his arm into a brutal armlock, her body pinning his as they spiraled downward. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, his arm twisted at an impossible angle, but he couldn’t break free. He was trapped, completely at her mercy.

The ground loomed closer, their speed increasing with every second. John’s mind was a whirl of panic and pain, his thoughts a jumbled mess as he fought against the inevitable. The white-haired Nikke’s calm, unyielding presence was a stark contrast to his terror. She controlled everything—their descent, the space around them, even the air itself seemed to bend to her will. There was no escape, no way to fight back.

John’s breath hitched, the reality of his helplessness crashing over him. He had faced death before, but never like this—never so completely outmatched, so utterly powerless. The exhilaration he had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread.

This was Infinity.

And against it, he was nothing.

With a final twist, she drove him toward the ground, their bodies plummeting at breakneck speed. The wind roared, the ground rushing up to meet them, and all John could do was brace himself as the world blurred into a chaotic mix of light and shadow. He gritted his teeth, pain lancing through his arm, his thoughts fracturing under the weight of her cursed energy.

There was no winning this.

Not against her.

The ground rushed toward them, a blur of gray concrete and fractured steel. John’s mind was a storm of fear and pain, the white-haired Nikke’s armlock squeezing every ounce of fight from him. Her grip was unyielding, her presence suffocating, like the weight of the sky pressing down on him. His arm was twisted at an impossible angle, every nerve screaming in protest, and for a moment, John could only see his end—the ground would meet them at terminal velocity, and it would be over.

But then, something shifted. The raw terror that had seized his mind began to crack, replaced by a surge of adrenaline, hotter and more urgent. He gritted his teeth, his eyes snapping open as he forced himself to think, to see past the pain and panic. He could feel her cursed energy all around him, the oppressive weight of Infinity like a cage of airless glass. And then it struck him: she had him in an armlock, inside her Infinity.

He was inside her barrier.

John’s heart pounded, realization cutting through the haze. Infinity protected her from the outside world, creating an impenetrable barrier between her and any attack. But within its confines, they were connected—her defenses meant nothing against something already inside. His mind raced, calculating, timing every second as they hurtled toward the unforgiving ground. If he could break her control, even for a moment…

The white-haired Nikke’s focus was absolute, her pale blue eyes locked on the ground below, guiding their descent with terrifying precision. She didn’t see it coming. John braced himself, pushing past the searing pain in his arm, and twisted sharply against her grip. For an instant, he felt the give—the faintest flicker of weakness as her control wavered.

This was it. This was his chance.

With a burst of raw strength, John wrenched his arm free from her armlock, ignoring the flare of agony as his shoulder strained against the motion. He spun around in mid-air, twisting his body as the wind roared in his ears, and looped his arm around her neck in a tight headlock. The sudden shift caught her off guard, her eyes widening in shock as she felt his grip tighten. John locked his legs around her waist, anchoring himself against her as they continued to plummet.

“Got you,” he snarled through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with pain and defiance.

The ground was seconds away. There was no time left, but John didn’t care. He tightened his hold, squeezing with every ounce of strength he had left. The white-haired Nikke struggled, her hands clawing at his arm, her eyes blazing with fury and panic as she tried to twist free. But John’s grip was unrelenting, driven by the raw, desperate will to survive. He could feel the cursed energy around them warping wildly, her control slipping as they plummeted faster and faster.

The moment of impact came in a deafening, bone-rattling crash.

The world exploded around them, a massive kinetic blast that tore through the ground with the force of a meteor strike. The shockwave rippled outward, shattering concrete and sending debris flying in every direction. Dust and rubble filled the air, the sheer force of the impact shaking the entire structure as a massive crater erupted beneath them.

-

The world shook violently, the entire underground corridor trembling as John and the white-haired Nikke’s impact reverberated through the facility. Concrete groaned and cracked overhead, dust raining down in thick clouds that stung the eyes and choked the air. Below, the remaining Nikkes and John’s team were locked in a fierce battle, the sound of gunfire and clashing bodies mingling with the distant echoes of collapsing walls.

Eunhwa fired her sniper rifle with precision, her shots ringing out like thunderclaps in the confined space. Each bullet was a calculated strike aimed at the tall Nikke, whose spectral threads whipped through the air, slicing debris as easily as they would flesh. Vesti darted between the rubble, launching rockets to disrupt the threads, the explosions lighting up the darkness in bursts of fire and smoke.

Emma’s minigun roared to life, unleashing a relentless hail of bullets that tore through the illusions of the short blue-haired Nikke. The corridor was a chaotic battleground, filled with shifting shadows and the constant rattle of falling debris. Emma’s eyes were sharp, tracking each flickering image, her movements fluid as she pivoted, spraying down every corner where the real Nikke might hide.

Concrete chunks crashed down from above, smashing into the ground with heavy, thunderous thuds. The ceiling was fracturing, splintered by the shockwaves from John’s and the white-haired Nikke’s clash above. The entire underground complex felt like it was on the verge of collapse, and every combatant moved with the desperate speed of those fighting for their lives.

Emma ducked under a falling slab of concrete, her minigun still blazing, bullets carving a path through the swirling dust. The short Nikke’s duplicates danced around her, flickering in and out of existence, but Emma’s barrage left no room for evasion. One of the illusions shattered under the assault, revealing the real Nikke behind it. Emma grinned, eyes blazing with determination, and shifted her aim.

“Got you!” Emma yelled, her minigun’s barrels spinning as she prepared to unleash another burst.

But the short Nikke was fast. She dove into a roll, coming up with a handful of debris, and threw a volley of concrete and rebar as the entire laboratory shook. Emma ducked, the ruble whizzing past her head as she kicked off a crumbling wall, flipping to her feet and returning fire. The two exchanged projectiles, each moving with the grace and speed of seasoned fighters, their clash echoing amid the rumble of the unstable ceiling.

Eunhwa, positioned further down the corridor, had her rifle trained on the tall Nikke. The spectral threads darted toward her, thin and almost invisible, but Eunhwa’s sharp eyes tracked their movements. She ducked, narrowly avoiding a thread that sliced clean through a metal beam, and fired back. The bullet tore through the air, striking one of the Nikke’s threads, and sent it whipping back like a severed wire.

Vesti launched herself into the fray, leaping over a pile of debris with her rocket launcher poised. She aimed at the tall Nikke, who was regaining control of her threads, and fired. The rocket screamed through the narrow corridor, trailing smoke before detonating against the far wall in a fiery explosion. The blast sent the tall Nikke staggering back, her threads flailing wildly, temporarily losing their deadly precision.

Eunhwa saw her chance and squeezed off another shot. The bullet whizzed through the chaos, striking the Nikke in the shoulder and sending her spinning to the ground. But the fight was far from over. The tall Nikke’s threads lashed out in a desperate counterattack, tearing through the air in a violent, frenzied dance that forced Eunhwa and Vesti to dive for cover.

Vesti rolled behind a chunk of fallen concrete, her heart hammering. She wiped the sweat from her brow, glancing up at the fractured ceiling that continued to shed debris with each tremor. “This whole place is coming down!” she shouted, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle and the groans of the unstable structure.

Emma’s movements were a blur of speed and precision, her minigun whirring as she danced between falling chunks of concrete. The short Nikke with blue hair reappeared, darting in with a flurry of kicks and punches that Emma blocked with her gun’s frame. Sparks flew as fist clashed against metal, each blow echoing like thunder in the enclosed space. Emma twisted, swinging the minigun like a club and catching the Nikke across the jaw, sending her stumbling back.

The short Nikke recovered quickly, her eyes blazing with anger as she charged in, switching from illusions to raw, brutal combat. She grabbed two chunks of rebar like blades, grinning in the dim light as she lunged at Emma, slashing with blinding speed. Emma sidestepped, parrying with her minigun’s heavy frame, then countered with a vicious knee strike that doubled the Nikke over.

With a grunt, Emma spun, driving the butt of her weapon into the Nikke’s back and sending her crashing into the wall. But the blue-haired Nikke was relentless. She rebounded off the wall, launching herself at Emma with an enraged scream. Emma deflected one rebar rod, the edge slicing a thin line across her cheek, but the second rod came dangerously close to her throat. Emma twisted, using her momentum to bring her weapon up, slamming the Nikke’s wrist aside just in time.

Eunhwa and Vesti were locked in their own dance of survival against the tall Nikke, whose threads had regained their deadly precision. They bobbed and weaved between the attacks, each thread slicing through the air with lethal intent. The ground shook again, a particularly large chunk of the ceiling collapsing between them, sending up a plume of dust and shrapnel. Eunhwa fired through the haze, each shot precise, forcing the tall Nikke to retreat.

“Keep the pressure on!” Eunhwa yelled, firing another round that ricocheted off a fallen pipe, barely missing her target.

Vesti reloaded her rocket launcher, sweat dripping from her brow. “She’s fast, but she’s getting tired!” she called back, launching another rocket that blasted a gaping hole in the far wall. The shockwave rippled through the corridor, rattling the Nikkes’ control just enough for Eunhwa to fire a clean shot, striking the tall Nikke’s leg and bringing her to one knee.

Emma and the short Nikke clashed again, the air between them a flurry of strikes and counterstrikes, each movement fluid and precise. The corridor shuddered, chunks of concrete raining down around them, but neither combatant slowed. Emma swung the minigun in a wide arc, forcing the short Nikke back, then followed up with a powerful kick to the chest that sent her skidding across the debris-strewn floor.

The tall Nikke’s threads flared up one last time, desperate and erratic, slicing through everything in their path. Eunhwa and Vesti coordinated their attacks, bullets and rockets tearing through the air, each explosion shaking the crumbling foundations of the corridor. The tall Nikke’s defenses faltered, and in one final coordinated strike, Vesti’s rocket connected, engulfing her in a fireball that sent her crashing into the far wall.

Emma and the short Nikke exchanged one final, furious series of blows, each strike landing with bone-rattling force. Emma feinted left, drawing the Nikke’s guard, then drove her fist into the Nikke’s stomach, winding her. She swung her minigun up, cracking it against the Nikke’s jaw with a resounding impact that sent her sprawling, finally breaking her relentless assault.

The tremors from above intensified, shaking the underground corridor with each violent pulse. Dust and chunks of concrete rained down, and the groans of the unstable structure echoed like distant thunder. Emma, Eunhwa, and Vesti stood ready, their eyes locked on the two Nikkes who still struggled to rise amidst the chaos. The short blue-haired Nikke clutched her side, blood trickling from her mouth, while the tall Nikke’s spectral threads flickered weakly around her, the once-lethal energy now sputtering like a dying flame.

They were battered, but far from beaten. And if they got up again, they wouldn’t hold back.

Eunhwa, Emma, and Vesti exchanged quick, determined glances. They had fought together long enough to understand each other without words. This was it—their chance to end the fight before the collapsing facility did it for them.

“On my mark,” Eunhwa said, her voice steady despite the shaking ground. She raised her rifle, taking aim at the tall Nikke’s chest, her eyes sharp and focused. Emma and Vesti nodded, their expressions hardened with resolve.

The short Nikke with blue hair staggered to her feet, fury burning in her eyes as she prepared to charge one last time. The tall Nikke’s threads snapped to life, a desperate last-ditch effort to reclaim control of the fight.

“Now!” Eunhwa barked.

Emma’s minigun roared to life, the barrels spinning as she unleashed a devastating hail of bullets that tore through the short Nikke’s illusions, shredding the last of her defenses. The blue-haired Nikke tried to dodge, but the barrage was relentless, every bullet tearing into her with bone-rattling force. Emma gritted her teeth, pushing forward, her feet sliding over the fractured ground as she closed the distance.

Vesti leaped into action, her rocket launcher primed and ready. She fired at the tall Nikke, the rocket screaming through the air before detonating in a fiery explosion that engulfed the Nikke and her threads. The blast sent a shockwave through the corridor, rattling the already fragile structure, and the tall Nikke staggered back, her threads disintegrating in the inferno.

Eunhwa moved with practiced precision, her sniper rifle cracking like a whip. The shot was perfect, striking the tall Nikke in the chest and sending her sprawling to the ground. She didn’t let up, firing a second shot that caught the short Nikke in the shoulder, spinning her around and dropping her to her knees.

The two Nikkes fell, their bodies broken and smoking from the combined onslaught.

-

John’s world was pain.

The impact of their fall had been catastrophic, a brutal collision of flesh and concrete that left the ground shattered beneath them. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint, irregular wheeze of his own breath as he struggled to pull air into his lungs. His vision swam with dark spots, his ribs felt like jagged glass stabbing into his side with every shallow gasp, and his entire body was screaming in agony.

He rolled onto his side, struggling to push himself up. Pain lanced through his chest, a reminder that his ribs were broken, crushed under the weight of the white-haired Nikke’s attack midair. Each breath was a battle, shallow and desperate, barely enough to keep him conscious. Blood filled his mouth, the metallic taste bitter on his tongue, but he couldn’t stop. He had to move. Had to get away.

He glanced over at the Nikke, her form sprawled face-down in the cracked concrete, limbs twisted from the violent landing. She was motionless. For a fleeting moment, hope surged in John’s chest. Maybe she was finished.

But then she stirred.

With a sickening crack, the white-haired Nikke pushed herself up, her body shaking as she forced her head up from the rubble. Her pale blue eyes, bloodshot and burning with fury, locked onto John. Blood dripped from her mouth, streaking her porcelain skin, but there was no hesitation in her movements, no sign of pain. She moved like something inhuman, driven by nothing but rage and the need to kill.

John tried to scramble backward, but his legs gave out beneath him. A sharp, stabbing pain shot up from his knee, and he glanced down in horror. His right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, the knee completely shattered, his left ankle barely able to hold his weight. Panic flared in his chest as he realized he couldn’t run—his body was broken, pinned by his own injuries.

The Nikke staggered forward, one arm hanging limp at her side, but the other raised, glowing with a vicious, familiar light. The blue orb at her fingertip flickered, unstable but still deadly. John’s pulse spiked as he watched the cursed energy swell, the compressed space ready to explode with the force of a bullet. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and the air around him felt like it was closing in, suffocating him under the weight of his injuries.

Desperation clawed at his mind. He couldn’t outrun this. He needed something—anything to defend himself. With shaking hands, he tried to force a domain expansion, his cursed energy frantically searching for something, some shred of control he could grasp. He pushed, his mind straining to form the familiar contours of a domain, but nothing happened. It was like reaching into darkness, pulling on threads that weren’t there. He didn’t have one. He had never had one, and now, when he needed it most, there was nothing but emptiness.

The Nikke’s lips curled into a vicious sneer, and she took another unsteady step forward. Her cursed energy flared, wild and unstable, the blue orb growing brighter as she prepared to fire. John’s breath hitched, his thoughts splintering into a frantic mess of fear and anger. This was it. He was trapped, broken, and she was going to kill him.

But just as she raised her hand, something went wrong.

The Nikke’s head snapped back, and blood began to trickle from her nose, dripping down her lip and staining her chin. Her eyes widened, the blue glow at her fingertip flickering, then sputtering out entirely. She swayed on her feet, clutching at her forehead as if trying to steady herself, but the blood kept coming, a steady stream that stained the ground beneath her.

John’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the sudden shift. She was powerful—far too powerful to lose control like this. But then he saw it: the faint, disoriented look in her eyes, the way her movements had become uneven, almost erratic. She was bleeding from her right nostril, the side of her head that had slammed into the ground when they crashed.

The prefrontal cortex.

John’s eyes widened as he pieced it together. The impact had damaged her brain, specifically the area responsible for her cursed techniques. It was where the control over her powers resided, and now it was malfunctioning, sending her cursed energy into disarray. He watched as she tried again, her fingers twitching as she attempted to summon the cursed technique. The blue orb flickered back to life, but it was weak, unsteady, like a dying ember barely clinging to existence.

The Nikke’s expression twisted into one of frustration and pain as she tried to regain control, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. Her cursed energy stuttered, sparking erratically, and she stumbled, disoriented. John could see the strain in her eyes, the panic creeping into her normally cold demeanor as she realized her powers were slipping away.

She turned and ran, leaving John thanking his lucky stars.

-

The underground base groaned and shuddered, the walls trembling as the entire structure began to collapse around them. Metal screeched and twisted, and chunks of ceiling rained down like deadly hail. Dust filled the air, turning each breath into a choking, gritty gasp. Absolute sprinted through the crumbling corridors, their movements sharp and urgent, muscles burning with the desperate need to escape.

Eunhwa led the way, her sharp eyes scanning for any signs of stability amidst the chaos. Vesti trailed close behind, clutching her rocket launcher as if it could shield her from the falling debris. Emma, with her minigun slung over her shoulder, kept pace, her expression uncharacteristically tense. They reached the big metal door that had separated this section of the lab—the thick steel barrier now bent and twisted from the seismic shocks rocking the facility.

“Through here!” Eunhwa ran to the side of the door and lept first, followed by the other two towards a ventilation hole. Without hesitation, they dived into the narrow vent, the same one John had used to enter earlier. The metal groaned under their combined weight, already weakened from their earlier entrance. The thin walls buckled slightly, threatening to give way at any moment.

“Move! Move!” Emma urged, pushing Vesti forward. The vent creaked ominously, the sound echoing with every frantic step as they crawled through, the confined space adding to the suffocating sense of urgency. Every shift, every slight movement sent ripples through the frail metal, and Absolute could feel the structure bending beneath them, struggling to hold their weight.

Vesti glanced back, wide-eyed, the fear stark on her face. “This thing isn’t gonna hold much longer!”

“Just keep going!” Eunhwa barked, her tone sharp but laced with an undercurrent of urgency. She pressed forward, muscles straining, propelling herself faster toward the hole John had carved into the barrier. The breach was still there, a gap in the once-impenetrable barrier that had encased the lab. It was their only way out.

Emma gritted her teeth, forcing herself to crawl faster, her shoulders scraping against the sides of the vent. The entire structure trembled violently, sending jolts through their bodies as pieces of the vent began to buckle and twist around them. Dust and debris rained down, and the metal began to scream under the strain, bending inward with each passing second.

They reached the end of the vent, bursting through the gap just as the structure behind them gave way. With one final, frantic push, they leapt out onto the crumbling lab floor, scrambling to their feet. The world around them was falling apart—walls collapsing, pipes bursting, the sound of destruction all around. They sprinted toward the staircase, the last stretch to safety.

“Go! Go!” Eunhwa shouted, her voice barely audible over the deafening roar of the collapsing base.

They charged up the stairs, each step a desperate race against the relentless tide of debris crashing down behind them. The stairs shook violently, cracks splintering through the stone as the entire underground facility threatened to pull them back into the depths. The roar of destruction was deafening, drowning out everything but the pounding of their own hearts.

Just as they reached the top, the final section of the base gave way, collapsing in on itself with a tremendous crash. The force of the collapse sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking them off balance as they staggered out into the open air. They stumbled, gasping, coated in dust and grime, but alive.

They turned back, watching as the entrance to the lab was swallowed by rubble, sealing the horrors of the underground facility away beneath tons of concrete and metal. The dust settled slowly, hanging in the air like a shroud over what was left of the base.

Eunhwa’s breath came in ragged gasps as she looked back at the collapsed ruin, her eyes narrowing. “Damn it… John better not be in there.”

Chapter Text

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, and the rhythmic beeping of monitors filled the room with a monotonous drone. John stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as the blindingly white ceiling came into focus. A dull ache throbbed through his entire body, a painful reminder of the fight he’d barely survived. His mind was foggy, disoriented, but as he tried to push himself upright, a sharp pain shot through his side, forcing him back down onto the bed.

“About time you woke up, dumbass.”

That sharp voice snapped him into full consciousness. His eyes finally focused, and there, standing at the foot of his hospital bed, was Eunhwa, arms crossed, her expression as stern and unyielding as ever. Her rifle was propped up against the wall next to her, close at hand.

John blinked, then grinned despite himself. "Well, well, well… never thought I’d wake up to find you standing guard. You must’ve fallen in love with me while I was out. Couldn’t stay away, huh?"

Eunhwa’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her lips curling into a sneer. “Shut up. You’ve barely been awake for two minutes, and you’re already running your mouth.”

John’s grin only widened. "It’s a gift. But seriously, I knew I’d grow on you eventually. Standing vigil over my bedside like this? How touching."

"Don’t flatter yourself, idiot," she shot back, her voice as cold as ever. "If I didn’t have orders to watch over your sorry ass, I wouldn’t be within a mile of you."

"Sure, sure," John said, wincing as he shifted in bed. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. But come on, you’re here. Deep down, you care. Admit it."

Eunhwa’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she resisted the urge to fire back. Instead, she pulled out her comms and flicked a switch. “He’s awake. Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him until you get here.”

John chuckled weakly, wincing at the sharp pang in his ribs. “Ah, I get it now. You’re just playing the bodyguard role because you’ve fallen for my charms. Understandable, really.”

Eunhwa scoffed, her expression hardening. “The only thing I’ve fallen for is the idea of smothering you with a pillow. Don’t flatter yourself.”

John laughed, though it quickly turned into a series of painful coughs. He glanced around the room, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, the IV drip feeding into his arm, and the dull hum of medical machinery that surrounded him. His head pounded as he tried to piece together his last coherent memories. Flashes of the battle with the white-haired Nikke flickered in his mind—those cold blue eyes, falling through the air, and then… nothing.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice more serious now. "I remember fighting that Nikke... and then, nothing."

Eunhwa sighed, exasperation creeping into her voice. “You were out for a week, dumbass. We found you passed out in the middle of a massive crater. Your condition was... terrible. But you’re still alive, somehow.”

John frowned, trying to recall. "A crater?"

"Yeah," Eunhwa confirmed, her arms crossing again. "Looked like a small bomb went off, and you were right in the center of it. Not much left of the lab or the area around it, either. We combed through the rubble, but... there was no sign of the white-haired Nikke."

John’s chest tightened at the news. No sign of her? That didn’t sit well. He remembered grappling with her, feeling the raw, unbridled power she wielded. His mind raced, trying to piece together the events that led to the crater.

"And you’re sure she’s gone?" he pressed, his eyes narrowing as he tried to fight the grogginess still lingering in his system.

“We didn’t find a body, and trust me, we looked as much as we could before the area was overrun by Raptures,” Eunhwa replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. “If she’s out there, she’s hiding well. Or she’s dead, which I wouldn’t mind.”

-

The door to the hospital room swung open with a deliberate creak, and Deputy Chief Andersen stepped in, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. He was a tall man, his demeanor sharp and authoritative, with eyes that missed nothing. John watched as Andersen’s gaze swept over him, cool and calculating, before landing on Eunhwa.

“Eunhwa, give us a moment,” Andersen said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Eunhwa nodded, shooting a quick glance at John—one last warning not to say anything stupid—before she picked up her rifle and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that followed was thick, charged with unspoken tension.

Andersen took a moment, looking John over as he sat there in his hospital bed, still wrapped in bandages. He folded his arms and took a deep breath, his expression unreadable. “You’ve caused quite a stir, Commander. And not just because of your recent little adventure.”

John tilted his head, his grin not quite masking the edge in his eyes. “Stirring things up is kind of my specialty. But I have a feeling this isn’t about the mission, is it?”

Andersen ignored the bait, stepping closer and looking directly into John’s eyes. “I know what you are, John. A sorcerer.”

John’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a slight shift in his posture, a subtle tightening of his muscles. “I’m flattered you figured it out. I was worried I was being too obvious.”

Andersen let out a low chuckle, though there was no warmth in it. “You weren’t, at least not at first. But things didn’t quite add up, John. Your academy records—average in every way, almost too average. Like someone was trying to blend in a little too well.”

John’s smile faded slightly as Andersen continued, pacing slowly around the room. “Then there was that break-in at the Ark’s record-keeping facility. No sign of anything stolen, but the area that was breached? It contained records of deaths—specifically those of orphaned children around your age. Coincidence? Maybe. But I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Andersen paused, letting the words sink in, watching for any sign of reaction from John. When he got none, he pressed on, his voice turning sharp. “But the real confirmation came during your first mission. A single frame, easy to miss, showing you pulling the Blacksmith’s tentacle with your bare hands. No weapons, no advanced tech—just you and something no ordinary human could have done. The mission to the underground lab was just to act as a final confirmation”

John leaned back against the bed, his expression a mask of casual indifference, but the flicker of tension in his eyes betrayed him. “You’ve been paying attention. I’m flattered.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. John slowly exhaled, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“So, you’ve done your homework,” John muttered, a trace of grudging respect in his voice. “But let me ask you something, Andersen—why do you care? I’ve been doing my job, haven’t I?”

Andersen’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “It’s not about whether you’ve been doing your job. It’s about your motivation. Your entire identity has been a lie since you walked into the academy. That’s a problem for someone in my position.”

John leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “And here I thought you were going to congratulate me for being such a model soldier.”

Andersen’s gaze didn’t falter. “I don’t deal in flattery, Commander. I deal in facts, and the fact is, I’ve seen enough to know you’re not aligned with the goals of the sorcerer society’s elders. So the question is, what are you after? What’s your motivation?”

John studied Andersen for a long moment, weighing his words. He could feel the tightrope he was walking, the precarious balance of revealing too much or too little.

“I want something different from what the elders want,” John finally said, his voice steady, but with a hardened edge. “They’re content with maintaining the status quo, hiding underground, keeping things ‘safe.’ But I’m not. I want to fight for the surface, for reclaiming what humanity lost. Sitting in a hole waiting for the Raptures to finish the job isn’t my idea of a life worth living.”

Andersen raised an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me you want to lead humanity back to the surface? Sounds ambitious.”

“Ambition’s never been my problem,” John replied, a touch of cockiness returning to his tone. “Look, I’m not some puppet for the sorcerer society. They’ve had their time, and all they’ve done is manage humanity’s decline. I’m aiming for something bigger—freedom. A future. Even if that means stepping on a few toes along the way.”

Andersen regarded him in silence for a moment, then took a few steps closer, his voice dropping slightly. “And you think one sorcerer is enough to change the tide?”

John leaned forward, a cocky grin forming on his face. “Well, if that sorcerer is me… maybe.”

Andersen didn’t react to the bravado. Instead, he studied John with cold calculation, as if weighing the sincerity behind the words.

Andersen turned to leave, but then paused, his gaze lingering on John. “Look, Smith, you and I—we want similar things. You want the surface back. I want to see humanity rise again. We can work together. I’ll keep your secret... for now.”

John's expression sharpened. “And what’s the catch?”

Andersen glanced at his watch, feigning impatience. “I’m late for a meeting,” he said, moving toward the door.

John frowned, sensing there was more Andersen wasn’t saying. “Wait. Just one question.”

Andersen hesitated, then nodded slightly. “One.”

John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Was that lab we found created by the Ark government?”

Andersen’s expression darkened slightly, but he answered without hesitation. “No. And before you ask, we didn’t find any evidence that any sorcerers from the Ark were involved either. The lab was discovered after one of our seismographs recorded unusual activity underground. When our forces got there, they couldn’t get past the first half of the lab—the metal door and that barrier. So, they sealed it up.”

John snorted. “Yeah, well, the talisman they used was super shoddy.”

Andersen’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “We’re investigating the combat footage recorded by Absolute. Right now, the only thing we’re sure of is that there’s some third party out there experimenting on Nikkes, and whoever they are, they’ve got enough resources to make it a serious problem.”

As Andersen turned to leave, he spoke over his shoulder, his tone casual but laced with underlying significance. “Oh, and since that lab ended up in ruins, you’re technically being ‘punished’ for failing the mission. You’re being assigned to the outpost, far from the eyes of the central government or the Jujutsu Society. Your team’s already there.”

John blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “Wait, my team? You mean Eunhwa and Absolute?”

The door swung open, and Eunhwa stepped back inside. Andersen looked at her and then back at John with a knowing smirk. “No.”

John’s mind raced. If Absolute wasn’t his new team, then who was? As Andersen left the room, Eunhwa shot him a sharp glance.

“What the hell did he mean by that?” John muttered, mostly to himself.

Eunhwa shrugged.

John watched the door swing shut behind Andersen, the questions piling up in his mind. Who was this third party? What were they trying to achieve? And who, exactly, was his new team waiting for him at the outpost?

-

It had been a week since John’s tense meeting with Andersen, and those days had dragged by in the sterile confines of the hospital. His body was a patchwork of bruises, bandages, and stitches, a testament to the battle he’d barely survived. Each painful step on his crutches was a reminder of how close he’d come to the edge. The sharp scent of disinfectant filled his nose as he hobbled down the hospital corridor, every movement sending a jolt of pain through his battered ribs. The quiet hum of machines and the muffled voices of nurses were worlds away from the chaos that had put him here, but the memories still clung to him.

Trailing close behind were his doctors, Mary and Pepper. Mary, with her soft demeanor and immaculate blue uniform, maintained a composed distance, her expression a mix of concern and quiet disapproval. She was the kind of nurse who never hesitated to speak her mind, especially when it came to a stubborn patient like John.

“Mr. Smith, this isn’t wise,” she said, her voice firm but laced with genuine worry. “You need to stay for further observation. You’re pushing your recovery too fast.”

Beside her, Pepper’s bright pink hair clashed with her current expression of focused concern. Usually, her playful demeanor was a comforting presence, but today, even she was all business. Adjusting her headset, she looked at John with a mixture of frustration and empathy. “John, you really can’t keep doing this. Your injuries aren’t something you can just walk off.”

John’s lips curled into a wry smile, but the pain behind his eyes betrayed the effort it took to keep up his bravado. “I appreciate the concern, ladies. But if I stay any longer, I’ll start paying rent.” He paused, wincing as another jolt of pain shot through his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself a flicker of genuine frustration—he hated feeling weak, trapped in his own body.

“Oh, by the way,” he added, trying to keep the mood light despite the pain. “Can I drink while I’m on this stuff? Just a little?”

Pepper’s eyes widened, and she gave him a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Absolutely not! Alcohol is a big no-no, John. It’ll interfere with your meds and mess with your recovery.”

Mary crossed her arms, her gaze stern. “No alcohol on these meds, understood?”

John nodded, his grin half-hearted. “Got it. Drink plenty of fluids. Thanks, Doc.”

Pepper sighed, shaking her head. “Just take care of yourself. We really don’t want to see you back here any sooner than necessary.”

John didn’t reply, just gave a casual wave as he continued hobbling down the hallway. Each step was agony, his legs screaming with every movement, but he forced himself onward, unwilling to show weakness. The pain was a constant reminder of how vulnerable he was—how much he hated this slow, agonizing pace of recovery.

The automated taxi was waiting outside, its sleek design a sharp contrast to the crumbling figure that climbed inside. John winced as the door closed, the motion jostling his battered body. He let his head rest against the cool glass of the window, his eyes briefly closing as he tried to catch his breath. The taxi’s smooth hum was a comforting reprieve from the hospital’s sterile sounds, but John’s mind was already racing ahead. He was supposed to be heading straight to meet his team at the outpost—a meeting he was already late for, thanks to his stubborn insistence on an early discharge.

He opened his eyes as the cityscape rolled by, a blur of neon signs and towering buildings that felt strangely disconnected from the battles he’d fought. Then, a familiar sign caught his eye: Selaphina’s Café, a small, cozy spot he frequented whenever he needed a break from his chaotic life. The café had introduced a new special recently: an apple pie cheesecake fusion that had quickly become an object of his desire. His stomach growled at the thought, a small spark of desire breaking through the fog of pain.

John glanced at the time. He was already running behind, but the thought of a warm slice of pie was a rare temptation. For the past week, he’d been confined to bland hospital food and the constant sting of antiseptic. A little indulgence felt like reclaiming some part of his freedom, a moment of normalcy in the mess his life had become.

The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him—he was supposed to be at the outpost, facing whatever new responsabilites awaited. But his body ached, his mind was exhausted, and the idea of delaying his obligations for just a little while was almost too tempting to resist.

What’s another half hour? he rationalized. I’ve earned this.

John’s hand hesitated on the door handle as the taxi pulled up to a red light. His mind wavered between duty and desire, the constant pull of his responsibilities weighed against his need for just a moment of peace. He pictured the outpost, the faces of his team waiting for him, the battle-worn expressions that mirrored his own. But then he pictured the café, the soft chatter of customers, the smell of fresh coffee, and the promise of something sweet to ease the bitterness of the last week.

With a deep breath, John made his choice. “Take me to Selaphina’s Café,” he instructed, his voice firm despite the lingering doubt. The taxi adjusted course, and John leaned back, letting the faint vibrations of the road soothe his aching muscles. The meeting would still be there when he was done. But right now, all he wanted was a taste of something sweet to remind him that he was still alive.

-

Rapi and Anis stood near the elevator, each lost in their thoughts as they waited. The dim, flickering lights of the underground space cast long shadows, adding to the tense atmosphere that hung between them. The faint hum of machinery echoed off the cold, concrete walls, underscoring the quiet frustration simmering among the squad.

Rapi stood at attention, her grip tight on her rifle, the calm in her posture betrayed only by the faint crease of irritation on her brow. “He’s late,” she said flatly, her voice edged with quiet annoyance. “Very late. Not exactly the best first impression for a commander.”

Anis crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently against the ground. She shot a sideways glare at Rapi, then back toward the empty entrance. “Can you believe this? We’re stuck waiting here like idiots,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Feels like someone’s playing a joke on us.”

Before Rapi could retort, a sleek automated taxi pulled up, its door hissing open with a mechanical click. The squad’s heads turned in unison, their expressions shifting from irritation to bewilderment as John stepped out, awkwardly balancing on crutches. His legs were heavily bandaged, and every movement looked like it came at a painful cost. In one hand, he clutched several paper bags, and tucked under his arm were two bottles of alcohol. Despite his obvious injuries, he wore a wide, unbothered grin that seemed to mock the very idea of caution.

John’s steps were uneven, his face occasionally twitching with the effort it took to stay upright, but he pushed through, refusing to let the pain slow him down. He stumbled slightly, nearly losing his balance, but caught himself with a grimace before flashing a cheeky smile at the squad.

“Sorry I’m late,” John said, wincing as he maneuvered out of the taxi without spilling the bags. His voice was light, almost casual, as if he hadn’t just dragged himself out of a hospital bed. “Had a slight... detour.”

Rapi’s eyes narrowed, her expression controlled but strained with visible skepticism. “Commander John?” she asked, her tone clipped. “You’re the commander we’ve been assigned to?”

John nodded, trying to adjust his crutches while holding everything else, a pained smirk still plastered on his face. “Obviously. Thought I’d bring some treats to make up for my grand entrance. Apple pie cheesecake… and a little something stronger to help it down.”

Anis blinked, her irritation not entirely masked by the surprise in her eyes. She looked John up and down, taking in the crutches, the bandages, and the reckless smile that seemed completely at odds with the injuries he was nursing. “Isn’t it a bit early for us to be assigned you as a commander again? And not to mention the fact that you’re barely standing.”

Anis tilted her head, her brow furrowing with a mix of confusion and concern. “Wait... is that cheesecake? And... alcohol?”

John nodded, his grin widening even though he could barely keep himself upright. “Couldn’t leave you guys waiting without something special. Besides,” he said, gesturing vaguely at his bandages, “needed an excuse to get out and stretch my legs.”

Rapi watched him carefully, her calm demeanor hiding a growing unease. She had seen many commanders, but none quite like John. His injuries were severe, and yet here he was, trying to play it all off like it was nothing more than a scraped knee. “You shouldn’t be here like this,” she said quietly, but firmly. “It’s reckless, and it’s dangerous. Not just for you, but for all of us.”

John’s expression flickered, just for a second—a brief flash of something deeper beneath the surface, maybe pain or stubborn defiance—but he quickly masked it with a laugh. “What can I say? Duty calls. Can’t keep the squad waiting.”

Anis crossed her arms, her gaze hardening. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You look like you’re about to keel over. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

John’s smile wavered as he shifted on his crutches, the strain of the conversation beginning to show. “I’ve been through worse,” he muttered, half to himself. His eyes darted to the ground, the bravado slipping just enough for the squad to see the cracks. “Besides, if I’m gonna be hobbling around, might as well do it with some good company.”

Rapi sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to stave off a headache. She had expected many things from her new commander, but this reckless display wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t just about him showing up late—it was the careless defiance, the way he seemed to mock his own injuries with every step. “This is going to be... interesting,” she finally said, the understatement hanging heavily in the air.

John looked at his team, the bags of desserts and bottles of alcohol hanging awkwardly at his side. He knew he was a mess but he was here, and that had to count for something. “It’ll be fine,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “We’ve got pie, we’ve got drinks, and we’ve got a job to do. Let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

John sat slumped in his commander’s room at the outpost, surrounded by the clutter of mission reports, empty coffee cups, and the lingering antiseptic scent from his recent hospital stay. His desk was a mess, reflecting the state of his mind—scattered, frustrated, and running on fumes. He rubbed his temples, trying to focus on the latest report, but his eyes kept drifting to the monitor displaying his bank account. The balance was still zero. No payments. No acknowledgment of the work he had put in.

John clenched his jaw, a flicker of genuine anger breaking through his usual facade. He had risked his life, and now the bureaucratic nonsense was holding up his pay. The outpost’s bills were piling up, and the stress of it all gnawed at him like a constant itch he couldn’t scratch.

With a sigh, he tapped his comms. “Rapi, can you come in here for a second?”

Rapi entered promptly, her professional demeanor a stark contrast to the disarray of John’s office. She carried herself with a quiet authority, her rifle slung neatly over her shoulder. “What’s the issue, Commander?” she asked, her tone polite but edged with a hint of expectation—The short amount of time she had spent with John left her knowing well enough to brace for something irritating.

John pointed to the screen, his frustration bubbling over. “I’ve submitted all the mission reports, but nothing’s come through. No payments. What’s the holdup?”

Rapi moved closer, pulling up her own device and typing swiftly as she checked the system. After a moment, she sighed, her expression shifting to one of resigned annoyance. “The central government hasn’t accepted the reports because our team hasn’t been assigned a squad name.”

John blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I assigned a name—what’s the problem?”

Rapi scrolled through the logs, her face contorting in exasperation as she found the issue. “Your suggested name was… 42069-bo0tyslayrZ,” she said, her voice flat with disbelief.

John leaned back in his chair, grinning despite himself. “What? It’s catchy. Memorable. Rolls off the tongue.”

Rapi’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. “It’s juvenile, inappropriate, and it was rejected. Along with all your other suggestions.”

John’s grin only widened, using humor to mask his growing irritation. “Alright, alright. How about ‘Thund3rTh1gh5-R-Us’?”

Rapi’s face remained impassive, her patience visibly wearing thin. “No.”

Undeterred, John continued, throwing out names like they were half-baked jokes: “AssaultF4rts? BigPimp1n69? SmokersOfTheDevilsLettuce?”

Rapi’s eyes narrowed with each absurd suggestion, her fingers tightening around her device. She took a deep breath, clearly restraining herself from letting her full annoyance show. “Commander, these names are not only ridiculous, but they’re also the reason we’re stuck in this bureaucratic mess. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

John’s smile faltered, a brief flash of frustration crossing his face. The reality of the situation—the unpaid missions, the mounting pressure—cut through his usual bravado. He looked down at his cluttered desk, feeling the weight of his own recklessness pressing in. For a moment, he considered arguing, pushing back against the stupid rules and pointless delays. But Rapi’s unwavering stare told him she wasn’t in the mood for games.

Rapi rubbed her temples, exhaling slowly as she steadied her tone. “I’m just going to enter ‘Counters’ as the squad name. It’s simple, professional, and won’t get us flagged by the system. We need to get this sorted and move on.”

John shrugged, masking his frustration with a lopsided grin. “Fine. Go ahead. But for the record, ‘Bo0tyslayrZ’ was destined for greatness.”

As Rapi finished entering the new squad name, John let out a weary sigh, the tension in his shoulders barely easing. He glanced back at his crutches leaning against the desk and the mess of reports that still demanded his attention. But right now, all he wanted was to get out of this room and clear his head. His ribs still slightly ached with every breath, and the thought of sitting here any longer was unbearable.

John looked at Rapi, who was already organizing her next steps with characteristic efficiency. “Rapi, since I’m still not exactly up to running around, can you handle collecting the payments and sorting out the supplies we need for the outpost? I’d do it, but…” he gestured vaguely at his bandaged legs and crutches.

Rapi nodded, professional as ever, though a faint hint of concern flickered in her eyes as she glanced at his injuries. “Of course, Commander. I’ll get everything in order. I’ll bring back the receipts so you can see exactly how the funds are being used.”

John waved a dismissive hand, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “No need for that. I trust you. Get what we need, and make sure we’re stocked up on everything—ammo, medical supplies, whatever we’re running low on. And hey, get yourself something nice while you’re at it. Consider it a bonus for dealing with my nonsense.”

Rapi’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic gesture. She hesitated, her professional instincts clashing with the unexpected kindness. “I appreciate that, Commander, but I’d rather keep things transparent.”

John chuckled softly, the sound rough around the edges but genuine. “Rapi, if there’s anyone here I don’t have to worry about misusing funds, it’s you. Besides, after all the headaches I’ve given you today, it’s the least I can do. That's an order”

Rapi gave a small, appreciative nod, still maintaining her composed demeanor. “Thank you, Commander. I’ll make sure everything’s sorted.”

John grabbed his crutches, wincing slightly as he pulled himself upright. The pain flared briefly, but he gritted his teeth, determined to push through. “I’m gonna take a walk around the base, work on this whole recovery thing. Sitting around all day’s not doing me any favors.”

Rapi watched him carefully, her expression softening as she saw him struggle to move. “Take it easy out there. The last thing we need is you pushing yourself too hard.”

John flashed her a lopsided grin, determined not to let his injuries define him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got plenty of stubbornness to keep me going.” He gave her a half-hearted salute with one crutch and hobbled toward the door.

-

John gritted his teeth as he stepped outside into the open area of the outpost, the cold air biting at his skin. He was determined to push himself today, crutches be damned. The sunlight felt good on his face, a stark contrast to the harsh, sterile lights of the hospital and his cluttered office. He took a few shaky steps, feeling the strain in his legs with each movement, but the stubbornness in him refused to quit. He had to rebuild his strength, one painful step at a time.

Every part of his body protested, but he forced himself to keep moving, testing the limits of his endurance. He did light exercises—small lunges, squats, anything to get his blood flowing and remind himself he was still in control. The pain was sharp and constant, but it grounded him, kept him focused. He breathed through it, pushing forward with every wobbly step.

As he made his way around the perimeter, John found himself near the massive elevator that led to the Ark below. As he stared at it, another memory pushed its way to the surface—of his second meeting with Rapi and Anis. He stopped and leaned against the rail, his mind slipping back to the day he first met Rapi and Anis at this very spot.

-

The doors slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the vast, dimly lit space of the elevator. John stepped in on crutches, moving with a confident stride despite the injuries. He entered the room, his eyes landing on Rapi and Anis, waiting near the other end of the elevator. Rapi stood at attention, her posture immaculate, while Anis leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed and her expression somewhere between boredom and mild annoyance.

John approached them, his demeanor calm but his mind already calculating how to handle this delicate introduction. He’d been briefed by Andersen, but now it was time to tell his new team the truth.

“Rapi, Anis,” John greeted, his tone level but tinged with an underlying seriousness that caught their attention.

Rapi nodded, her expression respectful but guarded. “Commander,” she acknowledged, eyes sharp and assessing.

John spoke “there’s something important you both need to know before we head up to the outpost.”

Rapi and Anis exchanged glances, Rapi’s face stoic while Anis’s showed a spark of curiosity mixed with impatience.

John took a breath, his expression hardening as he decided to cut straight to the point. “I’m a sorcerer. Andersen’s assigned you to work with me for the foreseeable future, and this information stays between us. You’re not to mention it to anyone, not even among yourselves unless we’re alone. Understood?”

Anis stared at him, blinking in disbelief before breaking into a laugh. “Oh, come on. That’s got to be a joke, right? A sorcerer? You? Did Andersen put you up to this?”

John’s face remained serious, and Rapi’s expression didn’t change. The room’s tension thickened as Anis’s laughter faded, realizing they weren’t playing around. She turned to Rapi, searching for some hint of the joke, but Rapi’s calm, accepting demeanor only deepened her confusion.

“You’re serious?” Anis asked, her voice edged with disbelief. “Rapi, you’re buying this? Are you two in on some kind of prank?”

Rapi’s gaze remained steady, her posture unwavering. “It’s no prank, Anis. I’ve encountered sorcerers before.”

Anis’s brow furrowed, her skepticism turning to outright doubt. “Sorcerers are just stories. You’re telling me he’s… what, some kind of magic user? And you expect me to just believe it because you say so?”

John sighed, sensing that words alone wouldn’t cut it. He needed to prove it, especially to Anis, whose brash nature wouldn’t be satisfied without something tangible. Despite the lingering pain in his body and the still-healing injuries, he pushed himself forward, determination burning in his eyes.

He stepped up to Anis, whose expression was a mix of defiance and uncertainty. Without a word, John grabbed the back of her collar, lifting her off the ground effortlessly, despite the fact that she was a Nikke—a cyborg weighing far more than any ordinary human. The strain rippled through his muscles, but he didn’t let it show. Anis’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening in shock as she dangled, her feet hovering about a foot above the floor.

Rapi watched, her calm demeanor never wavering, while Anis’s expression turned from disbelief to stunned realization. John held her there for a moment longer, his grip steady and unwavering, before setting her back down with a controlled release.

Anis stumbled slightly as her feet touched the ground, staring at John with a mix of awe and confusion. She had felt the raw, unnatural strength behind that lift—something no ordinary human could muster, especially not in his condition.

“Believe me now?” John asked, his voice calm but firm, meeting Anis’s wide-eyed gaze with unwavering confidence.

-

John continued his slow, painful laps around the perimeter of the outpost, each step a small victory against the agony pulsing through his legs. The exercises were grueling, but they were necessary—he needed to feel some semblance of control, no matter how fleeting. He was lost in his thoughts, replaying the flashback of his first meeting with Rapi and Anis, when a familiar figure caught his eye in the distance.

Anis was leaning casually against a railing, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she watched him struggle through his exercises. She waved, her usual cheeky grin plastered on her face. John waved back, though his movements were slower, more labored. As he approached, she sauntered over, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Hey there, Commander. Didn’t think I’d catch you out here doing rehab” Anis teased, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of skepticism and subtle concern. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

John chuckled, though it was strained. “Gotta get back on my feet somehow. Can’t let Rapi have all the fun ordering you around.”

Anis laughed, but there was still that lingering doubt in her eyes—one that had been there since he’d first told her he was a sorcerer. She leaned in closer, folding her arms with a mischievous smirk. “You know, I’ve been thinking… about that whole ‘sorcerer’ thing you keep claiming. I’m still not buying it, John. You could just be some male version of a Nikke, right? Who’s to say you’re not loaded up with cybernetics or something?”

John sighed, leaning against a nearby wall to catch his breath, his body still aching from the exertion. He knew this conversation was coming—Anis wasn’t the type to just accept something without proof. “You and I both know that’s not possible. Male Nikkes don’t exist because of brain compatibility issues”

Anis shrugged, still not fully convinced. “Then maybe you’re just some high-tech trickster. I mean, I’ve seen some crazy mods out there.”

John shook his head, his expression softening as he met her gaze. “Sorcery isn’t what you think. It’s not like the movies, Anis. I’m not about to pull a rabbit out of a hat or start flying around the outpost. It’s… different. And I get why you’re skeptical. But I can show you a cool little demonstration to prove it.”

Anis raised an eyebrow, curious but still wary. “Show me what, exactly? Some magic trick?”

John smiled faintly, then took a few steps back, wincing as he steadied himself. “No tricks. I’m going to demonstrate a barrier technique. It’s simple, but it’ll get the point across.”

“Merge from darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.”

Before Anis could respond or ask what he meant, John’s form began to fade, vanishing from the top down as if he were sinking into an invisible pool. Anis’s eyes widened in shock as she watched his head, shoulders, and finally his legs disappear into thin air, leaving nothing behind. She blinked, stunned, her mouth hanging open as she looked around, searching for any sign of him.

“John?” she called, her voice edged with a mix of awe and confusion. “Where the hell did you—?”

Suddenly, John’s hand appeared mid-air, reaching out of nowhere and grabbing her wrist. Anis yelped as she was yanked forward, her entire body pulled into what felt like a tear in reality itself. She stumbled, her vision blurring for a moment as she was dragged into an invisible barrier that encased the space around them.

Inside, everything looked normal at first glance—the familiar layout of the outpost, the same railings, the same sky—but the colors were muted, as if the world had been dipped in shadow. It was as if nighttime had fallen abruptly, casting an eerie, surreal glow over everything. The air felt different too, thicker, and her senses were heightened to the point where she could almost hear her own heartbeat echoing in the silence.

Anis spun around, disoriented, but the outpost beyond the barrier remained in broad daylight. It was like they were caught in a pocket of time that existed separately from the rest of the world. She turned back to John, who was standing calmly, watching her reaction with a knowing look.

“This,” John said, his voice echoing slightly in the strange space, “is a barrier. It’s a basic technique. Here we are invisible to non-sorcerers. We can see them, but nobody outside can see us.”

Anis’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to process what she was experiencing. She reached out, her hand brushing against an invisible wall that rippled like water. The realization hit her hard.

John watched her closely, reading every shift in her expression. “Believe me now?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm, knowing he had proven his point.

Anis turned to him, her earlier doubts evaporating as she stared at the impossible reality surrounding them. “Point proven,” she admitted, her voice hushed and full of grudging respect. “You weren’t kidding.”

John dismissed the barrier with a simple gesture, and the world around them snapped back to normal—sunlight flooding the space, the muted tones vanishing in an instant. Anis blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness, still trying to wrap her head around what she had just witnessed.

John smiled faintly, the strain of the demonstration catching up to him as he leaned back against the wall for support. “Sorcery isn’t just tricks or parlor games, Anis. It’s real, and it’s dangerous. That’s why we have to keep this between us.”

Anis nodded slowly, finally beginning to understand the weight of what John had been saying all along.

“Yeah,” Anis said, still slightly dazed but more convinced than ever. “I get it now.”

-

Rapi stepped out of the elevator with a focused stride, her arms loaded with supplies. She had just returned from her supply run, bringing back everything the outpost needed to keep running smoothly. As she left the elevator, her eyes were immediately drawn to John, who was on the ground doing pushups, each movement a visible strain on his still-recovering body. Anis was perched on a nearby ledge, sipping on a soda and shouting encouragements as if she were watching the finals of a sporting event.

“Come on, Commander! Push through! You’ve got this!” Anis cheered, her voice echoing through the training area. She watched with a grin as John powered through each rep, his determination evident despite the pain etched on his face.

Rapi shook her head slightly, both amused and mildly exasperated by the scene. But before she could say anything, a new voice piped up from behind her, bright and chipper.

“Wow! Look at you go, Commander! I didn’t expect a workout session right out of the gate!”

Rapi turned to see the source of the voice—Neon, a Nikke with striking silver hair tied with a blue ribbon, bright green eyes framed by round glasses and red eyeliner, and an outfit that was a mix of military chic and sailor schoolgirl uniform. Her hat sat jauntily on her head, and her demeanor was bubbly and enthusiastic, a stark contrast to the serious tone of the outpost. Neon was practically bouncing on her feet, her shotgun slung across her back like it was just another fashion accessory.

“Neon, meet Commander John and Anis,” Rapi introduced, setting the supplies down and stepping aside. “Neon’s joining us as the newest member of the Counters.”

John pushed himself up, still catching his breath, and gave Neon a once-over. “Welcome aboard, Neon. We could always use another set of hands—especially one that’s good with firepower.”

Neon’s face lit up with a delighted smile. “Oh, you betcha! Firepower’s my specialty! The bigger, the better!” She giggled, her eyes sparkling as she spoke. She paused, looking around conspiratorially before leaning in with a mischievous grin. “I’m also a spy, sent by Elysion’s CEO, Ingrid. She instructed me to assist you and the commander, after which I am to report back on everything, especially if sorcery is used. That is what a spy does, no?”

Anis nearly choked on her drink, sputtering as she stared at Neon with wide eyes. “Wait, did you just say you’re a spy? You’re not supposed to just… announce that, you know!”

Rapi’s eyes narrowed slightly, though she remained composed. “You realize that being a spy is generally something you keep to yourself, right? Discretion is… important.”

Neon just laughed, a carefree sound that echoed around the room. “Oh, don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone anything too important. Besides, I’m really just here for the guns. All the secrets and spying stuff is just a bonus!”

John exchanged a glance with Anis, who was still recovering from her shock, and then looked back at Neon, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. He finally settled on a bemused smile. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

Rapi crossed her arms, watching Neon carefully but unable to suppress a faint smile. “Just keep your enthusiasm focused, alright?”

Neon winked, spinning on her heel with a bounce in her step. “You got it! This is going to be so much fun!”

John leaned back, shaking his head as he looked at his ragtag team. “Guess we’re going to have our hands full, huh?”

-

The sun was setting over the ruined landscape, casting long, jagged shadows across the desolate battlefield. The air was thick with the stench of dust and decay, mingled with the faint scent of charred metal and scorched earth. Amidst the wreckage of twisted steel and crumbling concrete, the white-haired Nikke knelt alone, her pale blue eyes wide with frustration and desperation. She was trying, once again, to activate her cursed technique—her fingers trembling as she willed the energy to manifest, to bend space to her command.

Nothing happened.

Her brow furrowed, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead as she focused harder, pouring every ounce of her fractured will into the attempt. She could feel the faintest flicker of cursed energy, a dim, sputtering light in her mind, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. Her right prefrontal cortex—the very core of her powers—had been damaged in the brutal clash with John, and now her once-unbreakable techniques were slipping through her fingers, beyond her control.

She let out a sharp, angry breath, slamming her fist against the ground, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. Her body ached from the wounds she had sustained, but the deeper pain was the loss of her power, the very thing that had made her feel invincible. She tried again, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the spot before her, willing space itself to fold and bend to her will.

Still, nothing.

She gritted her teeth, the frustration boiling over as she tried again and again, her energy flickering weakly before sputtering out. Every attempt was weaker than the last, her technique slipping further and further away from her grasp. She was trapped in a cycle of desperation and failure, her mind racing with fear and anger.

She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps crunching softly against the gravel behind her.

A robed figure approached, moving silently through the debris with an eerie, unhurried grace. The figure was shrouded in a dark cloak that obscured their form, the fabric trailing slightly on the ground, whispering against the dust. Traditional Japanese sandals peeked out from beneath the hem of the robe, the wooden soles clacking softly with each measured step. The figure’s face was hidden beneath the hood, their features lost in shadow, leaving only the faint outline of a chin and a subtle gleam of eyes that watched the struggling Nikke with quiet interest.

The robed figure moved closer, seemingly unnoticed by the Nikke, whose attention was consumed by her futile efforts to reclaim her powers. She was too focused on the flickering, unreliable energy in her mind, her senses dulled by frustration and pain.

When the figure was just a few feet away, they paused, standing still for a moment, as if observing the Nikke’s fruitless attempts. Then, in a voice that was calm, soft, and unsettlingly gentle, they spoke.

“Do you need help?”

The words cut through the air like a knife, sharp and sudden. The Nikke flinched, her head snapping around, her eyes widening in terror as she finally registered the presence behind her. She scrambled back, her breath hitching in her throat, her heart pounding with sudden, overwhelming fear. She had been too caught up in her own anguish to notice anyone approaching, and now, the robed figure stood before her, an enigma cloaked in darkness.

“I only wish to help,” the figure said, their voice remaining calm, almost kind, but carrying a subtle undercurrent that sent a chill through the Nikke’s veins. “You seem… troubled.”

The Nikke’s breath came in ragged gasps, her eyes darting between the figure and the path behind her, calculating her chances of escape. But she knew, instinctively, that running would do no good. There was something about this stranger—something that made the air feel heavier, more oppressive. She could feel it pressing down on her, a cold weight that stifled her every thought.

She tried to speak, to demand who they were, what they wanted, but the words caught in her throat, choked off by her own fear. The robed figure didn’t move closer, but their presence was suffocating, as if they were standing right beside her, whispering in her ear.

“Why struggle alone?” the figure continued, their tone almost soothing, but with an edge that made the Nikke’s skin crawl. “I can see your pain. I can see what you’ve lost. Let me help you… reclaim it.”

Chapter Text

In a dimly lit, opulent office filled with sleek furniture and lavish décor, Syuen, the CEO of Missilis, lounged behind her imposing desk. She wore a sleek, stomach revealing outfit that radiated confidence and power, her eyes glinting with a mix of boredom and thinly veiled annoyance. She lazily tapped her manicured fingers on the polished surface, her posture relaxed, as if this was just another tedious meeting in her busy day.

Across from her stood Deputy Chief Burningum, a heavyset man with a slight limp who leaned on a cane for support. His face was lined with worry, his posture tense as he stared at the woman in front of him. The room, filled with Missilis paraphernalia and awards, only served to heighten his discomfort.

“Syuen, w-we have a serious problem,” Burningum began, trying to keep his voice steady. “Wardress squad h-has gone missing h-hunting a never s-seen before rapture. This needs to be reported through the proper channels. The central government needs to know.”

Syuen barely glanced up, her eyes still focused on her perfectly manicured nails. “Proper channels? How quaint,” she said dismissively, her tone dripping with mockery. “Wardress was just a disposable asset. A bunch of scrap buckets that couldn’t handle their job. The real problem is that our primary capture team is gone, and now it’s become an inconvenience.”

Burningum’s grip tightened on his cane as he struggled to maintain his composure. He glanced around the room, filled with expensive trophies and accolades that screamed of Missilis’s success. He felt the weight of his own moral dilemma pressing on his chest. “Syuen, this isn’t about convenience. This is a breach of protocol. T-there are Nikkes and commanders at stake, due t-to some unknown variable. W-we need a full government backed t-team to capture and dissect this rapture”

Syuen leaned back in her chair, finally giving him her full attention. Her smirk was sharp, cutting through the room’s tension. “Lives? Oh, Burningum, you’re so sentimental. This isn’t about lives or the central government; it’s about opportunity. Capturing that special rapture could give Missilis an edge that Tetra and Elysion could only dream of. Do you really think I’m going to let this slip away and hand it over to the government? They’d have it dissected before we even got a look.”

Burningum’s face tightened, his eyes flicking nervously to the floor. He knew Syuen was dangerous, but this was reckless even for her. “We have protocols for a reason. This could go horribly wrong. What if this rapture is more dangerous than we know? We’re talking about sending people in blind, and it could lead to—”

“To what?” Syuen cut in, her voice now edged with cold steel. “A loss of resources? A PR nightmare? You think I don’t know the risks? I’m playing for higher stakes, Burningum. I have investors to please, markets to dominate, and I don’t have time for government red tape.” She paused, her eyes narrowing, and her tone softened, deceptively sweet. “Besides, you owe me, remember? Who was it that lobbied to keep your little pet projects like the Admire afloat when funding was on the chopping block?”

Burningum stiffened, a flash of anger mixed with guilt crossing his face. He knew Syuen was right; her influence had saved him more than once. But this was different. “That was... different, Syuen. This goes against all g-guidelines. If this goes south, we’re both going to have a lot to answer for.”

Syuen’s smirk widened, leaning forward slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s always something to answer for, Burningum. But that’s the price of power. You’re worried about policies, but I’m worried about profits. You keep your head down, do what I say, and your projects stay funded. Step out of line, and suddenly, all those favors you’ve banked might just vanish.”

Burningum hesitated, his hand tightening on his cane as he weighed his options. He could feel the pressure mounting, the reality of their twisted arrangement sinking in. She had him trapped, and they both knew it. “This is a dangerous game, Syuen. If this goes wrong, there’s no going back.”

Syuen leaned back, unbothered, her demeanor cool and calculating. “Games are meant to be played, Deputy Chief. I suggest you get comfortable with that idea. Now, are you going to help me, or do I need to start cutting my charitable donations?”

Burningum’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining from him. He knew he had no choice. “Fine,” he muttered, defeated. “But if this blows up in our faces, don’t expect me to clean up your mess.”

Syuen’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, her smile sharp and triumphant. “Oh, Burningum, I never do. I always get what I want. Trust me, it’s going to be worth every risk.”

As Burningum turned to leave, Syuen’s eyes flicked back to her desk, the dismissive tapping of her fingers resuming as if the conversation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. She watched him limp out of the room, a smirk still playing on her lips. She was already planning her next move, confident in her belief that she could outmaneuver anyone, no matter the cost.

The office door closed behind Burningum, leaving Syuen alone with her thoughts and the looming shadows of the risks she was willing to take.

-

John sat at his cluttered desk, typing away at his terminal, faint tendrils of smoke rising from a few burning incense sticks on his desk. To any observer, they were just an odd touch in the clutter of mission reports and equipment, but John knew better. These were carefully disguised talismans, a hidden line of communication with Takumi Gojo—a way to signal that they needed to talk without raising suspicion. He watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling, unhurried. Takumi would see the signal when he could, and John knew better than to expect an immediate response. Still, he needed to talk about the lab he had found on the surface.

Beside him, Rapi was focused on her own screen, reviewing the day’s dispatch missions. The quiet hum of the room was only interrupted by the occasional sound of fingers tapping on keyboards. John glanced at Rapi, noticing her furrowed brow.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” John said, breaking the silence.

Rapi hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I feel like Neon and Anis have been stopping by your room too often. For the sake of your privacy, wouldn’t it be better if you set up some ground rules?”

John leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I don’t mind. Anis uses my shower since the barracks still have no hot water, and Neon’s been talking to me about chemistry.”

Rapi raised an eyebrow. “Chemistry?”

John chuckled. “Yeah, but not the kind you’re thinking of. She’s been all about gunpowder and bullet materials lately.”

Rapi’s surprise melted into an amused sigh. “Of course she would be.”

She tilted her head slightly, a look of mild curiosity crossing her face. “I didn’t know you were into chemistry.”

John gave her a playful wink. “Oh, I’m a man of many talents. Chemistry, physics, maths—you name it. And let’s not forget my expertise as a dessert connoisseur.”

Rapi rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Desserts… connoisseur? Really?”

“Absolutely,” John nodded enthusiastically. “There’s an art to finding the perfect apple pie, and I’ve dedicated myself to the craft. Life’s too short not to enjoy the sweeter things.”

Suddenly, his comm device buzzed, breaking the silence. John glanced at the screen, and an unfamiliar ID flashed: Deputy Chief Burningum.

John frowned, a sense of unease creeping in. He had never dealt with this Deputy Chief before, and something about the timing felt off. He answered the call, sitting up straighter as the screen flickered to life. On the other side, Deputy Chief Burningum appeared, dressed sharply in a military uniform, his stern face partially shadowed. A cane leaned against his side, and his posture, though upright, hinted at strain.

“Commander S-smith, I presume?” Burningum’s voice was authoritative, but the slight stutter in his words betrayed a hint of underlying tension. “This is Deputy Chief Burningum. I have a high-priority a-assignment for you and the Counters team.”

John’s eyes narrowed, a mix of curiosity and suspicion coloring his expression. “Deputy Chief, this is our first interaction. What’s the rush?”

Burningum paused, his gaze shifting momentarily, as if weighing how much to reveal. The slight stutter returned, more pronounced now, breaking the rhythm of his speech. “Your team is being dispatched immediately to the surface. You’re to locate and capture a rapture codenamed ‘Chatterbox.’ We’ve detected a signal from Wardress squad, who were assumed either KIA or MIA. W-we believe that this signal is from a tracker attached to the rapture.”

John leaned forward, his unease growing. “And if we find any survivors from Wardress?”

Burningum’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “Any survivors are to be sent back to the Ark, h-however Wardress is presumed dead. This mission is black ops. It won’t be on record, and no backup will be available. You’re on your own.”

John’s suspicion deepened. The mission was unusual, the briefing curt and lacking the details he’d expect for something this critical. Was this Burningum nervous or was this his usual body language—a nervous twitch of the fingers, the way his eyes occasionally darted away. “Understood, sir. But why all the secrecy? Why not go through Andersen or the usual channels?”

Burningum’s grip on his cane tightened, his demeanor hardening as if preparing to ward off further questions. “This is a need-to-know operation, Smith. You are not to contact anyone outside this channel, including Deputy Chief Andersen. All lines of communication have been temporarily restricted for this mission. Follow the orders, execute the mission, and report directly back to me.”

John opened his mouth to press further, but Burningum cut him off, ending the call abruptly. The screen went dark, leaving John staring at his own reflection, his mind racing. Something about this didn’t add up—the rushed briefing, the uncharacteristic secrecy, and Burningum’s uneasy delivery all pointed to a bigger game being played behind the scenes.

John immediately tried to reach Andersen, his fingers moving quickly across the terminal’s controls. Each attempt was met with a dead signal, a silent wall that only heightened his sense of isolation.

Rapi got up from her chair, her expression serious “I’ll get the others ready”

-

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, jagged shadows across the ruined landscape as John and the Counters team moved cautiously through the debris-strewn streets of the surface. The air was thick with dust, and every step kicked up small clouds of dirt that clung to their boots. John led from the front, his eyes fixed on the faint signal blipping on his handheld device, marking the location of Wardress’s last known position—and their target, the rapture known as Chatterbox. Rapi was close beside him, her rifle at the ready, scanning the area with a practiced vigilance.

Behind them, Anis and Neon followed, though their bickering broke the otherwise tense silence. Neon was grasping an empty soda can, while Anis glared at her, her hands on her hips.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Neon,” Anis snapped, exasperation clear in her voice. “I bought that from the outpost, and you drank it before we even got here?”

Neon argued back, her expression also exasperated. “How was I supposed to know it was yours, there was no label on it and it was included in our shared rations!.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you chug it without asking me!,” Anis retorted, grabbing at the empty can and tossing it aside with a huff. “You owe me one.”

John rolled his eyes slightly, half listening to their squabble, but his focus remained on the task ahead. Rapi, walking beside him, glanced back at the two Nikkes with mild annoyance before turning her attention back to the crumbling buildings around them.

“I’d feel better if we had an operator watching our backs,” Rapi said, her voice low but pointed. “We’re running this without any oversight. Not exactly ideal.”

John nodded, keeping his eyes ahead. “Yeah, well, apparently black ops don’t come with support teams. We’re on our own out here.” He hesitated for a moment, then glanced sideways at Rapi, lowering his voice. “Do you think Burningum has any idea that I’m a sorcerer? Or that Andersen might’ve leaked it?”

Rapi shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “Doubtful. If Burningum knew, it would have come up during the briefing, or at least hinted at it. Most likely, he has no idea. He probably chose us based on your record.”

John frowned, considering her words. “My record? I’ve barely done anything. Aside from a few dispatch missions, I’ve only led two surface ops as a commander—and one of those was a ‘technical’ failure.”

Rapi glanced at him, her expression calm but firm. “John, you might not be aware of this but you stand out due to the fact that you have two missions under your belt. Up to 70% of commanders don’t survive their first mission on the surface. That number jumps to 90% by the second. You’re already in the top tier just by being alive. That alone makes you stand out.”

John absorbed her words, a mix of surprise and skepticism flickering across his face. He hadn’t thought of it that way, and the idea that his mere survival could be seen as exceptional felt strange. “So that’s why Burningum picked us. Not because of any special knowledge or skills, but because we’re still breathing.”

“Exactly,” Rapi said, her eyes scanning the desolate surroundings as they continued forward. “To him, you’re already some kind of elite combat commander. That’s what probably grabbed his attention.”

As the team moved through the desolate streets, the ruins of the old world loomed over them, casting long, eerie shadows that danced in the fading light. Rapi kept her eyes sharp, alert for any sign of movement, while the faint beeping from John’s handheld tracker guided them closer to their objective. Anis and Neon’s argument, however, continued to bubble over, their voices a sharp contrast to the oppressive silence of the surface.

Rapi finally glanced back at them, her voice carrying a firm edge. “Alright, you two, that’s enough. We’re on a mission, not a playground. Focus up.”

Neon pouted but kept pace, while Anis, still fuming about her lost soda, threw up her hands in frustration. “John, you’ve gotta settle this! She’s always snatching my soda like it’s no big deal.”

John sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the two Nikkes. “Neon, you really need to stop drinking her soda. We’ve got enough to worry about without refereeing this dispute everytime someones soda goes missing”

Neon shot John an innocent look, smiling brightly. “Yes, Master. I’ll try to be good.”

Anis’s head snapped around, her eyebrows shooting up in confusion. “Master? Since when did John become your ‘Master’?”

Neon puffed out her chest proudly, her eyes gleaming with excitement behind her glasses. “Well, ever since John helped me tweak the recipe for my custom shells. He managed to increase their energy output by 2.3 percent! I mean, that’s no small feat.” She grinned, clearly pleased with herself, basking in her minor victory.

John smirked, shaking his head slightly. “Neon, I told you that was just one shell, and it could easily fall within the standard deviation of error. You haven’t tested enough to call it a success yet.” He turned to face Anis, his expression mock serious. “And because Neon didn’t account for that little fact, I’m officially putting all the blame for this soda incident on her.”

Neon’s jaw dropped, and Anis burst out laughing, her irritation momentarily forgotten. But John wasn’t finished; he turned his attention to Anis, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Actually Anis, did you eat my leftover apple pie from the fridge back at the outpost?”

Anis’s cheeks flushed, her confident facade cracking as she looked away, trying to hide her embarrassment. “W-what? No… I mean, maybe... I was hungry.”

John raised an eyebrow, his tone exaggeratedly stern. “Aha! So you’re the pie thief. That’s it—I hereby declare Neon completely innocent of all soda-related crimes, and I place the blame squarely on you, Anis.”

Anis’s mouth fell open, and she shot John a look of mock indignation. “Hey, that’s not fair, Commander! You’re just being mean now.”

John chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing for a moment as he watched the two bicker playfully. Despite the mission’s gravity, these light moments of banter reminded him why he valued his team—they were more than just soldiers; they were friends. But as the beeping from the tracker grew louder, drawing them closer to the signal’s source, John’s smile faded, and he refocused on the task ahead.

“Alright, enough joking around,” John said, his tone shifting back to command mode. “Let’s get this done. Stay sharp, and keep your eyes peeled. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
-

Later that night, Rapi moved silently through the darkened building, her senses finely tuned to every creak and groan of the structure. Dust clung to every surface, undisturbed except for their recent movements. Outside, the makeshift decoys she had set up fluttered faintly in the breeze, mimicking the faint outline of shadows in the moonlight. She had been on watch for hours, eyes sharp for any rapture that might stray too close, but all was quiet. Too quiet.

Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Rapi stepped back into the dimly lit room where her team was camped. Neon and Anis were sprawled on makeshift bedding, resting but ready, the faint glow of the moon casting pale slivers of light across their sleeping forms. But John sat apart from them, propped against a crumbling wall, staring off into the darkness. His expression was distant, his body still, save for the subtle rise and fall of his breathing.

Rapi hesitated, her footsteps faltering as she watched him. There was something heavy in his posture, a weight that hadn’t been there earlier. She took a breath, steeling herself, before quietly approaching him.

“Commander? You should be sleeping.” she asked, keeping her voice low, almost afraid of breaking whatever thoughts were holding him captive.

John blinked, pulled from whatever place his mind had wandered to, but his gaze didn’t fully meet hers. “Yeah” he said, but his voice was rougher than usual, thin, as if stretched too tight. He tried to force a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just... thinking about that pie Anis ate. The injustice of it all. Tragic, really.”

Rapi watched him closely, noting the uneven way he said the words, the joke falling flat. It was a flimsy shield, something meant to keep the real thoughts at bay. She could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the distant look that lingered even when he was trying to be lighthearted. He was carrying more than he let on, and the silence around them only made it worse.

She wanted, more than anything, to reach out, to offer him some kind of comfort—a hand on his shoulder, a few words that might help, anything to ease the quiet ache she saw. But there was a line, a boundary she couldn’t cross. He was her commander, and she was a Nikke. That divide was always there, an invisible wall built by duty and the unspoken rules of their world. A Nikke didn’t comfort her commander, not like that. It wasn’t their place.

So instead, she hesitated, caught between the impulse to be there for him and the need to keep her distance. “That pie must have meant a lot to you,” she said softly, choosing the lightest path, trying to mirror his attempt at humor. But her voice betrayed her, a faint tremor of concern she couldn’t quite hide.

John gave a quiet chuckle, though it was hollow, a sound meant more for her than himself. “Yeah, guess it did.”

Rapi nodded, though he wasn’t really looking at her. She wanted to tell him she understood, that she felt the weight too. That it was okay to not be okay. But the words stuck, trapped behind the protocol that always kept her in her place. She could offer him her vigilance, her loyalty, her skill with a rifle—but not the kind of comfort he probably needed. Not in the way that counted.

John watched as Rapi’s expression flickered—just for a moment—like she was weighing something heavy in her mind. Her gaze lingered on him, caught between concern and restraint, but then she looked away, her face returning to the composed, disciplined mask she always wore.

“It’s fine,” John said, his voice quieter now, almost lost in the stillness of the room. “I’ll head to sleep soon. Just needed a moment.”

Rapi hesitated, her eyes searching his as if she was on the verge of saying more, of crossing that invisible line. But the moment passed, and she nodded, stiffly, before turning back toward the hallway. She moved with purpose, her figure swallowed by the shadows, the faint echo of her footsteps blending with the distant hum of the night.

John’s gaze followed her until she disappeared from view. The silence thickened, and he leaned his head back against the crumbling wall, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The emptiness around him felt sharp, like the edges of something unsaid pressing at his throat, heavy and restless. He let out a slow breath, his thoughts drifting.

His fingers curled instinctively, the tension coiling in his chest. He glanced at the others, their forms barely visible in the dark, and for a moment, the quiet pressed in too close.

John clenched his fist, feeling the roughness of his own grip as the only solid thing in a world that felt increasingly uncertain.

-

The morning sun filtered weakly through the dust-filled sky, casting a pale, sickly light over the ruined cityscape. The crack of gunfire ricocheted off crumbling walls, mingling with the distant roar of collapsing buildings as the Counters fought through the chaos. Each breath tasted like ash, the air thick with the acrid stench of smoke and ozone. Amidst the cacophony, a massive Bulwark loomed—a towering, segmented rapture bristling with heavy armor, its holographic shield flickering like a wall of shimmering glass, protecting the raptures huddled behind it.

“Damn it! The Bulwark’s shields are covering those raptures!” Rapi shouted, her voice cutting through the din of battle. Her eyes darted between the Bulwark and the multiple rapture units behind it, their weapons glowing with a dangerous hum as they charged up, preparing to unleash devastation.

John’s heart pounded in his chest as he assessed the situation, his mind racing through options. “Rapi, you and Anis take out the ones on the flanks! Neon, you’re with me—we’ll handle the Bulwark!” He barked out the orders, every second counting against them.

Neon’s lips curled into a wild grin, adrenaline surging as she tightened her grip on her shotgun. “Got it, Master!” she yelled, her voice brimming with reckless excitement. She shot a quick look at John, the unspoken trust between them palpable.

“Neon, go high! I’ll go low!” John commanded, sprinting forward without hesitation. Neon launched herself into the air, her movements smooth and graceful, soaring over the Bulwark’s shield like a hawk diving on its prey. Her shotgun barked at its shield, drawing its attention towards her. Below, John slid across the dusty ground, feeling the grit scrape against his uniform as he narrowly slipped past the shimmering barrier, the energy field buzzing just inches from his face.

John’s eyes locked onto the exposed core of the Bulwark, glowing faintly beneath layers of thick armor. With a fierce growl, he drove his fist into it, feeling the satisfying crunch of metal yielding under the force. The Bulwark shuddered, its core flashing a violent red, but before he could retreat, John felt a sudden, sharp jolt—a cold, metallic grip clamped down on his arm, locking him in place even as its shield flickered and died.

“Damn it, stuck!” John grunted, muscles straining as he fought against the Bulwark’s crushing hold. The machine’s internal gears whirred angrily, tightening their grasp with every second. Panic flared in his chest, the heat from the core singeing his skin as he struggled to free himself.

Above, Neon’s shotgun roared, the blast echoing through the battlefield as she shredded a rapture with a precise shot, pieces of metal and circuitry scattering like confetti. Meanwhile, Rapi and Anis unleashed a barrage of bullets and grenades, tearing through the raptures on the flanks with methodical precision. Sparks flew, explosions rumbled, but one rapture remained, its weapon fully charged, a blinding beam of energy crackling at its tip, aimed directly at John.

John’s mind raced, every nerve screaming in overdrive. He yanked his body with all his strength, twisting the Bulwark’s massive form into the line of fire just as the rapture’s weapon discharged. A searing beam shot through the air, slicing toward him with deadly intent. The blast struck the Bulwark dead center, the force ripping through its body and core with a deafening explosion. The machine erupted in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, the impact hurling John backward as his arm was wrenched free from the wreckage.

He hit the ground hard, rolling through dust and debris before springing back to his feet, his breath ragged but his body miraculously intact. The Bulwark lay in smoking ruins, its shattered armor glowing faintly amid the rubble. Rapi didn’t miss a beat—her rifle barked once, a clean, precise shot that tore through the last rapture before it could react.

“Trying to give us all a heart attack, Commander?” Anis called out, reloading her grenade launcher with a crooked smirk.

John wiped the sweat and dust from his brow, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “Not my best plan,” he admitted, shaking off the lingering tremors in his arm. He glanced over at his team, each of them bruised but standing.

The team continued moving forward through the rubble-strewn streets, adrenaline still coursing from the fight. Anis, twirling her grenade launcher onto her shoulder, glanced over at John with a curious look. “Hey, Commander, I gotta know—how do you come up with those tactics on the fly or is this what they’re teaching at the military academy these days? I don't remember any of my previous commanders giving us any order more than a simple ‘destroy the enemy’”

John chuckled, wiping a smudge of dust off his cheek. “Military academy? I never actually set foot in one. Everything I know comes from old strategy games and those one-liners from war movies that sound like they make sense. ‘Flank ‘em, boys,’ and all that.”

Anis stopped in her tracks, eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re telling me that all those moves are from... games?”

Anis blinked, her jaw dropping slightly as she tried to process his response. “Wait, what? You’re telling me that you’re running tactics based on... video games and action flicks? Come on, that can’t be real.”

John shrugged, his face unreadable, but the faint hint of amusement played in his eyes. “Hey, you’d be surprised what you pick up from a well-timed ‘move, move, move!’ or a dramatic ‘we’re getting flanked!’ You get the right vibe, and suddenly everyone’s moving like they’re in a blockbuster.”

Neon giggled from the back, clearly enjoying the back and forth.

Anis threw her hands up in mock disbelief, quickening her pace to catch up with him. “No way, this has to be a joke. You’re saying that everything—the calls, the tactics, all of it—is just... inspired by games? Tell me you’re messing with me, John. Please.”

John shot her a playful wink, his grin widening. “Guess you’ll never know, Anis..”

Anis groaned, exasperated but grinning despite herself. “Come on, spill it! You’re seriously not telling me you’re winging all of this based on things you’ve seen on TV, right?”

John turned, his mouth opening to fire back another quip, but the teasing retort never made it out. In a split second, Rapi’s expression shifted to alarmed, her sharp eyes catching the faintest glint of something in the distance—a reflection, barely there, but unmistakable.

“Sniper!” Rapi yelled, her voice laced with urgency. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, slamming into John with all her strength. The impact sent them both sprawling to the ground just as a blinding beam of energy sliced through the air, crackling with deadly intent.

John hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him as the beam grazed his arm, burning a jagged line through his sleeve and searing his skin. But his eyes snapped immediately to Rapi, who had thrown herself into the line of fire. The shot that should have pierced his heart instead tore into her chest, her armor smoldering from the impact.

Rapi’s body jerked, her chest scorched and twisted, a wisp of smoke rising from the fresh wound. She gasped, struggling to push herself up, circuits sparking as she fought to stay operational.

Chapter Text

The sharp, concussive blasts of Anis’s grenade launcher echoed through the shattered building, each thump shaking loose a cloud of dust from the crumbling ceiling. Neon’s shotgun roared in quick, successive bursts, drowning out the tense silence that hung between each exchange of fire. John barely registered the noise; his world had narrowed to the frantic task of pulling Rapi into cover, his heart hammering against his ribs as he dragged her behind a cracked, concrete pillar.

John’s hands shook as he ripped open a field bandage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pressed the fabric to the smoldering wound on Rapi’s chest, his fingers slipping against the scorched fabric of her black battleshirt, the edges burned away where the electron beam sniper shot had seared through. The bandage wouldn’t stick, sliding uselessly over the blackened fabric and the mess beneath, as if refusing to grip. His mind spun, every attempt to secure it turning into a desperate, futile struggle.

“Come on,” John muttered under his breath, trying to keep his voice steady, but his panic bled through. The bandage slipped again, and he cursed, pressing harder, convinced it was the blood—there had to be blood, pooling too fast for him to keep up. He could see it in his mind: red seeping into the dirt, staining the ground beneath her. The image haunted him, the edges of reality and fear blurring together as his fingers fumbled. “Stay with me, Rapi. Just hold on, damn it.”

He couldn’t think straight. Every time he looked down, his vision seemed to spin, expecting to see crimson spreading. He could feel his chest tightening, each failed attempt to wrap the wound sending him further into a spiral of helplessness. All he could think about was how much blood she had to be losing, how he wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t fast enough.

“John,” Rapi’s voice cut through, faint but insistent, like a lifeline being thrown to a drowning man. She said his name again, but he barely heard her, too lost in the clumsy rush of his hands trying to fix what he couldn’t see. “John!”

She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly firm, and shook him with all the strength she had left. “Commander!”

John’s head snapped up, eyes wide and frantic, as if he’d just been pulled from deep water. He met her gaze, her dark eyes steady despite the flicker of pain that lingered there. “Look,” she said, her voice calm, deliberately measured against his panic. “I’m fine. Look.”

John’s frantic breaths slowed as he followed her gaze down to the wound. For the first time, he really saw it—the blackened, sparking mess of exposed circuits and torn synthetic tissue where the beam had burned through. No blood, just the flickering light of damaged wiring and the faint scent of scorched fabric. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, shame and relief mingling painfully in his chest.

Rapi’s battleshirt was burned away, revealing the sparking innards of her damaged systems, the electron beam having carved a shallow groove that, though serious, was not the life-threatening wound he’d imagined. The bandage, which had seemed so vital moments ago, was useless against her robotic frame.

“I told you, it’s not as bad as it looks,” Rapi said, her voice gentle, almost soothing. She looked at him with something close to sympathy, understanding the chaos that had briefly overwhelmed him.

John drew a shaky breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders loosen slightly. He nodded, though the guilt still gnawed at him for losing control, for letting his fear cloud his actions. He forced his hands to still, but the adrenaline still pulsed hotly under his skin.

Behind them, the firefight had ended, and Neon and Anis approached cautiously, their weapons lowered but still ready. The concern on their faces was unmistakable, their eyes flicking between Rapi’s damaged chest and John’s still-shaking hands.

Neon’s normally cheerful demeanor was muted, replaced by a worried frown. “Commander, is Rapi—”

“She’s fine,” John cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. He pushed himself up, his movements stiff, avoiding their eyes. The embarrassment of his momentary lapse burned in his gut, twisting his expression into a scowl. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Circuits can be fixed.”

Anis watched him closely, her brow furrowed in a mix of concern and confusion. “Commander, are you sure you’re—”

“I said I’m fine,” John snapped, the words coming out harsher than he meant. He turned away, angry at himself for letting them see him like this. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain could ground him, pull him back from the edge of panic. “Just... fix her up. I’ll keep watch.”

Without waiting for a response, John moved away, his steps heavy as he headed for the broken window overlooking the desolate street outside. He positioned himself near the edge, eyes scanning the distant rooftops for any signs of the sniper, his mind still reeling. He tried to block out the sounds of Anis and Neon tending to Rapi, tried to shut down the chaotic thoughts that kept replaying in his head—the fear, the helplessness, the moment he’d thought he was losing her.

He tightened his grip on the bandage, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. John kept his gaze fixed on the ruins ahead, determined to keep himself together, even as the echoes of his own panic lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

John stood by the broken window, his eyes scanning the cityscape beyond. The skeletal remains of buildings stretched into the distance, shrouded in a haze of dust and debris. He gripped his weapon tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his breathing, the solid feel of the rifle in his hands—the only things that felt real at the moment. Each inhale and exhale was deliberate, a silent battle to steady the tremor still clinging to his muscles. He watched the horizon, forcing his mind to settle on the distant rooftops, on the jagged lines of concrete and steel, searching for any hint of movement.

The silence hung between him and the ruins, thick and oppressive, pressing in on him like a weight he couldn’t quite shake. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the cool wind brush against his face, trying to let it clear the lingering fog of panic from his thoughts. The chaos of the battle, the sharp fear of almost losing someone, it all clawed at the edges of his mind, refusing to be pushed away. He tightened his grip, feeling the familiar cold metal bite into his palms, anchoring him.

Behind him, he heard hesitant footsteps, light and uncertain. Neon approached, her usual buoyant energy subdued, replaced by a hesitant awkwardness as she lingered near the shattered doorway. She shifted on her feet, fidgeting with the straps of her gear, glancing at John as if unsure how to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened between them.

Neon cleared her throat, trying to mask her unease with a forced smile. “Uh... hey, Commander. You’re, um... you’re okay, right?”

John turned slightly, catching the nervous flicker in her eyes. He could tell she was trying to find the right thing to say, something that wouldn’t step on a landmine of emotions. For a moment, the words hung between them, heavy and uncertain. John, sensing the awkward tension, forced a smirk, the kind he’d normally flash when trying to defuse a bad situation.

“You know, Neon,” John said, his voice dry, though there was a faint edge to it. “Pretty sure that rapture was just jealous of my dashing good looks. I mean, can’t blame them, right? It’s hard to find a jawline this sharp.”

Neon blinked, then let out a surprised laugh, the tension easing just a little. She gave him a half-smile, grateful for the attempt, even if it was paper-thin. “Yeah, guess they were jealous and wanted to get rid of the competition. Could’ve been their only… shot.”

Before either of them could say more, Anis emerged from the doorway, Rapi following close behind. Rapi’s chest was exposed, the beam from the sniper having burned through her battleshirt, leaving the circuits and synthetic skin visible. Anis’s face was a mix of irritation and worry as she kept glancing at the damage, her hands gesturing animatedly.

“Seriously, Rapi,” Anis scolded, her voice pitched with exasperation. “You can’t just walk around like that! I mean, it’s barely holding on. One wrong move, and... you know... everything’s out in the open!”

Rapi glanced down at her torn shirt, her expression unfazed. “It’s just some fabric, Anis.” She gave a slight shrug, unbothered by the state of her attire. “I need to keep my mobility up. Covering this up is the least of my worries.”

Anis threw up her hands, clearly flustered. “It’s just you know! The commander's here, you know? He might... look. You don’t just walk around with—”

Before Anis could finish, John stepped forward, his face set but calm. Without saying a word, he shrugged off his commander’s jacket and carefully draped it over Rapi’s shoulders, buttoning it up at the top. The jacket hung loosely on her, the heavy material covering the burned area and hiding the exposed circuits.

Rapi looked down at the jacket, then back up at John, something unspoken passing between them. Her hand brushed the fabric, fingers tracing the worn, familiar material. She hesitated, as if deciding whether to accept it or hand it back, but the look on John’s face—steadfast, quiet, unyielding—left little room for argument. She adjusted the collar slightly, the jacket still too big on her frame but providing the cover Anis had insisted upon.

Anis folded her arms, half-pleased, half-defeated. “See? Better already,” she muttered, though her voice softened at the end, the worry still lingering in her eyes.

Rapi straightened up, her face returning to its usual calm, professional demeanor as she looked at John. Despite the jacket draped over her shoulders, the damage to her battleshirt was evident, but her expression betrayed no discomfort or concern. She squared her stance and spoke in the clipped, efficient tone of a soldier giving a report.

"Minor damage to the lower collarbone area," Rapi said, gesturing briefly to the exposed circuits beneath the jacket. "Overall damage rate is at 5.7%. I am still fully combat capable, Commander."

John didn’t reply immediately, his gaze lingering on Rapi for a beat longer than necessary. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting—maybe something more shaken, maybe something less formal. But it was Rapi, always the soldier. He swallowed hard, the tension from earlier still gnawing at him.

Finally, he spoke, his voice lower, steadier than before. “Counters should return to the outpost.”

There was a brief, stunned silence. Anis and Neon exchanged surprised glances, and even Rapi’s expression flickered, if only for a moment.

Anis was the first to speak, her tone incredulous. “What? You can’t be serious, John. We can’t just retreat like that! We will get punished for disobeying a direct order from a Deputy Chief.”

Rapi nodded, backing up Anis. “She’s right, Commander. We’ve been assigned to this mission directly by a deputy chief, and abandoning it without completing the objective is not an option. There would be serious consequences, not just for us but for you as well.”

“I said Counters should head back, not that we’re abandoning the mission. I’ll complete it on my own.”

John took a deep breath, his jaw tightening. He could feel the argument bubbling up, but he wasn’t about to let it drop. “I know the stakes, Rapi. But I’m not putting you all in harm’s way when I don’t have to. I can handle this.”

Rapi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Commander, with all due respect, you don’t get to decide that on your own.”

Anis crossed her arms, stepping forward, her voice tinged with frustration. “John, this is what we’re here for. We’re Nikkes. Fighting raptures is literally what we’re built for. You can’t just sideline us because you think it’s too dangerous.”

John’s hands balled into fists at his sides, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. “I chose this path for myself! I left the Jujutsu Society to fight on the surface. This is my responsibility. I don’t want to drag anyone else into this.”

Rapi stepped closer, her eyes locked on John’s, her tone firm but not without a trace of something gentler, something frustrated. “You’re a sorcerer, John. But we’re Nikkes. We’ve been fighting for humanity long before you stepped into this role. It’s insulting to think that you’re the only one who can handle it. We all want to protect humanity, and we’re not about to just watch you fight alone.”

Anis jabbed a finger at John’s chest, clearly annoyed. “We get it—you’re powerful and all. But don’t you dare act like you’re the only one fighting for something bigger than yourself. You’re not the only one who’s willing to put their life on the line for this, and it’s pretty damn insulting that you’d think otherwise.”

John felt his breath catch in his throat. The words hit him harder than he expected, the weight of their conviction and the fierceness in their voices. He stood there, shoulders tense, staring at them as the reality of what they were saying settled in. They were right, and he knew it. He had been so focused on protecting them—on trying to shoulder everything himself—that he hadn’t realized he was undermining them, undermining their very purpose.

He ran a hand through his hair, the fight slowly draining out of him. “I didn’t mean it like that, I cant see another..” he said quietly, the guilt heavy in his voice. “You’re right. I... I’m sorry. I’m just trying to protect you, but I know that’s not fair. This is your fight too.”

There was a brief pause, the tension between them easing slightly as John’s words hung in the air. Rapi’s expression softened, and even Anis relaxed a bit, though she still looked ready to give him another earful if he pushed it.

Anis gave him a small nod. “Apology accepted, Commander. But let’s get one thing straight—we’re in this together. We’re a team.”

John nodded, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Let's keep moving. Together.”

-

The journey through the ruined city was a grueling dance of cat and mouse, tension coiling tighter with each step as John and the Counters navigated the treacherous landscape. Every corner of the shattered streets and crumbling buildings felt charged with the weight of unseen eyes, shadows that moved when no one was looking. They had been tracking the signal from the Wardress squad for hours, winding through the skeletal remains of a city that seemed almost alive with hostility. Abandoned vehicles lay scattered like fallen barricades, rusted and forgotten, while broken windows and debris-strewn alleys hinted at dangers lurking just out of sight.

The first ambush came without warning as they crossed an old highway overpass. Raptures burst from behind derelict cars, their metallic bodies gleaming in the dim light. Rapi reacted instantly, her rifle snapping up with a sharp bark, a well-placed shot taking down the first rapture before it could even get close. Anis launched a grenade, the explosion lighting up the underpass in a fiery blast, metal shrapnel tearing through the air. John charged forward, a flash of cursed energy rippling through his muscles. He could feel the familiar rush, that heady mix of adrenaline and exhilaration flooding his veins as he dove into the fray. He grabbed a rapture by the neck, twisting sharply as he drove it into the ground, the impact splintering the concrete beneath them. He could feel his pulse quicken, the fight feeding a part of him that craved chaos.

“Eyes open!” Rapi ordered, her tone cutting through the chaos as she scanned their surroundings. “They’re coming from all sides.”

John’s focus sharpened, the adrenaline heightening his senses. The raptures were moving with coordination, their attacks relentless, as if probing for weaknesses. The team fought in sync, each covering the other’s blind spots, but every time they seemed to gain the upper hand, another wave would hit them.

At an abandoned industrial site, the raptures launched a surprise attack, emerging from beneath piles of twisted scrap. Neon’s shotgun roared, shredding through two raptures in a spray of metal shards, while John darted between blows, his movements fluid and precise. He ducked under a swipe, his fist connecting with a rapture’s side and sending it crashing into a rusted machine before he drove his elbow into another rapture’s head, shattering it with a sickening crunch. The impact sent a jolt through his arm, but instead of pain, he felt a surge of exhilaration.

Rapi moved beside him, her rifle spitting precise bursts that picked off raptures with mechanical efficiency. Rapi fired a missile from her rifle at a cluster of enemies, the blast rocking the ground beneath them, but she noticed the slight shift in John’s demeanor—how his movements were becoming sharper, more aggressive.

“John, don’t overextend!” Rapi called, watching as he lunged further into the fray, his blows becoming less measured and more forceful. But John was barely listening, his senses overwhelmed by the crackle of cursed energy, the satisfying crunch of metal under his fists.

The ambushes grew more frequent, each one perfectly timed to hit when the team was at their most exposed. As they pushed deeper into the ruins, the signs of something more deliberate began to emerge—deep, heavy footprints gouged into the ground, far larger than any rapture they’d seen before. John paused by a set of tracks, frowning as he traced their path. They weren’t just leading them forward; they were circling, flanking, like a predator herding its prey.

Rapi knelt beside one of the heavy prints, her brow furrowing. “These aren’t random. Whoever or whatever’s making these is moving with a purpose.”

Anis ran her fingers over claw marks etched into the side of a building, the grooves jagged and deep. “Climbing over walls, picking routes… It’s like it’s got a plan.”

John’s eyes lingered on the tracks, unease gnawing at him. Every instinct told him this wasn’t normal rapture behavior. “They’re not just reacting to us. It’s almost like they’re anticipating our moves.”

Anis shook her head, trying to dismiss the creeping doubt. “Raptures aren’t that smart, John. They don’t set traps cause they don’t think.”

John clenched his fists, his unease growing with every step they took. “Maybe. But whatever’s out here, it’s not just acting on instinct. It’s pushing us somewhere.”

Neon gave a confident smile, resting her shotgun on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter how smart it is. We’ve got the firepower to deal with it.”

The team pressed on, but every step felt like a tighter coil winding around them. The ambushes were wearing them down, pushing their stamina to its limits. The raptures’ attacks grew bolder, with more sophisticated maneuvers that forced John and the others to constantly adapt. In one narrow alley, raptures burst from walls, tearing through old metal and forcing the team into a brutal close-quarters fight. John smashed a rapture against the concrete, his breath heavy as he looked to Rapi, who was firing in controlled bursts, keeping the pressure on.

“We’re being funneled,” John muttered, his voice tinged with frustration as he studied the path ahead—a wide plaza leading into a darkened building, the latest set of clawed tracks disappearing into the shadows. “It’s trying to lead us somewhere specific.”

Rapi kept her rifle trained on the shadows, her expression grim. “If it’s setting traps, it means it knows we’re a threat. We need to be careful.”

John stared into the darkness, his gut churning with suspicion. He could feel the intent behind every ambush, every carefully laid route. This wasn’t just a mindless rapture—it was something that understood strategy, that was deliberately pulling them deeper, waiting for the right moment to strike. It felt like a game, one that was testing not just their strength, but their resolve.

“Alright,” John said, his voice steady but his mind racing. “Whatever this thing is, it’s playing a different game. But if it wants us to keep going, then that’s exactly what we’ll do. Just don’t let your guard down—not for a second.”

The team nodded, steeling themselves as they stepped into the unknown, every instinct telling them they were walking straight into a trap. But there was no turning back now; they had to see this through. And whatever waited ahead, John was determined to meet it head-on.

-

The team moved cautiously through the tangled remains of the ruined city, their footsteps muted against the oppressive silence that hung like a heavy fog. Every step stirred a cloud of dust, every shift of rubble echoed louder than it should have in the eerie stillness. Twisted metal and shattered concrete loomed around them, forming a claustrophobic maze that seemed to close in tighter with each step. John’s skin prickled with the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, a presence that hovered just beyond the edge of his vision, unseen but undeniable.

Ahead, the jagged silhouette of a derelict power station rose against the grey sky, rusted beams stretching upward like skeletal fingers. Rapi’s pace slowed, her posture tense as her sharp eyes swept the area. “Alva particle concentration is high here,” she murmured, her voice barely a breath above the stillness. “Stay sharp.”

Anis, always quick with a quip, gave a dry chuckle as she hefted her grenade launcher. “Because that’s just what we needed—another headache.” But the edge in her voice betrayed the nervous energy she tried to mask with humor.

Beside her, Neon clutched her shotgun a little too tightly, her usual carefree demeanor absent. She glanced warily at the cracked walls around them. "You think these particles could mess with our systems?" Her voice wavered, though she tried to hide it behind forced bravado.

Anis, her eyes still scanning the shadows, shrugged. “It’d take way more to fry us. Don’t lose sleep over it.”

The tracker beeped louder, drawing them closer. Rounding the corner of the street leading to the station, John’s stomach knotted. Two bodies lay crumpled amid the rubble—Mihara and Yuni. They weren’t dead, but they looked like they’d been through hell. Mihara’s black leather outfit hung in shreds, burnt and torn, while Yuni’s pink gear was streaked with grime, her missile launcher lying discarded beside her.

Neon knelt beside Mihara, checking her pulse. “They’re alive… just barely.” Her voice was quiet, missing its usual playful lilt. The gravity of the situation pressed down on her, the reality of it settling like a stone.

Rapi crouched beside Yuni, her fingers moving with practiced precision as she checked for signs of life. “We’ve got to move,” she said, her voice low and steady, but her brow furrowed. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Anis paced nervously, her grenade launcher shifting as her eyes darted between the surrounding buildings. “We’re sitting ducks here. Too exposed.” The humor in her voice had faded completely, replaced by a simmering anxiety that made her grip her weapon tighter.

John’s gut twisted. His instincts screamed at him, muscles tensing, every sense screaming a warning. It was too perfect, too easy. Something was wrong—he could feel it in his bones. “Wait,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “This... this is a trap.”

He barely had time to process the thought before his body reacted. Ruinous Gambit surged through him, flooding his limbs with a sudden burst of unnatural speed. The world slowed, every detail sharpening to a razor’s edge as he moved, his strength draining with each step, but he didn’t stop. His muscles screamed as he scooped Mihara into his arms, forcing his legs to carry him toward the others.

“Move!” His shout cut through the slow-motion chaos as he slammed into Neon and Anis, sending them tumbling out of the blast zone just as the ground beneath them erupted in a fiery explosion. Rapi leaped as fast as she could behind him, the flames of the explosion licking her heels.

The street behind them exploded in a violent blaze, the fireball expanding with terrifying speed, heat and shrapnel cutting through the air. The shockwave threw them forward, debris raining down like a storm of metal and stone. John hit the ground hard, his body aching from the impact, but he kept Mihara shielded in his arms. His chest heaved, breath shallow as exhaustion crept in, the effects of Ruinous Gambit still lingering in his weakened muscles.

Rapi was the first to regain her footing, coughing through the thick smoke that filled the air. She glanced back at the smoldering wreckage, then turned to John, her eyes wide with shock. “Commander!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the haze. “What the hell just happened?!”

John forced himself to breathe, his chest tightening as he struggled to speak. “It was... a trap,” he rasped, each word dragged out. His limbs felt like lead, but his mind raced, replaying the moments before the explosion. “We were baited... they wanted us to find them.”

Neon, dazed, pushed herself upright, adjusting her glasses with a wince. “Ouchie,” she groaned, still trying to process the blast. “That really hurt”

Anis shook off the dust, checking her grenade launcher with a scowl. “Every damn time…” She muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with frustration. “Whoever’s out there really hates us.”

Before anyone could respond, the air around them thickened with an ominous shift. The sound of metal grinding against metal reverberated through the ruins, as if the very city itself was groaning in anticipation. High above, perched atop a crumbling rooftop, a massive figure loomed into view. Chatterbox.

The rapture’s hulking frame blocked out the light as he stood, casting a long shadow over the team. His twisted, mechanical grin stretched wide, his gleaming red eyes fixating on them with unsettling precision. The air hummed with tension, the quiet before a storm.

Missile launchers unfolded from his back with a sharp, metallic hiss, like a predator baring its fangs. The whirring of his cannons charged the air, a low growl of impending violence. He tilted his head slightly, that grin never wavering, and in a voice that was a grating blend of deep metal and cold malice, he finally spoke.

“Found you.”

Chatterbox’s grin widened as he surveyed the team, his voice grinding out like rusted gears. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy killing you all,” he sneered, the missile launchers on his back twitching, primed and ready. The malevolence in his tone was unmistakable, as though he relished the thought of tearing them apart piece by piece.

Neon’s eyes widened, her grip tightening on her shotgun. “It... it’s talking?!” her voice was laced with genuine shock. Anis, usually quick with a quip, couldn’t hide her confusion. “Wait... can raptures even do that?” She glared up at the mechanical menace, her grenade launcher now pointed in his direction. “Are we even sure this thing’s a rapture?”

Chatterbox’s grin twisted wider, his red eyes gleaming with malevolence. “I never thought I’d get the chance to kill another sorcerer... But you, Commander, will be special to tear apart.”

John barely registered the words. His pulse quickened, adrenaline surged, and all that mattered now was the fight. Without waiting for anyone to react, he launched himself forward, body coiled like a spring. The world around him blurred as he leapt toward Chatterbox, fists ready.

The rapture's missile launchers hummed to life, firing a barrage of rockets in John’s direction. With fluid agility, John kicked off the incoming missiles, using them as makeshift platforms. The air crackled with heat as the projectiles screamed past him, but John’s focus remained sharp, his movement precise.

The two collided midair with a bone-rattling impact, John's fist crashing into Chatterbox’s metallic arm. The blow reverberated through the air, forcing the rapture back down to the ground. John landed lightly, sliding to a stop. Chatterbox let out a metallic roar and launched himself at John again.

But before their clash could resume, Rapi darted in, landing a powerful kick on Chatterbox. Her assault rifle crackled to life, forcing the rapture off course.

Chatterbox tried to recover, but Anis was faster, her grenade launcher firing a blast that struck his side. Neon followed up with rapid shotgun blasts, forcing the rapture to stagger back, sparks flying from the damage.

John’s fists clenched, irritation flaring as he watched the team join the fray. For a brief moment, his battle-hungry instincts flared in annoyance, wanting the fight for himself. But it flickered out just as quickly. He gave Rapi a nod, a thin smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks for the assist," he said, his voice rough with adrenaline.

Rapi and Neon wasted no time, splitting left and right as they fired relentlessly at Chatterbox. Rapi’s assault rifle barked with precision, each round sparking against the rapture’s armored frame, while Neon’s shotgun blasts sent jolts of power at close range. They moved in sync, weaving between cover and evading Chatterbox’s retaliatory swipes, each trying to find a weak point.

“Keep him busy!” Anis shouted over the chaos, priming a grenade in her launcher. She leveled the weapon and fired, the heavy round soaring toward Chatterbox. John, already anticipating the move, surged forward in a blur of cursed energy, his speed amplifying with Ruinous Gambit. He caught up to the grenade before it reached its arming distance and delivered a powerful kick, sending it hurtling toward Chatterbox’s face with incredible velocity.

The grenade exploded on impact, engulfing Chatterbox’s head in a cloud of fire and debris. Smoke billowed, shrouding his upper body, but Neon saw an opening. She darted forward, shotgun in hand, aiming to fire into the damage caused by the grenade. Just as she pulled the trigger, a metal hand shot through the smoke, gripping her torso tightly.

Neon’s eyes widened in shock as Chatterbox’s form emerged from the smoke, his head fully regenerated, red eyes gleaming with malice. “Nice try,” he sneered, before hurling Neon like a ragdoll toward Rapi. The two collided with a heavy thud, both sent tumbling to the ground.

Without missing a beat, Chatterbox charged toward Anis and John, his massive frame thundering across the broken pavement. John stood his ground, fists clenched, while Anis cracked her knuckles, ready for close combat. As Chatterbox lunged, the two met him head-on.

John dodged a sweeping punch, countering with a sharp elbow to the rapture’s chest. Anis, meanwhile, ducked low and grappled one of Chatterbox’s legs, pulling with the strength of a seasoned wrestler. Her style was brutish and raw, contrasting with John’s fluid, technical strikes. Together, they formed an unrelenting duo, each hit coordinated to keep Chatterbox off balance.

Chatterbox roared in frustration, swinging his arms wildly, but John and Anis were too quick. Anis threw a devastating hook into Chatterbox’s midsection, forcing the giant machine to stagger. John followed up with a spinning kick to the side of its head, but it wasn’t enough to stop the onslaught.

In a swift motion, John and Anis grabbed both of Chatterbox’s arms, locking them into holds. Chatterbox struggled, but they held firm, muscles straining against the rapture’s immense strength. “Now!” John shouted through gritted teeth.

Rapi and Neon, having recovered, seized the moment. Neon’s shotgun flared, the powerful blasts targeting the joints of Chatterbox’s legs, while Rapi’s rifle peppered its back with precision shots. With a roar, the two of them charged forward. Rapi leaped, slamming into Chatterbox’s back, while Neon followed with a powerful kick, sending the rapture crashing to the ground under the combined force.

Chatterbox’s fist crashed into the ground with a deafening roar, the impact sending out a violent shockwave that rippled across the battlefield. The ground beneath the Counters shook violently, knocking them off balance as the force stunned them momentarily. Dust and debris filled the air, and the air crackled with tension as the rapture’s next move became clear.

With a hiss of charging energy, Chatterbox’s massive particle cannon activated, the red glow from its fist casting ominous shadows across the ruined landscape. The particle beam erupted with terrifying force, a scorching crimson streak aimed directly at the team.

Anis and Neon reacted just in time, their bodies rolling desperately underneath the beam, barely dodging the deadly energy as it scorched the ground behind them. Rapi, ever agile, leaped into the air, twisting in mid-flight as the beam sliced beneath her, singeing the air but missing her by inches.

But Chatterbox’s red eyes flickered in surprise as John didn’t dodge. Instead, he charged straight through the beam, his body braced against the force with cursed energy reinforcement glowing faintly around him. The searing heat lashed at him, burns forming across his arms and chest, but John pressed forward, undeterred. The intense power of the beam crackled and hissed as it slammed into his cursed energy shield, but his momentum didn’t slow.

With a burst of speed, John leaped, vaulting over another sweeping arc of the beam and landing directly on Chatterbox’s back. The rapture let out a metallic growl as John’s fists hammered down onto one of the missile launchers reloading on its back.

With a brutal punch, John’s fist pierced the launcher, ripping through the metal just as several missiles clicked into place. The explosion that followed was instantaneous—a violent detonation that sent both John and Chatterbox flying in opposite directions, shards of metal and fire bursting from the launcher in all directions.

John hit the ground hard, his body skidding across the cracked pavement, burns and cuts now littering his arms and chest. The heat from the particle beam and the explosion still smoldered on his skin, the pain searing into his nerves. But despite the injuries, he pushed himself to his feet, chest heaving with ragged breaths.

Chatterbox’s form reemerged from the smoke, its head swiveling toward John with a malevolent glare. Sparks flew from its damaged missile launcher, and though it was clearly injured, its red eyes still gleamed with vicious intent.

Chatterbox staggered, sparks flying from his damaged form, and his metallic voice rasped out in an attempt to insult them. “You—”

“Jump his ass!” John’s shout cut him off before he could even finish, the command electrifying the team.

In an instant, they moved. John’s fists blurred as he slammed into Chatterbox’s torso with raw power, every blow fueled by cursed energy, sending metallic cracks echoing across the battlefield. The rapture stumbled, but before he could even react, Neon was there—her shotgun blasting at point-blank range, each shot rattling his frame, tearing into his armor.

Chatterbox spun, trying to retaliate, but Anis launched a grenade that detonated against his side, sending shrapnel and circuitry flying. The rapture roared in frustration, his body twisting toward Anis, but before he could even take a step, Rapi was already on him. Her knee landed hard and fast, followed by precise bursts from her rifle, each shot punctuated by a sharp metallic clang as it hit home.

“You—" Chatterbox tried again, his words cutting through the chaos, but before he could hurl another insult, John leaped back into the fray, his fists slamming into the rapture’s jaw, knocking him off-balance.

Every time Chatterbox tried to chase one, another would intercept him. Neon darted in, unloading her shotgun, causing the rapture to twist with a snarl, only to get hit by Anis’s grenade launcher again. Rapi was relentless, landing shot after shot and kick after kick, her strikes quick and brutal.

“Why... can’t you—” Chatterbox sputtered, his voice crackling with frustration. But each attempt to speak was met with another attack, cutting his words short. His red eyes flared with rage as he tried to turn toward one target, only to be met with another from the other side.

Chatterbox’s metallic roar reverberated through the air, a guttural sound of pure rage. The team moved in closer, ready to finish him off, but before they could land another blow, the ground beneath them erupted. The concrete split with a deafening crack, and from the depths of the earth, a massive metallic worm launched into the air, its gleaming body twisting as it shot toward the team.

In a flash, its jaws snapped shut around Neon and Anis, pulling them into its coiled grip before diving back into the ground. Dust and debris filled the air as the worm disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only the gaping hole it emerged from.

“Neon! Anis!” John shouted, immediately sprinting after the worm, his legs pumping with cursed energy. But as he closed in, something shifted in his peripheral vision. Without hesitation, he dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the brutal impact of Chatterbox’s fist slamming into the spot where he had been standing moments before.

Chatterbox let out a low, mechanical growl, his red eyes gleaming with fury as he moved to block Rapi’s path. But before he could attack, John spun into action, his movements fluid and precise. He grabbed Chatterbox mid-motion, using the momentum to spin the hulking rapture off balance before throwing him to the ground with a thundering crash.

“Go!” John barked, his eyes never leaving Chatterbox as the rapture recovered. “Rescue Neon and Anis. I’ve got this.”

Rapi hesitated for only a moment, then nodded sharply. Without another word, she bolted toward the gaping hole where the worm had disappeared, her rifle at the ready.

John stood alone now, his chest heaving with adrenaline as Chatterbox rose back to his feet, sparks flickering from his damaged body. The rapture’s eyes locked onto John, and for a moment, the battlefield fell silent. Tension crackled in the air as they faced each other down, two forces on a collision course.

Neither moved.

Chapter Text

Rapi darted through the tunnel with a fierce, calculated speed, each movement fluid and deliberate, like a well-oiled machine. The narrow passageways seemed to constrict around her, but she was undeterred, her grip on the rifle steady. Her sharp eyes scanned ahead, picking up faint flashes of gunfire—Anis and Neon were still fighting. A flicker of relief surged through her chest, but she buried it beneath layers of discipline. Relief was dangerous, it slowed the mind, clouded the edges of her combat-ready state. She couldn’t afford that right now.

Her boots thudded rhythmically against the dusty ground as she pushed forward, the world around her blurring into a dark tunnel of movement. The tattered remains of John’s coat flapped wildly behind her as if it too were trying to keep up with her relentless speed. Gravedigger. Tyrant-class. The name echoed in her mind, distant but ever-present. A threat once described to her in a sterile debriefing room years ago is now very real, right in front of them.
The subtle tremors beneath her feet told her how close the massive rapture was, its sheer size shifting the very ground it moved through. Anis and Neon. The thought of them still trapped in its maw tightened her chest. Despite everything, she trusted them both. Neon, the youngest of the team, brimming with potential, even if she was often nervous in these moments. Anis, sarcastic, always pushing buttons, but reliable in a crisis. They needed her right now.

Rapi’s fingers flexed around the grip of her rifle. She knew the thoughts creeping in—her secret body, the last resort. She could feel the itch to use it scratching at the back of her mind. It would push her abilities far beyond their limits, but she could still feel the phantom ache from the last time she’d relied on it. The consequences always lingered long after the fight, and every use took something from her. Something she wasn’t sure she could get back…

She shook her head, pushing the thought down. Now wasn’t the time. She wasn’t just fighting for herself. She was fighting for them. She was fighting for the commander. The commander…

The weight of John’s coat, flapping against her back, felt heavier now. She wasn’t ready to lose any of them. Her squad, her comrades. She could hear Anis’s voice even now, still cracking jokes even in the heat of battle.

The tunnel opened up, the vibrations from Gravedigger growing louder, almost overwhelming her senses. She could hear Anis and Neon ahead, still fighting—still alive. Good. She’d made it. Her breathing was controlled, each breath measured, as she adjusted her grip and prepared to rejoin the battle. Keep it together.

But the knot in her chest was still there. What were they fighting for? Were they just tools for war? Was that all they were? The questions came in waves, relentless, and though she had buried them beneath her duty and discipline, they still gnawed at her in these moments. What did it mean to be a Nikke? And where did she truly belong?

The sounds of combat grew louder. The screech of Gravedigger’s enormous body, the sharp cracks of gunfire—it was closer now. Anis and Neon were still in the fight, but for how long?

Rapi’s fingers flexed on her rifle, her pace quickening as she prepared herself for the moment she would breach the tunnel’s end.

As the tunnel widened, the sounds of the clash ahead grew clearer, and Rapi’s body tensed. She wasn’t there to fail. She would do whatever it took to bring them back safely.

-

John stood across from Chatterbox, the air between them crackling with tension. The rapture’s hulking, mechanical form was already repairing itself, wires and circuits reknitting with faint sparks as its twisted grin returned. John’s chest rose and fell with controlled breaths, but the fire inside him was burning hotter with each second that passed. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenched into tight fists as he fought to keep the growing hunger for the fight at bay.

Not yet... he told himself. The battle lust was there, simmering just beneath his skin, a familiar ache that threatened to boil over. His muscles tensed, ready to release the chaos he kept restrained. His heart pounded with the anticipation of violence, each beat harder than the last, adrenaline blending with the excitement surging through him.

Chatterbox’s regeneration continued, the rapture’s grin widening as it prepared to speak. John had no intention of listening.

The instant Chatterbox’s mouth opened, John’s body snapped into action. His leg shot up in a blur, the heel of his boot connecting with Chatterbox’s jaw in a vicious spin kick. The impact rang out, metal against flesh, sending a jarring shockwave through the rapture’s frame. But John didn’t stop there. The kick flowed seamlessly into a series of brutal, calculated strikes—his knees crashing into Chatterbox’s midsection, followed by a lightning-fast combo of elbows, each strike precise and devastating.

The thrill of combat surged through him. Every punch brought him closer to losing control, the battle lust bubbling closer to the surface. His fists blurred, smashing into Chatterbox’s chest and arms with relentless force. He could feel the heat rising, the violent craving inside him growing stronger with every hit. Keep it together, he warned himself, but the urge to unleash everything was overwhelming.

Chatterbox staggered backward, momentarily thrown off by John’s unyielding onslaught. But just as John moved to follow up, Chatterbox retaliated. A barrage of missiles erupted from its back, the warheads screaming toward him. John dove to the side, narrowly dodging the explosion, but before he could fully recover, a searing beam of energy cut through the air—a particle cannon, flaring to life. John leaped backward, the heat from the beam singing his skin.

The explosion rocked the street, shattering windows and sending debris flying in all directions. The dust clouded the battlefield, creating a momentary pause in the chaos. John crouched, breathing heavily, his eyes locked on the dust cloud, waiting for a sign of Chatterbox.

As the dust began to clear, John didn’t waste a second. He launched forward, his speed blurring the space between them. His focus was razor-sharp, eyes locked on Chatterbox as his cursed energy roared inside him. He pushed off the ground, launching into the air, driving his fist into Chatterbox’s torso with enough force to crack metal.

Chatterbox roared in response, its massive arms swinging with wild, brute strength. The swings were powerful but sloppy, wide arcs designed to crush. John ducked and weaved between the attacks, his movements fluid and precise. Every dodge flowed into a counterstrike—sharp, lethal blows aimed at the rapture’s joints and weak points.

Each strike sent a tremor through Chatterbox’s metal frame, but the rapture’s strength was undeniable. Even the glancing hits that grazed John rattled him, testing his endurance. He could feel the impact reverberate through his body, but he fed off the momentum, his strikes becoming faster, more vicious. The ground beneath them cracked, the intensity of their battle shaking the city itself.

They were locked in a violent rhythm—brute force clashing with speed and precision. Every missed swing from Chatterbox sent shockwaves through the air, while every strike from John cracked metal and flesh. As the fight raged on, John felt his restraint slipping, his control over the battle lust wearing thin.

This… this was what he craved.

They paused momentarily, their first round of the clash concluded, now circling each other waiting for the second round to begin

As they circled each other, Chatterbox’s red eyes gleamed, his metallic voice vibrating through the air. “Human, join me. Lend me your ear, I mean you no harm.”

John didn’t hesitate. His voice was a low growl, cutting through the air as sharply as his strikes. “Bitch, shut up and box.”

With a burst of cursed energy, John launched himself at Chatterbox, spinning mid-air to deliver another brutal kick to the rapture’s jaw. The impact echoed across the street as Chatterbox staggered, but the rapture recovered quickly, launching another swarm of missiles. This time, John didn’t dodge; instead, he leaped from one missile to the next, using them as stepping stones, his agility effortless.

As he closed the distance, their fists met in a thunderous clash. John’s speed and precision clashed violently with Chatterbox’s raw power. Each hit sent ripples of energy through the battlefield, the ground crumbling beneath them. For every strike John landed, Chatterbox retaliated with bone-shaking swings, his regeneration mending the damage almost as quickly as it was inflicted.

The fight escalated. They tore through buildings, leaping across crumbling ruins, and exchanged blows that cracked the streets beneath their feet. John was a blur of motion, his battle lust pushing him faster, harder. Every punch fueled the fire inside him, driving him deeper into the chaos.

“You fight well,” Chatterbox sneered, his voice laced with mockery. “But you're no different from the others—weak, pitiful, and soon... dead.”

John didn’t hear the words. His mind was singularly focused on the fight. His fists connected over and over, his cursed energy crackling through the air like live wire. He ducked under another wild swing, driving his knee into Chatterbox’s side, following up with a brutal elbow to the rapture’s chest.

Chatterbox retaliated with another barrage of missiles, his back launching a swarm of projectiles that lit up the night sky. John wove through the explosions, moving like a ghost, his focus never leaving Chatterbox. Each explosion lit the battlefield, casting jagged shadows across the ruins. The city was falling apart around them, but John didn’t care. He was lost in the fight.

With a growl, John slammed his fist into Chatterbox’s side again. But even as his strikes landed, the rapture’s frame continued to repair itself, each blow slowing him down only briefly before the regeneration kicked in. It was a battle of endurance as much as strength.

They clashed again, and John felt it—a shiver in the air, a visceral instinct deep in his core. His body moved on its own, before his mind could even comprehend it, as if the very fabric of reality shifted around them. Power surged between him and Chatterbox, an invisible current that seemed to thrum in the space between them, growing heavier, more intense with every passing second. John’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, the rhythm syncing with the rising energy coursing through his veins. The red glow of Chatterbox’s eyes locked onto his, a mirrored recognition flaring between them.

For a split second, the world froze.

Their fists met in a violent collision of energy, the impact so intense that it felt like the very air around them imploded. Black sparks erupted from the point of contact, tendrils of cursed energy twisting and writhing in the space between them. The explosion of power blasted outward in all directions. Time slowed to a crawl. John could see every crack in the air, every fragment of broken reality that peeled away from the epicenter of their clash.

The shockwave that followed was deafening, a crack that echoed through the city like a thunderstorm. Windows shattered for blocks, glass raining down like fragile stardust, as if the entire world trembled under the force of their strike. The ground beneath them splintered, rippling outward in jagged cracks that spiderwebbed across the landscape.

John's vision blurred for a moment, caught between euphoria and disbelief. His entire body buzzed with the aftershock of the Black Flash, his cursed energy roaring through him like a wildfire. This was power in its purest form, and it was everything he had craved—the perfect fusion of his skill and raw destructive potential. But the realization hit him like a second blow to the gut: Chatterbox had unleashed a Black Flash too.

He wasn't fighting just another rapture. He was facing an opponent with cursed energy, a soul, and the power to match his own. The Black Flash wasn’t just an accident; it was a confirmation that Chatterbox was a different kind of enemy—one capable of meeting him on his own terms.

The crackling black electricity still hung in the air, dark tendrils dancing between them as they stood, momentarily frozen in the aftermath of their simultaneous strike. John's heart pounded in his chest, his breath ragged, but a grin split his face wide open. This was it—the kind of fight that pushed him to his limits, that brought him face-to-face with an opponent who could truly challenge him.

For a moment, both of them stared at each other, eyes gleaming with the mutual understanding that this battle was only just beginning.

John’s grin widened, wild and feral. His heart pounded in his chest, exhilarated by the challenge. The revelation only fueled him, pushing him deeper into the battle lust that had been gnawing at him since the fight began.

Their fists recoiled from the impact, both combatants thrown backward by the Black Flash. Neither was willing to back down. As John landed, skidding across the cracked pavement, he could already see Chatterbox recovering faster than before, sparks flying from his frame. But something had changed—they both knew this fight was now on a different level.

-

Rapi sprinted through the dimly lit tunnel, the sound of Gravedigger's massive form tearing through the earth reverberating ahead of her. She moved with fierce determination, the tunnel walls blurring as she focused on catching up to the rapture’s tail. The commander’s coat, flapping wildly behind her, threatened to be ripped off by the sheer speed, but she ignored it, her thoughts only on the safety of Anis and Neon.

As she rounded a bend in the tunnel, Rapi finally caught sight of the metallic beast’s tail, the segmented metal parts clanging as it drilled through the ground. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, grabbing onto the end of Gravedigger’s tail with both hands. Her body was yanked forward violently, the momentum nearly dislocating her shoulders, but she held firm, her grip tightening as the rapture continued its relentless speed through the earth.

Further ahead, Neon and Anis were trapped within the creature's jaws, the tunnel flashing past them in a blur as they fought desperately to break free. Gravedigger’s maw clamped down on them and threatened to suck them up into its threshers, but the two Nikkes were relentless. Neon, despite her smaller stature, fired shot after shot from her shotgun, the recoil pushing her back with each blast, but doing little to loosen the creature's grip. Anis, on the other hand, was wildly swinging her grenade launcher, using it more like a club in the confined space.

“Dammit, this thing doesn’t let up!” Anis growled, her eyes blazing with frustration.

“Keep hitting it!” Neon shouted back, her voice tight as she reloaded her shotgun mid-struggle. “We can’t let this thing eat us!”

Rapi, clinging to the tail, narrowed her eyes, pulling herself closer inch by inch. She could feel the tension in her muscles, the strain in her joints, but none of that mattered. Anis and Neon needed her. Each time Gravedigger accelerated, the force tried to shake her off, but Rapi's grip was ironclad.

"Just... a little closer..." she muttered under her breath, the sounds of Anis and Neon’s struggle urging her on.

With one final burst of strength, she pulled herself further up the tail, the vibrations from the rapture’s movement pulsing through her body. Gravedigger was fast, too fast to stop easily, but Rapi knew if she could reach a weak point in its armor, maybe—just maybe—they could turn the tide.

Rapi’s fingers dug into the metallic segments of Gravedigger’s tail, her body bouncing violently as the rapture thundered forward. Each time it swerved or accelerated, the force threatened to tear her grip free, but she held on, teeth gritted, her eyes locked on the head of the beast where Neon and Anis were still fighting for their lives.

Neon’s shotgun fired off another deafening blast, this time aimed directly into the roof of Gravedigger’s mouth, but the pellets merely ricocheted off the metallic plates inside, doing little more than sending sparks flying. Anis swung her grenade launcher, gritting her teeth as she struck at the metal teeth surrounding them.

"Come on, you damn metal snake!" Anis growled, swinging again and again.

But the creature only sped up, burrowing deeper through the tunnel, dragging them all with it. Neon’s eyes darted to the walls of the tunnel speeding by them. “Anis!” she shouted, “We need to get this thing out of the ground or we’re toast! We won’t last in here forever!”

Anis nodded, realizing what Neon was thinking. If they could turn Gravedigger upward, maybe they could force it to surface and get them out of its jaws before it swallowed them whole. But how?

At that moment, Rapi finally reached the middle of Gravedigger’s body. With a sharp pull, she yanked herself further along the tail, reaching the center joint of the rapture’s body. Using her enhanced strength, Rapi jammed her feet between the rapture's plated armor and leveraged her body with a fierce twist.

The rapture roared, feeling the sudden change in its weight distribution as Rapi continued to apply pressure, pushing and pulling against the tunnel walls.

“Now!” Rapi yelled, her voice carrying through the tunnel. “Make it move upward!”

Anis didn’t hesitate. She swung her grenade launcher with both hands, striking a critical point in the creature’s lower jaw. The force of her swing, combined with Neon’s relentless shotgun blasts, caused Gravedigger to veer slightly off course.

“Keep going!” Neon shouted as she fired off another close-range shot, this time into the rapture’s core, sending sparks flying. Gravedigger let out a metallic roar, momentarily stunned, and swerved hard to the left, its massive body shifting violently.

The tunnel suddenly opened up into a larger underground cavern, and with one final effort from Rapi pulling on its midsection and Neon and Anis striking from the front, the massive rapture’s trajectory shifted upward.

The ground above them began to quake as Gravedigger's massive body twisted and coiled, the walls around them starting to crumble. Then, with a deafening roar, the rapture burst out of the ground, its body launching into the air with the three Nikkes still clinging to it.

The sky exploded into view as Gravedigger tore out of the earth, debris and dust raining down around them as the massive rapture's form silhouetted against the light.

-

John’s fists still crackled with cursed energy, each punch a release of the tension building in his chest. His grin was manic, teeth bared in excitement. “You hit a Black Flash earlier... So what? Got a cursed technique too? Or was that just dumb luck?”

There was no hesitation—only the rush of the fight, the pulse of adrenaline. John activated Ruinous Gambit again, feeling the power surge through him like a lightning bolt. It fed his bloodlust, made the air around him hum with energy. He aimed his next strike high—a devastating overhead ax kick that carved through the air like a blade, ready to crush Chatterbox’s skull. “Let’s see you handle this!”

John's maniacal laugh echoed as the kick descended, but the fight had sharpened both of them. Chatterbox’s frame absorbed the blow, shaking under the impact, but his regeneration was relentless. Even as debris erupted, John could see Chatterbox smirking through the dust. Both of them landed hard, yet neither was backing down.

John’s mind was locked in a vortex of dissonance, the collision of two parts of John that constantly warred with each other. The part that craved domination, that thrilled at pushing his body beyond its limits, that found pure joy in the violent rhythm of battle. He didn’t just want to win; he wanted to feel the euphoria of conquering his opponent, proving that nothing could stand against him. Every blow that landed fed that selfish hunger. Every dodge, every strike was another step closer to that primal satisfaction of standing above the fallen, victorious.

Yet, beneath the surface of that desire, something gnawed at him—an unease. It was the part of him that still remembered why he came to the surface in the first place. The part that knew this fight wasn’t just about him. He was here to protect. To make a difference, not just for the thrill of the fight, but to save those who couldn't fight for themselves. His squad—Rapi, Anis, Neon—were relying on him. Every moment of indulging in the thrill of combat came at the cost of the responsibility he carried for them. And for humanity.

He had left the Jujutsu Society because he wanted to fight battles that mattered, to carve a new path in a world that was collapsing under the weight of the raptures. And yet here, in the heat of this brutal dance with Chatterbox, that altruistic desire to protect the future and leave the world better than he found it was being eclipsed by the battlelust gnawing at him. This fight... this selfish hunger—it wasn’t enough. But how could he deny the part of himself that craved it so deeply?

He felt the burn in his muscles, the satisfying crack of bone and metal colliding, and for a moment, the rush of victory blurred everything else. But the faces of his comrades flickered at the edges of his mind. Was he losing sight of them? Was he abandoning his purpose for the high of a fight?

John’s teeth ground together, his jaw clenching so hard that it felt like the bones might crack. His fists tightened, cursed energy crackling around them like a barely contained storm. Focus. Stay in control. He could feel the heat of the fight pulling him in, the temptation to let go and fully embrace the chaos, but now wasn’t the time for that. Not yet. He forced the battlelust down, shoving it back, but it gnawed at him, begging to be unleashed.

Chatterbox’s laughter cut through the tension, slick with condescension. “Thanks for the workout, human.” His voice dripped with mockery. “You've helped me improve... but I don’t think you can keep up.”

John’s pulse quickened, the taunt digging into him like a splinter under his skin. His grin, that wild, feral expression, expanded—just for a moment, but enough to show the shift. His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, a chill ran down his spine. This wasn’t random anymore. Chatterbox wasn’t just fighting with him; the rapture was adapting, learning, and something about the way the battlefield had shifted suddenly became clear.

His senses sharpened, hyper-focused, and he noticed where they’d drifted—their brutal dance of fists and energy had drawn them back toward the fallen bodies of Mihara and Yuni. His stomach dropped. The pieces were sliding into place, and none of them looked good.

Chatterbox’s laughter boomed louder now, rumbling through the crumbling landscape like thunder. “Cursed Technique: Negatio Libri Philipp!” The words rang out, sending a chill racing through John’s veins. Before he could react, Yuni’s unconscious form lifted into the air like a puppet on invisible strings. Her body shimmered, glowing faintly, before being sucked into Chatterbox’s core, absorbed like fuel to stoke a fire.

John’s blood ran cold, but then it boiled over. “NO!” The roar tore from his throat, his body moving on instinct before his mind could even catch up. He threw everything into one last desperate burst of speed, Ruinous Gambit roaring to life in his veins. His legs blurred beneath him, the world turning into a streak of motion, and in an instant, his fist collided with Chatterbox’s face. He had to stop him absorbing Mihara as well.

The impact was sickening. His knuckles smashed into the rapture’s frame, and the sound that followed was a crack—not just of metal, but of bone. John’s bones. Pain shot up his arm like a lightning strike, and he felt the break—his fingers, his wrist, his forearm—they all gave way under the force. The cost of the Gambit hit him full force, draining his durability and leaving him exposed.

His hand shook, blood running down his arm from the broken skin, pooling in the cracks of his shattered bones. But Chatterbox barely flinched. The blow had landed, but it wasn’t enough. John tried to follow up, tried to push through the pain, but his body betrayed him.

Suddenly, his legs gave out. His muscles locked, his limbs dead weight, as if the connection between his brain and his body had been severed. His legs were... gone. Useless. He couldn’t feel them. He tried to push himself up, but his legs simply wouldn’t respond. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind.

Chatterbox loomed over him, the red glow of his eyes burning through the dust and debris, his metallic voice vibrating with malice. “You fool.” He sneered, a twisted smile creeping across his face. “By absorbing her, I gained her abilities. You feel it, don’t you? Your legs—they’re mine now. Blocked every nerve in your spine connected to them.”

Chatterbox leaned down, his grotesque metallic smirk stretching wide as his voice cut through the crumbling battlefield. “I’ve got some questions for you, sorcerer—”

Before he could finish, the ground erupted beneath them with a deafening roar. A massive shockwave rocked the battlefield as Gravedigger's colossal form tore through the earth like a monster from the abyss. The sudden eruption of dust and debris filled the air, shaking the ruins to their core. The sheer size of the rapture was awe-inspiring, casting a shadow so large it seemed to swallow both John and Chatterbox.

The ground buckled under Gravedigger’s weight, and for the briefest moment, even Chatterbox’s malice was drowned out by the overwhelming chaos. John’s mind raced, but something clicked in that instant. His cursed energy flared, lighting up his senses with the force of a supernova. It wasn’t his legs that had failed him— Chatterbox’s cursed energy had blocked his signals.

John’s fingers twitched, and before he could fully process it, his legs jolted back to life, coursing with energy. The thrill of power washed over him like wildfire, his entire body responding in kind. Every fiber of his being buzzed with the rush of regaining control, the cursed energy roaring through him like an unstoppable current.

Without wasting another second, John launched himself forward, his body a blur of motion as he raced toward Chatterbox. The rapture, distracted by the titanic chaos Gravedigger had caused, barely registered the movement before John’s foot slammed into his jaw, the force like a thunderous crack of a lightning bolt.

Chatterbox’s massive frame jerked violently from the impact, skidding backward with a screech of tearing metal. John’s strike had connected with a power that sent shockwaves through the rubble, but it was over.

John landed smoothly, adrenaline pumping through him like a wild beast. He was barely back on his feet when the massive, lifeless bulk of Gravedigger plummeted from the sky, slamming into the ground and burying Chatterbox beneath its titanic weight. Dust and debris exploded around them, a blinding storm of chaos as the battlefield quaked from the sheer force of it all.

For a moment, everything seemed to still. The world was silent, save for the fading echoes of the collapse. And then, out of the dust and debris, Rapi, Anis, and Neon emerged, their weapons already raised, eyes locked on the twitching form of Gravedigger.

With surgical precision, they opened fire—Neon’s shotgun blasting explosive shells into Gravedigger’s frame, Anis’s grenade launcher firing in rapid succession, and Rapi’s precise shots driving into the rapture’s skull with deadly accuracy. Their coordinated assault turned Gravedigger into a heap of scrap, each shot another nail in the coffin of the fallen tyrant-class.

They rushed to John's side, their faces tense with a mix of relief and concern. Rapi knelt beside him, her rifle still raised, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger. “Commander,” her voice was sharp but laced with worry, “What’s your condition? Are you alright?”

John groaned as he turned to them, pain radiating from his chest and arms like a fire beneath his skin. “I’m... fine,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice betrayed the truth. His body was wrecked, but his spirit burned with the same reckless fire.

Anis wiped sweat from her brow, glancing at the disintegrating form of Gravedigger. “Did you get him? Is Chatterbox down for good?”

The battlefield trembled as Gravedigger’s enormous form lay shattered, the colossal rapture reduced to lifeless debris. For a brief moment, there was a tense stillness, the aftermath of a hard-won fight settling in, but the quiet didn’t last long. A low, grotesque gurgle began to rise from the heap of Gravedigger’s remains.

The body of Gravedigger twitched unnaturally, the metal plates of its armor shifting as though pulled by invisible strings. Sparks flickered from its wounds, and then, with a sickening crack, its broken form lurched upward, as if something inside it was forcing it to rise again. The metallic corpse quivered violently, its pieces bending and warping as if being sucked into a vortex.

From the remains, Chatterbox emerged, his metallic grin twisted into something far more sinister. His body, still sparking with damage, twitched and contorted, but his eyes were locked hungrily on the piles of wreckage around him. “Oh, this will do nicely,” he rasped.

Without warning, tendrils of black, crackling energy shot out from Chatterbox, latching onto Gravedigger’s mangled remains. The metal of Gravedigger’s body creaked and groaned, bending unnaturally as the tendrils yanked the corpse toward Chatterbox.

The process was slow, deliberate, each chunk of metal absorbed into his frame with sickening crunches. Chatterbox’s limbs stretched grotesquely as he assimilated the rapture, his body warping and expanding, gaining new armor and grotesque mechanical appendages. His form grew bulkier, more menacing, as the last remnants of Gravedigger’s tail were sucked into his body, disappearing into a mass of twisting wires and circuits.

A nauseating, wet sound filled the air as Chatterbox’s jaw unhinged grotesquely, the final piece of Gravedigger’s body disappearing into his open maw. The rapture let out a guttural, distorted roar as his new form solidified—larger, more monstrous, his body now a gruesome amalgamation of Gravedigger’s and his own.

Chatterbox’s glowing red eyes flickered with new life, his voice now a distorted echo of both his and Gravedigger’s, twisted into a horrifying chorus. “Thank you for the sacrifice,” he hissed, his new form crackling with raw power. “Now, let’s see how much further I can push this body.”

Rapi reacted instantly, raising her rifle. “Form up! Back me up!” she barked.

Anis muttered under her breath, “This guy just won’t quit...” but still positioned herself beside Rapi, while Neon gripped her shotgun with trembling hands, her earlier bravado slipping. “Master, I’m scared...” she whispered, barely audible.

Before they could fire a shot, the battlefield was split by a deafening crack. The next instant, a massive hole appeared in Chatterbox’s chest, smoking and sparking. The precision of the shot was surgical, impossibly clean. All eyes snapped toward the origin of the shot.

A figure draped in white stood atop a nearby ruin, her form still as a statue. The massive sniper rifle balanced effortlessly in her arms was still aimed at Chatterbox, the barrel smoking. This was no ordinary Nikke. Her presence was almost overwhelming—a Pilgrim.

Rapi’s breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. “A Pilgrim...”

Anis, her brow furrowed in confusion, asked, “A what?”

Rapi’s breath was steady, her movements calm and methodical as she reloaded her rifle, her fingers sliding over the smooth metal with practiced ease. Every click of the gun's mechanism echoed through the eerie silence that had settled over the battlefield. Her eyes never wavered from Chatterbox, who stood across from her, his once confident grin now flickering into something far less certain.

The moment seemed to stretch, the air thick with tension as the Pilgrim’s cold gaze bored into the rapture. She wasn’t just looking at him—she was calculating, dissecting him with those sharp, icy eyes, as though she already knew the outcome of this fight.

Chatterbox, ever the arrogant one, faltered, his grin twitching. His gaze flickered from her rifle to her calm demeanor, the cracks in his confidence beginning to show. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, the Pilgrim’s rifle roared.

The shot tore through the air, ripping into Chatterbox’s chest with brutal precision. Sparks exploded from the wound, the force of the impact sending the hulking rapture stumbling backward. He tried to regenerate, but before he could recover, another shot rang out, slamming into him again—this time even faster.

The Pilgrim’s movements were fluid, each shot timed to perfection, her reloading seamless, as if she were conducting a deadly symphony. Chatterbox’s frame jerked with each hit, the damage accumulating faster than his regeneration could handle. His once-unshakeable arrogance shattered, replaced by a growing sense of panic.

Sparks flew from his wounds, metal grinding and screeching as he staggered, barely holding himself together. "Damn you all!" Chatterbox’s voice, once mocking, now trembled with desperation. He turned and fled, his towering form lurching through the ruins in a frantic escape.

The Pilgrim, silent and unhurried, slid her rifle over her shoulder and leaped from the rooftop. Her form blurred with an inhuman grace as she vanished into the dust, her pursuit as inevitable as death itself.

She didn’t need words—her actions spoke louder. This was a hunt, and she would not stop until Chatterbox was erased from existence.

As the dust settled, the Counters stared after her, the question unspoken on their lips, the battle still humming through their blood. John, his body aching but alive, broke the silence. “Who... was that?” His voice, still rough from the fight, held the awe they all felt. “What firepower!” Neon whispered in amazement.

Rapi’s voice sliced through the tension, calm but firm. “Questions later. Anis, Neon—get the commander and Mihara. We need to move. Now.”

Neon rushed to John’s side, still shaken but determined, her hands trembling as she tried to help him up. “Master, are you okay?” Her voice wavered, the adrenaline of the battle still coursing through her veins, but her eyes were wide with concern.

John groaned, every inch of his body aching. He forced himself to walk, ignoring the pain that radiated through him. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though his voice carried the weight of exhaustion. His gaze shifted to Mihara, lying unconscious nearby, and his expression tightened. “Take care of her first. I’ll be okay.”

Anis, still catching her breath, moved toward Mihara, but something made her freeze. Her eyes darted around wildly, panic flaring in her chest. “Wait—where’s Yuni?” she asked, her voice laced with growing dread.

John’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. The question lingered in the air, hanging like a storm cloud ready to break. “She’s gone,” he rasped, his voice low, almost pained. “Chatterbox… absorbed her.”

Anis’s reaction wasn’t immediate disbelief—it was horror. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her throat, and she staggered back, her hands trembling as the weight of his words sank in. “Absorbed? What… What do you mean absorbed?” Her voice cracked.

John didn’t answer, the reality sitting like a stone in his gut. The sound of Yuni’s absorption replayed in his mind, louder with each echo, gnawing at him. His gaze fell to the dirt-covered ground at his feet, and that’s when he saw it.

Yuni’s whip, half-buried beneath the rubble.

His breath stilled. Slowly, he crouched down, his fingers hesitating for a second before curling around the handle. The whip felt heavier than it should have.

John gripped the whip tightly, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t say a word. The sting of failure gnawed at him, the knowledge that once again, someone he could have saved had been lost.

Chapter Text

The silence was palpable as the team trudged back to the Ark. The air hung heavy with the aftermath of the battle, their footsteps barely registering against the vast emptiness of the terrain. Anis, her face marked by fatigue but still determined, carried Mihara’s limp, unconscious form over her shoulder. Mihara’s body swayed slightly with each step, but Anis held her securely, adjusting her grip every so often to ensure her balance.

John led the way, his fist still bloodied, still clenched tight around Yuni’s whip. He hadn’t let it go since the fight, his grip firm as though releasing it would mean acknowledging something he wasn’t ready to face. His knuckles ached with every movement, but his pace didn’t falter. The whip dangled at his side, almost forgotten, but every so often his fingers flexed, and his jaw tightened, a reminder that the pain in his hand was nothing compared to the ache settling in his chest. The guilt sat there like a stone—Yuni's life, another on his conscience, another soul he couldn’t save. The silence between them was thick with the things none of them said.

Rapi’s gaze kept flickering toward him, the tension in her posture betraying her concern. She moved closer to him, her hand hovering near his shoulder, hesitating for a beat before she said, "Commander, your hand." Her voice was steady, but the worry edged through despite her attempt to hide it. She reached out, her fingers just grazing his arm as if to remind him that she was there. "Let me treat it."

John didn’t break stride. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, distant. The whip swayed slightly with his movement, but he barely seemed aware of it. For a long moment, the only answer he gave was the cold wind brushing through the barren land. The blood crusting on his knuckles didn’t matter. The pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the sound of their footsteps dragging through the dirt.

Neon, always the one to break the silence, walked a little faster until she was beside him. She glanced up at him, but even she seemed unsure of what to say. "Master..." Her voice wavered, softer than usual. "When my firepower increases, everything hurts less like I’m healing. Does your magic help you like that?" Her words hung in the air, carrying more than just curiosity.

John’s expression didn’t change at first, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a moment where the tension in his jaw seemed to slacken. "Tried it once," he muttered, the words barely above a growl. "Ruinous Gambit sped everything up. Healed me faster than I thought possible." His voice dropped, darker. "But it didn't lower the cost of healing, just the time it took to heal. The body needs energy. Materials. Burned through it all. Too fast."

Neon’s steps faltered beside him, her eyes darting between his bruised hand and his face. There was a sharpness in the air now, something raw that none of them could touch. She didn’t need to ask what happened next. The silence that followed said enough.

John’s gaze flicked to Anis, who was readjusting Mihara’s weight on her shoulders. Her breathing was steady, but each step felt heavier.

"How’s she holding up?" John asked finally, his voice rougher now, quieter.

Anis didn’t look at him, didn’t stop walking. "She’ll make it," she said, her voice clipped but firm. "Physically, anyway."

-

As the elevator hummed softly beneath them, the group’s heavy silence filled the confined space. The dim light overhead flickered slightly as it passed another floor, the descent into the Ark feeling slower than usual. Rapi stood at the front, her hands behind her back, ever the soldier, her expression unreadable but eyes sharp. Behind her, Anis shifted slightly under the weight of Mihara’s unconscious body.

Neon, usually chatty, remained quiet as she examined John from the corner of her eye, her brow furrowed. His bloodied fist was still wrapped around Yuni’s whip, the red-stained leather creaking under his tight grip. His knuckles, raw and cracked, gave off an eerie silence as he stood, eyes fixed on the floor. The quiet buzz of her communicator snapped her into motion. She answered it swiftly.

“Rapi, it’s Shifty,” Shifty’s voice crackled through the line, the connection unstable as if strained by interference. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a while. Things are getting tense between Burningum, Syuen, and Andersen.”

Rapi’s posture stiffened at the mention of the names. Neon watched as her usually composed squad leader’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around her rifle. Shifty continued, the static making it difficult to catch every word. “...Burningum and Syuen went ahead and authorized that black ops mission... Andersen’s furious. He’s insisting that you meet him first... before you meet Burningum.”

Rapi’s brows tightened. “Understood. However, the Commander is injured. He needs to get to medical first.”

Before she could finish, John’s voice cut through the comm. “No,” he muttered, voice raspy but firm. “We’re heading to Andersen.”

Rapi shot him a sharp glance. “Sir, with all due respect—”

“I said we’re heading to Andersen.” John interrupted, his voice cold and heavy, final. He hadn’t looked up, his focus still locked on the whip in his hand, fingers trembling slightly with the effort to maintain his grip.

Rapi's eyes lingered on him, narrowing ever so slightly. Her jaw tightened, a response barely perceptible, but she nodded. No further argument. “Yes, sir.”

The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors slid open with a low hiss. Light spilled in from the outpost, harsh and sterile, but it wasn’t the brightness that caught their attention. The figures standing just beyond the door commanded the space, an unspoken authority radiating from their stances.

Privaty stood at the forefront, her posture rigid, the long strands of her teal twin-tails swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. Her military uniform was pristine, immaculate, with the gleam of her boots and gloves catching the light. The way she held her rifle—angled casually but with the precision of someone always ready—spoke volumes. Her golden eyes scanned the group quickly, taking in the injuries, the exhaustion, the blood. Her gaze lingered on John’s fist for a fraction of a second longer before moving on, her expression sharp, but unreadable.

Beside her, Yulha leaned against the wall with an almost playful nonchalance, but the ease of her stance didn’t disguise the calculated sharpness in her movements. Her silver hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, and her unbuttoned coat added to the casual air about her. But her crimson eyes gleamed with something more dangerous—an edge. The tapping of her fingers against her weapon, soft and almost rhythmic, contrasted with the intensity of her gaze. “Long day?” she remarked, her voice carrying an air of amusement that cut through the tension like a blade.

Standing slightly apart was Admi, her small frame almost swallowed by the high-powered rifle slung across her back. Her short gray hair framed a youthful face, and her schoolgirl-like uniform contrasted sharply with her military gear.

It was Yulha who finally spoke, her voice carrying the weight of authority. “ Evening newbie. We have orders from Burningum. You’re coming with us. He’s not happy with how this went down.”

“I’m not interested in Burningum right now,” he said, his voice flat but edged with irritation.

Yulha’s brow furrowed, her exhaustion giving way to something sharper, more authoritative. "You don’t have a choice in this. Deputy Chief Burningum wants answers, and we’re here to bring you."

John finally looked up, meeting Yulha’s gaze with a calm intensity that made the air feel thicker. “As I was assigned under deputy chief Andersen, his orders take precedence,” he said, voice firm but controlled, like a dam holding back something far more dangerous. “I’m meeting with him.”

Privaty’s scoff broke the silence, but there was an edge of irritation in her tone. “You’re walking a fine line here. Think you can just blow us off because of who you report to?”

Rapi’s eyes flickered between them, her posture tensing. The weight of John’s defiance hung heavy in the air, but she said nothing. Anis shifted Mihara slightly, her eyes darting to Neon, who stood fidgeting with her weapon, her unease visible in the way her fingers tapped nervously.

For a second, the air crackled with the tension between them. Privaty looked like she was about to explode, her mouth opening to retort, but Yulha raised a hand, stopping her.

“We’ll relay the message,” Yulha said, her voice taut with the barely-contained exhaustion of someone who had dealt with far too many headaches that day. “But don’t think this is over.”

John didn’t even acknowledge her words, his eyes forward, pushing through the outpost as if they weren’t even there. Anis followed, her grip on Mihara’s unconscious body steady. Rapi gave Privaty one final glance before stepping forward as well, while Neon hesitated for a brief moment, glancing at Admi, before quickly catching up.

-

John and Rapi entered Andersen's office, a dimly lit room that felt more like a war room than an administrative space. The low hum of machinery provided a backdrop to the piles of reports scattered on the large desk, each one detailing the most recent events from the Ark’s frontline. Andersen, leaning back in his chair, regarded them with his ever-calm gaze, though the lines of tension in his face suggested he had already been briefed on the chaos that had unfolded.

The door slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, and Andersen wasted no time, motioning for them to sit.

John remained standing.

Rapi, ever the professional, took a step forward. “Commander Andersen, we’ve returned from the surface. There are… complications.”

Andersen raised a brow. “I’m aware. Burningum’s breathing down everyone's neck. But let’s start with the most important question, John. Do you think he’s figured it out?”

John crossed his arms, his fingers still subtly flexing from the dull ache in his broken hand. “About me being a sorcerer?” His voice was low, cautious. “No. He might suspect something’s different about me, but there’s no way he knows the full picture. Not yet.”

Andersen’s brow furrowed, his hand reaching up to rub his chin in thought. “Burningam’s smart—cunning, even—but he's already minimizing his role in this. His political instincts are too sharp for that. If anything, he’s likely already positioning Syuen as the problem. Burningam may be politically astute, but it’s Syuen who we need to watch out for in this case. She’s more reckless, more vocal. She’ll fight back if this goes public, and if this incident makes it to the Central Government’s ears, she’ll make a scene.”

Rapi frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. "And the Central Government will look for someone to blame, won’t they?"

"Exactly," Andersen replied, his tone grim. "But don’t expect anything substantial. The government’s going to give them a fine, a slap on the wrist to keep up appearances.”

Andersen coughed “That brings us to the rapture you were assigned to capture. Chatterbox.”

John's posture tightened. "He's sentient."

The words hung in the air for a moment. Andersen didn’t blink.

Rapi’s eyes shifted toward John. She hadn’t heard him put it so bluntly until now.

“Chatterbox spoke to me during the battle,” John continued. "He used language, taunts. He wasn't just some mindless Rapture following orders. He understood. And…” he paused, the weight of what he was about to reveal causing his voice to grow heavier. “He used sorcery.”

Andersen leaned forward, his steepled fingers pressed to his lips. “A Rapture, using sorcery.” He breathed out slowly. “You’re sure of this?”

John nodded, his jaw tight. “I felt it. He has cursed energy.”

Rapi, silent for the moment, scanned Andersen’s reaction. Though she kept her emotions well-guarded, even she couldn’t hide the slight crease of her brow. The implications were enormous.

Andersen stood, pacing slowly behind his desk, his face unreadable. “This changes everything. If the Raptures have even one that’s developed consciousness and can control sorcery, the threat is far more severe than we anticipated.”

Andersen turned to them, his voice cold with certainty. “This information will not leave this room. I will relay the details to the Central Government in a way that wont implicate you and your team. Syuen and Missilis kept this under wraps for a reason. The real question is how much more they’ve hidden from us.”

John’s eyes darkened, his voice a low growl. “And what will happen to them? Will they be held accountable?”

Andersen met his gaze evenly, though there was a bitterness in his voice as he replied, “Held accountable?” He shook his head. “At best, they’ll receive a minor reprimand. A fine. Nothing significant.”

John’s fists clenched, the dull ache in his broken hand flaring up, but he forced himself to remain calm. "A life was lost because of their greed," he muttered, the anger barely contained.

Rapi looked over at him, concerned, but kept her focus on the conversation at hand. Andersen, too, let the comment pass for the moment, focusing on the bigger issue.

Andersen spoke. “I understand you are concerned Commander, but it's best you dont get involved in the politics of the Ark too much. You need to focus on Chatterbox. It isn’t just another Rapture. We need to know what we're dealing with.”

John stepped forward, his tone cold. “I want another chance to face him.”

Andersen studied him for a long moment before nodding. “You’ll get it. But for now, you need to recover and make sure the team is ready for whatever comes next.”

John and Rapi stood silently, waiting for Andersen to continue. The weight of their last mission hung in the air between them, heavier now with the knowledge of what they had witnessed. Andersen sat in his chair, eyes dark with thought.

“Tell me more about the Pilgrim,” he said finally, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk.

John's brow furrowed. “She showed up in the middle of the fight. Her shots were... precise, methodical. I don’t know how, but she knew exactly where to hit Chatterbox to slow his regeneration.”

Rapi crossed her arms, adding, “She didn’t even flinch. She had a goal and executed it perfectly. But as soon as Chatterbox fled, she told us to go home and took off after him.”

Andersen sat back in his chair, considering their words. “A Pilgrim with that kind of firepower... She could be invaluable. We need to know more about her, and—if possible—work with her.” He leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “John, Rapi, I want you both to track her down. She might be the key to taking down Chatterbox for good.”

John straightened. “We can get back out there immediately.”

But Andersen shook his head. “Not yet. There are things I’m working on—logistics, resources we’ll need to put in place. It’ll take time, probably a month before everything is ready. Until then, you two are on leave. Rest. Regroup. You’ve earned it.”

John tensed at the thought of a month off, but he didn’t argue. Rapi, however, narrowed her eyes. “A month? Chatterbox won’t just sit around.”

Andersen’s gaze softened slightly. “I know. But if we’re going to take him down for good, we need to do this right. And you need to be at full strength.”

John gave a slow nod, though the tension in his shoulders remained. He turned to leave, but Andersen’s voice halted him. “One more thing.”

John turned back.

“As this was a black operation,” Andersen began, his tone measured, “there won’t be any official recognition or payment in the usual channels.”

Rapi’s eyes flicked to John, sensing his reaction, but before she could speak, Andersen added, “But you’ll be compensated. I’ve arranged for something off the record.”

John clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to argue, but after a moment, he gave a short nod. “Understood.”

As they left Andersen’s office, the weight of the conversation still pressing down on them, John’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down, his eyes narrowing slightly at the name on the screen. Takumi.

He stopped, his fingers hovering over the screen, before looking over at Rapi. “I’ll meet you at the outpost later,” he said quietly.

Rapi raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on him for a moment, but she didn’t question him. “Be careful.”

-

John walked into the small, dimly lit café, the aroma of freshly ground coffee and warm pastries immediately hitting him. His appearance—bloodied hand still wrapped in makeshift bandages, clothes singed and dirt-streaked from the recent battle—stood in stark contrast to the quiet, serene atmosphere of the shop. Takumi was already seated at a table near the back, his tall figure relaxed but upright. He was nursing a mocha, eyes closed as if lost in thought. In front of him, an untouched apple pie and an americano sat waiting.

John gave a small smirk at the sight of the pie. Takumi always remembered.

“Hey, old man,” John greeted, sliding into the chair opposite him. He glanced down at the pie, the steam still rising faintly from its golden crust. “You remembered.”

Takumi opened his eyes slowly, offering a slight nod in response, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thought you could use something familiar,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. He gestured toward the americano. “And something strong.”

John gave a nod of appreciation, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He felt the weight of Yuni’s whip tucked into his jacket, and the memory of the battle still clung to him.

Takumi’s eyes flicked briefly over John’s hand, taking in the battered state of his knuckles. He didn’t say anything about it, but there was a slight narrowing of his gaze, as if calculating something.

“I’m fine,” John said, brushing off the unspoken concern.

“Sure you are,” Takumi replied, his tone neutral but carrying a depth of understanding that years of mentorship had cultivated between them. He took a sip of his mocha, allowing a beat of silence to settle between them before speaking again. “We can’t stay here, though.”

John looked around, realizing the truth in Takumi’s words. His current state—disheveled and clearly fresh from a fight—was already beginning to draw a few curious and uneasy glances from the shop’s patrons. The shop owner, a kind old woman behind the counter, eyed him warily.

“Yeah,” John agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly a crowd-pleaser today.”

Takumi chuckled softly, the sound almost inaudible. “Let’s take this to go,” he said, standing up with fluid ease. He slid the pie across the table toward John. “You’ll need this. Trust me.”

John gave a brief nod, pocketing the whip a little more securely before grabbing the apple pie. He wasn’t in the mood to argue, and truth be told, the familiar comfort of the dessert was welcome after everything that had happened.

They stepped out of the café, the cold evening air hitting them as they walked side by side down the quiet street.

As they strolled down the quiet street, the dim streetlights casting long shadows around them, Takumi broke the silence. His voice was calm but edged with curiosity. "Why did you contact me, Anāman?" He paused, realizing his mistake, and corrected himself, "John. Why break the binding vow we set up?"

John’s grip tightened slightly on the apple pie he still held, but he didn’t break stride. For a moment, he contemplated how to answer, his mind flickering back to the lab, to the horrors he’d seen there, and to Chatterbox. Finally, he spoke, his tone low, measured. “I found something. A lab.” His eyes darkened, recalling the vivid memories. “It looked like some kind of experiment... on Nikkes. Sorcery and brain matter growing like mold. Not only that, I also encountered a Rapture that could use cursed techniques.”

Takumi’s expression remained stoic, but John could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. His mentor’s calm exterior was one thing, but John knew him well enough to recognize when Takumi was turning the gears in his mind, analyzing every word.

John continued. “The lab had barrier techniques... old ones. Archaic, really. Strong as hell though. Few people could’ve broken through. I managed it, but I don’t know who built it or why. Thought you might have an idea... maybe someone from the society?”

Takumi stayed silent for a moment, his hands slipping into his pockets as they continued to walk. The soft crunch of their footsteps on the pavement was the only sound for a while.

“I can look into it,” Takumi finally said, his voice contemplative. “But it’ll take time. I’ve been assigned a mission. There’s something in the outer rim—a curse they’ve sent me to track. Could be related, could be something else entirely.”

John stopped walking, turning to face Takumi. “I’ll handle it.”

Takumi raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ll take care of your mission in the outer rim. It’ll give you time to gather intel. You’re better at the research stuff anyway,” John said with a small grin, though the weight of the offer was clear in his eyes.

Takumi gave a slow nod, understanding the implication. It wasn’t just about convenience—it was about trust. John would handle the danger, so Takumi could find the truth. "Fine. But be careful," Takumi added, his tone serious.

John chuckled softly, though his voice carried a note of exhaustion. "Aren’t I always?"

-

Back at the outpost, Anis and Neon were finally getting a chance to unwind after dropping Mihara off at the repair center. The two lounged in the common room, the tension from the mission starting to fade, though traces of it lingered.

Anis flopped onto the worn couch, the cushions sagging under her weight as she rubbed her tired eyes. The hum of the outpost’s ventilation droned softly in the background. “I can’t believe it’s finally over. We almost got turned into scrap out there.”

Neon, standing in front of the fridge, glanced over her shoulder with a grin. “Well, we didn’t. Thanks to my firepower.” She lifted her shotgun in a mock salute before tossing it onto the counter.

Anis smirked. “Your firepower, huh? Maybe your firepower should have recharged itself instead of guzzling all our soda.” She gestured at the empty cans scattered across the table. “Speaking of which…”

Neon’s eyes lit up as she opened the fridge. "Oh yeah, speaking of which—there’s one left!"

Anis perked up immediately, her gaze locking onto the last can tucked in the fridge’s corner. “Whoa, hold up. I called dibs on that earlier.”

Neon clutched the soda to her chest like a precious artifact. “I need this to recharge my firepower! You saw me out there, right? All that blasting takes energy!”

Anis leaned back with a grin, crossing her arms. “Please, I saw you panic-fire into the ceiling. I’m the one who needs a drink. Keeping my cool under pressure? That’s exhausting.”

Neon gasped dramatically. “Miss half my shots?! You take that back! I was making precision strikes!”

Anis raised an eyebrow. “Precision? You almost blew a hole in Rapi’s back.”

“That was tactical!” Neon’s mock indignation only deepened. “You wouldn’t understand the nuances of firepower.”

“Oh, I understand firepower just fine,” Anis replied, eyes gleaming. “But you don’t need a soda for it. I need it to recover from saving everyone’s ass.”

Neon huffed, lifting the can. “Listen, I’m a finely-tuned firepower machine.” She shook the can. “And this is my fuel.”

Anis burst into laughter, shaking her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The tension from the mission eased as their playful banter went on. Neon stared at the soda, torn between defending it and giving in to Anis’s stubborn grin. Before she could react, Anis reached over and snatched it from her hand.

“Alright, fine,” Anis said, cracking open the can and taking a long sip. “But next time, you’re getting the snacks.”

Neon pouted for a second, then shrugged and grabbed a snack from the counter. “Deal.”

She flopped onto the couch beside Anis, wrinkling her nose. “Ugh, we stink. I feel like we’ve been marinating in battle sweat for hours. We need a shower. Now.”

Anis didn’t even glance up, still sipping the soda. “Yeah, good luck with that. Hot water’s still out, and unless you want to risk frostbite, John has the key to the commander’s shower.”

Neon groaned, running a hand through her hair. “We need a shower—like, immediately. I’m pretty sure I could fuel a rapture with this stench.”

Anis, lounging next to her with a satisfied grin, tilted her head. “Or, hear me out… we just turn off our olfactory sensors. Problem solved.”

Neon shook her head. “No way. In my heart, I’m still human, and turning off my olfactory sensors makes me feel... less human. It’s like erasing part of who I am.”

Anis chuckled. “Oh, you poor thing. I have no problem flipping the switch and letting the stink disappear into the void.”

Before Neon could reply, Rapi entered the room, looking tired and wary after a meeting with Andersen and a stop at the repair center. She paused at the doorway, wrinkling her nose. “You both smell awful.”

“Well, unless you want us to take an ice bath, we’re stuck until the water’s fixed or John lets us use his shower again.” Anis shrugged.

“About that,” Rapi said, hesitating. “Despite my objections... John gave me the key to his room. He said you can use his shower. Hot water included.”

Neon’s face lit up instantly. “Yes! I knew the commander would come through!”

Anis chuckled, tossing the empty soda can into the trash. “Well, look at that. Guess it’s time to raid the commander’s shower.”

Rapi sighed, clearly conflicted, but gave them a resigned nod. “Just... keep it clean, alright?”

Anis grinned. “No promises. Time to clean up, Neon. Let’s go before Rapi changes her mind.”

As they headed off, Rapi stayed behind, shaking her head. “I’ll never understand them,” she muttered, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she followed.

-

The air was filled with the smell of fresh soap and steam as Anis and Neon finished drying themselves after their much-needed showers. The warm heat lingered on their skin, a luxury they rarely got to indulge in. Neon stretched, her muscles relaxing as she wrapped the towel around her body, grinning over at Anis.

“See? Told you this was a great idea,” Neon said smugly, her damp hair clinging to her forehead.

Anis shook her head, chuckling softly as she rubbed the towel through her hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you that. But we’ll see if we get away with it.” She flicked the towel at Neon playfully, the moment feeling light after so much time in the trenches.

Neon dodged the towel flick and let out a sigh of relief. “Honestly, I don’t even care. We deserved this.” She grabbed a bottle of lotion from the nearby table, rubbing it on her arms as she relished the quiet moment.

“Plus,” Neon added, a cheeky grin spreading across her face, “it’s not like anyone's gonna come in and—"

The door creaked open mid-sentence, and both girls froze in their tracks, towels half-wrapped around them. Standing there was John, casually holding what looked to be a young girl by her left foot. The scene was bizarre enough on its own, but the robotic dog that was hopping around John’s feet made it even more surreal.

“Are... kids allowed on base?” John asked flatly, staring down at the small figure he was carrying like she weighed nothing. His face showed a mixture of exhaustion and confusion, as if he couldn’t decide if this situation was happening or if it was a strange post-battle dream.

The girl, dangling upside down in John’s grasp, crossed her arms defiantly, clearly not thrilled by the situation. “Kid?” she echoed with an indignant huff. “I’m older than all of you greenhorns combined!”

John raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah, right.”

The small robotic dog, meanwhile, seemed to have no such concerns as it continued yapping and bouncing around, tail wagging furiously as it tried to get John’s attention. It jumped up, paws batting at John’s legs in excitement.

Rapi stepped into the room, her usual calm demeanor unchanged by the scene in front of her. Her sharp eyes quickly assessed the situation, and after a moment, she nodded toward the girl. “She’s telling the truth Commander. Your holding up Liter, leader of mighty tools squad”

John’s grip loosened almost instinctively, caught off guard by Rapi’s confirmation. He let go of the girl’s foot without another word, watching in mild disbelief as she tumbled to the ground.

John let go of Liter’s foot without much grace, and she fell straight onto her head with a dull thud. “Ow!” she grunted, rubbing the back of her skull as her dog, Bolt, continued to circle around, yapping as if cheering her on.

John looked down at her, unimpressed. “So, care to explain what you’re doing here? And why you didn’t bother to inform me, the commander of this outpost, before showing up?”

Liter stood up, still rubbing her head, her expression shifting from annoyance to a smirk. “I did tell you, Commander,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I sent you a message on Blabla hours ago.”

John blinked, clearly confused. “Blabla?” he repeated, digging through his memory. He recalled a message he'd seen earlier, something filled with what he thought was pure gibberish. A strange mix of symbols, letters, and random characters he had quickly dismissed. His eyes widened in realization.

“That... that was you?”

“Yeah,” Liter shrugged, adjusting her hard hat. “What, you think I got time to fiddle with all your fancy newfangled tech? That stuff is a nightmare.” She crossed her arms, puffing out her chest proudly. “Anyway, Andersen asked me to start prepping plans to expand the facilities here now that the outpost has an official commander. He wants this place to be able to handle more teams and increase its capabilities.”

John groaned, rubbing his forehead. “So that gibberish message was your heads-up...”

“Exactly,” she nodded, completely oblivious to how absurd her explanation sounded. Bolt barked in agreement, wagging its mechanical tail.

John sighed, looking around at the girls, who were barely stifling their laughter. “Of course... well, next time, maybe try sending it in plain text.”

Chapter Text

John sighed inwardly, thinking to himself that maybe, just maybe, he’d made a small mistake. Still, he shrugged it off with a casual “Oh well,” his mind not lingering too long on what exactly he'd done wrong. He took another slow sip of his coffee, enjoying the warmth that cut through the slight chill of the outpost's morning air.

His right hand was bandaged from the recent battle, a reminder of how reckless things had gotten. But today was different—calm. He scanned the outline of the mission that had originally been given to Takumi, leaning back on the bench. His eyes skimmed the report, detailing the region in the outer rim where he had once faked his own death. It described an area where a curse was blamed for a rising number of disappearances, though John had already exorcised that curse. Strangely, the disappearances hadn’t stopped. In fact, they’d increased.

"Something's off..." he muttered to himself, flicking through the pages. According to the report, local informants had not found any evidence of a non-curse related reason for the disappearances. No organized crime, no strange environmental factors, no mass evacuations—just vanishing people.

John smirked wryly. "So, I’ve got to head back to the place where I ‘died’," he mused, his thoughts turning to the challenges ahead. One thing was clear—he couldn’t just waltz back into the outer rim with his current face. He’d need a reason to leave the outpost, and, more importantly, a solid disguise.

As if on cue, he spotted Anis strolling by, her relaxed expression contrasting with her usual combat intensity. “Perfect,” he thought, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“Hey, Anis!” John called out, raising his uninjured hand in greeting. “I need your help.”

Anis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What kind of help are we talking about, Commander?”

“I need to go shopping,” John began, tapping the side of his coffee cup. “And I have no idea what I’m doing. Clothes shopping, to be exact. Thought you could lend me a hand... and maybe I'll buy you a gift for your trouble?”
At the mention of shopping—and the promise of a gift—Anis’ eyes lit up. She practically bounced in place. “Shopping? With you? Well, I was planning to laze off all day, but I won’t say no to a new outfit. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” John replied, a mischievous tone sneaking into his voice. “Just need your help picking something out. And you get a reward for your trouble. Sound fair?”

Anis grinned back, excitement bubbling up. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Where are we headed?”

John patted the spot on the bench beside him. “Sit down for a second, we’ll talk details.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. With a little bounce in her step, she plopped down beside him, already daydreaming about what gift she’d make him buy. But just as she settled, John’s grin widened, and he stopped mid-sentence, feigning a sudden realization.

“What?” Anis asked, confused by his expression. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

John tried to hold back a laugh. “I may have... forgotten to mention something.”

Anis furrowed her brow. “John. What did you do?”

“You see,” he began, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup, “this bench... was freshly painted not too long ago.”

The color drained from Anis’ face as she shot up, her eyes widening as she looked down at the now-streaked paint on her pants. “You—! I can’t believe you!” She growled, trying and failing to wipe the wet paint off her clothes.

John couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. “Hey, I got stuck on it first.”

Anis glared at him, but the excitement in her eyes hadn’t faded. “You’re gonna pay for this,” she threatened playfully, shaking her head. “And I’m not letting you get out of buying me that gift now!”

John chuckled. “Deal. But seriously, I need your help with something more than just picking out clothes.”

Anis raised an eyebrow, her annoyance quickly dissipating. “Go on.”

“I’m heading out on a mission soon, but I can’t go looking like myself. I need a solid disguise, and you’re the only one I trust to make sure I don’t end up looking ridiculous. Think you can help?”

Anis folded her arms, clearly intrigued. “Disguise, huh? Oh, I can help alright. But you better not try pulling another prank, or I might make you look like a clown on purpose.”

John flashed a grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

It wasn’t long before they spotted Neon walking in the distance. A silent understanding passed between John and Anis as they exchanged knowing looks, a mischievous gleam flashing in their eyes. Without a word, they both called out in unison, "Neon! Come over here!"

-

John leaned back in his chair, absently tapping the edge of a file against the desk, his eyes skimming over yet another report. Stacks of paperwork covered the surface, the once organized chaos now threatening to spill over the edge. He let out a sigh, his gaze flicking towards the window, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. It was the sort of monotonous, never-ending admin work that came with command, but today felt especially slow.

Across the desk, Rapi sat as rigid as ever, her fingers methodically flipping through the papers in front of her. She made quick work of her assigned tasks, but a furrow in her brow hinted at something on her mind. Her usual stoicism had an edge today.

“You know,” she said after a pause, still focused on the stack in front of her, “I saw Anis and Neon doing the laundry earlier.”

John raised an eyebrow, glancing over the papers in his hands but clearly more interested in what she was about to say.

Rapi continued, her voice as even as ever. “They weren’t asked, and I didn’t even have to remind them. I thought, maybe…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, as if she was considering her words carefully. “Maybe they were maturing. Taking responsibility.”

John kept his face neutral, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he waited for her to finish.

Rapi looked up from the papers and met his gaze. “Then it hit me. They weren’t doing it out of responsibility. They were just trying to clean up the paint you got on their clothes.”

John grinned, finally unable to hold back his amusement. “You’re not wrong,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “But hey, at least they’re cleaning up after themselves now.”

Rapi sighed, shaking her head slightly, though there was a faint trace of something like affection beneath her exasperation. “I suppose that’s progress in its own way.”

“They’re not the best at laundry, though, are they?” John mused, recalling the chaos that usually followed when the two were left to their own devices for tasks like that.

Rapi nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “No. They’re not. I’m half expecting them to ruin their clothes by the end of the day.”

John chuckled. “If they manage to shrink your skirt any shorter in the wash, I might have to give them a medal.”

Rapi’s composure faltered for just a moment. A light blush crept up her neck, but she quickly looked back down at her paperwork, not dignifying his joke with a response.

John grinned, satisfied with her reaction but decided to let it slide without pushing further.

A comfortable silence settled between them, both focusing on their respective work until John cleared his throat.

“By the way,” he said, his tone casual but with a hint of purpose, “I’ve taken on a new mission.”

Rapi looked up, her brow furrowing slightly. “Another mission? I thought we were on leave.”

John leaned back in his chair, spinning a file in his hands. “Technically, we are. Combat missions, at least. But this one’s covert—just a simple surveillance job. Outer Rim territory.”

Rapi’s expression darkened, and she put her papers down completely. “What kind of surveillance job?”

John raised an eyebrow at her tone. “Nothing too dangerous. We’re just keeping an eye on a suspected brothel. The catch is, they’re allegedly using illegally obtained Nikkes.”

Rapi’s frown deepened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “And who’s going with you?”

“Exotic Squad.” John’s grin widened at the immediate tension that followed his words. “You know—Crow, Jackal, and Viper.”

Rapi’s lips thinned as she processed this. “Exotic Squad. Criminals and former terrorists.”

John shrugged, unfazed. “They’ve been reformed and the central government seems to trust them. Besides, it’s not a combat mission, just surveillance.”

Rapi didn’t seem convinced. “I’ve read their files. Reformed or not, they’re volatile.”

John waved her concern away with a flick of his hand. “I’m sure they’ll behave. Besides, I’ll be relying on you to hold things down here while I’m gone.”

Rapi’s frown softened into a look of concern. “How did you even get accepted for this mission?”

John chuckled softly, leaning back with a shrug. “Lack of applicants, really. Apparently, no one else wanted to deal with a covert mission out in the Outer Rim. And since we’re on leave from combat but not non-combat missions, I figured—why not?”

Rapi studied him for a long moment, clearly torn between her instincts as a leader and her loyalty to him as her commander. Finally, she sighed, the tension easing from her shoulders slightly. “Just… be careful.”

John leaned back, casually folding his arms behind his head, clearly satisfied with the upcoming mission, but his attention soon shifted to a more immediate, lighter matter. “By the way,” he began, glancing over at Rapi with a mischievous grin, “I’m taking Anis clothes shopping later today. She’s gonna help me pick out something new for myself, and I’m getting her something nice too. Y’know, as a ‘thanks’ for coming along and... for ruining her clothes.”

Rapi raised an eyebrow, but John wasn’t done. “Oh, and Neon found out I’m getting Anis a gift, so now I have to buy her something too. I’ve got my eye on a limited-edition firearms magazine for her.”

The mention of Neon brought a small smile to Rapi’s face. “That sounds like something Neon would appreciate.”

John nodded, before tilting his head slightly in her direction. “So, what about you, Rapi? Anything you want while we’re out? Maybe a nice snack or some luxury pajamas?”

Rapi’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief pause before she responded in her usual calm tone. “I have no need for anything, Commander. Nikkes like me don’t require such things.”

John waved her response off, leaning forward in mock seriousness. “C’mon, Rapi, don’t be a spoilsport. A tasty snack, something cozy to wear... Everyone needs a little treat sometimes.”

Her gaze remained steady, her eyes reflecting a touch of bemusement. “As a Nikke, I don’t experience hunger or discomfort in the same way humans do. I do not need any luxuries.”

John grinned, undeterred. “Well, that’s not gonna stop me from picking something out for you. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

Rapi blinked, her calm composure slipping just enough to reveal a trace of exasperation. “Commander—”

But John cut her off with a teasing smile. “Nope, I’ve already made up my mind. You’ll get something whether you like it or not. Consider it an order.”

Despite herself, Rapi allowed the smallest of sighs, knowing there was no winning this. “If that is your decision...”

John chuckled, pleased with his victory, though he could see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s something practical. Maybe... combat-themed pajamas?”

Rapi glanced away, visibly resigned to whatever fate awaited her at the hands of her teasing commander.

-

John and Anis walked through the bustling heart of downtown Ark, a place that hummed with life despite being buried deep beneath the surface. The energy here was undeniable—conversations overlapped, the sound of footsteps blended into the ever-present hum of the city, and the artificial sky above bathed everything in the warm glow of a simulated afternoon. The Dome of Eternity, which projected a perfect, tranquil sky, felt like a thin veil over the chaos and artificiality of the Ark, and yet it somehow offered a semblance of peace in the concrete world.

As they strolled down the main street, John couldn't help but notice the way Anis moved with a certain bounce, her footsteps light and her eyes flitting from one shopfront to the next. She was like a whirlwind of energy, constantly moving, constantly searching for something new to latch onto. The vibe of the street matched her pace—a perfect harmony of organized chaos. Vendors called out, offering their goods, people bustled in and out of shops, and the occasional laugh or shout echoed down the corridor of buildings that stretched before them.

"Downtown's the busiest part of the Ark," Anis said, turning to glance at John with a grin. "You can find just about anything here. It’s... wild, y’know?"

John gave her a smirk. "Yeah, I can see that. You sure you can keep up?"

Anis laughed, a light, carefree sound that cut through the noise of the street. "Keep up? Please. This is my playground, Commander. I’ve been through here a hundred times." She gestured around with a flourish, spinning on her heel. "There's always something going on—always someone to see, something to do. Just don’t get too attached. The Ark can turn on you if you’re not careful."

They turned down a side street, the shops becoming slightly more upscale, the crowds thinning just a bit as the ambiance shifted. The boutique Anis dragged him into was sleek and modern, with glass displays and racks of clothes that stretched from one end of the room to the other. Everything gleamed under the bright lights—each piece of clothing carefully curated and arranged.

Anis wasted no time diving into the racks, flipping through jackets, tops, and various accessories. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, a far cry from the cynical quips she’d made earlier. She seemed at home here, in the midst of all this chaos and materialism. She paused, pulling a bright, bold jacket from one of the racks and holding it up against her body, her grin growing wider.

“What do you think?” she asked, spinning around to show it off. “Fierce enough for the next mission?”

John raised an eyebrow, leaning against one of the nearby displays. "Fierce? Yeah, that's one word for it. You sure you won’t blind the enemy with that thing?"

Anis gave an exaggerated gasp, clutching the jacket to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Blind them? Commander, this is fashion!” she declared with mock offense, spinning around dramatically to examine herself in the full-length mirror. The jacket's bright colors seemed to shimmer under the boutique's lights, accentuating her mischievous grin. “Besides,” she added, adjusting the collar with a wink at her reflection, “I look amazing in anything, don’t I?”

John couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. There was something infectious about the way she so easily shifted the mood, making even the mundane feel like a performance. “If you say so,” he replied, shaking his head with amusement.

They moved deeper into the store, weaving through the racks as Anis continued her playful spree. She flitted from one display to the next, holding up outfits that ranged from the downright eccentric to surprisingly chic. “Oh, this one’s perfect for blending in at a covert mission,” she quipped, holding up a leopard-print scarf. “Nothing says ‘stealth’ like animal print.”

John snorted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, if your mission is to make everyone in a five-mile radius notice you.”

Anis ignored him, tossing the scarf over her shoulder dramatically and pretending to strike a spy pose. “Maybe that’s the secret,” she teased. “They’ll be so busy staring, they won’t even realize I’m about to take them down.”

John found himself grinning despite the absurdity. It was moments like these—rare, lighthearted, and almost normal—that made him momentarily forget the weight of his responsibilities. Here they were, in the middle of an underground city, a battlefield just outside the walls, and they were debating the merits of fashion like it was the most important thing in the world. It felt surreal, in the best way.

But as John scanned the room, that sense of ease began to unravel. At first, it was nothing—just a couple of sideways glances from other shoppers. But then he noticed the whispers, the furtive looks cast in their direction. People weren’t just noticing them—they were avoiding them. More specifically, they were avoiding Anis.

His smile faded as his attention zeroed in on the way people subtly shifted away from her, giving her a wider berth than they gave anyone else in the store. Some of the patrons whispered behind raised hands, others just turned their backs, as though ignoring her would make her disappear.

Anis, ever the performer, kept her smile plastered on her face, but John could see the strain in her posture. Her carefree attitude was still there, but it was forced now, like a mask she had learned to wear. She still held up outfits and made jokes, but her movements had lost some of their earlier enthusiasm. Her shoulders, usually relaxed, were stiff, and the bright light in her eyes seemed to dim just a little. She noticed the stares, just as much as he did, but she was pretending otherwise.

John’s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath his skin as he took in the full picture. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen it—the way people reacted to Nikkes, to those who were more than human, but less than accepted. It was a subtle kind of discrimination, quiet but insidious, and it made his blood boil. He could feel his fists curling at his sides, his body tensing with the need to do something, to say something.

But he held back.

They approached the counter with a handful of clothes—mostly Anis’ picks, though John had thrown in a plain jacket, just in case. He handed over his credits, trying to focus on the transaction instead of the growing frustration that gnawed at him. Just as the cashier was about to take the payment, a man walked past them, his voice cutting through the store’s pleasant ambiance like a knife.

The man’s sneer didn’t go unnoticed. His muttered words were just loud enough to slice through the air between them like a rusty blade.

“I don’t know why they let those walking weapons in here.”

John’s reaction was immediate. The tension that had been simmering beneath his skin finally boiled over. His eyes blazed, his temper igniting like a match to gasoline. He turned sharply, his voice slicing through the noise of the store, cold and sharp as a knife. “You got something to say? Say it to me.”

The man hesitated, clearly startled by the direct confrontation, but arrogance quickly replaced his surprise. His lip curled, disdain dripping from every syllable as his gaze flicked dismissively over Anis. “Nikkes shouldn't be here,” he spat, as if the word was filth on his tongue. “They should be fighting, not playing dress-up and pretending to be human.”

John’s patience shattered, the thin thread that had been holding him back finally snapping. “You think you can talk to her like that, huh?” His voice was low. “You think you can just mouth off without consequences?”

He took a step forward, fists clenched, the knuckles white and shaking with barely restrained fury. “I’ll rip your fucking jaw off if you ever talk like that again. She’s doing a better job at being human than you ever will.”

The man paled, clearly not expecting such a volatile reaction. He shifted nervously, his bravado faltering as the weight of John’s threat settled over him like a suffocating blanket. Eyes from all around the store were on them now, the once casual hum of conversation replaced by an eerie, watching silence.

John’s fists flexed at his sides, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, ready to launch if the guy so much as breathed wrong. The tension in the room was thick, crackling like static electricity about to arc. It would take one word, one wrong move, and John would snap.

Before things could spiral further, the store manager rushed over, his face a mask of barely contained panic as he wedged himself between John and the now visibly shaken customer. “Gentlemen, please. Let’s not make a scene here.” His voice was a strained attempt at diplomacy. “I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.”

John’s fists remained clenched, every fiber of him still on edge, but before he could respond, he felt Anis’ hand on his arm. Her grip was firm, not forceful, but enough to remind him to step back. Her voice, usually so light and teasing, was quiet now, the edges softened by something he couldn’t quite read. “Come on, Commander. He’s not worth it.”

For a moment, John didn’t move. His body was still coiled tight, the adrenaline surging through his veins like a storm. But Anis’ gentle tug brought him back from the edge. With one last cold glare at the man, John allowed himself to be led out of the store, his fists still trembling with the effort it took to restrain himself from turning back.

The store manager, visibly relieved, gave them a small nod as they exited, but the tension in the air remained thick and oppressive. John’s anger lingered, simmering beneath the surface, threatening to bubble over again if given the chance.

Once they were out on the busy streets of downtown Ark, the noise and energy of the city came crashing back in—a stark contrast to the suffocating tension inside the store. John walked in silence, his fists flexing at his sides, his breath still coming in sharp bursts as he tried to calm the storm of rage swirling inside him.

Anis walked beside him, her usual carefree demeanor gone. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the encounter hung between them, heavy and unspoken.

Finally, Anis broke the silence, her voice quieter than before. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

The words had stung, but what really twisted in Anis’ mind was why John had reacted the way he had. She had heard insults like that before—countless times, in fact. But John... his anger had flared so quickly, so fiercely, like a fuse already primed to explode. As they walked down the busy street, the weight of what had just happened still clung to the air between them, and she couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

He walked beside her in silence, his fists flexing and releasing, knuckles still pale from how tightly he’d clenched them. The tension was still there, rolling off him like heat.

Finally, Anis couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Why did you get so angry back there?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual, a rare moment of seriousness creeping into her tone.

John sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, as if trying to shake off the last remnants of his anger. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough, like it was taking more effort than he expected to admit it. “I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that. It’s just... the last couple of missions. Everything’s been a mess, and I guess it all caught up to me. I didn’t mean to get us kicked out.”

Anis stopped, looking up at him, her usual playful smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “You didn’t need to apologize, Commander. I’ve... been treated like that before. Plenty of times, actually.”

John winced at that, turning to face her. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anis agreed, her voice light, though there was something heavier hidden beneath. “But I’m used to it.”

She said it like it was just another fact of life, another rule she had long since accepted, but it didn’t sit well with John. It never had. He didn’t know what was worse—the fact that she was used to it, or that she felt the need to act like it didn’t bother her. Maybe it was both. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders still tense despite his best efforts to relax.

“Still,” John muttered, “I should’ve handled it better. I don’t want you thinking I’m just some hothead who’s going to make things worse for you.”

Anis’ lips curled into a small smile, the humor creeping back in, though it was tinged with something gentler. “I mean, you are a bit of a hothead, Commander, but you’ve got a good heart. That counts for something.”

John huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced down the street. “Thanks, I guess.”

Anis playfully nudged him with her elbow. “Now come on, you still owe me a new jacket. And maybe something sparkly to make up for getting us booted out of that store.”

John chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders as they started walking again. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yep,” she grinned. “And you love it.”

Spotting a small kiosk selling drinks just down the street, John turned to Anis "I’ll be back in a sec.”

The street outside the kiosk was buzzing, alive with the noise of people moving along in every direction. The hum of conversation, the click of footsteps on pavement, and the occasional honk from passing cars filled the air. It was loud, but not enough to drown out the storm of thoughts in his head.

As he stood in line, the echoes of the earlier confrontation replayed in his mind. His fists clenched unconsciously at his sides, the tension still coiling inside him.

Why had he gotten so angry? Many people had said worse things about Nikkes, hell, he'd heard worse about himself. And yet, when those words came out, it felt like a fuse had been lit. He could still hear them, faint but piercing: "Walking weapons… pretending to be human."

His jaw clenched, the line moving forward. His body was still buzzing, almost twitching with the urge to fight back. Something about the way the guy had said it—something about the whole situation—just got under his skin.

He wasn’t just defending Anis. That was part of it, yeah, but it felt… personal. Like the insult had been aimed at him, too, even though it wasn’t.

John drummed his fingers against his leg, feeling the tension travel from his fist to his hand. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in worse situations, seen worse crap. And yet… Why was this eating him up? He felt the familiar pull, that same dissonance gnawing at him—the craving for a fight against the need to protect. It was always there, lurking at the back of his mind.

He hated it.

But maybe part of him liked it too.

"Next!" The cashier’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He ordered quickly, trying to shake off the cloud of emotions still hanging over him. As he waited for his drink, the memories drifted back—moments from his past, scars still not fully healed. Fights where he’d gone too far. Times when he hadn’t gone far enough. And then there were the ghosts. The ones he couldn’t protect.

When his drink was finally ready, he grabbed it without much thought, still lost in the swirl of questions in his head. Why had it felt so good to snap back at the guy? And why did it make him feel like he was losing himself, bit by bit, in the process?

Hopefully it was just stress. Hopefully…

-

Back at the outpost, the team gathered in the dimly lit common area, the soft hum of the Ark’s systems creating a quiet, almost soothing atmosphere. The metallic walls gleamed dully under the low lights, casting long shadows that blended with the gentle clinking of equipment in the distance. It was the kind of calm they rarely got, a moment where the world outside their missions seemed far away, though never completely gone.

Anis, with her usual flair, dropped into one of the worn-out chairs, her new jacket casually draped over the back like a trophy. She spun the chair slightly, propping her boots up on the nearby table. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at John. "Alright, Commander," she teased, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. "I’ll admit, this jacket is a solid pick. Almost makes up for you trashing my old one with that paint prank."

John, leaning casually against the doorframe, crossed his arms with a lazy grin. “I had to make it up somehow, didn’t I? Besides, I figure you needed something new after the laundry fiasco.” His tone was light, but the smirk on his face betrayed just how much he enjoyed getting a rise out of her.

Anis flicked her hair back, laughing as she gave him a mock dismissive wave. “Sure, sure, Commander. You keep telling yourself that,” she said, though it was clear by the way she eyed the jacket again that she was pleased.

Across the room, Neon was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her attention fully absorbed by the limited edition gun magazine John had picked out for her, along with the new formula propellant from Elysion. The magazine’s pages were already dog-eared as she flipped through them, and the propellant sat in front of her like a precious relic.

“Commander!” Neon’s voice was a mix of awe and excitement. “This is amazing! You have no idea how rare this stuff is! And the magazine? I didn’t even think I’d ever get my hands on it!” Her wide eyes sparkled with joy, a stark contrast to her usual focus on firepower.

John couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m glad you like it, Neon. Figured you could use something fun.”

Neon nodded eagerly, her focus already shifting back to her new gear, muttering to herself about modifications she could make. Her enthusiasm, as usual, was contagious.

Finally, John’s gaze landed on Rapi. She sat quietly, her usual composed demeanor never wavering, but the small box on her lap drew her attention. She hadn’t opened it yet, and John could sense her hesitation, her usual professionalism just barely masking a quieter emotion underneath.

“Go on,” John said softly, nodding toward the box. "It’s not gonna bite."

Rapi blinked, then slowly opened the lid. Inside were the pink dolphin-themed pajamas. For a moment, her stoic expression faltered, replaced with a flicker of surprise. She carefully ran her fingers over the soft fabric, her eyebrows lifting slightly in disbelief. “This one was tough,” John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anis and I couldn’t figure out what to get you at first. But then Anis remembered...”

Anis jumped in, grinning. “You let it slip once that you liked pink dolphins. Don’t think I forgot!

Rapi struggled with how to react, looking over the clothes given to her. “Thank you, Commander. It’s... thoughtful,”

She cleared her throat, quickly regaining her usual composure and speaking in an unconvincing tone. “I’ll be sure to wear them,” she said, a little stiffly, “off-duty, of course.”

Anis snickered, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, I’m making sure you do.”

The small group shared a light laugh, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating in the warmth of the moment. Even Rapi allowed herself the smallest of smiles, though she quickly covered it by reaching for her tea.

John, sitting back in one of the chairs, took a sip of his drink, his mind momentarily clear. The soft hum of the Ark filled the silence, but it was a welcome sound. It wasn’t often they got a chance to unwind like this, to just be people again, even for a little while. But moments like these were important, the kind that kept them going when the missions grew darker, harder. And as they sat there, laughing and joking, the future ahead of them didn’t seem quite as heavy.

Chapter Text

The members of Exotic Squad lounged near the entrance to the outer rim, impatience and annoyance etched on their faces. The grimy, half-ruined walls of the area did nothing to alleviate their boredom as they waited, and the faint buzz of machinery in the distance was the only sound around them. Crow, the squad’s leader, sat perched on a rusted metal beam, her dark eyes narrowing with every tick of the clock.

She drummed her fingers on her knee, the rhythm uneven as her irritation grew. Her black and red jacket hung loosely off her shoulders, exposing the tattoos on her chest and arms, each marking a part of her grim past. The bomb collar around her neck glinted faintly, a constant reminder of the leash that kept her in check. “Late,” she muttered under her breath, glancing at the time again. “Why the hell did we agree to this?”

Not far from her, Jackal was sprawled out on the cracked pavement, legs kicked up as she tossed a pebble in the air. Her pink shorts and loud jacket stood out against the dirt and grime of the outer rim. She had the energy of a hyperactive child who’d been cooped up for too long, her body constantly fidgeting as she played with anything she could get her hands on. The bomb collar that rested around her neck didn’t seem to faze her at all.

“Captain, captain, captain!” Jackal sing-songed, tossing the pebble higher. “When’s this guy getting here? I’m bored. Do you think he’s lost? Can I blow something up while we wait? Pleeeeease?”

Crow shot her a sharp glare. “No. And if you blow something up, I’ll make sure Syuen detonates that collar around your neck personally.”

“Aww, you’re no fun!” Jackal giggled, not the least bit deterred. She flipped herself upright, bouncing to her feet and grinning wide. “But seriously, Cap, this waiting is killing me! Can’t I just fire a rocket when he shows up?”

“No,” Crow repeated, her voice hard. “Just keep it together for five more minutes. If he doesn’t show up by then, maybe I’ll let you blow up the next thing that moves.”

Jackal clapped her hands together, hopping in place like an overexcited puppy. “Yes! You’re the best, Captain!”

Viper, leaning against a nearby pillar with her arms crossed, rolled her eyes. Unlike Jackal’s chaotic energy, Viper exuded cool, calculated calm. Her holographic skirt shimmered in the dim light, and her ever-present smile was as sly as it was dangerous. She toyed with the edge of her bomb collar absentmindedly, her eyes drifting between Crow and Jackal.

“Honestly, Crow, I’m surprised you’re even still waiting,” Viper drawled, her voice like silk, smooth but with an edge. “Figured you’d have ditched this Ark commander already. I thought you hated these types.”

“I do,” Crow said, her voice clipped. “But we need to play nice for now. Missilis and the Central government is watching. We can’t afford to screw this up.”

Viper sighed, tilting her head lazily. “Whatever you say. Still, I can’t wait to see what he’s like. Think he’ll try to boss us around? I’d love to see how long he lasts.”

“I’ll gut him if he does,” Crow replied without hesitation, her eyes narrowing. "But we’ll see."

Jackal, hopping around in circles, suddenly froze and pointed toward the horizon. “Hey! Hey! I see something! I bet that’s him! Do you think it’s him? Please let it be him!” She didn’t wait for an answer, already waving wildly toward the approaching figure.

Crow stood up, her eyes darkening. “Finally.”

John strolled up to the group, a little too relaxed for Crow’s taste, holding a carry bag filled with apple pies like he hadn’t just kept them waiting for what felt like hours. The energy shifted immediately as his nonchalant grin met the cold stares of Exotic Squad. He was late, and not just fashionably so. Crow’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he approached, her fingers twitching with restrained frustration.

“Finally decided to show up,” Crow spat, her voice low with irritation.

John, seemingly unfazed by her venom, shrugged, handing out the pies. “What can I say? I had a boner that just wouldn’t go away. Had to sit there and think of the oldest, most horrible relatives I could.”

Crow’s face twitched, her patience running razor-thin. She looked at the apple pie he handed her, expression flat, before promptly throwing it into the nearest pile of rubble. “You must think you’re real funny.”

Jackal, on the other hand, was already scarfing hers down like she hadn’t eaten in days, barely giving it a glance before the pie was in her mouth. John wasn’t even sure she’d taken it out of the container first. She looked like a hyperactive kid on sugar overload, her cheeks puffed up as she chewed with reckless abandon.

“Mmmph—thanks, Commander!” Jackal managed through a mouthful of pie, crumbs flying everywhere. “This is the best!”

John blinked at her, then at Crow, who was now watching her subordinate with the same cold glare as before. Jackal didn’t seem to notice, but when Crow’s discarded pie caught her eye, her face fell.

“Aw, Crow! You didn’t want yours?”

Crow crossed her arms, giving Jackal a sideways glance that practically screamed, Don’t push it. “No.”

Meanwhile, Viper stood back, watching the interaction with a bemused smile, her arms still lazily crossed. She eyed the pie John handed her but decided to forgo it. With a casual toss, she handed it to Jackal. “Here, take mine before you whine any louder.”

Jackal’s face lit up instantly. “Really?! Thanks, Viper!” She devoured the second pie just as quickly as the first, her energy as relentless as ever.

John leaned against the cracked wall, watching the dynamic play out with some amusement. The tension between Crow and the rest of the squad was thick, but Jackal’s carefree attitude managed to ease it—slightly. John’s hand idly rested on the last pie as he caught Crow’s gaze. Her simmering anger wasn’t lost on him, but he figured he’d push his luck just a little longer.

“Y’know, Crow, with all that black and red, I’m starting to think you came straight out of a Hot Topic catalog.”

Crow shot him a withering glare, her eyes narrowing with disdain. “You really wanna keep poking at me, Commander? Keep it up, and we’ll see how much of that wit survives out in the Rim.”

Jackal, mouth still half-full of apple pie, burst into laughter. “Hot Topic! That’s so accurate!”

Crow gave Jackal a flat stare. “Shut it, Jackal.”

Viper chuckled, her fingers idly twirling a lock of her hair. “I dunno, it’s not completely off the mark...”

John, pleased with himself, adjusted the carry bag on his shoulder and gestured toward the buildings in the distance. “Alright, alright. Let’s head out. I’ll brief you all on the mission while we move. The operation—”

But Crow cut him off, holding up a hand. “Save it. We’ll talk about the details when we’re at the safe house. Too many ears around here.” Her tone was sharp, no room for debate.

John sighed but didn’t push further. “Fair enough. Lead the way then, Captain.”

With that, Crow took point, her movements decisive as the rest of the squad fell into formation behind her. The group made their way through the dimly lit streets of the Outer Rim, the oppressive atmosphere weighing down on them as they slipped deeper into the fringes of civilization.

The Outer Rim was like stepping into a forgotten world, a place where the Ark’s reach barely extended. It was suffocating in its bleakness. The streets were a patchwork of cracked pavement and dirt, flanked by rusted, broken-down buildings. Windows were shattered or boarded up, grime coating every surface like an unwelcome second skin. Neon signs flickered weakly, casting sickly green and red hues that barely cut through the suffocating gloom.

Filth was everywhere—puddles of sludge gathering in the corners of alleyways, trash spilling over from bins that hadn’t been emptied in years. The stench of decay hung in the air, mixing with the acrid tang of oil and rust. Stray dogs, thin and mangy, rooted through heaps of refuse, their ribs visible beneath their fur. People shuffled through the streets, their heads down, eyes hollow. The unlucky souls who called this place home were gaunt, their faces lined with a mix of fatigue and desperation, skin pallid from lack of sunlight, making them look almost like ghosts in this forgotten land. The Ark didn’t care about them. To the Ark, they were rats—just another part of the filth.

Abandoned machinery lined the streets, reminders of the promises the Ark had made but never delivered on. Cranes that had once built up this place now lay like skeletons, rust eating away at their once-proud forms. The only things that thrived here were crime, corruption, and the occasional flicker of rebellion. No one in the Ark talked about the Outer Rim unless they had to, and even then, it was in hushed tones, as if saying its name too loud might drag them into its depths.

The further they walked, the more it became clear just how far this place had fallen. The Ark might have had its struggles, but at least it had some semblance of life. Here, hope was a foreign concept, long abandoned along with the crumbling infrastructure. Even the air felt heavy, thick with the weight of years of neglect.

Crow, walking slightly ahead, glanced over her shoulder at John. Her sharp gaze lingered on him for a moment, her instincts flaring up. Something didn’t sit right. For a commander, especially one as new as John was supposed to be, he seemed far too comfortable navigating the filth and squalor of the Outer Rim. There was a subtle ease to his movements, a familiarity that didn’t match the wide-eyed naivety she expected from someone fresh out of the Ark's upper districts. Crow’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything—yet. But she would be watching him closely. Too many commanders had tried to hide things from her in the past, and she had no patience for lies.

-

Rapi sat at her desk, absorbed in the flood of requisition forms, each one necessary to facilitate the expansion Liter had planned for the outpost. The forms were tedious, but they were essential; the outpost needed upgrades, and with potential reinforcements and more teams coming in, they couldn’t afford to delay. The hum of the outpost’s systems provided a constant backdrop as she worked, and she had settled into the quiet rhythm when the door to the office creaked open.

Rapi glanced up, expecting one of her usual squad members, but instead, a figure she didn’t immediately recognize stepped in. The woman had an air of fragility about her. Rapi finally recognized her from the encounter with Chatterbox—Mihara of the Wardress squad.

Mihara stepped inside, her movements almost too careful, like she was walking in a dream. Rapi hadn't heard anything about her since Yuni’s death, only that she had not left the repair center. Now, standing before Rapi, there was something distant in her eyes, something hollow.

“Is the Commander here?” Mihara asked, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Rapi’s hand paused mid-signature, a faint frown crossing her face. “He’s not in right now. Do you need something?”

Mihara stepped further into the room, her gaze distant, barely registering Rapi’s words. “I need to talk to him. About Yuni.”

The name hung in the air like a heavy stone, and Rapi’s normally composed expression shifted. For a moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, maybe—but she quickly masked it. Yuni’s death hadn’t just affected Mihara, after all.

“I understand,” Rapi said quietly, standing to meet Mihara at eye level. “I was with him during that mission.”

Mihara’s eyes flickered at that, a spark of something—pain, grief, perhaps even resentment. “You saw what happened, then. How did she...” Mihara trailed off, her voice catching as she struggled to maintain her composure. “I don’t know how to make sense of it.”

Rapi’s heart tightened at Mihara’s words, but she maintained her professional stance. It wasn’t easy for her to express emotion, not when she had been trained to maintain composure in the face of loss. But now, faced with Mihara’s brokenness, she felt a quiet need to be honest.

“It wasn’t easy. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but the truth is... I didn’t have all the answers then, and I still don’t.” Rapi’s voice was low, but steady. “We did everything we could, Mihara.”

Mihara clenched her fists, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “It doesn’t feel like enough. She was everything to me. And now... she’s gone. It’s like a part of me has been ripped out.”

The words hit Rapi harder than she expected. Her own chest tightened with the weight of Mihara’s grief, though she remained outwardly composed. She wanted to say something comforting, but comforting wasn’t something she was good at. Not in moments like these.

“I know,” Rapi said softly. “I saw what she meant to you.”

Mihara’s lip trembled, but she pressed on, her voice brittle. “I keep thinking about what I could’ve done. If I had acted differently... maybe she’d still be here.”

Rapi let out a slow breath, her gaze steady as she took in the sight of Mihara’s barely held-together composure. “You can’t think like that. It’ll only eat at you. We’re soldiers, Mihara. We make decisions in the moment, and we deal with the fallout. But it’s not your fault.”

Mihara seemed to waver, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as if trying to hold herself together. “You think that helps? Because it doesn’t.”

Rapi’s jaw tightened, her usual discipline faltering for a brief second. “No, it doesn’t. But it’s the truth.”

Mihara stood silent for a long moment, her head bowing slightly as though the weight of it all had finally sunk in. Rapi watched her carefully, feeling the tension in the air but knowing that there wasn’t much more she could say.

“If you want to wait for the Commander, I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He might be able to offer more than I can,” Rapi finally offered.

Mihara nodded absently, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Without another word, she turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind her. Rapi remained standing for a moment, staring at the door with a faint frown.

-

The dimly lit safehouse had the distinct odor of dust and neglect. Faded wallpaper peeled from the walls, and the mismatched furniture had seen better days. Crow sat cross-legged on a ratty old couch, playing with a knife, watching John with her usual unimpressed glare. Viper leaned casually against the wall, twirling a lock of her hair, while Jackal fidgeted with a pen she’d found on the floor, tapping it rapidly against the table.

John stood at the center of the room, holding up a small device. “Alright, let’s get this over with. First things first,” he began, waving the device slightly, “I was handed control of your bomb collars.”

At the mention of the collars, Crow’s eyes narrowed dangerously, while Viper’s expression remained neutral but watchful. Jackal stopped fidgeting long enough to throw him a curious glance.

“Don’t worry,” John continued, his tone flat, almost disinterested. “I’m not going to use it, so you don’t have to freak out.”

Crow let out a slow, sarcastic clap, her voice dripping with venom. “Oh, well, aren’t you just the most trustworthy Commander we’ve ever had?” She flashed a grin, her amusement clearly lacking sincerity.

John smirked, leaning back against a creaky chair. “I aim to please.”

The sarcasm lingered in the air as the tension thickened. Viper raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, while Jackal seemed to find the whole exchange hilarious, snickering quietly to herself.

John let the moment pass, straightening up as he began to outline the mission. “Here’s the deal: We’ve got a brothel owner going by the moniker Rat out here who thinks it’s a good idea to try blackmailing high-ranking members of the Ark’s military and government. He’s been spreading false info, and we’re supposed to monitor and report back, maybe catch him in the act.”

Viper interrupted, her voice smooth as silk but carrying an edge of skepticism. “False info, huh? That’s cute. You sure the data’s fake?”

John raised an eyebrow at her, and Viper continued, “Rat, or whatever alias he’s going by this week—Julio’s his real name, probably—is likely an Ark asset gone rogue. The data’s probably very real.”

Crow leaned back, her grin widening at the revelation, clearly amused by the corruption at play.

Feigning shock, John put a hand to his chest, his voice dripping with mock surprise. “Oh no, the Ark government? Corrupt? Who would have thought?”

Crow shook her head, a dark glint in her eye. “As if anyone’s surprised. Let’s just get this over with.”

John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, we’ll head to the brothel and play this by ear. If we’re lucky, we catch him red-handed. If not, we at least get some dirt. Anything to add?”

The safehouse was thick with tension, a weight that pressed down on the room like the stale, musty air. John stood at the center, his eyes scanning the group in front of him. His arms crossed over his chest, he waited for them to give something—anything—that could be useful. The silence stretched out, broken only by the subtle creak of Crow’s chair as she leaned back, watching him with that calculating gaze of hers. No one here was eager to play nice.

“Alright,” John started, his voice low but firm, “These are the basics, but we need more than that. I need details. Anybody got anything useful, or are we playing blind?”

Viper, who had been lazily twirling a lock of hair around her finger, let the silence hang for a moment longer before sitting up, her eyes gleaming. “Contacts,” she said smoothly, her voice soft but sharp. “I’ve got a few people who owe me... favors. Some are tied up in the underworld out here. Could be useful to get us closer to Rat.”

The way she said “favors” sent a chill through the room. There was always something dangerous lurking behind her words. It was clear she wasn’t giving everything away, but she’d offer just enough to keep them interested.

Crow, on the other hand, didn’t bother hiding her disdain. She had been sitting there, lazily twirling a knife between her fingers, but now she stopped and locked eyes with John, her lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “I know some places,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Spying, making people uncomfortable—that’s my game. There’s an old factory deeper in the Outer Rim. Abandoned, nasty, and it’s got a view of everything Rat’s been up to.”

Her tone was casual, almost too casual, and it made John’s jaw tighten. It wasn’t the information itself that set him on edge—it was the way she held back, offering only what she wanted. There was no full cooperation here, no trust. Just cold calculation. Both Viper and Crow were playing this close to the chest, giving him what he asked for, but never more than they had to.

The silence that followed was thick, palpable. John’s gaze flickered between them, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if weighing their usefulness. He nodded slowly, but there was no warmth in it. Just acknowledgement. “Alright,” he muttered, “get me what you can. We’ll head out at dawn”

Crow’s smirk deepened. She tossed the knife in the air, catching it lazily as she leaned back in her chair. “Dawn, huh?” she echoed, her voice mocking. “You know the Dome of Eternity doesn’t reach out this far, Commander. There’s no dawn here. Just the endless dark.”

Her words hit like a dare, a challenge to see how far John was willing to push. Viper gave a slight nod, her own quiet agreement barely noticeable, but the look in her eyes said enough.

John shrugged, nonchalant but with a hint of steel beneath it. “At the hour of dawn, then. We’ll operate like we’re under Ark daylight, and we’ll hit Rat when he least expects it. Pretend there’s something normal about all this.”

The tension spiked as the silence stretched between them again, charged with unspoken threats and hidden agendas. Crow let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You’d better be ready, Commander,” she said, her voice dropping lower, more serious now. “The Outer Rim? It’s not as forgiving as your precious Ark.”

John stretched, the tension in his muscles easing slightly as he glanced around the dim room. It was time to get a feel for the place he'd be sleeping—if you could call it that. “Mind showing me to the room I'll be staying in?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes still sharp.

Crow, never missing an opportunity to let her indifference show, gave a lazy wave in Viper’s direction. “Viper, show our precious guest where he’ll be crashing.”

Viper’s smile was instant, a slow, coy grin spreading across her face as she sauntered over to John. “Of course, Commander. Let me take care of you.” Her tone was syrupy sweet, too much for John’s liking. She sidled closer, leaning in with her usual predatory charm. “While we’re at it, why don’t you let me borrow your phone for a second? I’ll add my contact on Blabla. You know, just to make sure we stay in touch.”

John arched a brow but handed her the phone anyway, more curious than concerned. Viper took it with a wink, her fingers moving swiftly over the screen. “Thanks, honey. Now, follow me.”

She led him down a narrow corridor, her hips swaying slightly as she walked, the dim light flickering above them casting eerie shadows on the walls. Viper stopped in front of a rusted door, pushing it open with a flourish. “Here we are.”

The room was... well, calling it a room was generous. It was more of a glorified storage closet. The walls were cracked, the bed little more than a thin mattress on a creaky frame, and there was a single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering like it was on its last legs. The smell of mildew clung to the air, but John hardly cared. He’d slept in worse.

“Nice, huh?” Viper said with a grin, clearly amused by the conditions.

John shrugged, unfazed. “I’ve had worse.”

John waited for a beat, watching Viper linger near the door. Her eyes glinted mischievously as she leaned against the frame, her hand still casually holding his phone. She handed the phone back, her fingers brushing against his as she passed it over. “There you go, Commander. My number's in there now. Don’t hesitate to call me anytime you need... anything.” Her voice purred, and she winked before stepping back from the doorway.

John didn’t flinch, didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, though his grip on the phone tightened ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he said, his voice flat, neutral.

Viper lingered for a second longer, her gaze flitting over his face as if she was trying to read him. She didn’t say another word, but the sly smile on her lips spoke volumes. With a final glance, she turned on her heel, sauntering back down the hall, her footsteps echoing faintly until the sound faded entirely.

Once he was sure she was gone, John exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the tension draining from his shoulders. The room was his now, small and grimy as it was. He wasted no time setting up the barrier, placing talismans with careful precision. The faint hum of energy filled the space as the barrier took hold, its subtle force already making the room feel more secure. It wasn’t anything showy, just enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable if they tried to come snooping. He didn’t trust Exotic Squad any more than they trusted him, and he wasn’t about to take chances.

John tossed his bag onto the chair and laid out the disguise for later, eyeing the platform shoes and grey wig with a smirk. It wasn't going to be comfortable, but it would do the job. He set his alarm for midnight, the small display glowing dimly in the darkened room. It would be a long night, but for now, he could afford a few hours of rest.

Stretching out on the bed, he closed his eyes. Even in the discomfort, he found himself slipping into a light, but steady sleep—his mind already ticking over the plan ahead.

-

John awoke to the sharp blare of his alarm at midnight, groggily reaching for his phone to silence the noise. His head pounded slightly from the abrupt wake-up, but there was no time to waste. Groaning, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, shaking off the sleep that clung to him.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of his phone, which he used as a makeshift mirror while he began to piece together the disguise. The platform shoes came first, clunky and uncomfortable. John winced as he balanced himself, the extra height feeling unnatural under his feet. Takumi was taller than him, and he needed the height. As he slipped them on, he wobbled for a second, catching his balance on the edge of the bed. "How do women manage heels..." he muttered, shaking his head as he stood up.

Next, he tugged on the grey wig, adjusting it so it sat properly over his messy hair. The strands brushed against his neck in an unfamiliar way, making him feel even more out of place. Finally, he shrugged into the Japanese-style trench coat, the dark fabric swaying as he moved. With the coat draped over his shoulders and the wig hiding his real hair, John glanced at himself in the phone’s camera.

From a distance, in the dark, he could pass for Takumi. The height was right, the grey hair matched, and the coat concealed much of the difference in build. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

Satisfied enough, he moved toward the window, easing it open. The cool night air swept in, and he stepped up, ready to leave quietly. But as he shifted his weight onto the platform shoes, his foot wobbled. His ankle twisted awkwardly, and John had to grab onto the sill to stop himself from falling outright.

He jumped down from the window, aiming to land smoothly, but the uneven weight of the shoes threw him off balance. His feet hit the ground hard, but instead of landing gracefully, his body pitched forward, and he faceplanted into the dirt.

With a groan, he slowly pushed himself up, wiping the dirt from his face. "Fantastic," he muttered sarcastically, dusting off the coat and fixing the wig. It was an inauspicious start, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

John kept to the shadows, moving through the back alleys of the Outer Rim like a ghost. The towering remnants of buildings loomed over him, their surfaces weathered and crumbling, barely holding onto the last vestiges of what once made them useful. The air was thick with decay, carrying a rancid stench of unwashed bodies, rotting food, and something more foul—something deeper, as though the streets themselves were sick and dying.

Each step was met with a squelch of mud and grime, the ground littered with refuse and filth that clung to his boots. A sticky, oily residue from the broken-down machinery and abandoned vehicles that lined the alleys permeated the air, mixing with the sharp tang of rust. It coated his throat as he breathed, leaving a metallic taste lingering on his tongue.

As he moved deeper, the sounds of the Outer Rim filtered through the oppressive silence. The distant clatter of something metal falling, a dog barking somewhere far off, and the low murmurs of people huddled in corners. The walls around him echoed the faint whispers of those who called this place home—voices hollow with despair, barely more than shadows themselves.

John passed by figures crouched in the doorways of what used to be shops and homes, their eyes dull and hollow, watching him with a mixture of suspicion and desperation. Their clothes were torn, hanging from gaunt frames, and their faces etched with the kind of weariness that only came from being forgotten. The skin of their hands and faces was ashen, smudged with soot and grime, but their eyes—their eyes burned with the kind of hunger that came from days, maybe weeks, without proper food.

In the dim light, he could make out a family huddled beneath a torn sheet, the only shelter they had. The mother clutched her children to her, their small bodies trembling as they pressed against her side. John’s stomach twisted at the sight. He had seen it before, but it never got easier.

Further on, a man was bartering with another, their voices hushed but intense. They traded in whatever they could get their hands on—scraps, drugs, bits of tech. Anything that could be useful for survival in this hellhole. Their skin was thin, stretched tight over bones, and their eyes darted around nervously, always on edge. They, like everyone else in the Outer Rim, were trapped in a cycle of survival, forced to do anything they could to make it through another day.

The alleys grew narrower, and the air thicker with the cloying stench of bodies packed too close together, festering wounds left untreated, and the sharp sting of sweat mixed with fear. Every breath John took felt heavy, like the air itself was trying to choke him, as if the very essence of the Outer Rim was trying to seep into his lungs and drag him down into its squalor.

The flickering lights from broken street lamps cast long, jagged shadows, the illumination more a mockery than a comfort. It barely cut through the darkness, casting eerie reflections in the pools of stagnant water that collected in the dips of the alley floors. The darkness here wasn’t just a lack of light—it was an oppressive weight, a constant reminder that the Outer Rim was a place abandoned by the Ark, where the people were left to rot.

Despite it all, John moved calmly. His steps were measured, his eyes scanning each movement with the ease of someone who had walked these streets many times before. His hands rested loosely at his sides, but he was ready. Crow had noticed earlier how he handled himself, how this supposed newbie commander didn’t flinch in the face of this filth. It was clear, even if she hadn’t said it outright—he wasn’t new to this. Not at all.

He pressed forward, his destination looming just ahead—the old warehouse, the place where he had faked his death. The closer he got, the more the weight of the past settled on his shoulders.

John’s footsteps slowed as the warehouse came into view, its rusted walls crumbling under years of neglect, blending into the squalor of the Outer Rim. His mind drifted back to those first few months after being unceremoniously assigned here, barely a Grade 2 sorcerer, fresh out of Jujutsu Academy and thrown into this wasteland of despair and filth. They didn’t tell him what to expect—just threw him to the wolves. And he had been naïve enough to think that he could handle it.

The Outer Rim had crushed those illusions quickly.

The streets of the Outer Rim were a wasteland. Every corner told the same story: crumbling buildings leaned like broken teeth, and the ground was slick with filth, half-hidden under layers of grime that hadn’t been washed away in years. The air stank of rot and desperation, thick with the oily scent of decay and smoke from nearby fires.

As he walked through the alleys, his boots squelched in the mud, a grim reminder of how deeply the Outer Rim had sunk. The darkness here wasn’t just from the lack of light—the artificial sky of the Ark’s dome didn’t stretch this far—it was from the sheer weight of suffering that clung to everything. The distant sounds of coughing and muffled cries echoed off the graffiti-stained walls, like the world itself was trying to forget the people left behind.

The memory tugged at him as he approached the warehouse—the mission that had torn away the last of his innocence. He had been so eager then, a new sorcerer barely out of Jujutsu Academy. They sent him here, just another tool for the Society, expecting him to clean up their messes. He was too green, too naïve to understand what this place demanded.

His mistake had cost lives. Not curses—people. Civilians who had been caught in the crossfire of his eagerness, his need to prove himself. That was the mission that had hardened him, twisted something inside until the only thing left was survival. He didn’t talk about it, didn’t let himself dwell on the details. But the echoes were always there, gnawing at him in moments like this.

John gritted his teeth, shaking the thoughts away. The mission was now—focus on the now.

The warehouse loomed ahead, a skeleton of rusted metal and broken windows, sagging under the weight of its own abandonment. It was here that he had buried his old self.

But as he stepped closer, something stopped him.

In the mud, half-buried and forgotten, was the body of a child. The small figure was curled on its side, motionless, as if left there by the world that had long since abandoned them. The child’s clothes were torn, caked in grime, and their face was slack, emotionless. A pang shot through John’s chest, but he didn’t move. He just stared.

In the murky puddle by the child’s face, John caught his own reflection. The dark eyes staring back at him didn’t belong to the sorcerer he once was. They belonged to the man the Outer Rim had forged—a man who knew what it meant to survive, no matter the cost. The silence of the streets pressed in around him.

He crouched down, his fingers brushing the mud, but he didn’t touch the child. His reflection rippled next to the child’s face, the dirt smearing like blood across the water’s surface.

This wasn’t new. This wasn’t even surprising. He’d seen bodies like this before, more than he cared to admit. The people here were left to rot—abandoned by the Ark, discarded like refuse. And yet, every time he saw it, the knot in his chest tightened a little more.

He straightened, his hand sliding back into the pocket of his coat. The mission called, and he had to answer. With a final glance at the reflection in the puddle, John stepped forward, letting the darkness of the warehouse swallow him whole.

-

The inside of the warehouse was barely more than a hollow shell. Stripped metal beams crisscrossed above, casting jagged shadows across the floor littered with debris. The air was heavy with the scent of rust and decay, mingling with the faint crackle of a makeshift blowtorch sparking to life in the corner of the room.

A young girl, no older than her early teens, was hunched over a pile of scrap metal, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she worked the torch. Her hands moved quickly, slicing through the rebar with the ease of someone who had been doing this for far too long. She wasn’t new to the struggle—the lines of dirt on her face, the way her ribs pressed against her skin, showed how long she'd been forced to survive in this forgotten corner of the Outer Rim.

Then, she saw it. A shadow stretching long behind her, flickering in the glow of the blowtorch. Her heart lurched, her pulse quickening as the fear set in. Without thinking, she whipped around, swiping the torch towards the figure. The flame hissed, but before it could connect, a hand—calm, precise—caught the tool mid-swing.

John stood there, his grip steady as he gently lowered her hand. The girl's breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes wide with terror. The torch clattered to the ground, and she scrambled back, panic seizing her small frame. "I'll do anything—anything!" she stammered, her voice breaking. "Just… just let me go. Don't touch me!" Her final words cracked, and she burst into sobs, covering her face with her hands.

John’s eyes softened, though his face remained unreadable. He slowly crouched down, his presence deliberate, non-threatening. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said quietly, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the haze of her panic. "I just need some information. That's it."

The girl sniffled, glancing at him warily between her fingers. She watched him reach into his coat pocket, her body tense, ready to bolt at any sudden movement. But instead of a weapon, John pulled out a small, vacuum-sealed packet—a military ration.

He offered it to her without a word, setting it gently on the ground in front of her. For a moment, the girl didn't move, her eyes darting between John and the ration like it was some kind of trick. Then, slowly, cautiously, she reached out and snatched it from the floor, tearing into the packet with trembling hands.

The shift was immediate. As she chewed, her panic subsided, her body relaxing as the taste of food—real food—hit her senses. For someone who had been scraping by in the Outer Rim, a simple ration pack felt like a feast. What had moments ago been a life-or-death situation in her eyes had now turned into something more familiar: a trade. She understood bartering, understood survival. And John had just given her something worth more than a threat could ever produce.

He watched her eat in silence, his expression unreadable but patient. "Let's start over," John said after a beat, his voice even. "I'm just here for answers. Tell me what you know, and you can get more food. Deal?"

The girl swallowed hard, her eyes now focused on him with a mix of wariness and curiosity. She nodded, wiping the tears from her dirty cheeks, and in that moment, the balance of power had shifted—not through fear, but through understanding.

John watched the girl chew, her hunger momentarily silencing her fear. After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice low but steady. “This warehouse. What do you know about it?”

She hesitated, eyes darting around the dilapidated space. "Not much," she admitted, between bites. "People don’t come here. Not after… well, after the explosion. And all the disappearances." Her voice dropped lower as she continued, like speaking the words would make them real again. "They say it’s cursed or something. Nobody messes with this place unless they’re desperate. It’s too risky."

John's eyes narrowed, absorbing the information. Of course, the explosion would have kept people away—made this place the perfect hideout for him back when he needed it. "That's why you’re here?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The girl nodded. "Yeah, it’s quiet. Less trouble. Easier to survive."

John tapped a finger against his chin, thoughtful. "What about the disappearances? Any areas nearby where people avoid even more than here?"

She chewed her lip, thinking. “There’s a few places… Um, near the old Eastside Trainyard, no one goes there. Ever since the flood, the water’s poisoned or something. People say the ones who go too close disappear. And there's this junkyard, past the scrap market—people talk about hearing weird noises coming from it at night. Some think it’s haunted, others say it’s just gangs.”

John nodded, filing away the information. "Thanks," he said simply, reaching into his coat once more. He tossed her another ration, and she caught it, her eyes widening at the unexpected generosity.

As he turned to leave, his eyes caught on the half-cut rebar she’d been working on earlier, the metal twisted and jagged. He moved toward it, grabbing hold of several pieces. With minimal effort, John pulled them free from the rusted foundation, each bar giving way with a groan of metal. He handed them to her, her face frozen in surprise.

Before she could even say a word of thanks, John had already melted back into the shadows. The girl blinked, looking around frantically—but he was gone, leaving only the soft creak of the warehouse behind him.

-

Rapi stood at the outpost’s central area, the hum of machinery and distant conversations filling the air as she went over the expansion plans with Liter. Despite Liter’s diminutive size, the leader of Mighty Tools had a commanding presence, her voice sounding more like a weary elder than someone her size would suggest.

“So, we’ll be expanding the Visitor area to accommodate the new Nikke squads coming in and out of the outpost,” Liter explained, a small map of the outpost spread out between them. Her robotic dog, Bolt, sat by her feet, eyes blinking periodically as it scanned the area.

Rapi nodded, taking in the details of the blueprint. “This will help with the influx of squads coming and going. Our current facilities are... a bit cramped.”

Liter nodded sagely, her small hands tracing the planned structure on the map. “I reckon it’ll take about two days to get the first phase done. Gonna need to head down to the Ark and pick up some supplies first, though. Centi will be coming with me—gotta make sure she doesn’t accidentally knock down a wall with her enthusiasm.”

“Understood. Let me know if you need anything from us before you head out.”

As the conversation was wrapping up, Liter paused, her hand still hovering over the blueprint. She glanced up at Rapi with a small frown, her tone casual yet thoughtful. “Funny thing, you know? The Visitor building’s only got one occupant at the moment.”

Rapi’s expression shifted slightly, her attention sharpening. “Only one?”

“Mm-hmm,” Liter confirmed, her voice soft. “Mihara’s the only one in there. She’s been keeping to herself, hasn’t left the place since she was discharged from the repair center. Mighty Tools hasn’t seen a soul go in or out.”

Rapi’s gaze drifted over to the Visitor building across the courtyard, its exterior quiet and almost lifeless. A flicker of concern crossed her features. Mihara, the grief-stricken Nikke, had been struggling after Yuni’s death. It wasn’t surprising she had isolated herself, but still, something about it left a heavy weight on Rapi’s chest.

Liter gave a small nod, picking up on Rapi’s mood. “Well, I’ll be heading down now to grab those materials. Take care of things here, eh?”

Rapi nodded, her eyes still lingering on the building as Liter walked away, Bolt trailing behind her.

-

John’s boots hit the ground with a dull thud, the sound reverberating in the stillness. He moved slowly, each step deliberate, as if savoring the growing panic in the gangster’s eyes. The man scrambled back against a pile of rusted scrap metal, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. He shouted out, his voice cracking, but the only response was silence. No backup. No help. Just the cold, suffocating quiet of the junkyard.

"Answer my questions, or I’ll show you what happened to your friends" John’s voice was quiet—too quiet—but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. He crouched, the motion casual, almost lazy, but his eyes were fixed on the man like a predator toying with its prey.

The gangster’s head jerked from side to side, searching for any possible escape. But it was futile, and the realization sank in, his panic sharpening. "Alright, man! Alright!"

John leaned closer, his expression unflinching, watching the fear rise in the man’s eyes. “The disappearances. In the junkyard. Who’s responsible?”

The man stammered, his hands shaking. “It—it’s us! My gang, we... we’ve been taking people. Selling them off—whoever we could find!”

John frowned "What about the Eastside trainyard," he continued, his tone calm but cold enough to freeze the air. "Who’s responsible?"

The man’s breath hitched, and for a second, it seemed like he might pass out. "We don’t go near there, I swear! It’s cursed or something. We hear stories… people go in, they don’t come back. Ain’t nobody in my crew messin’ with that place.”

John’s jaw tightened, his patience stretching thin. "So it’s not you." There was no accusation, just a statement of fact. But the disappointment was clear. This wasn't the answer he'd hoped for.

The gangster, emboldened by John’s lack of immediate violence, began to babble. "We—we just stick to the junkyard, man. Easier targets, you know? Ain’t no one gonna notice a few people here and there..."

John let out a slow sigh, standing up straight. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, feeling the faint buzz of his phone. The message on the screen told him it was time to head back, Exotic Squad was waiting. But the nagging frustration of unfinished business gnawed at him.

He turned, as if to leave, then paused. A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He turned back, looming over the gangster who was too terrified to move. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to try, something I wasn’t allowed to do back when I was with the Society.” John mused, his tone light, but there was a darkness behind his eyes.

The gangster’s face paled. "W-what do you mean?"

John didn’t answer right away. His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, the scent of oil and rust thick in the air between them. “You’ll find out.”

Chapter Text

Viper and Jackal walked down the dimly lit corridor, the fluorescent lights above flickering intermittently, casting long shadows that seemed to shift and writhe along the walls. The deeper they ventured into the hallway, the atmosphere around them thickened like a fog, oppressive and suffocating. It felt as though the walls themselves were closing in, narrowing the space as they moved forward.

Jackal’s usually boundless energy faltered. Her once-lively steps slowed as unease crept up her spine, her instincts screaming at her to stop. “Do you feel that?” she whispered, the words barely escaping her throat. Her voice, usually boisterous and confident, was reduced to a strained murmur, as if speaking too loudly would provoke whatever lay ahead.

Viper, ever composed, felt the same creeping dread. The air was different here—thick, heavy, as though it clung to her skin. She could almost feel it pressing into her lungs, making it hard to breathe. The hallway, now feeling far longer than it should have been, seemed to stretch endlessly, the light barely penetrating the gloom that gathered around John's door. Her sharp gaze, always scanning and prepared, faltered, betraying her fear. The closer they got, the more her mind whispered that something was very wrong.

"Yeah..." Viper muttered, her voice tight. “Something’s off.” The words hung in the air like a mist, suffocating the space around them. She tried to shake off the sensation, but it was inescapable. The door loomed ahead like the maw of a beast, beckoning them, yet simultaneously repelling them, as if daring them to come closer.

The pressure built with each step. It wasn’t just fear—it was something else, something that gnawed at the edges of their consciousness. The closer they got to the door, the harder it became to move, as though the hallway itself was swallowing them. Jackal, who could face down a battalion of enemies without flinching, found herself rooted in place, her feet refusing to go any further.

And then... a creak.

The door opened slowly, groaning on its hinges. The invisible weight pressing on their chests vanished in an instant, the tension evaporating as if it had never existed. The oppressive force that had wrapped itself around them dissipated, leaving them standing in an eerie, still silence.

John stood in the doorway, his expression calm, almost amused, as if he had no idea what kind of nightmare had just enveloped them. The sudden shift from crushing terror to normalcy left Viper and Jackal shaken, their instincts still buzzing even though the threat seemed to have evaporated.

Viper, regaining her composure, raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with a forced casualness. “Did you get a good night's sleep, Honey? Must’ve been comfortable, sleeping next to three dangerous, beautiful women,” she teased, masking her unease with her usual sultry banter.

John rolled his eyes, masking his irritation with a heavy dose of nonchalance. "Yeah, a dream come true," he deadpanned, the sarcasm slipping easily from his lips. He stepped aside, leaning casually against the doorframe as he motioned for them to enter. "So, you coming in, or are you just going to stand out there gawking?"

Jackal, eager to shake off the lingering sense of discomfort, perked up immediately. "You bet we are!" she declared, her usual bubbly enthusiasm snapping back into place as she bounded past Viper into the room without a second thought. The awkward tension from earlier vanished from her like a wisp of smoke, replaced by her careless, almost childish energy.

But Viper lingered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she surveyed the room. She wasn’t one to overlook the subtleties. The air here—it wasn’t just the room that had felt wrong. There was something else, something only she could sense, like a predator sniffing out danger hidden in plain sight. Her gaze flickered across the space, her smile still in place, but something in her eyes sharpened, calculated.

John, oblivious to the shift in her demeanor, leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms. Viper’s smirk returned, this time a touch more forced, her confidence only a mask for what she wasn’t saying. "Quite the setup you’ve got here, honey," she remarked casually, her tone sweet but layered with something unspoken. "Bet you sleep like a baby in here."

John shrugged. “As well as I can,” he replied, completely unfazed by her words.

Viper’s eyes lingered on John for a fraction longer before she sauntered into the room, her smirk widening as if nothing was amiss. She pushed aside her suspicions—at least, for now.

John tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, where’s Crow? She didn’t stick around to enjoy our little soirée, huh?"

Viper’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes flickered with something—perhaps annoyance. “She went off to check out a bar near one of Rat’s brothels. Figured she’d scope out the place before you decided to grace us with your presence.”

John raised an eyebrow, feigning hurt. “Oh, I feel so left out. I thought we could’ve come up with a plan together. Guess Crow’s always one step ahead.”

Jackal snorted, clearly entertained by the tension. “Yeah, Captain does what Captain wants. She’s probably already coming up with a scheme.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle, though his eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn’t sure how much they were willing to cooperate. There was a coyness to them, an edge to their answers that told him they weren’t going to give him everything he needed. But that was fine. He’d work with what he had.

“Alright,” John said, pushing off the wall. “Let’s head out and sync up with her. I’d hate to miss out on all the fun.”

As they walked toward the bar, the shadows of the Outer Rim seemed to stretch out endlessly, swallowing them whole. The sound of their boots scraping against the cracked pavement echoed, but the streets themselves remained eerily quiet. The air was heavy with the stench of grime and decay, mingling with the occasional whiff of stale alcohol seeping from the rundown buildings.

Jackal bounced along beside them, her energy barely contained. She hummed loudly, her head swiveling from side to side like an excitable puppy catching a scent, completely oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the place. "Man, this place looks like fun!" she chirped, skipping ahead. "Do you think they have snacks inside? Or, ooh, what if they have something to blow up?" Her eyes sparkled with glee, and she clapped her hands, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Viper, on the other hand, moved with deliberate grace, her hips swaying as she shot John a sultry glance over her shoulder. Her voice dripped with playful teasing as she purred, "You sure you can handle all this, Honey? It’s a lot for one guy to deal with, after all. But don’t worry, I’ll be gentle." She winked, her words laced with a teasing mockery that felt less like a flirt and more like a taunt.

John rolled his eyes, biting back a sigh as he trudged along behind them. He was still getting used to the strange dynamic of Exotic squad, and while he didn’t fully trust them yet, he was starting to realize that understanding them was just as important as watching his back. Jackal was unpredictable in her childlike exuberance, and Viper... well, Viper seemed to enjoy seeing just how much she could get under his skin.

“Is Crow in there?” he asked, his voice flat as he scanned the building they had arrived at.

Viper smirked, her gaze flicking to the bar ahead of them. She smiled, a touch too sweet, “Better hurry, wouldn’t want to be late for the show.”

John’s expression didn’t change as they reached the entrance to the bar, its neon sign flickering like it could give out at any second. "I’m hurt," he muttered dryly. "I thought we were all going to come up with a plan together."

Jackal barked a laugh, nearly doubling over as she grabbed the door handle. "Yeah, right! You’re gonna have to catch Captain first if you wanna plan anything! She’s probably already causing trouble in there!" She bounded through the door without a second thought, her laughter echoing into the musty interior of the bar.

Viper followed, her voice soft as she leaned in just close enough for her breath to tickle John’s ear. “You sure you’re ready for this, Honey?” she whispered, her tone dripping with faux concern. "It’s a whole different world out here."

John glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before pushing past and stepping into the bar. The door swung shut behind him, leaving the damp streets of the Outer Rim behind as they entered Crow’s territory.

-

The bar was a dim, dingy place, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the Outer Rim. The atmosphere clung like an oily residue, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the faintest hint of despair. Crow was already seated in the far corner of the room, her back to the wall, watching everything with an unsettling calm. Her presence seemed to command the space, as if everyone around her was subconsciously avoiding her, though they dared not glance her way too often.

John stepped inside, feeling the palpable tension hanging in the air. Crow didn't look up as he approached the table, but the way her fingers drummed a slow, steady beat on the side of her glass suggested she’d been waiting a little too long for his arrival. She didn’t look up when they entered, and John could feel the tension as soon as he stepped inside.

Viper sauntered in next to him, her usual playful smirk barely hiding the sharpness in her gaze. "Well, honey, looks like we’ve been left in the dust," she purred, clearly amused by Crow’s early departure.

Jackal, bouncing on her heels like a hyperactive child, piped up, "It’s like a race, and Captain's winning! We gotta catch up, right? Right?!"

John didn’t answer immediately, his eyes locked on Crow, who had yet to acknowledge their presence. The bar’s atmosphere was thick with an uneasy quiet, the kind that made everyone glance over their shoulder, expecting trouble. Crow finally looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly when she layed them upon John.

"Nice of you to join me," she said dryly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The disdain in her voice wasn’t masked. "I thought you’d gotten lost."

John took a seat across from her, unfazed by her tone. "You could’ve waited."

Crow’s lips curled into a small, sharp smile. "You’re the one who needs to keep up, Commander."

Viper slid into the booth next to him, leaning back casually. "Oh, come on, Crow, don’t be so hard on him. We’re here now, aren’t we? Let’s just get to business, shall we?"

Jackal had already taken the seat closest to the wall, bouncing slightly as she grinned at the group. "Yeah! Let’s get this show on the road!"

Crow’s gaze barely flicked toward John, her expression indifferent, almost bored. "The brothel in Eastside? Rat’s using it to push blackmail. He’s not just hustling Ark officials; he’s selling information to anyone who’s buying—doesn’t matter if it's the Ark or scum from the Outer Rim." She shrugged, her tone dismissive. "Let them tear each other apart. It’s all the same filth."

John raised an eyebrow. "You think it doesn’t matter?"

Crow scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "Ark officials getting blackmailed? Oh no, how tragic." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Rat’s a snake, sure, but the only difference is he’s not hiding it behind a shiny badge or a cushy title." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "But he’s playing a dangerous game. And I don’t like people who think they can play both sides."

Viper, who had been idly tracing the rim of her glass, spoke up with a sly smile. "I’ve got some contacts who can get us inside. But we’ll need to be careful. Rat’s not stupid."

Crow didn’t seem to care. She leaned forward, her voice lowering. "Jackal and I know the back streets, the underbelly. We’ll use that to spy on him, get a feel for his next move. When we know what he’s really up to..." Her fingers tapped the table, her expression turning cold. "Then we deal with him."

John remained calm, unflinching. "And me? What am I supposed to do in all of this?"

Crow’s lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile. "You? Follow my lead, keep up, and maybe you’ll live to see the end of it."

-

An hour later, John found himself on the top of what looked like a dilapidated factory alongside the members of exotic.

The rooftop of the building provided a perfect vantage point over one of Rat’s operations—a dimly lit, rundown facility nestled between crumbling warehouses. Crow, Viper, Jackal, and John crouched behind the rooftop’s parapet, watching the scene below.

"Something’s off," Crow muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the subdued activity in the courtyard. "There should be more guards. They're acting skittish."

John followed her gaze. The place looked far too quiet. A couple of guards loitered near the entrance, but the usual flow of illicit activity was absent. The tension in the air was palpable, and John could feel it creeping into his bones.

Jackal, meanwhile, was casually fiddling with a loose tile on the rooftop, seemingly oblivious to the unease gripping the others. She hummed a little tune, her carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the tension between the rest of the squad.

Viper silently slipped away, her form disappearing into the shadows as she went to make a call. Crow’s brow furrowed, her fingers drumming lightly against the rooftop ledge. "I don’t like this. Something's spooked them. Rat’s not one to cut and run unless he feels the heat."

Minutes later, Viper returned, her expression tight as she stood behind Crow. “Got word from one of my contacts. Crow, remember that gang in the junkyard? They were found dead. All of them. And get this—they were one of the gangs working with Rat. Word on the street is that he’s gone underground.”

John remained silent, his jaw tightening slightly. He knew exactly what had happened to that gang—he had dealt with them personally, after all. But now his actions had complicated things, and Rat had slipped out of their grasp.

Internally, John cursed. He hadn't expected the fallout from his actions to reverberate this quickly, and now Rat was hiding, probably waiting for the heat to die down. The silence between the squad members stretched, the weight of the situation pressing down on them.

Crow glanced at John, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Looks like we’ll have to dig a little deeper now. Hope you’re ready for the long game, Commander."

As Viper slipped back between John and Crow, her usual sultry smirk was already forming on her lips. She leaned in closer to John, her voice low, conspiratorial. "I think I can get ourselves a ticket in, Honey," she said, drawing out the words with deliberate care. "You and I can head into that little brothel-slash-club together. It’s a place that specializes in... let’s just say, trafficked Nikkes. We’ll go in like the perfect pair—me as the plaything and you, my oh-so-charming Commander."

John raised an eyebrow, his discomfort obvious, but Viper pressed on, not missing a beat. "The manager of this establishment has a thing for Nikkes—he’s got a collection, you could say. If we play our cards right, I can get him talking, and he’ll lead us to Rat." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "But, you’re going to need to act the part. I’m talking about full-blown, scummy Commander—one of those types who see Nikkes as nothing more than toys."

John’s frown deepened. The very thought of playing that kind of role made his skin crawl, but he knew Viper was right. It was their best chance to get inside, to get the information they needed. Still, the idea of pretending to be one of those monsters churned in his gut.

"Great," he muttered sarcastically. "My dream assignment."

Viper tilted her head, her smirk never faltering. "Don’t worry, honey. I’ll handle the manager. You just focus on acting the part." She gave a playful wink, but John didn’t miss the seriousness in her eyes. Despite the flirtatious attitude, Viper knew the gravity of the situation.

Crow, who had been silently observing, gave a dismissive wave. "Just get in, find the bastard, and get the intel. Play it smart and follow her lead. If you can’t handle it, well..." She trailed off, her lips twisting into a sardonic grin. "Let’s just say you won’t make it out alive."

John locked eyes with Crow, his expression hardening. He wasn’t one to back down, even if the situation was distasteful. "I’ll play along," he said, his voice steady. "But make sure you’re ready to pull me out if things go south."

Viper’s smile widened. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be right by your side Honey. Now, let's get going. Rat's waiting."

-

The corridors to the club were labyrinthine, leading John and Viper through dark, twisting passages designed to keep prying eyes at bay. Their IDs had been checked multiple times, and each checkpoint felt like peeling back layers of secrecy as they descended further into the underworld. The further they went, the more the air seemed to thicken with a tension John could almost taste. This was a place where lines had long been crossed, where ethics had been discarded in favor of indulgence and exploitation.

Finally, they arrived.

The club’s interior was deceptive—lavishly designed with sleek, modern architecture and shimmering lights—but the truth lay just beneath its polished surface. As they stepped inside, the sight was enough to turn John’s stomach. Nikkes were everywhere, not as guests or equals, but as commodities. They worked the floor, tended to tables, entertained patrons. Their eyes were hollow, their movements mechanical, devoid of the spark that made them who they were. John could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface, but Viper’s whispered warning cut through his thoughts.

“Remember the role,” she murmured, her tone sharp but quiet enough to only reach his ears. “You’re not here to save anyone. Act the part. The more convincing you are, the faster we get what we need.”

John’s jaw clenched, but he gave a slight nod. He knew what was at stake, even if every fiber of his being wanted to tear this place apart. He had to play it cool. He had to pretend, even if just for tonight, to be the kind of person he despised.

It didn’t take long for the manager to find them. A tall man with a slicked-back look, his smile as oily as his demeanor, approached them, flanked by two burly guards. His gaze flicked over Viper with an appreciative smirk before settling on John.

“VIP, huh?” the manager drawled, his voice dripping with slimy charm. “You must be someone special to have a Nikke like that with you. We don’t see many Commanders with your... tastes. Not unless they’re in for a good time.”

John forced a grin, his stomach twisting. “I like to keep things... interesting.”

The manager’s smile widened, pleased. “Well, you’re in luck, friend. Since you brought your own Nikke, everything’s on the house. Just as long as it’s ‘consensual’, of course.” He winked as though they were sharing some private joke. John’s hand twitched with the urge to kill him right there.

Viper played her part perfectly, leaning into John with a sultry smile, her fingers tracing lightly over his arm as if they were every bit the depraved duo the manager believed them to be.

“We’re here for the full experience,” she purred. “No limits.”

The manager’s eyes gleamed with approval. “That’s what I like to hear! Let me show you to a private room. You’ll have all the privacy you need to enjoy yourselves.” He led them through the club, weaving past booths where other Nikkes were draped over men in dark suits, their faces blank masks of submission.

Finally, they were ushered into a dimly lit room, plush with velvet furnishings and soft, ambient lighting. The door closed behind them, leaving John and Viper alone in the suffocatingly quiet space.

Viper dropped the act, her voice low but steady. “We’ve got a few minutes before anyone checks in on us. We play this right, we’ll get what we need from the manager... but you better keep that rage in check. No slipping up, Commander.”

John sat down, the weight of the situation settling over him. He didn’t trust his own reflection right now, but they were in too deep to back out. All that was left was to see how far they’d have to go before they found Rat. The air in the room was thick, not just with the dim lighting and luxurious furnishings, but with the underlying sense of danger that came with being in a place like this.

“That manager creeps me the hell out,” Viper muttered, breaking the silence. She shot a glance at John, who nodded in silent agreement.

“He’s not exactly winning any points for charm,” John said, rubbing the back of his neck, the unease still prickling at the back of his mind.

Viper, now slightly more composed, reached for a sleek tablet that was resting on the table. With a few taps, she scanned the building’s security systems. Her eyes narrowed as she read through the details. “This place is locked up tight. Cameras, guards, encrypted access points... it’s a fortress.”

John frowned. “Figures. But we’re not leaving without something. We need to find whatever we can that will point us to Rat’s location, even if it’s small.”

Viper set the tablet back down, her expression hardening. “Alright. But we play it safe. One wrong move in here and we’re done for.”

Before they could strategize further, there was a soft knock at the door. John tensed, but Viper remained calm as a waiter entered, balancing a tray with drinks and a selection of appetizers. He placed the items on the table, bowing slightly before making a quiet exit.

They exchanged a look. “We’d better make this convincing,” John said, picking up a glass of what looked like whiskey. Viper didn’t hesitate, grabbing a margarita from the tray with a smooth, practiced motion. “Might as well enjoy ourselves while we’re here,” she said with a smirk, her voice dropping back into the sultry tone from earlier.

John watched as she took the small dish of salt provided and carefully applied it to the rim of her glass. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way she moved—calm, calculated, but with an underlying intensity.

She scooted closer to John, her margarita in hand, the tension between them shifting from professional to something else, something more dangerous. "Let’s drink to the future success of this little charade," she murmured, raising her glass slightly.

John clinked his glass against hers, though his mind was still running through the possibilities—what evidence they could find, how long they had before someone came to check on them. He took a sip, but his focus was elsewhere, knowing they were on borrowed time in this twisted place.

John and Viper sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks, before a plan began to form. The lavish yet grim atmosphere of the club weighed on them, the trafficked Nikkes around them reinforcing the gravity of their mission. Viper leaned in, her voice low and filled with that dangerous playfulness she wore so well. “I’ll work the manager. Flirt with him, see what secrets he’s hiding. Men like him always think they’re smarter than they are.”

John raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “And what about me?”

“You’ll talk to the Nikkes,” Viper replied, her tone flat but purposeful. “They’re scared, but if anyone here knows what’s really going on, it’s them. They see everything.”

John nodded. It was a simple enough plan. Play their parts, blend in, and gather what information they could. But as Viper stood, ready to make her move, John watched her head toward the manager, her sway exaggerated just enough to catch his eye. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, shaking his head. Then as she left, his smile faded. “Sorry Viper, but I have my own plans,” he muttered under his breath.

He set down his drink, leaving the private room quietly, blending into the shadows of the club. His instincts told him there was more to uncover. As he moved through the dim corridors, he passed by a series of closed rooms, the thick doors barely muffling the disturbing noises coming from within.

The deeper he went, the more disturbing the sounds became—muffled voices, the clinking of chains, and then... a girl’s sobbing, faint but unmistakable. John’s stomach turned, the sound cutting through him like a knife. He paused outside the door, his hand tightening into a fist, the knuckles cracking as rage built inside him. Inside, he could hear a man’s sickening laugh, clearly reveling in the girl’s misery.

John’s jaw clenched, his nails biting into his palm, but he forced himself to continue walking. As much as he wanted to tear that door off its hinges, he couldn’t blow his cover—not yet. Not until he had something solid on Rat and his operation. He pushed the anger down, letting it simmer just below the surface as he made his way toward the bathrooms, his mind already turning over what he’d just witnessed.

John entered the bathroom and quickly locked himself in one of the stalls. The muffled noises of the club became distant, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

He focused, activating his cursed technique. The world around him sharpened as he began enhancing his senses, one by one, starting with his hearing. Every creak of the floorboards, the faint hum of distant machinery, the chatter of voices, all became amplified in his mind. The sound of electrical currents running through wires crawled into his awareness, a subtle buzz that normal ears couldn’t pick up. He honed in on it, following the electrical hum in the background.

Next, he shifted to his sense of touch. The cool metal of the stall door felt rougher, every tiny imperfection on its surface becoming clear as his fingers traced the edges. He stepped back, letting the enhanced tactile awareness guide him. A faint breeze swept through a small crack between the walls, and it was there—just above him—a wire.

A glimpse of silver peeked through the slight gap between the stall and the ceiling. It was part of the club’s security system, he realized. He blinked and activated his sight next, his eyes narrowing as his vision zoomed in, following the wire as it disappeared into the wall. He alternated his focus, enhancing his sense of smell for a brief second—just enough to catch a whiff of soldered metal and the faint scent of burnt plastic. It confirmed what he already suspected.

Shifting back to his enhanced hearing, John picked up the vibration of footsteps from above. Multiple people, pacing in a rhythmic pattern. He scanned the area in his mind, tracing the direction of the wire through the walls, and calculated the path with a quick mental map. By switching his focus between touch, sound, and sight, he pieced together where the wire led—a control room, most likely filled with security monitors, was situated several rooms to his left and one floor above.

John allowed the enhancement to fade slowly, a slight dizziness creeping in from using his technique so intensely in a short span of time. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as the normal sounds of the club returned. He had what he needed—a location. Now he just had to figure out how to reach that room undetected.

Adjusting his shirt collar and brushing his hair, John stepped out of the stall, his plan beginning to take shape. The hard part was over. Now, it was time to act.

John slipped out of the stall, wiping the faint dizziness from his senses after using his cursed energy. His gaze scanned the club again, watching as several Nikkes moved in and out of a room, balancing trays of drinks and empty dishes. That must be the kitchen, he thought.

He moved with deliberate slowness, pretending to enjoy the sight of a pair of Nikkes dancing on poles, his eyes casually trailing their movements as his mind worked on finding the right moment. The guards were focused on the guests, too caught up in the scene to notice him.

His senses sharpened once more, this time focusing on the camera near the kitchen’s entrance. He reached into his pocket, fingers closing around a small coin. Without breaking his stride, he flicked it with a burst of cursed energy. The coin zipped through the air like a bullet, smashing into the camera lens with a faint crack. A small pop of sparks sputtered as the camera went dead.

Perfect.

John wasted no time, speeding up slightly, his cursed energy enhancing his movements as he timed it just right to slip in behind a Nikke server, barely catching the door as she walked out. The kitchen was grimy and dim, the air thick with the smell of stale grease and overcooked food. Malnourished cooks, human and Nikke alike, moved about mechanically, too focused on their tasks to pay him any attention.

John moved towards what looked like a service door at the back of the kitchen, slipping through the chaos unnoticed. Just as he was about to reach for the door handle, it swung open, and a guard stepped through, almost walking straight into him.

Before the man could react, John was already moving. In one swift motion, he grabbed the guard by the collar and yanked him into the hallway beyond the door, slamming him hard into the wall. The guard gasped in surprise, his eyes wide with fear as John pressed him against the cold concrete, his hand gripping tightly around his throat.

John lifted him by his neck and slammed the guard into the ground with a thud that reverberated down the corridor, the force of impact knocking the man out cold. There was a fleeting moment of silence, broken only by the soft echo of the collision. John glanced down, already moving with precision, his focus razor-sharp. Without hesitation, he began stripping the unconscious guard of his uniform.

The clothes were tight, the fabric pulling uncomfortably at his arms and shoulders as he struggled into the ill-fitting outfit. The guard had been smaller than him by several sizes. John grumbled to himself, adjusting the too-short sleeves and tugging at the collar that threatened to choke him. The helmet was even worse—a shallow dent from when he’d slammed the guard down marred its otherwise sleek surface. John considered ditching it but decided against it.

He stepped out of the room, now dressed in the guard's uniform, though the stiffness of the fabric and awkward fit made his movements feel clumsy. The service corridor stretched out before him, dimly lit and reeking of stale air. His boots thudded against the concrete floor as he moved toward a stairway at the far end of the hall. He felt ridiculous—like a soldier stuffed into a child’s costume—but the tightness of the uniform didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting to that security room undetected.

As he neared the stairway, he couldn't help but smirk, the situation almost laughable in its absurdity. Here he was, wearing a skin-tight uniform with a dented helmet, yet still managing to move through the shadows, heading deeper into the heart of a place rotten with corruption. The weight of the mission pressed down on him again, but for now, he pushed it aside. One step at a time.

John arrived at the security room, his boots muffled by the worn-out carpet as he stepped inside. The door clicked softly behind him, and with a swift motion, he locked it. Inside, a skeleton crew of guards and a couple of tech workers sat at their stations, engrossed in the grainy security feeds displayed on the monitors. The flickering lights illuminated their faces in an eerie glow, unaware of the looming danger that had just entered the room.

The tension was palpable, but John's demeanor remained calm. His eyes swept over the setup—old screens, hard drives stacked haphazardly, and wires spilling out from under the control panels. The noise of the buzzing electronics filled the room, masking the sound of his movements. He adjusted his too-tight uniform, the fabric pulling uncomfortably with each step as he made his way closer to the controls.

In an instant, he was on them, moving with precision. He disabled one of the guards with a swift blow to the back of the head, the man crumpling to the floor without a sound. Another guard turned, but before he could react, John had already incapacitated him. The workers looked up, panic dawning in their eyes, but John moved quickly, silencing them before they could scream.

With the room now under control, John turned to the equipment, locking the door behind him once again. He quickly started scanning the feeds

Back on the floor, Viper leaned in closer to the sleazy manager, her demeanor playful, but with an edge of danger. Her tone was light, but each word was deliberate, like bait dropped into murky water. She was reeling him in.

“You seem like a real mover and shaker,” Viper cooed, a sly grin playing on her lips. “I bet a man like you knows exactly where real power and secrets are kept.”

The manager chuckled, puffing his chest out a little. He loved the attention, especially from a Nikke like Viper, who oozed confidence and charm. He glanced around, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as though preparing to share something he rarely offered. "Let's just say... I’ve got eyes everywhere. All the good stuff flows through me."

Viper smirked, playing along. “Maybe you could show me sometime. I’m sure we could make it worth each other’s while.” Her flirtation was artful, disarming the man’s suspicions and pushing him to reveal more, all while keeping him on a tight leash.

John, meanwhile, worked fast, uploading the security footage and scanning through files. His focus sharpened when he found the manager’s office feed—where Viper was slowly leading him. John was still in the dark about how far she’d go. He kept an eye on the monitors while continuing to pull as much data as he could. His mind raced with the need to stay a step ahead.

The flickering screens showed snippets of rooms all over the club, including the darkened hallways John had passed earlier—the muffled sounds of deals, the quiet footsteps of Nikkes trapped in servitude, and behind one door, the twisted cries of someone clearly in pain.

His fingers stilled on the keyboard, fists clenching briefly as he fought back the urge to act now. No. He had to keep his focus. If he could just uncover the right leverage, he could shut this whole operation down.

But then, back on the floor, Viper tilted her head, locking eyes with the manager, her hand brushing his sleeve ever so slightly. The connection was made. She’d gotten him right where they needed him.

Viper’s heels clicked softly against the polished floors as the manager led her through the winding paths of the club. The heavy beats of music thrummed in the air, almost masking the quiet conversations in the side rooms. But Viper had her focus set on the man beside her, her eyes glinting with intention. She leaned in close, offering a smile that was part playful, part predatory.

“You must have quite the influence here,” she mused, letting her fingers brush against his arm in an almost absent-minded gesture. “Running a place like this, I bet you know every little thing that happens, don’t you?”

The manager puffed up at her words, clearly enjoying the attention. His eyes glittered with self-importance as he glanced around, as if to confirm his dominance. “Of course,” he said, with a slow smirk. “Not much gets past me. And let’s just say... I have friends in high places. Benefactors who know how to protect their investments.”

“Is that so?” Viper purred, her voice like honey. “Seems like some of your guards are missing tonight, though. I wonder why?”

The manager’s smile faltered slightly, but his ego wouldn’t let him stop. “Ah, well,” he began, “my benefactor pulled some of the guards away. There’s been... some trouble brewing in the Outer Rim. Dangerous situation. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Viper nodded thoughtfully, all while subtly steering the conversation, leading him exactly where she wanted him. “Trouble in the Outer Rim, you say? Must be something serious to call your attention away from such a fine establishment.”

“Nothing to worry about,” the manager replied, his voice steady but his eyes flicking nervously to the side. “Everything’s under control.”

They arrived at the door to his private room, and the manager reached for the handle, turning it with a flourish. “Here we are—my personal sanct—”

His words cut off as the door swung open to reveal a guard slumped on the floor, unconscious.

Before the manager could react, John appeared out of the shadows, his hand flying to the manager’s throat with startling speed. He slammed him against the wall, his grip tightening just enough to keep the man from reaching for the panic button on his wrist.

Viper crossed her arms, her expression more annoyed than surprised. “This wasn’t part of the plan, Honey.”

John, his voice a low growl, didn’t even glance her way. “I decided to alter the plan.”

The manager, eyes wide with fear, struggled against John’s grip, but it was futile. John’s grip was iron. Without another word, he shoved the manager toward the bathroom, dragging him inside as the man choked out desperate pleas.

Viper sighed, stepping toward the door, her posture still relaxed but her eyes gleaming with barely concealed irritation. “Guess I’ll watch the door, then.”

John didn’t respond. The door to the bathroom slammed shut behind them, and there was a brief pause before the sound of the faucet turning on filled the air. The water rushed, loud and violent, mingling with the muffled sounds of the manager’s panicked gasps.

Outside, the atmosphere was suddenly suffocating, the weight of what was happening just behind the door hanging in the air. Viper leaned against the wall, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm on her thigh, but even her usual calm exterior couldn’t completely mask the tension creeping in.

In the bathroom, the faucet continued to run, the sharp, metallic scent of blood already beginning to mingle with the water.

The manager’s scream was cut off by the slam of a fist, and the gurgling of a man struggling to breath under water.

-

An hour had passed. Viper was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, eyes lazily fixed on the closed door to the manager’s room. The distant hum of the club’s activity droned on, muffled and unimportant compared to what was happening behind that door. Finally, it creaked open, and John stepped out, the manager stumbling after him, a broken shell of the man he had been.

The manager’s babbling was incoherent, his eyes wide with fear, his hands shaking uncontrollably. John’s expression was unreadable, cold and calculating, but something in his eyes flickered—conflict, maybe, or disgust. He wiped his hands on a cloth, barely acknowledging the pitiful man beside him.

“He broke,” John confirmed in a low voice, glancing at Viper. “Gave me some information, but we need to get out of here. I’ll tell you everything once we’re somewhere safe.”

He stepped toward the manager, reaching for the man’s throat. His intention was clear. Viper’s hand shot out, catching John’s arm before he could act.

“Not yet,” Viper said, her voice smooth, almost playful. “We can still use him.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping even lower, edged with anger. “Do you know what I saw in there? What this scum is responsible for?”

Viper’s grip tightened slightly, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Oh, I know. But keeping him alive gives Exotic leverage. We can make an impact on a much larger scale if we play this right.”

John’s jaw clenched, and for a brief moment, he looked as though he might ignore her, but then something shifted. His hand fell away from the manager, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

The manager slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. Viper stepped forward, her expression smug as she leaned in close to the trembling man.

“I found out a little something while my friend here was having his fun,” she purred. “Your real name is Iannis Konstantine, right? You’ve got a wife... and kids. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to keep your mouth shut about what happened here tonight, and nothing gets out. And nothing happens to them.” Her smile was sweet, but her words were laced with venom.

The manager’s head bobbed in frantic agreement, his eyes darting between Viper and John, desperate for any sign of mercy. But there was none. Viper patted him on the cheek before turning to leave.

As they walked out of the club, the tension between them was palpable. Viper broke the silence first, her tone teasing but with a hint of something deeper. “I didn’t expect you to have such a dark side, Commander.”

John didn’t reply.

-

In the dimly lit corner of the outpost, John tossed pieces of fried chicken into the air, watching with a mixture of amusement and awe as Jackal, in her usual hyperactive fashion, leaped up and snatched each piece mid-flight, swallowing everything whole—including the bones. She barely touched the ground before she was ready for the next one, her grin wide and excited as if it were all a game. He kept his off hand on a bag full of hard-drives he had pulled out of the security room, clenching hard without realizing.

“Wow... you’re really something,” John muttered, tossing another piece into the air and shaking his head in disbelief as she caught it effortlessly.

Meanwhile, Viper and Crow stood to the side, deep in conversation, their expressions more serious. Viper’s gaze occasionally drifted to John and Jackal, but her focus remained on the task at hand.

“Turns out Rat’s canceled every meeting he had scheduled for the next week,” Viper said, her voice low. “All except for an arms deal that’s supposed to go down soon. Problem is, we still don’t know where it’s happening.”

Crow folded her arms, her face twisted in disdain. “Typical. But we know he’s dealing with the Grove Side Boys, right? That gives us something to work with.”

Viper nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t have many contacts with them. Still, I’ll pull what I can.”

Crow’s gaze sharpened, and her lip curled in disgust. “You’re working awfully hard for a human commander. Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to like him.”

Viper snorted, brushing off the comment with a dismissive wave. “Oh, please. He’s just an interesting plaything, that’s all. Don’t get your wires crossed, Crow. I know how to keep my distance.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with skepticism. “You’d better. Just remember who we are, and what we do. You’re getting too cozy for my liking.”

Viper’s smirk returned, though there was a flicker of something more serious in her eyes. “Relax. I’ll be careful. And besides,” she gestured to the door behind them, “we’ve got that manager eating out of our hands. That should be something to celebrate, right?”

Crow grunted, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t care about that slime. What I care about is whether or not you can keep your head straight.”

As Viper turned her gaze back to John and Jackal, she watched the commander laughing with Jackal, tossing more chicken into the air. His playful demeanor was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating side he’d shown at the club earlier. There was no trace of the darkness she had witnessed—just a man having fun, as if the weight of his recent actions didn’t exist at all.

Viper’s smile faded slightly as she muttered to herself, “Interesting, indeed.”

-

The dimly lit streets of the Outer Rim echoed with the steady clink of boots on cracked concrete. A man, dressed in the fine, tailored clothing of the Ark’s elite—his silver hair slicked back in an immaculate, regal style—walked in the center of a small group of guards. Their footsteps were heavy, purposeful, and brimming with arrogance. They were heading back to the safety of the Ark after some unsavory business in this forsaken place, where the Ark's shadow never truly lifted.

The air felt heavy tonight, as if something foul was brewing in the abandoned alleyways that lined their path. The Sovereign, his lips pressed into a thin, condescending smile, paid little mind to the dirtied streets, or the desperate figures that slinked into the shadows as he passed. He had power, wealth, and the protection of his guards—a force field of control that left him feeling untouchable.

But then the light began to die.

One by one, the flickering streetlamps dimmed, as if their energy were being drained by something darker than the night. The guards tensed, their hands twitching toward their weapons as an unnatural stillness settled over the street. Their breaths, shallow and quick, were the only sounds left, the usual hum of distant generators and machinery now conspicuously absent.

"Keep moving," the Sovereign hissed, but there was an edge to his voice. The bravado was beginning to crack.

Suddenly, the darkness shifted.

It was subtle at first—just a wisp of shadow, curling unnaturally at the edges of their vision. Then, like a curtain falling, the shadows dropped. Heavy, suffocating, and all-encompassing. A low, almost imperceptible whisper seemed to crawl through the air, sending shivers down their spines.

The guards raised their weapons, their nerves stretched to the breaking point. But they were too late. The shadows seemed alive, moving with a purpose that was far more menacing than any natural darkness. A breath, a flicker, and then—there he was.

John stood in the middle of the group, his figure emerging from the swirling darkness as if he had been born from it. His face was obscured by the shadows, but the cold gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. He didn't speak. He didn’t need to.

The guards were frozen, their instincts screaming at them to run, but their bodies refused to obey. The Sovereign’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his hand reaching toward the nearest guard, but John’s gaze never left him. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the very shadows themselves were pressing down on them, suffocating them with invisible hands.

Then the whispering began again. Low, incomprehensible, and yet filled with promise—of pain, of reckoning. The Sovereign's guards flinched, their eyes wide, as the shadows closed in.

John took a slow step forward, his smile curling in the darkness. The Sovereign’s last thought before the world swallowed him was of the little girl he tpaid for in the brothel.

And then the shadows consumed them all.

Chapter Text

Rapi scanned over the stack of building plans and proposals, her brow furrowing at the list of requests. Outside, the muffled hum of construction echoed through the walls, underscoring her focus. She looked up at Liter, who was idly adjusting her hardhat with one hand and stroking her robotic dog, Bolt, with the other.

“An armory, sure. Makes sense,” Rapi muttered, flipping to another page, a skeptical brow raised. “But a café, a library… and a toy store? Are all of these really necessary?”

Liter shrugged, a small grin tugging at her lips. “What can I say? The spaces and funds were already allocated. And hey, morale isn’t just bullets and rations. Even soldiers need a little downtime, something to look forward to when they’re off-duty.”

Rapi huffed, her gaze lingering on the toy store proposal with evident doubt. “Shouldn’t we focus on utilities first?” She glanced at Liter. “We’re out here to carry out our duties as Nikkes, not play around.”

With a sage nod, Liter patted Bolt’s head, the robotic dog’s tail wagging in sync with her words. “You’d be surprised what folks here want to spend their extra credits on. Might as well give them the option, right? Besides, if any of these buildings end up being underused, I can always rebuild and repurpose. That’s the beauty of modular construction.”

Rapi sighed, setting the forms down. “Fine. Just… let’s keep the essentials in mind first, alright?”

Liter chuckled, giving Rapi an exaggerated salute. “No worries, kiddo. Your armory’s top priority. The café and library will just… keep the outpost from feeling too much like a prison. And who knows, maybe you’ll find yourself needing a book or a coffee now and then.”

Rapi shot her a skeptical look. “Guess I’ll leave the architectural vision to you.”

The door swung open, and Centi burst in, her energy like a whirlwind against the room’s calm. Her bright, sporty outfit—complete with construction tools hanging off her belt—added to her vivacious presence. Grinning wide, she held up a blueprint with enthusiasm.

“Hey, hey! So, about that toy store! I was thinking we could add some really fun architecture—something that’ll make everyone stop and stare!” Her excitement was as bright as her attire, getting a bit carried away, as usual.

Liter, ever the more grounded one, gave her a look, gently reminding, “Centi, we don’t need the store to be a spectacle. Function over form, remember?”

Centi waved her off playfully. “But why can’t it be both?” She bounced on her heels, her excitement practically spilling over. “Come on, you have to admit, a flashy building is way more fun!”

Rapi, still going over the paperwork, watched the exchange with quiet amusement. Despite her doubts, Centi’s enthusiasm was contagious, softening her stance. Maybe there was value in creating spaces for comfort and joy, even out here.

“What about the armory?” she asked, meeting Centi’s animated gaze.

Centi’s excitement didn’t miss a beat, pivoting seamlessly to the more serious topic. “Almost ready! Reinforced and all, just like you wanted. You’re gonna love it.”

Liter nodded in approval, arms crossed. “As for the other buildings, the space is allocated, and the funds are ready. We can adjust things as needed, but I’m confident we’ll be ready for the influx of new squads.”

-

John moved quietly through the grimy streets of the Outer Rim, the weight of the looming trainyard sinking into his bones. The further he went, the more the world around him seemed to decay—buildings crumbled like forgotten monuments, the air thick with the stench of rot and rust. Shadows flitted through the alleys, whispers of survival in a place long abandoned by hope.

As he neared the far edge of the district, his eyes landed on an old man slumped against the wall, a ratty tarp draped over his shoulders. The man’s face was weathered, skin cracked like leather left in the sun too long. He sat beside a small tin cup, its meager contents barely enough for a meal.

John stopped, fishing out a few credits and tossing them into the cup with a metallic clink.

"Appreciate that, son," the old man drawled, his voice carrying a thick southern tang, smooth as molasses despite the grime and ruin around him.

John crouched beside him, lowering his voice as he nodded toward the distant, waterlogged trainyard. "Heard the trainyard’s flooded. You know anything about it?"

The old man shifted, tugging the tarp closer as though warding off a chill. “Oh, I reckon I know a bit,” he said slowly, the cadence of his words like the drawl of a man who’d seen too much. “Used t’be one o’ them pipes, y’know? The big ones, carryin’ water from here on up to the Ark.” He spat to the side, a tired but deliberate motion. “Well, she done burst ‘bout a few months back. Flooded the whole damn place. Ain’t no one goes down there much no more. Least no one with any sense, anyhow.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “So the pipe busted, and that’s it? No one’s tried to go back?”

The old man chuckled, the sound raspy and dry. “Oh, they tried, alright. But folk who go lookin’ down there don’t come back. Place like that…” he hesitated, eyes flicking to John as if weighing something, “it’s got a feelin’. Cursed, some say.” He let the words hang heavy in the air. “But hell, this whole damn place is cursed, if ya ask me.”

John nodded, absorbing the information. “Appreciate it,” he muttered, standing up.

The old man tipped his head. “Ain’t nothin’ to it, son. But if yer headin’ that way, best mind yerself. Water ain’t the only thing you gotta worry ‘bout.”

Without replying, John turned and continued down the thinning streets, the old man’s warning settling into the back of his mind. The smell grew stronger as he neared the trainyard—a mixture of sewage and decay, hanging in the air like a bad memory.

At the edge of the flooded yard, he stopped, staring at the drowned world before him. Rusted tracks vanished into stagnant water that reflected the dilapidated surroundings in murky shades. He knew whatever he was about to uncover wouldn’t be pretty.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the muck, the squelch of his boots echoing in the stillness of the sunken yard. Each step sent ripples through the water, the silence pressing in like a weight on his chest. Closing his eyes for a moment, he allowed his senses to reach out, feeling for any sign in the oppressive silence that lay ahead.

The cursed energy was thick here, far denser than it should have been. The Outer Rim always had more cursed energy compared to the Ark—it came with the territory of decay and suffering—but this place? This felt different. The energy wasn’t just a product of the environment; it was concentrated, pulsing deep beneath the earth like a festering wound, warping the air around him with a thick, suffocating humidity.

John took a slow, deliberate breath, feeling how the cursed energy clung to him, heavy and unyielding. A quiet unease coiled within him as he pieced together the situation—something was lurking beneath the burst water pipe. Something that had been accumulating cursed energy for years, like poison waiting to seep through.

His mind focused sharply on his cursed technique, Ruinous Gambit, as he prepared for the dive. He visualized his body as a series of interwoven systems, each one essential to his survival underwater. This technique had once felt like a curse in itself, a dangerous and limiting ability. But over time, he’d learned to be creative, to push its boundaries.

To extend his time underwater, he first amplified his lung capacity. His cursed energy magnified the power and elasticity of his diaphragm, allowing him to take in an unnaturally large breath. His alveoli—the tiny air sacs in his lungs where gas exchange occurred—expanded, prepared to trap as much oxygen as possible.

Next, he focused on oxygen efficiency at the cellular level. Enhancing the affinity of hemoglobin for oxygen, he made his blood a more efficient carrier, holding onto each oxygen molecule longer. His mitochondria ramped up, burning through oxygen sparingly and creating energy with minimal waste. Even as he exerted himself underwater, his cells would consume oxygen at a fraction of their usual rate.

He then heightened his myoglobin levels—the oxygen-binding protein in his muscles. Normally, myoglobin acted as a short-term reservoir, supplying muscles with oxygen during high-intensity activity. By increasing its concentration, John ensured his muscles had a backup supply, letting him move swiftly without immediately draining his oxygen reserves.

Finally, he worked on his hypoxia tolerance, altering his body’s ability to withstand low oxygen conditions. He suppressed the symptoms of hypoxia—dizziness, confusion, and panic—while enhancing cerebral blood flow to keep his brain oxygenated. This way, he could stay sharp even as his body pushed its limits in the depths below.

Directing his cursed energy into these systems, John felt the familiar strain settle over him. Reflexes, hearing, and endurance drained away in exchange—his movements would be slower, his hearing silent, and his stamina limited. But right now, his priority was surviving the dive, not fighting.

A dull ache spread across his muscles as his transformation completed, a bone-deep fatigue that reminded him of the cost. With his hearing gone and his reflexes dulled, each step forward felt more exposed, and he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the cursed energy lurking beneath him, pulsing in the darkness.

The familiar drain of energy washed over him as he steeled himself. He took one last breath, feeling the pressure of the cursed energy below. Whatever was waiting for him in those depths, it wasn’t safe—but there was no turning back now.

With his lungs filled to capacity, his body functioning like an oxygen-conserving machine, and his mind steeled for the descent, John took the plunge. The icy water enveloped him as he sank into the flooded trainyard, his movements smooth and energy-efficient. Each stroke used minimal effort, his muscles working fluidly without draining his oxygen reserves.

As he descended further into the cursed energy-filled abyss, John felt the pull of the energy growing stronger, more concentrated, as if something in the depths was calling to him. The deeper he went, the more he sensed its presence—a dense, festering pulse that seemed to vibrate through the water itself.

The cold water tightened around him, the inky blackness thickening with each meter he descended. Despite his enhanced lungs, the pressure bore down on him, squeezing his chest in an unforgiving vise. His enhanced lungs resisted, but the ache in his diaphragm reminded him of the limits even his cursed technique couldn’t ignore.

Ahead, the ruptured pipe loomed, slick with algae and rot, like the yawning maw of some ancient creature. It plunged sharply into the abyss, vanishing into darkness. For a moment, John hesitated, feeling the sheer weight of the cursed energy that seemed to reach up from the tunnel like a hand pulling him downward.

Hovering at the pipe’s entrance, he flicked on his flashlight, its narrow beam piercing the water just enough to reveal the swirling sediment. The light barely penetrated the shadows, illuminating only a few feet ahead. Sound seemed to vanish here, muffled as if the pipe swallowed it whole. All he could hear was the rhythmic pound of his heartbeat and the faint, creaking groan of old metal, like the pipe itself was breathing along with him.

A flicker of doubt surfaced. Was he being pulled by courage, or something far more reckless? But curiosity edged out his fear, and with a final thought, he decided. There was no turning back.

John entered the pipe, his form cutting through the water in tight, controlled movements. The tunnel walls closed in around him, confining him to near silence, where even the slightest sound seemed to echo back in warped whispers. His flashlight flickered, its narrow beam revealing nothing but the oppressive blackness ahead as the cursed energy thickened, clinging to him like a heavy cloak. The deeper he went, the more the energy’s pull grew, urging him toward something ancient, something that pulsed wrong beneath the surface.

The descent was relentless, each turn of the pipe twisting him further into darkness. The water felt thicker here, clinging to him, slowing him as if the abyss itself resisted his presence. The tunnel’s walls closed in, slick with algae and grime, narrowing until he could barely turn his head. He pressed on, moving faster, feeling the cursed energy clawing at his skin—a silent scream in the void.

Then, faintly, he heard it. A low, guttural groan vibrated through the pipe, an unnatural sound that rattled his bones. His body picked it up with unnatural clarity, a sound that didn’t belong to any machine or creature he knew.

Ahead, A small room leading out of the water loomed like a gaping maw. The cursed energy pooled around it, an almost tangible weight pressing down on him. The water felt dense, and his instincts screamed at him to turn back, but something in him—an old curiosity, perhaps even recklessness—urged him forward.

Just as he reached for the edge of the ledge leading to the room, the water around him trembled. He sensed the change a second too late. Out of the darkness, a fleshy tendril, slick and disturbingly fast, shot from the shadows, slamming into his right side with terrifying force.

The initial shock was cold and numbing, his mind processing the attack too slowly. Then the pain hit, instant and overwhelming, spreading like fire through his chest. The tendril buried itself in his side, twisting deeper through muscle and bone. The texture of it was grotesque—slick, pulsating, and horribly alive, writhing against his skin.

His breath hitched, and water flooded his mouth as he instinctively gasped, choking on the liquid. His hand shot to the wound, feeling the vile, pulsating mass lodged in his side. His vision blurred, the cursed energy around him pulsing in sync with the creature’s rhythm, as though the water itself was beating with its life.

The tendril twisted deeper.

John’s body convulsed as agony exploded through his chest, blood clouding the water around him in dark red blooms. His heartbeat thundered, each pulse a reminder of the lung collapsing inside him.

He fought, desperately clawing to tear himself free, but the tendril tightened, dragging him deeper. The cursed energy wrapped around him like a shroud, thick and suffocating. Panic clawed at his thoughts as he struggled, his mind racing through a dozen survival instincts. But the darkness pressed in, the pain overwhelmed him, and the tendril pulled him deeper, dragging him into the heart of the cursed depths.

-

Rapi sat at her desk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Neon and Anis locked in yet another pointless argument. The two were standing across the room, both gesticulating wildly as they bickered over something absurd—whether it was better to use real butter or margarine in rations or something equally trivial. Their voices overlapped, rising and falling in a back-and-forth that was both exhausting and somehow...endless.

Neon, always fiery, waved her hands with a kind of exaggerated frustration, as if the fate of the world depended on her side of the argument. "I'm telling you, the texture is completely different! You can't just—"

Anis rolled her eyes, cutting her off. "Look, you say 'texture,' I say 'who cares?' It's all going to the same place, right?"

Rapi let out a quiet, resigned sigh. They were at it again.

It wasn’t that the arguments themselves were particularly infuriating. In fact, most of the time they were relatively harmless, filled with banter more than real conflict. But at this moment, with the sheer amount of paperwork that littered her desk and the weight of responsibility pressing on her shoulders, the noise was a constant, pulsing headache. She pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to focus on the requisition forms for the outpost expansion that Liter had given her earlier. It was hard enough trying to balance the needs of the outpost and the mission, but doing it with those two constantly sparring in the background...

She stared down at the forms, trying to concentrate, but her mind wandered. As much as she was used to handling such chaos, part of her couldn’t help but think about the commander.

Hopefully, he's having an easier time than I am right now, she thought with a weary glance at the stack of paperwork.

-

John screamed, a guttural roar of pain and fury as the tendril continued piercing through his side, pushing into his right lung with a sickening thud. His body convulsed, wracked by the searing pain, but instead of retreating, he did the opposite. Teeth gritted, jaw clenched in defiance, he grabbed the fleshy tendril, yanking on it with every ounce of strength he had left.

Dark ribbons of blood clouded the water around him as the creature pulled him closer, dragging him through the murky depths. The pressure mounted as they descended, pressing in on him physically and mentally, his injured lung straining with each beat. Finally, he was hauled into a dim, chamber-like space, where a monstrous figure awaited him.

A grotesque abomination stared back—a twisted fusion of human and starfish, its uneven, leathery skin scattered with sunken eyes that followed his every movement. Its tendrils quivered in the water, holding John suspended in front of it. For a split second, time slowed, and John’s fury collided with the sheer horror of the creature looming before him.

Then rage consumed him, overtaking fear.

Fueled by adrenaline and anger, John surged forward. His fist clenched as he channeled every last bit of strength and cursed energy into a single blow. He felt the cursed energy surge, intensifying the burning power coursing through his arm. With a final roar, he swung, his fist colliding with the creature’s core.

The impact resounded through the chamber like a crack of thunder, rippling outward as the creature’s body crumpled beneath the sheer force. Its leathery skin split, its scattered eyes widening briefly before the tendrils fell lifeless. John felt himself released, the creature’s broken remains drifting in the murky water around him.

The pain in John’s chest throbbed with every heartbeat as swam back towards the room he had seen and he pulled himself onto a narrow ledge within the room, gasping for air in ragged breaths. His right lung, punctured and useless, made each inhale feel like a battle. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue, sharp and unyielding. His left lung worked overtime, pulling in desperate gulps of air to keep him alive, while his right side burned in searing agony.

Leaning back against the cold, wet stone, he closed his eyes briefly, his mind racing. He was running out of options; his cursed energy, the only thing keeping him on his feet, was fading fast.

His breathing grew more shallow, a wet rasp accompanying each exhale. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, thick and metallic, as he struggled to control the pain. The quiet of the room was deceptive, masking the ominous weight of cursed energy that seemed to press in around him, an ever-present reminder that he couldn’t stay here.

He couldn’t rely on his cursed technique much longer—his body was strained beyond its limits. But rest was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand, the agony in his chest blazing as he pulled himself up from the ledge. The cursed energy around him pulsed faintly, as if mocking his weakened state.

Each breath was fire—sharp, shallow, and unsatisfying. Blood trickled from the wound, staining his clothes. His hands trembled from blood loss, the weakness blurring his focus, but he gritted his teeth, pulling out his first aid kit and struggling to wrap a strip of fabric tightly around his torso. Every tightening pull sent fresh waves of pain radiating through his chest, but he forced himself to press on, determined to staunch the bleeding before it overtook him.

With trembling hands, John resumed treating his wound with his first aid kit, his fingers fumbling slightly from blood loss and pain. The antiseptic stung sharply as he applied it to the wound, a biting sensation that cut through the fog clouding his mind. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air as he wrapped gauze around his chest, covering the torn skin with deliberate, if sluggish, movements. His vision flickered, and every breath was a battle—sharp, shallow, and unsatisfying.

His left lung worked overtime, drawing in strained gulps of air to sustain him, while his right side burned in searing agony. As he tied the last knot in the bandage, he knew he had no time to lose. Reaching deep within himself, he tapped into his cursed technique: Ruinous Gambit. Outright healing wasn’t an option—his body couldn’t handle the energy and materials required to repair such damage on its own. If he tried to force true healing, it would burn him out, consuming calories and bodily resources he didn’t have to spare. But he could aid the process, giving his body just enough of a boost to stabilize.

Ruinous Gambit allowed him to treat his body as an abstract system, enhancing one function at the cost of another. With a grimace, he sacrificed some of his dexterity and endurance, mentally adjusting his body’s balance. Cursed energy surged within him, focusing around his lungs and wound, encouraging his cells to work more efficiently without forcing full regeneration. The pain dulled slightly, and his left lung’s ability to absorb and transport oxygen improved, sustaining him a little more effectively.

But the cost was immediate. A wave of dizziness washed over him, his limbs felt heavy, his movements sluggish, and his reflexes dulled. He didn’t need speed right now—he needed survival.

As the cursed energy did its work, he felt the bleeding slow and his wound stabilize, buying him precious time. His lung wouldn’t heal fully without proper medical care, but for now, the cursed technique had helped stem the worst of it. His breathing was still shallow and painful, but he could manage.

Time was ticking, and he knew he couldn’t stay here. The cursed energy pulsed faintly in the depths, as though something ancient and unseen lay in wait. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand, his chest blazing with each movement. This was no place for hesitation.

John tightened his grip on the first aid kit, securing the bandages one last time before letting his cursed energy fade back into the background. His body ached, the strain of the gambit still gnawing at his reserves, but he was ready to move again.

The darkness of the cave surrounded him, but John pushed off the wall, his eyes narrowing as he scanned his surroundings. He wasn’t done yet. He needed to find a way out of this hellish place, but more importantly, he had to figure out just what was lurking deeper down in the waters.

He forced himself forward, gritting his teeth against the lingering pain, determined to finish what he’d started.

As John moved forward, his footfalls fading into the murky silence, he remained oblivious to the remains of the cursed creature lay disturbingly still, not dispersing into ethereal wisps upon defeat…

-

Under the moonlit shadows, Viper moved with calculated silence through the dim corridors of the safehouse. Her breathing was measured, each step deliberate as she neared John's room, her hand grazing along the wall for balance as her eyes locked onto the closed door at the end of the hall. The closer she drew, however, the more an unsettling weight pressed down on her chest—a dark, formless dread that gnawed at the edges of her resolve.

She paused just a few feet from the door, feeling her heartbeat drum louder, her pulse racing against her will. Her fingers twitched, eager to reach for the door handle, but each time she tried, a wave of primal fear washed over her, stalling her hand in midair. The air was thick, suffused with an energy that seemed to creep beneath her skin, filling her with a despair that clawed its way up from her stomach to her throat, making her breath come shallow and uneven.

Swallowing hard, she steeled herself again and took another step forward, but her knees weakened as that dark, invisible force grew more intense, suffocating her with its oppressive weight. Every cell in her body screamed at her to retreat, as if crossing the threshold would pull her into an abyss from which there was no escape. Teeth clenched, she forced herself to press on, inch by inch, before the sensation spiked—an almost physical force of terror that made her body recoil on instinct.

Gasping, Viper staggered back, her resolve crumbling under the weight of the inexplicable fear. She fought to regain her composure, her fingers brushing against her own face as she tried to steady her breathing. She glanced back down the hall, her eyes narrowed, refusing to be defeated by whatever presence lingered beyond that door, yet the despair within her pulsed more potent than her will. It was like being on the edge of a cliff, knowing one step too far would send her plunging into a darkness from which she might never return.

Frustration bubbling up, she clenched her fists, cursing under her breath as she retreated, the unsettling aura of John's room haunting her long after she slipped back into the safehouse's shadows.

-

John staggered along the tunnel connected to the room, the ache from his wounded lung making each breath a sharp, stinging reminder of the tendril’s attack. The air was thick and stale, laced with a sickly dampness that clung to his skin as he pushed forward, eyes scanning for any sign of escape. He barely had time to steady himself before several shapes lunged at him from the shadows, their warped, humanoid figures glinting in the faint light. Five against one, and all closing in.

Pain flared in his side with every movement, but his body snapped into motion. Even battered and bleeding, his movements were precise, each dodge and strike controlled and efficient. He sidestepped the first curse, catching its clawed hand and twisting, sending it careening into the wall with a sickening crack. Another cursed figure lunged from his left; he ducked low, driving an elbow into its torso, sending it sprawling back with a snarl.

As he faced the next two, he switched seamlessly between dodging and countering, his footwork flawless even as the curses swarmed him. Their frenzied, chaotic attacks could never keep up with his calm precision, each strike of his finding its mark while their claws and fangs missed by inches. Wild, erratic, they flailed at him in desperation, but he was a practiced combatant, his discipline carrying him through the relentless assault.

One by one, the curses fell until only one remained—a twisted, pitiful creature whose face contorted in terror. John raised his fist to finish it off when it suddenly cried out, “Help me… end it… please, just end it…” Its voice was a low, guttural plea, almost human in its desperation. For a moment, John hesitated, caught by the flicker of something close to fear in its eyes. It was a curse, he reminded himself, yet in that instant, he could swear he saw the ghost of something more behind its gaze.

But before he could process the thought, the creature lunged, claws extended, its attack more desperate than skilled.

Without missing a beat, John countered, his arm moving in a sharp, brutal arc that took the creature down. He stood over its still form, his brow furrowing as he replayed its last words in his mind. Just a curse, he told himself, a thing born of hatred and suffering. Yet the echo of its plea lingered.

-

Belorta and Mica were packing up, the air thick with anticipation for their transfer to the outpost. The barracks room was cluttered with gear, half-sorted into boxes labeled with scribbled words like “ammo” and “snacks” in Belorta’s scrawling handwriting.

“Hey, Mica, grab that bag, will ya?” Belorta called, balancing a stack of half-empty boxes in her arms.

“Got it, Belorta,” Mica replied, her wary smile flickering as she moved to grab the bag. As she leaned over, she noticed a drawer left slightly open, a brightly colored scarf sticking out. Curious, she tugged it, and a coiled snake toy shot out with a hiss, springing toward her. She gasped, stumbling back with a hand over her heart as it landed on the floor, still hissing mechanically.

Belorta burst into laughter, clutching her sides. “Gotcha, Mica! Can’t believe you fell for that one again!”

Mica’s cheeks flushed as she regained her composure. “You always get me with that… Belorta.” She looked down, fingers grazing the frayed edge of an old childhood toy that had found its way into her pack. “I just… really hope the new Commander isn’t the type to get angry over things like that.”

Belorta plopped onto her bed, fiddling with a tin of mints. “Oh yeah, rumors are all over. Heard he’s tough, kinda mysterious, and probably real serious. Like, the kind of guy who’d rather punch a wall than crack a smile.”

Mica’s eyes widened. “Serious? You mean… like he’d get mad about pranks?”

Belorta waved her hand dismissively. “Pfft. If he can’t handle a little humor, maybe he’s the wrong guy for the job. And besides, if he tries to stop my pranks, that just means he’ll get more of ‘em. You can count on that.”

Mica nodded but seemed lost in thought, her fingers brushing against the small, frayed toy. “I just hope… he’s not the type to get really angry,” she murmured, barely audible.

-

John’s rage flared as he barreled through a new wave of curses that had swarmed him, twisted, shadowy forms hissing and clawing from every angle. They moved with erratic speed, half-formed nightmares shifting in and out of the shadows, their eyes glinting with malevolent hunger. But his own fury burned hotter, each punch and shout a release of everything simmering under his skin.

“Is this all you got?” he taunted, laughter bubbling up between clenched teeth. He slammed his fist into the face of a curse, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the damp tunnel as he threw it aside. Another cursed creature lunged from behind, and he twisted around, grabbing its arm and snapping it with a swift, brutal motion. “You’ll have to do better than that!” he spat, a smirk tugging at his lips even as fresh blood trickled from a wound above his brow.

The sting of every wound was swallowed by the adrenaline surging through him. Each swing, each crack of bone and hiss of a defeated curse filled him with a manic satisfaction. For a moment, he forgot the pain and allowed his anger to consume him, roaring, “Come on!” as his voice bounced off the tunnel walls.

-

Inside the bustling loading bay, Café Sweety’s team was preparing supplies, readying themselves for the new branch opening at the outpost. Milk, always with a mischievous glint in her eye and a bold attitude, was stacking crates while chatting enthusiastically. Her hair, cut in a tomboyish style, peeked out from under a rugged cap, and her casual combat-ready attire suited her fiery personality.

"So, do ya think this new commander’s some kinda martial arts expert?" she asked, tossing a crate to Sugar.

Sugar, casually leaning against her beloved motorcycle “Black Typhoon,” caught the crate with ease, her punk style and laid-back smirk exuding a calm confidence. "Doubt it," she replied. "Commanders usually don’t get much beyond basic defense training at the academy. Doesn’t seem like their style."

Frima, with her ever-sleepy demeanor and draped in a thick, cozy jacket, gave a slow, uninterested shrug from her perch on the couch, barely even glancing up from her tablet. "Probably… just your average guy… with a badge."

Milk waved her hands dismissively, practically bouncing on her feet with energy. “Nah, nah, I’m telling you, this one’s gotta be different. He’s survived a bunch of missions out there. That’s rare, right? Bet he’s got some serious moves—probably knows, like, advanced martial arts or something!”

Sugar rolled her eyes, setting down the crate. "Just because he’s tough doesn’t mean he’s some kinda martial arts legend, Milk. Most commanders survive with tactics, not karate chops."

Milk laughed, unfazed. “Well, I’ll just have to see for myself. Could be fun!” She gave a mock punch to the air, clearly excited at the thought.

Frima sighed, her voice barely above a mumble, "Better not… scare him off... we need someone willing to pay our café’s bills."

Milk just grinned, undeterred by their responses. "Hey, if he’s as tough as they say, he won’t mind a little excitement.” She tossed another crate into the truck, clearly already daydreaming about the first chance she’d get to test the new commander’s mettle, much to the exasperation of her teammates.

-

In the dim, narrow tunnel, John swung a chunk of blood-smeared brick, his breathing a ragged, staccato rhythm. Each swing sent another curse staggering back, twisted limbs flailing, but they kept coming. Hollow eyes glinted with malice, reflections of hunger with no end. Each strike tore at him, the ache in his wounded side spreading, blood staining the ground with every painful exhale.

“C’mon, you… you freakin’—" His voice dissolved into a growl as he stumbled, slamming his shoulder into the wall to steady himself. The curses closed in, tighter now, their movements erratic and inhuman. With a choked snarl, he raised the brick again, bringing it down on the twisted face of a curse, bones crunching beneath his grip.

“Why… won’t… you… just…” he rasped, punctuating each word with another swing, brick crashing into flesh and bone. His vision blurred, the dark tunnel spinning around him, thick with the rank smell of blood, sweat, and rot.

One of the curses lashed out, claws grazing his side. He bit back a scream, instead letting out a wild, strangled laugh, a sound that echoed off the tunnel walls. Blood dripped from his mouth as he forced a grin, his hand still clenched tightly around the brick. “Is that… all you got?” he taunted, his voice hoarse but defiant.

Finally, only one curse remained, its form flickering with something close to fear—or desperation? It lunged, letting out a strange, broken wail that sounded almost like a plea.

For a moment, John’s grip faltered, an unfamiliar pang tightening in his chest. But as the creature lunged again, the anger surged back, a final roar escaping him as he brought the brick down, crushing its skull with a sickening crunch. As its twisted form slumped to the ground, John staggered back, leaning heavily against the wall, breathing hard as he wiped the blood from his chin.

John limped along the tunnel, his breath ragged and labored, each inhale a struggle that sent fire coursing through his chest. The rhythmic thud of his footsteps echoed against the damp walls, mingling with the faint gurgle of water that dripped from the crumbling stone above. He coughed, the sharp taste of iron spreading across his tongue, and felt the stabbing pain in his side—a brutal reminder of his punctured lung, strained beyond its limits. Blood dribbled from his mouth, staining his shirt and adding to the grim, brutal picture of his battered state, but his gaze remained fixed ahead.

Eventually, he faced a barrier—a shimmering distortion that pulsed faintly with cursed energy, filling the air with a stifling weight. John let out a dry, humorless chuckle, a sound barely more than a rasp. With a steadying breath, he placed his hand on the barrier, weaving his cursed energy carefully through its weak points, like threading through a maze. The distortion flickered, shuddered, then dissolved as he pushed through, the oppressive energy lifting.

Inside, he found himself in a cramped, dimly lit room with rough stone walls pressing in around him. The silence felt dense, every breath magnified in the cold, stale air. In the corner, a rusty metal ladder extended upward. Grimacing, he grabbed the rungs with blood-slicked fingers, pulling himself up one step at a time. His body trembled, his vision blurred as fresh jolts of pain rippled through his ribs, but he clenched his teeth and kept climbing.

Each movement was agony. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, each one sharper than the last as he fought to keep his grip steady. His fingers slipped, but he forced himself to hold on, pushing through the pain that weighed down on him like an anchor.

At the top, he reached a locked metal door. His patience frayed, exhaustion simmering into frustration, and he raised his fist, driving it into the door with all the strength he had left. His knuckles split open on impact, smearing blood across the cold metal, but he didn’t stop. With every punch, the metal creaked, bending under the pressure until a jagged hole appeared. He gripped the edges, forcing it wider, ignoring the fresh cuts on his fingers, and hauled himself through with a final grunt.

John lay there for a moment, his breath ragged and heavy, but the relief was brief. He couldn’t afford to linger—not when the dangers of the depths still clung to him, like shadows lurking just beyond his vision.

With a shaky breath, he lifted his gaze, taking in the dimly lit room. Against the far wall huddled a ragged group of survivors—young kids with hollowed eyes, women with dirt-smudged faces, and heavily damaged Nikkes, their metal limbs sparking faintly, armor cracked and worn. They pressed close together, casting wary glances in his direction, their bodies instinctively curling inward as though bracing against any sudden move.

Two Nikkes stood in front of the group, their bodies battered but steady, their shoulders squared, hands clenched in fists. Even through the exhaustion that weighed them down, their eyes held a fierce defiance that made John hesitate. He lifted his hand, intending to signal peace, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through his chest. Blood trickled from his lips, and he swallowed, steadying himself, though each breath felt like a knife twisting deeper into his lungs.

The two Nikkes remained motionless, their bodies taut, distrust etched into the way they shielded the others. They’d clearly seen enough violence to recognize its signs, and John’s bloodied, battered appearance didn’t exactly scream “ally.”

Clearing his throat, he managed a rough, quiet rasp, “I’m… not here to hurt you.” His voice, barely above a whisper, sounded more like a plea than a promise, and he wondered if they’d hear the sincerity behind the words.

One of the Nikkes, her face streaked with scratches, narrowed her eyes. “Stay back,” she warned, her voice a brittle mix of strength and fear. Her gaze flicked over her shoulder at the survivors, as though weighing the odds of facing him alone if she had to. The other Nikke shifted her stance, bracing herself, her broken arm hanging limp but her posture unwavering.

John took a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender despite the pain that shot through his ribs. “I’m just passing through,” he said, his voice gentler. “But if you need… anything… I can try to help.”

The first Nikke held his gaze, her expression unreadable, while the other glanced back at the frightened group, a flicker of reassurance softening her hardened stare before she returned her focus to John.

One of the younger kids peeked out from behind the women, clutching her arm as she murmured something softly to him, her voice barely audible over the tense silence. John’s eyes softened as he watched them, a pang of understanding settling in his chest. These people, battered and worn, were all each other had.

“I don’t want trouble,” he added, his voice low, each word heavy with exhaustion. “I’ve seen enough of it myself.”

The first Nikke approached him, weary, before replying “Are you… Mahito?”

Chapter Text

Takumi moved like a shadow through the Gojo compound, his footfalls silent on the polished wooden floors. The compound sprawled around him, vast and imposing, its corridors lined with ancestral portraits, the high walls layered with powerful wards. Under the pale light of paper lanterns, the place exuded quiet reverence mixed with a controlled, leashed power. Takumi knew these halls well, knew every barrier’s placement, every gaze that would never stray his way. He used that knowledge to glide unseen.

The compound had never been a place of warmth for him. He was tolerated here, but he’d learned not to linger, to avoid drawing attention. Takumi was a Gojo, but his place was... complicated. In a clan that kept grudges like heirlooms, he was the rogue, the loose thread in a tightly woven tapestry of tradition and plans.

Any bitterness had long since faded; Takumi had grown accustomed to the quiet hostility, the way they kept him at arm’s length. It suited him. Working in the shadows, far from his family’s prying eyes, allowed him to follow a path of his own making.

Tonight, however, he had returned in secret—a rare intrusion into a world that had tried to exclude him. Technically, he should have been elsewhere, hunting a curse in the Outer Rim, a task assigned as much to keep him occupied as to make him useful. But he had passed that task to John, his apprentice. Takumi had a different mission, one that required information hidden within the Gojo family’s most guarded rooms.

Each step brought back details John had shared: the grotesque lab, the experiments on Nikkes, the sinister mix of sorcery and brain matter, and the Rapture wielding cursed energy. Takumi’s breath barely stirred in the still air, yet his heart thudded with a quiet fury. If his family was involved—even tangentially—he needed to know. Though he still struggled to believe it, the Ark was full of shadows, and so, too, was his family.

He rounded a corner, senses on high alert, feeling for any stray presences, any sign of unwanted attention. His instincts guided him to a small, unassuming building tucked into the compound’s farthest reaches. Most would overlook it, but Takumi knew better. The family’s secrets often lay hidden in plain sight.

Inside, the room was spare and dimly lit, with only a single candle casting its flickering glow over a low table crowded with loose papers and dusty books. Takumi’s heart pounded harder as he approached, knowing how close he was yet aware of the Gojo family’s penchant for hiding their most important truths among layers of red herrings. He reached out, his fingers brushing over the worn parchment, his gaze carefully scanning each document, every scrap of faded ink.

The first stack of papers appeared mundane—legal notices, budget allocations, and old records of supply orders, detailing nothing more sinister than quantities of rice or ceremonial candles. Frustration began to knot in his chest as he sifted through page after page, but he remained calm, methodical. If there was anything incriminating here, he’d find it. He’d been trained for this, to read between the lines and recognize the smallest tells.

Several hours and several fruitless piles of documents later, he found a leather-bound ledger. Takumi flipped through its pages, scanning notes on old Sorcerer deployments and mission reports. There were logs detailing shipments of support equipment, updates on routine maintenance, and the occasional report on a notable curse —but no mention of experiments, Raptures, or anything remotely suspicious. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to move slower, to search with sharper eyes, noting even the smallest annotations.

Near the bottom of a stack, he spotted a thinner, yellowing folder—perhaps dismissed or overlooked by others for its fragile state. He picked it up carefully, sifting through brittle pages covered in hand-written notes. His pulse quickened, recognizing the names of several Historic Nikke units and battles. At first, the contents seemed innocuous—simply another mission log from the Rapture war, detailing the actions of sorcerers working with Nikkes and the then newly formed central government. But as he flipped further, he began to see it: scattered phrases like “containment research” and “curse manipulation.” His heart sank, a cold realization creeping into his chest as he read further.

Somewhere in the middle of the folder, between entries on weapon maintenance and technical readouts, he found it—an old proposal. The page was thin and yellowed, the ink faded but still legible. Takumi’s eyes scanned the words, taking in each line with a growing sense of dread. It was a proposal for “Project Genesis,” an experimental initiative aimed at harnessing sorcery through artificial constructs.

Takumi’s breath hitched. His fingers tightened on the fragile paper, every word confirming what he’d feared: someone within or connected to his family had conceived these monstrous experiments long before John’s discovery. Notes detailing preliminary tests, funding sources, and deployment strategies sprawled across the page, each line more disturbing than the last.

At the bottom, a single signature caught his eye. He held the page up to the candlelight, squinting to make out the name. It was partially smudged, worn with time, but there was no mistaking the insignia beside it—a mark reserved for only the most senior members of the Gojo family. The realization settled in his stomach like a stone. His family had sanctioned this, planned it, and then buried it deep in their archives.

As Takumi stared at the brittle page in his hands, a deep disgust rose within him, coiling around his thoughts and tightening his grip on the paper. The words he read were worse than he’d feared: experiments on creating cursed techniques within humans and Nikkes, something his family had apparently explored during the Rapture war. It wasn’t simply the unethical nature of the experiments that turned his stomach—it was the memory of all he’d heard, even as a child, about the brutal history of these trials.

He had heard rumors over the years, murmurings that had drifted through the compound’s hushed halls. Stories about clans who had crossed unspeakable lines in their pursuit of cursed power, stories about families who had sacrificed everything, even their own children, for the hope of creating perfect sorcerers. Experiments on creating cursed techniques in humans had a notorious history of failure; it was no secret that the process was agonizing and almost always fatal. And yet, time and again, researchers had turned their sights to children, believing that undeveloped brains were more malleable, more likely to adapt to having Cursed techniques etched onto them.

The images that the stories conjured flashed through his mind: young lives sacrificed in sterile, dim laboratories, their minds and bodies broken in the name of progress, discarded as failures if they did not meet the impossible standards set by twisted ideals. To see it here, spelled out in cold, official notes with the Gojo family’s insignia stamped at the bottom, made him feel sick. The proposal had never been just theory. It had been carried out.

The world felt still as the weight of the truth hit him. Takumi closed his eyes, feeling a bitter, twisted sense of vindication mixed with nausea. For so long, he had hoped that his family’s faults were simply the grudges and traditions that they held so close. But this? This was darker, deeper than he had imagined.

Takumi exhaled slowly, slipping the paper back into the folder and tucking it under his arm.

-

John blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Mahito?” The name felt foreign on his tongue, carrying an eerie weight that sent a chill down his spine. He hadn’t heard of anyone by that name, but from the way the two Nikkes reacted, it was clear this was a name that stirred fear, a name heavy with dark, lingering power.

The two Nikkes continued to shield the ragged group, their expressions hardened by years of survival, layered with exhaustion and wariness. In the dim light, the scars and dents on their bodies seemed to cast shadows, making them look almost spectral. These weren’t ordinary survivors; they had been through something far darker than John could imagine.

One of the Nikkes, her stance guarded but her voice steady, spoke up. “If you’re not here for us… then why are you here?” Her tone held a challenge, her distrust plain. John saw exhaustion in her eyes, but also a fierce resilience that had kept her alive this long.

“I’m looking for information,” he replied, his voice hoarse, his chest aching with every word. “I’ve been tracking… strange activity. Thought it might lead me here.”

The Nikke’s expression darkened. “Strange activity is the only kind we know around here.” She glanced back at the group she was protecting, her gaze softening slightly as she saw their frightened faces. “Rat has us all trapped here,” she said, her voice taut with anger. “People who couldn’t pay their debts, orphans, broken Nikkes… anyone he thinks he can turn a profit from. We work for him, or we disappear.”

John’s jaw tightened. “Disappear?”

The second Nikke, a jagged scar cutting across her cheek, stepped forward, positioning herself protectively in front of the first. Her eyes, wary but unyielding, remained fixed on John. “Mahito,” she whispered, almost as if speaking the name too loudly would summon him. A visible shudder went through the group. “We don’t know who he is—never seen him. But he’s the one Rat fears, the one who comes to take people. Every month, like clockwork. When Rat says ‘Mahito wants someone,’ they’re… they’re gone.”

“Gone where?” John asked, though he doubted they had an answer.

The first Nikke shook her head slowly, her gaze bleak. “We don’t know. They just… disappear. No one ever comes back.” She paused, her eyes hardening with a defiance that was almost painful to witness. “Rat may keep us alive, but only so he can keep feeding Mahito.”

A heavy silence settled over the room, and John felt a surge of anger rising beneath the surface. These people—these children, these damaged Nikkes—were trapped in a nightmare, pawns in a twisted game Rat played under Mahito’s shadow.

Ignoring the sharp twinge in his side, he took a step closer to the two Nikkes, his gaze steady. “I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen. If there’s a way out of here, I’ll find it. And I’ll do what I can to get you all out.”

The two Nikkes exchanged a glance, a flicker of something between skepticism and cautious hope passing between them. The one with the scar nodded slightly, her grip tightening as she extended her hand, hesitating only a fraction before introducing herself. “I’m Echo.”

The second Nikke offered a faint, weary smile. “And I’m Cinder.”

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, that glimmer of hope in their eyes dulled, replaced by the wariness they knew better than to abandon. Echo let out a dry, humorless chuckle, her voice edged with weary resignation. “You say that now, but we’ve heard promises before. People come in, talk big, say they’ll get us out… and we’re still here.”

Cinder crossed her arms, a barrier between herself and any illusion of rescue. “So what makes you different? Just because you’re offering a hand doesn’t mean we can reach it. Around here, offers like that usually lead to the back of a transport truck or worse.” Her tone was cold, each word laced with bitterness, the memory of past betrayals written in the lines of her face.

John absorbed their skepticism, feeling the weight of each failed promise they’d endured. “I get it,” he replied, voice steady. “I wouldn’t trust me either if I were in your place. But I’m not Rat, and I’m sure as hell not Mahito. I’m going to do what I can to change things here, even if it’s just this once.”

Echo’s gaze softened a fraction, though the caution didn’t leave her eyes. She shook her head slightly, as though dispelling any fleeting hope. “Fine. Do what you want. But don’t expect us to start believing this is some miracle. We’ve been waiting to get out for years.” She sighed, her voice low and resigned. “And you’re not the first one to make promises.”

Cinder remained silent, her arms still crossed tightly as she nodded, an acknowledgment but nothing more. “Just don’t get our hopes up. We’re done trusting that strangers have any real interest in helping us. People like you don’t stay long down here.”

Without another word, the two turned away, retreating behind their hardened facades, fortified by years of survival and shattered promises. John watched them go, feeling the weight of their pain and their words settle heavily in his chest. But beneath the exhaustion and the sharp sting of his injuries, a quiet, stubborn resolve began to take root.

John forced himself to straighten, gritting his teeth against the raw ache in his ribs. If he could make it a little farther, maybe he could find an alternative route, some small sliver of escape for them all. Echo, Cinder, and the others—these worn-down survivors deserved a chance, even if they had long stopped believing in one. And Mahito, whoever or whatever he was, would need to be dealt with eventually. But right now, John was in no shape for that fight.

He surveyed the room again, taking in the weary faces of the survivors, each one etched with years of mistrust, fatigue, and the hardened wariness of those who’d lived too long in a world of danger and betrayal. A small child clung to Echo’s side, her wide eyes fixated on him with a mixture of fear and curiosity. The sight twisted something deep in his chest. He had to get them out, even if they didn’t believe him, even if he had to do it alone.

John reached into his pocket, fishing out a lighter and an incense stick wrapped in a protective talisman—his last signal to Takumi, his final fallback. He held it to the flame, but the lighter sparked and went out almost immediately, the water having soaked into the stick. He struck the lighter again, gritting his teeth in frustration, but the talisman wouldn’t catch. His last chance at calling for backup was useless, all because he hadn't planned ahead.

A flicker of dread settled in his stomach as he let the soaked incense drop to the ground, his hand lingering on it for a second longer than he intended. This was supposed to be his link to Takumi—his one chance to summon help if he found himself in over his head. Now, he was on his own, the weight of that reality sinking in as he stood there, barely able to breathe and certainly not able to fight as he normally would. Each breath was a cruel reminder of his fractured ribs, his battered body clinging to the edge of endurance by sheer willpower.

For a moment, his vision blurred, and a cold sweat crept over his skin. He wasn’t ready to face Mahito like this. And without the talisman, Takumi wouldn’t know to come, leaving him without backup and without hope of relief. He needed a plan, one that didn’t rely on brute force. He’d have to be resourceful, think strategically, and find a way to regroup with Exotic or anyone who could offer him a fighting chance.

John steeled himself, pushing past the pain as he turned toward Echo and Cinder, who stood watching him with skeptical eyes. Their suspicion was clear, but he couldn’t afford to let their mistrust shake him. “I know it’s hard to trust me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with the exhaustion he felt. “But if we’re going to have any chance of getting you out of here, I need you to give me a little more time. Just… stay here. Don’t leave this place until I come back.”

Echo crossed her arms, her expression still guarded, though there was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—in her eyes. “We’ll be here,” she muttered, her tone still wary. “Not like we have anywhere else to go.” But she gave a small, reluctant nod, a quiet acceptance that she’d hold onto his words, if only because there was nothing left to lose.

John glanced around the room, taking in its squalid state. The cracked walls were stained with grime, and the floor was little more than cold, packed dirt scattered with scraps and shredded rags that served as bedding. A faint, sour stench lingered in the stale air, a reminder of confinement and neglect. Comfort was clearly not a consideration here; this was a holding cell, nothing more—a pen for those deemed unworthy of anything better. The conditions bordered on degrading, yet the survivors clung to what little space they had, their bodies marked by years of survival in these harsh surroundings.

At the back of the room, his eyes landed on a door. Sturdy, thick steel with a heavy lock—it looked out of place amidst the decay, like a fortress gate set in the middle of a shantytown. John approached it, his fingers grazing the cold metal, feeling the weight and resistance beneath his hand. It was built to last.

“Don’t waste your time,” Echo muttered from behind, her voice carrying a bitter edge. “That thing’s solid steel. Not even I could make a dent in it.”

He felt her words linger, their disbelief mingling with the quiet desperation clinging to the air. For a moment, he simply studied the lock, feeling the weight of their doubt settle around him. Then, his stance shifted, his feet grounding as he raised his fist. He took a focused breath, the silent promise of action answering her disbelief. With a sharp exhale, he drove his knuckles into the lock, his strike fueled by energy and frustration. The metal crumpled under his blow, the doorframe groaning as the lock twisted and split. With a sharp pull, he wrenched the door open, revealing a shadowed hallway beyond.

He turned back to the group, their expressions frozen in wide-eyed disbelief. Echo’s mouth hung slightly open, a flicker of wonder breaking through her wariness. John allowed himself a faint smirk, nodding toward the floor. “Stay here. Wait for me to come back.”

As he met their gazes, he saw something else begin to replace their disbelief—a fragile glimmer of hope, cautious and guarded, but unmistakable. For a brief moment, he held their eyes, an unspoken promise resting in the quiet before he turned away.

-

Rat sat behind a polished steel desk, fingers tapping anxiously on its surface as he surveyed the stacks of reports and schedules scattered before him. His once pristine blonde hair, now tousled and streaked with early signs of gray, betrayed the toll of recent months. His skin, still fair yet now sagging around the eyes, seemed to cling to his features like a shadow, giving him the look of a man haunted by things best left in the dark.

Across from him, one of his lieutenants stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back as he recited the latest shipment numbers.

“That’s two more batches than usual. With all the eyes on us lately, I don’t know how much longer we can keep this going without someone in the Outer Rim or the Ark sniffing us out,” the lieutenant said, his voice wavering slightly.

Rat’s fingers paused mid-tap, a sneer curling on his lips. “As if I’m not painfully aware,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper but brimming with venom. “Every month, it’s the same: more, faster, no excuses.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots, as if trying to force clarity into his thoughts. “But this last year? The demands have only escalated, and it’s him,” Rat muttered, his voice dropping to a bitter hiss. “Mahito.”

The lieutenant’s face paled at the name, and his gaze flickered nervously. “You… you really think he’s losing patience with us?”

“Oh, he doesn’t have patience,” Rat shot back, sarcasm laced with something darker. “He’s like a nightmare that crawled out of the shadows,” Rat continued, his voice dropping slightly, as if Mahito might materialize with the mention of his name, “eager to consume everything and everyone in his path. And we’re just his disposable minions, feeding his sick appetite until he decides we’re no longer useful.”

The lieutenant shifted, clearly uneasy, his eyes darting around the room. Rat’s expression hardened. “This game isn’t sustainable. The disappearances, the shipments—it’s only bringing more attention. Heat I never asked for.”

He straightened, jaw tight, folding his arms as if fortifying himself against a truth he didn’t want to face. “Which is why I’m working every angle I can. The officials I’ve got dirt on, the whispers I’ve planted in the Ark… If I can pin something big enough, I can get inside. Disappear where Mahito can’t reach me.”

A sliver of uncertainty broke through the lieutenant’s composure. “And you really think they’ll protect us? Those Ark officials would turn on you in a second if it suited them.”

“Maybe,” Rat admitted, his fingers resuming their restless tapping. “But it’s better than waiting here, hoping Mahito doesn’t decide he’s done with me.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear simmering just beneath his calculated exterior. “If I can get enough leverage, I can buy my way out, vanish, and let someone else deal with Mahito’s twisted whims.”

The lieutenant nodded, glancing toward the door as though expecting Mahito himself to appear. Rat closed his eyes briefly, inhaling a steadying breath. He was close—so close to freedom, so close to slipping out of Mahito’s grasp and the nightmare he had unwittingly become part of.

But for now, he was still trapped in this cage, fingers tapping on the cold steel as he waited, each second dragging him further into a darkness he might never escape.

-
John moved silently down the dimly lit corridors, the sterile, soulless metal walls echoing the faint, muffled sounds of his footsteps. The facility sprawled before him like a maze, its lack of high security evident in the conventional weapons and minimal resistance he encountered. These were ordinary thugs, unprepared for anything remotely like him.

John moved like a shadow through the dimly lit corridors, his footsteps muffled against the metal floors, the cold air brushing past him as he closed in on the first guard. The man stood casually at the corner, his gaze distracted, unaware of the presence slipping through the shadows behind him. With a fluid, practiced motion, John closed the gap, his hand striking the guard’s neck in a quick, precise jab. The man’s body went slack, his head lolling forward as John caught him before he could hit the ground. He eased the unconscious guard down silently, his eyes already scanning ahead for the next target.

Further down the corridor, two more guards stood by an open door, exchanging quiet words. Their uniforms were scuffed, their weapons slung loosely over their shoulders—nothing about them suggested they were prepared for an intruder, let alone someone like John. He crouched low, slipping along the wall’s edge until he was within arm’s reach. With a swift movement, he lunged forward, one hand clasping the first guard’s mouth while his other arm wrapped around the man’s neck, cutting off his air supply. The guard struggled briefly, his fingers clawing at John’s arm, but he weakened quickly, his legs giving out as he slumped to the ground.

The second guard barely had time to register his partner’s fall before John spun around, sweeping his leg beneath him and sending the guard crashing to the floor. Before he could cry out, John’s hand clamped over his mouth, his other fist delivering a single, precise strike to the temple. The guard’s eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness, and John released him, his gaze flicking down the hallway as he ensured the area was still clear.

He moved onward, each step calculated, his focus razor-sharp. The next guard leaned casually against the wall, his attention fixed on a small device in his hand. John allowed himself a brief moment to assess the situation, observing the man’s posture and grip on his weapon. Then, in a quick burst of motion, John closed the distance, his hand shooting out to press two fingers against a pressure point near the man’s shoulder. The guard’s body stiffened in shock, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as John twisted his arm, pulling him off-balance and guiding him gently to the ground.

John crouched beside him, his eyes scanning the guard’s belt for any tools or keys that might prove useful. He found a ring of keys clipped to the guard’s belt and pocketed it swiftly, moving forward with renewed purpose.

As he reached a bend in the hallway, two guards on patrol rounded the corner. Without hesitation, John flattened himself against the wall, his body blending into the shadows as they passed, their footsteps echoing in unison. He could feel the thud of his own heartbeat, steady and controlled, as he timed his approach. Just as the guards turned their backs, he struck. His arms shot out, seizing both men by the collar and pulling them backward with a force that knocked the wind out of them. They struggled, but John’s grip was ironclad. He released one guard just long enough to deliver a swift, upward palm strike beneath his chin, sending him into unconsciousness. He then spun the remaining guard around, driving an elbow into his side before finishing with a clean strike to the back of the neck.

Each takedown was swift and efficient, his movements like clockwork. He moved with a quiet grace honed by years of training, every action calculated to ensure maximum effect with minimal noise. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion—each guard crumpled to the ground, a silent testament to his skill.

Further down, a lone guard stood by a locked door, his posture tense as he glanced back and forth. This one looked more alert, perhaps a cut above the others. John paused, noting the guard’s stance, the way his hand rested near his weapon as if expecting trouble. Rather than rushing, John waited, watching his breathing, waiting for the guard’s focus to lapse. The moment came, the guard’s attention flickering toward a faint noise down the corridor. John slipped forward, using the man’s brief distraction to his advantage. He grabbed the guard’s wrist, twisting it to disarm him, while his other hand pressed firmly against the guard’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees. A quick, controlled strike to the side of the head sent him into unconsciousness, his weapon clattering softly to the floor.

As he moved on, his mind drifted for a brief moment to the ease of it all. These men were obstacles, not challenges, their skills vastly inferior, their awareness dulled by routine and lack of real training. A small part of him felt almost disappointed—he hadn’t come here to face petty thugs. But this was their world, not his. His purpose here went beyond defeating a few guards; he was after something darker, something hiding behind this place’s bland, unassuming facade.

When he approached the final stretch of the hallway, a trio of guards blocked his path, clustered in quiet conversation. John slipped forward, silent as a shadow, closing the distance with methodical precision. The guard on the left turned first, his eyes widening just as John’s fist shot forward, connecting with his throat in a sharp jab. The man fell back, choking on his own gasp, while John pivoted to the second guard, catching him off-balance with a sweep of the leg that sent him sprawling.

Before the third guard could react, John moved in, gripping the man’s collar and slamming him back against the wall. The guard’s head hit the metal with a dull thud, his eyes rolling back as he slumped down. John let him fall, straightening as he surveyed the pile of unconscious bodies in his wake.

Breathing steadily, he took a moment to listen to his surroundings, confirming that no alarms had been raised. The silence was absolute, only broken by the faint hum of the facility’s machinery somewhere in the distance. Satisfied, he pressed on, his steps as quiet and focused as before, every instinct guiding him deeper into the heart of the compound.

Passing another set of cells, he noticed they, like the last few he’d seen, were disturbingly empty. The metallic doors stood ajar, their interiors smeared with dark stains that looked suspiciously like old blood. The faint, metallic tang lingered in the air, and he frowned as he took in the signs of a hurried departure, his unease twisting in his gut. Whatever or whoever had been held here was either long gone or removed under duress.

As he moved deeper into the corridors, he noticed the paths began to converge, all leading him toward a single destination. It felt deliberate, like the funnel of a trap. He paused, pressing himself against the wall, his senses alert. The faint traces of cursed energy hung in the air, tugging at him like a ripple through the fabric of reality. But it was unlike anything he was accustomed to—warped, unnatural, laced with a feeling that was almost human in its despair. It reminded him of the lab he’d encountered before, yet this was different. There was something personal about it, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

He continued, his steps slowing as the hallway narrowed, each cell and side passage left behind. Every sense told him it was all leading to one place. John’s eyes narrowed, his breath slowing as he listened closely for any sound ahead. Whatever awaited him at the end of this corridor, it was far beyond any standard security measure Rat could have put in place.

With a steadying breath, John clenched his fists, letting the twisted energy’s pull guide him forward as he prepared to confront whatever horror lay at the end of this unnervingly silent path.

John stepped cautiously into the room, each breath a jagged struggle against the dull ache in his punctured lung. His eyes swept over the vast, circular chamber, bathed in an eerie blue glow that gave the metal walls an otherworldly gleam. The air was thick, heavy with cursed energy, pressing in on him from every angle, amplifying the sharp pain in his chest with every breath. At the room’s center gaped a massive hole, dark and silent, like the mouth of a waiting beast, its depths obscured in shadow.

He took a step closer, peering into the pit, his heart pounding as he felt an eerie presence lurking just beyond sight. Suddenly, tendrils as thick as his arm shot out from the shadows with a violent snap, tearing through the silence. He barely had time to brace himself, raising his left arm to block the first blow. The impact rattled through him, sending a sharp, agonizing jolt to his injured side. His lung burned, every shallow breath coming up short as he staggered back.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, only to see the tendrils unfurling further, slithering along the walls and blocking every possible exit. The pit seethed, and from its depths emerged a shape that made his blood run cold. It was a writhing mass of faces, hundreds fused together, each contorted in a silent scream, eyes frozen in eternal terror or twisted into expressions of unending agony.

A wave of horror gripped him, his chest tightening—not just from physical pain but from the sheer, mind-numbing dread of what he was seeing. The cursed energy rolling off the creature felt like a heavy, toxic fog, clinging to him, suffocating him, intensifying the burn in his chest with each pulse. Every face in that monstrous form seemed to shift and move in sync, tracking him, pleading, snarling. He could feel their anguish—the fragmented souls, trapped and fused together into this grotesque, writhing entity of suffering and hate.

He took a step back, his breaths coming faster, shallower, the pain in his lung escalating with each second. The tendrils twitched and flexed, filling the room with a sickening squelch as they edged closer. The creature’s faces shifted as one, leering at him, eyes alight with a ravenous hunger.

A chill ran down his spine as he took it all in. This wasn’t a mere curse; it was suffering incarnate, a horror woven from despair itself. Every face seemed to hold a life once lived, a soul forever trapped in this monstrous unity.

John’s vision tunneled, his mind focusing only on the creature’s every move. His breaths were shallow, each one a jagged gasp that barely filled his damaged lung, but he forced himself forward, activating Ruinous Gambit. Cursed energy coursed through him, heightening his agility but sapping his strength and resilience in equal measure. He could feel himself weakening, but he couldn’t afford hesitation now.

A thick tendril whipped toward him, slicing the air with the force of a battering ram. He ducked, his body blurring in a roll to the side, just as another limb lashed out. His dodges were razor-thin, each one stealing a little more breath, flaring pain sharp in his chest. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he pressed on, slipping between the creature’s relentless attacks with inhuman precision.

John darted forward, swinging his fist into one of the creature’s many faces. A muted crack shot through his knuckles as he connected, but the creature barely flinched, only drawing back and contorting with a guttural roar. Suddenly, bone spikes erupted from its body, whistling through the air in a deadly arc. John twisted, leaping back just in time, though one shard grazed his shoulder, slicing his skin in a flash of stinging pain.

His vision wavered as he coughed, each breath coming shallower than the last. He couldn’t keep this up—his lung was barely functioning, and his body burned from the constant strain of his cursed technique. Gritting his teeth, he dodged another volley of spikes, his reflexes slowing with every evasive move.

The creature reared back, its grotesque form convulsing with a sickening crack before unleashing a hail of bone projectiles. John reacted instinctively, dodging the first barrage, but there were too many. He threw his arms up to shield his head, feeling the sting of several spikes cutting into his arms and shoulders. Pain screamed through him, his body protesting every movement, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, refusing to be pinned down.

A massive tendril shot out, faster and more erratic. John ducked, twisting low on one knee, but another limb surged up from below, striking his side. Pain exploded through his ribs as he stumbled, the air forced from his lungs in a shuddering gasp. Stars danced in his vision, but he forced himself back to his feet, swaying but standing.

The creature let out a distorted, inhuman wail, and from deep within its twisted form, new faces emerged—human faces, their mouths open in silent screams. Hundreds of eyes stared out, glassy and blank, each one filled with a haunting echo of despair. A chill crawled up his spine, and for a moment, his resolve wavered, suffocated by the sheer horror of it.

Sensing his hesitation, the creature lunged, unleashing another wave of bone spikes like arrows. John sidestepped the initial strike, each projectile whizzing by mere inches from his skin. He twisted, ducked, and dodged as the creature bore down, but a spike clipped his thigh, sending a burning pain up his leg. He faltered, his movements sluggish and heavy.

Gritting his teeth, he activated Ruinous Gambit once more, pouring his remaining cursed energy into fortifying his body. But every boost drained him further, like his very essence was being chipped away with each strike. His vision narrowed, his strength waning, yet he pressed forward, refusing to relent.

The creature, sensing his weakening state, coiled a tendril and struck with ferocious speed. John barely sidestepped, rolling away just as the tendril smashed into the ground where he’d stood, sending shards of stone and dust into the air. He coughed, his chest aflame, but he couldn’t afford to stop.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he spat, defiance thick in his voice, though his vision blurred, and his knees trembled beneath him.

In response, the creature’s faces began to merge and shift, molding together in a writhing mass. Bones sprouted along its body, forming a spiked shell that extended down its limbs. It lunged, each motion now sharper, deadlier. John threw himself to the side, barely avoiding a clawed limb that tore through the air with brutal speed. But it was faster, relentless, its spiked arms driving toward him like spears. One skimmed his shoulder, searing pain radiating down his arm.

He was close to his limit, his mind a haze of pain and exhaustion. Yet he knew he couldn’t stop—not if he wanted any chance at survival. Gathering his last reserves of strength, he lunged forward, slipping beneath the creature’s next strike and driving his fist into one of the faces embedded in its side.

The face shattered under his blow, only for the fragments to sink back into the creature’s flesh, reforming in seconds. The creature shrieked, its voices a discordant wail, and erupted in a storm of bone spikes. John leapt back, his breaths coming labored and ragged, his energy drained.

No matter how many faces he shattered, they reformed, leering back at him as though mocking his every attempt.

This wasn’t a fight he could win through sheer force.

John staggered back, wiping blood from his mouth as he tried to buy himself a few precious seconds to think. Every breath burned, his battered lung barely drawing enough air to keep him conscious. His mind raced, grasping at straws for a way to bring down this monstrous creature. His cursed energy was dangerously low, and with the creature regenerating relentlessly, brute force was out of the question.

He went through his options, turning over each idea quickly, ruthlessly.

Could he focus all his remaining energy into one decisive strike? No—one hit wouldn’t be enough, and he’d be left completely vulnerable.

Maybe he could bait it into smashing the walls, bringing down the ceiling? He scanned the structure, but the walls looked sturdy, reinforced. Breaking through them might take as much out of him as it would the creature.

Just then, his eyes caught a glimpse of movement—a stray tendril lashed out in frustration, smashing against the wall with enough force to shake loose a cloud of dust from the ancient, crumbling stone. John froze, watching as the fine particles hovered in the air, illuminated by the faint light. His mind clicked onto an old memory, a fight from years past in a cramped warehouse, and an idea sparked in his mind.

Dust explosions.

He squinted, studying the tiny particles in the air, realizing with growing excitement that the room was saturated with debris, the sort that could create a massive explosion with the right conditions. He’d read about it—dust explosions, a phenomenon that could devastate enclosed spaces with a deadly blast, triggered by the right mix of particulates, air, and ignition.

His eyes scanned his surroundings, noting the fine layer of grime on the stone walls, the dust flaking off with the slightest disturbance. This could work. If he could create a thick enough dust cloud and ignite it, he might be able to unleash a blast powerful enough to wound—or even obliterate—the creature.

The question nagged at him: how to ignite it? He shoved the thought aside, focusing on the immediate task. One step at a time.

Breathing as steadily as he could, he moved with purpose, every step a calculated effort to kick up more dust. His body screamed in protest, but he pressed on, dodging the creature’s wild attacks, each one sending fresh waves of debris into the air. The room thickened with swirling particles, the dust stinging his throat and eyes, filling his lungs with a bitter, gritty taste.

“Come on,” he muttered, stirring the air further with every motion, his breath coming in shallow, painful gasps. He needed more dust, more density—but the creature wasn’t giving him any time to think. A tendril whipped toward him, and he dodged by inches, feeling the ground shudder beneath him as it struck. Dust exploded into the air, and he allowed himself a grim smile, feeling the thickening cloud settle around him.

But he still needed to ignite it.

A flicker of doubt crawled into his mind. Could he really pull this off? His hand instinctively went to his side, brushing over his belt, where he found the lighter he’d used to signal Takumi. His grip tightened around it, relief washing over him, though he knew it would only buy him a brief moment.

The creature roared, sensing his next move, its tendrils whipping into a frenzy as they closed in on him. John gritted his teeth, gripping the lighter firmly. He’d only have one chance at this.

With a final deep breath, he flicked the lighter, the small flame sputtering to life in his hand. He held it aloft, squinting through the cloud of dust that swirled thickly around him, and let it ignite.

For a split second, time seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a thunderous roar, the room erupted in a massive, blinding explosion.

-

The faint, rhythmic tremors of combat had left everyone in the holding room on edge, but nothing prepared them for the thunderous, muffled boom that suddenly shook the walls. A cascade of dust and debris rained from the ceiling, and the blue emergency lights flickered, casting ghostly shadows across the room. Panic surged as a deep crack snaked its way up the far wall, splitting it wide and releasing a smell of burning mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

Echo’s heart hammered as she exchanged a tense glance with Cinder. The vibrations grew stronger, fire licking at the edges of the walls. The heat was growing, pressing in on them.

“We have to get out. Now.” Cinder’s voice cut through the rising noise, her gaze steely as she ushered the group toward the back of the room, where John had pried open the manhole earlier. She didn’t wait for responses, guiding each terrified civilian to the opening with quick, decisive movements.

With a burst of urgency, they directed the civilians into the narrow space one by one. Echo slid down first, her pulse pounding, each breath laced with the grit of ash and dust from above. But when her feet hit the ground below, her breath caught in her throat.

The tunnel floor was strewn with the mangled bodies of misshapen curses, their forms twisted and broken like discarded puppets. In the dim emergency lighting, she could make out dark smears of congealed blood, its metallic scent almost suffocating. Some of the creatures were torn clean in half, others crushed beyond recognition, their limbs bent at impossible angles.

Echo froze, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the carnage, the sight both grotesque and mesmerizing. “What… what happened here?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. The brutality of it unsettled her, each step forward bringing a new horror into view. Her mind raced, wondering what—or who—had torn through them with such ferocity.

She barely had time to process the scene before Cinder’s voice echoed down the tunnel, sharp and unyielding. “Echo, move! We’ve got more coming down!”

Echo snapped out of her daze, her survival instincts taking over as she hurried forward. Her footsteps echoed faintly against the walls, the sound swallowed by the dark, narrow tunnel that stretched ominously ahead.

Cinder quickly ushered the group into the dark, narrow tunnel, her voice firm but calm as she encouraged them to keep moving. Behind them, smoke billowed thickly, creeping down into the passage. Glancing back at the manhole entrance, Cinder winced; flames were licking hungrily at the walls above, casting a dangerous orange glow into the corridor. She hesitated only a moment before shoving the metal cover back over the entrance, sealing them off from the advancing fire and smoke. The acrid smell of burning metal lingered in the air, stinging her throat, and a faint heat pulsed through the stone walls.

As the civilians shuffled further into the tunnel, Cinder knelt beside a frightened child, placing a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “We’re safe down here,” she murmured, her voice steady as she worked to keep her own nerves under control. “Just stay close, and we’ll get through this together.”

The air felt thick and stale, pressing in on them even without the smoke. Despite the tension simmering around them, Cinder’s steady words seemed to calm the group somewhat. She cast a reassuring smile, though a flicker of unease lingered in her eyes, betraying her own worry. The ground vibrated faintly beneath them, and a deep rumble overhead warned that their time was limited.

Ahead, Echo held her position further down the tunnel, her gaze sharp as she scanned the shadows. She tightened her grip on her weapon, her stance protective and ready, every sense heightened. Each creak, each faint scuttling sound in the dark kept her alert. Her pulse quickened as she strained her ears, searching the darkness for any hint of movement that might signal danger.

As another rumble echoed down the passage, Cinder pressed her hand gently on the child’s back, urging them forward. She could feel the weight of their lives on her shoulders, the responsibility as real as the dust settling on her skin. This was survival, and if she faltered, they would too.

-

The scene lay in utter ruin. Smoke curled from the cracked walls, and debris lay scattered across what had been a makeshift battlefield. Amidst the shattered rubble and ash, a single limp hand pushed through, fingers twitching before tightening into a determined fist. With a grunt of effort, John pulled himself from the debris, his body battered and burned, his torso scorched from the blast, his cheek seared with a fresh burn.

Despite the agony coursing through him, a crazed, almost manic grin spread across his face as he whispered, half in awe, “I’m… a fucking genius.”

He staggered to his feet, every movement sending jagged spikes of pain through his body. But adrenaline coursed through him, overriding the aches and burns. He let out a rough, exhilarated laugh, glancing back at the chaos he’d unleashed. But as the euphoria waned, a single, horrifying thought crashed into his mind: The group.

His heart leapt into his throat, and his expression shifted from triumph to raw panic as he remembered the people he’d left behind. With a strangled gasp, he forced his battered body into a sprint, weaving through rubble-strewn corridors, dodging crumbled walls and collapsed support beams.

Along the way, he passed the guards he’d subdued earlier, their bodies sprawled in twisted positions. The sight slowed him only briefly, guilt stabbing through the adrenaline. Kneeling by one of the still-breathing guards, he pressed two fingers to the man’s pulse, feeling a faint but steady beat. He glanced at the others, finding another guard alive but barely conscious. Gritting his teeth, he propped the man up, dragging him to the cover of a half-collapsed beam before moving on.

When he reached the charred remains of the room where he’d left the group, his stomach twisted. The door and walls had caved in under the pressure of the explosion, leaving a thick layer of rubble, twisted metal, and stone. For a moment, cold hopelessness gripped him. Buried alive, the thought hit him, paralyzing him with the enormity of it. Were they all beneath this wreckage?

He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself to assess the scene, his gaze sweeping the debris. He’d seen no bodies—no sign that they’d been crushed. A tiny flicker of hope surfaced. Maybe they’d escaped…

Dropping to his knees, he began clawing through the rubble with his bare hands, ignoring the sting as jagged stone and twisted metal bit into his skin. Each frantic pull sent dust swirling into the air, choking him, but he didn’t stop, desperation driving his movements. Every ache in his body, every burn and bruise, was background noise now.

“Come on,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Just… give me something.”

His hand brushed against something soft—a scrap of fabric. His breath hitched. It was familiar, a torn piece from one of the children’s jackets. He clutched it tightly, relief mingling with renewed urgency. They’d been here. They’d left.

Fueled by the small sign, he pushed forward through the wreckage, his body protesting with every movement but his mind focused, sharpened. The group was out there. He was going to find them.

John’s hands scraped against sharp shards of broken stone, ignoring the fresh cuts that opened up along his fingers as he dug deeper into the rubble. His breaths were ragged, each one punctuated by a sharp wince of pain, but he pressed on, his mind singularly focused on finding something—anything—that would confirm the group had survived.

At last, his fingers found the edge of a large slab of stone. Bracing himself, he heaved with every ounce of strength he had left, a stabbing pain tearing through his injured side as he strained to lift it. His vision swam, every muscle in his battered body burning, but he gritted his teeth, forcing the stone to shift just enough for him to shove it aside. Beneath, the faint outline of a manhole cover came into view.

For a heartbeat, he froze, barely daring to hope. His hand trembled as he reached out, prying open the cover. And there, below the opening, was Echo, her wary gaze hardening as she braced herself to meet whatever might emerge from the other side.

Their eyes met, and a wave of relief hit John so hard it nearly brought him to his knees. Without a second thought, he reached down, gripping Echo’s shoulders and pulling her up, his arms fueled by adrenaline and sheer gratitude. He lifted her completely from the ground, wrapping his arms around her in a fierce, unyielding embrace.

Echo stiffened, a surprised gasp caught in her throat. The idea of anyone lifting her was already a shock—Nikkes were built strong, with reinforced structures and cores that made them far heavier than they appeared. And yet, here he was, this beaten, half-burned man, holding her as if the very act of finding her had given him strength beyond reason. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more: his resolve or the unmistakable warmth of his gratitude.

“Thank god,” he muttered, his voice rough but filled with raw relief. “You’re safe… all of you.”

For a moment, Echo’s hands hovered, unsure, but the weight of his embrace—and the gratitude that radiated from him—left her momentarily speechless. She allowed herself to return the hug, her own fingers tightening around his arms, acknowledging his relief with a quiet, unspoken understanding.

As they broke apart, John’s shoulders sagged, exhaustion finally catching up to him. But his relief was a balm against the pain. He glanced back down the tunnel where the others waited, a fierce resolve settling over him.

For now, they were safe. And as long as he was breathing, he’d make sure it stayed that way.

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit, with shattered windows and walls peeling from age and neglect. Dust hung thick in the air, coating the floor where civilians and a few surviving guards lay sprawled or huddled close, their faces dazed and worn. Cinder was crouched in a far corner, her fierce eyes softened as she wrapped a makeshift bandage around a young girl’s scraped knee, her voice low and soothing as she murmured words of comfort. Two more children clung to her arm, their wide eyes fixed on her like she was their anchor in the storm they had barely survived.

John stood off to the side, guilt gnawing at him as he surveyed the group. He hadn’t meant to put them in such danger, but here they were, barely hanging on in the dark. For a moment, his breath hitched at the thought of what he’d nearly cost them, but he forced the feeling down, focusing on what they needed now.

Beside him, Echo’s gaze was firm, her expression drawn as she examined their supplies. “We have almost nothing left for food and water,” she said, glancing up at him with a grim set to her jaw. “They won’t last long on what we’ve got here.”

John exhaled, steadying himself as he fought to concentrate. “Alright. What do we have exactly?” he asked, his voice low, masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Part of him was already berating himself for not planning this out better.

Echo counted through the salvaged supplies, her voice even but edged with tension. “Enough water for maybe a day if we ration. Food’s worse—just scraps we picked up on the way.” She glanced at him, her eyes unreadable but sharp, as though questioning if he’d really thought this through.

He glanced over at the civilians, their faces lined with exhaustion and silent dread. “We’ll have to find a way to resupply, maybe in one of the abandoned areas nearby.” His gaze fell on Cinder, who was still holding one of the children close, her armored arms surprisingly gentle as she murmured more reassurances.

“There’s an old storage facility in one of the adjacent buildings,” he said, piecing together what he knew of the area. “Might still have something useful. I’ll head out and see what I can scavenge.”

Echo crossed her arms, watching him closely. “You just got out of a fight, and you’re still hurt. Your breathing sounds like you’ve got a punctured lung and you’ve got burns all over your body.”

He forced a wry smile, brushing off the sharp stab in his chest. “I’ll manage,” he said, his words coming out weaker than he intended. He needed to stay strong, especially with the group hanging by a thread.

Echo’s gaze stayed on him, her fingers tapping her arm as she seemed to weigh his resolve, her mouth a tight line. “Fine,” she said at last. “But don’t be reckless. We can’t afford to lose anyone now.”

He chuckled bitterly. “Trust me, I’m not planning to make this any harder than it already is.”

As John moved toward the exit, he could still feel Echo’s eyes on him, assessing him with that same cool intensity, as though she knew he wasn’t just leaving for supplies. In truth, he needed a moment alone, a chance to clear his head before facing the fragile group again.

But as he looked back one last time—at Cinder cradling the children, at Echo standing sentinel over the weary group—he felt a silent promise take shape in his mind. Whatever it took, he would get them through this.

He limped down the shadowed alleys, each step jolting his body with sharp pain. The burns across his torso throbbed, a dull, constant ache, and his right lung protested with every shallow breath, forcing him to take quick, careful pulls of air. Still, he pressed on, his focus sharpened by the grim determination to help those people survive.

The streets were eerily silent, disturbed only by an occasional gust of wind stirring scraps of paper and debris along the cracked pavement. As he scanned the area, his gaze landed on a dilapidated building, its rusty sign hanging loosely by a single bolt. He vaguely remembered it as one of the few places that might still have a working plumbing system. Summoning his resolve, he picked up his pace, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty street.

Inside, the air was stale, thick with the smell of mildew and rust. He paused, one hand gripping his side, forcing his breaths to even out despite the stabbing pain. The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue, a grim reminder of his battered state. Pushing past the discomfort, he moved deeper into the building, his eyes sharp for any sign of a water source.

After navigating through a maze of decaying rooms and peeling walls, he heard it—a faint trickle filtering up through the cracks in the floorboards. His heart quickened, each step a test of his resolve as he finally spotted a narrow staircase in the back, leading down into darkness. Gritting his teeth, he descended slowly, the sound of water growing louder with each painful step.

At the bottom, he found a small, low-ceilinged room crisscrossed with exposed pipes. Some had rusted through, leaking stagnant pools across the floor, but a few still looked intact. Toward the back, a lone faucet dripped steadily into a half-filled basin.

He limped over, each movement careful and deliberate. Reaching out, he twisted the faucet, flinching as the metal scraped against his burned fingers. Relief washed over him as a clear stream poured out, splashing rhythmically into the basin. He cupped his hands beneath the water, letting the cool liquid flow over his fingers before lifting it to his face, savoring the brief reprieve from pain as it touched his burned skin.

Ignoring the sting, he splashed water across his chest, the coolness biting into his scorched skin like icy needles. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure the discomfort, feeling the water cleanse away grime and soot. With a few shallow sips, he eased his dry throat, then filled a canister he’d scavenged along the way, his mind drifting back to the people he’d left behind.

He thought of Cinder, her armored arms gentle as she comforted the children, and of Echo, standing vigilant over the group. They were relying on him now, and any hesitation could cost them all. As he bent down to retrieve the filled canister, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the pool beneath him. His face was streaked with soot and blood, a testament to the brutal fight he’d just barely survived.

The image stirred something uneasy within him. He’d faced death countless times, but the creature’s faces—those souls he’d sensed, each trapped in a state of silent horror—lingered in his mind like a stain. And now Mahito… whoever, or whatever, he was, was far more dangerous than John could fully comprehend.

It was the darkness of this city made flesh, a rot that couldn’t be washed away.

-

John gritted his teeth as he climbed through the window of the safehouse, the dim room greeting him like a sanctuary buried in the shadows. He pulled the rough hoodie he had found off his body, feeling the sting as sweat seeped into the burns on his left cheek, the skin pulled taut and raw. His torso and arms weren’t any better—patches of blistered skin throbbed where the fire had scorched him. His breaths were shallow, each one a ragged pull against the pain, his hand pressing against his ribs, feeling the dull pop of cartilage beneath his fingers. Every movement reminded him just how close he’d come to losing it all.

Setting down the few supplies he’d scavenged, he went to work on his wounds, his hands trembling. Bandages, a half-used bottle of antiseptic, and a rough, barely clean needle—these were all he had. He wrapped his torso with a sharp hiss, the scrape of fabric over scorched skin feeling like salt on an open wound. His mind drifted to Echo and Cinder, and he clenched his jaw, the sting of guilt mingling with the ache in his chest. He’d found them water, but it wasn’t enough. They’d need food soon—anything to keep going.

His hands shook as he fumbled with the gauze, his mind slipping into a memory. He could see her again, that young girl’s face, her small hand reaching out as she slipped beneath the water, her eyes wide with panic before her fingers disappeared into the darkness. Around her, bodies floated—faces he’d failed, men and women he couldn’t save. The weight of his failure pulled him down until he was gasping for air, his chest tight, the suffocating grip of fear closing in.

“Damn it,” he muttered, jerking himself from the spiral with a quick shake of his head. This is now. That was then. But the distinction was blurring, recent events dragging old ghosts to the surface.

John grumbled as he took stock of himself in the small mirror by the wall, wincing at his reflection. His disguise—Takumi’s coat, the wig, the platform shoes—had all been ruined in the explosion. Now, without even a cover to hide behind, he looked as battered as he felt. Burns mottled his skin, a mix of soot and dried blood streaked across his face and neck, and the makeshift bandages only highlighted the exhaustion etched in his features. He threw on a long-sleeved shirt, the fabric catching painfully on the raw patches as he tugged it down with a hiss.

Then he heard footsteps—a quick, familiar patter, too light to belong to anyone else.

Jackal.

Suppressing a sigh, he lowered the barrier around his door just as he slapped a piece of gauze over his cheek burn, hissing as it stung. It wasn’t much of a cover, but it would have to do for now.

The banging started just as he dropped his barrier, the door rattling with the force of her enthusiastic knock.

“Commander! Wake up! You’re missing all the daylight, or—well, whatever’s left of it!” Jackal’s voice was loud and cheerful, practically buzzing with her usual overabundance of energy.

John clenched his jaw, steeling himself, and opened the door. He found himself face-to-face with Jackal, who was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes darting up and down, catching sight of his bandages with an almost childlike curiosity.

“Ohhhhhh, what happened here?” she asked, her mouth forming a dramatic “O” as she reached out to poke one of his bandages before he gently swatted her hand away. “Didja fall? Or maybe you tried to fight a cactus? Or wait, wait—don’t tell me… did you get into a fight with… the floor?”

John rolled his eyes, letting out a tired sigh. “Yep, that’s exactly it, Jackal. I tripped over my own two feet and landed face-first in a bed of angry, glass-wielding cacti.”

Jackal’s grin only widened, undeterred. “See, that’s what I thought! Always told you not to get into fights with stuff that’s pointy or sharp, but do you listen? Nooooo. But hey! That’s why you have me!” She thumped her chest with an exaggeratedly proud expression. “Next time, just send me in first. I’m way too quick to get scratched by glass cacti.”

“Good to know,” John replied dryly, already resigning himself to her antics. “So, besides coming up with ridiculous injury theories and conversations we never actually had, is there something you actually need?”

“Oh yeah!” Jackal’s eyes widened as she remembered, bouncing in place again. “Crow sent me! Said something about new info, something super, super important! Like, life-and-death level important, maybe even ‘save the world’ important, but I wasn’t really listening, so you should probably just go talk to her yourself!”

John suppressed a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “So you mean you forgot everything she told you?”

“Uh… maybe?” Jackal tilted her head, clearly unbothered. “But don’t worry, I didn’t forget to come get you, so technically I did my job! A+ for effort, yeah?”

“Sure, Jackal. A+,” he muttered, doing his best to hide a grin. “Well, let’s get going before you forget where the main room is too.”

As John settled into his chair in the dimly lit meeting room, he could feel the weight of curious eyes on him. Viper, always the first to observe, leaned forward with a smirk.

“Well, well, Commander,” she purred, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Someone’s been getting into trouble, haven’t they?” Her gaze lingered on the bandage on his cheek, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You didn’t lose that pretty face of yours, did you?”

John shrugged, leaning back. “Just a little shave mishap. Happens to the best of us.”

Across from him, Crow rolled her eyes, unimpressed. She crossed her arms, her gaze sharper than usual. “Hope you didn’t use the same razor on your sleep schedule, ‘cause you look like hell.” She leaned forward, her tone colder. “One of Rat’s hideouts exploded last night. Most of his stash went up with it, and now he’s likely scurried into some deeper hole. If we don’t act fast, he’ll disappear completely.”

Viper arched an eyebrow, her expression shifting to mild interest. “Well, well... doesn’t that seem a little too convenient?” Her smirk faded slightly, replaced by a calculating gleam in her eye. “Our rat’s been evading us for a while now. Think someone’s giving him a helping hand?”

“Exactly,” Crow said, her voice tight with irritation. “We don’t have time for a wild goose chase, especially not if he’s getting extra cover. We should drop this before we waste more resources.”

John’s expression darkened. “We’re not giving up,” he replied, voice steady and unyielding.

Crow’s eyes narrowed, clearly unamused. “Really? You think this is worth it?”

“Absolutely,” he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. “In five hours, we’re moving out. Rat’s deeper underground, but that just means we’re getting closer to uncovering his endgame.”

Viper leaned back, crossing her legs and watching him with a bemused smile, though her eyes held a hint of intrigue. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Commander. Most would’ve cut their losses by now, but you…” She let out a soft chuckle. “I think you enjoy the chase.”

Ignoring her, John stood, already focused on his next move. “I need to make a few calls and set the plan in motion. Be back here in five.” Without waiting for responses, he turned and strode toward the door, his steps steady and deliberate.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Crow shook her head, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “Stubborn fool,” she muttered under her breath. “Guts like that just get you killed around here.”

Viper’s gaze lingered on the door, an amused glint in her eye. “Oh, he’s no ordinary commander. You might want to watch him a little closer, Crow.”

Jackal, who had been bouncing in her chair throughout the whole exchange, grinned wildly, barely containing her excitement. “I dunno what he’s planning, but I’m in! Whatever it is, it’s gonna be loud, right? Just give the word, Crow, and I’m all over it!” She pumped her fists, clearly ready for action.

Crow rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a faint smirk. “We’ll see, Jackal. We’ll see.”

-

John sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his dimly lit room, the busy bustle of the Outer Rims streets outside his window his only company. His fingers moved with practiced precision as he traced symbols across a worn strip of paper. His right hand trembled from exhaustion, the ache in his burned cheek and blood-soaked bandages pulsing with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of why he needed this talisman. He’d been forced into a corner, and Takumi’s presence was the last card he had left to play.

The talisman took shape under his fingers, his cursed energy seeping into the paper. Slowly, the symbols began to shimmer with an ethereal glow, faint but insistent—a direct call to Takumi that he hoped would reach him as quickly as possible.

Forty minutes passed, his focus unbroken despite the constant pull of fatigue, his back aching, his chest tight with every breath. But he didn’t allow himself to stop. He picked up another strip of paper, dipping his brush once more. This second talisman wasn’t a call for help but a lure. It would act as bait, drawing anything with cursed energy to his location if he used it. He folded the paper slowly, feeling the risk of its weight—an option he’d rather avoid, but a failsafe he couldn’t afford to leave behind.

Once finished, he slipped both talismans into his jacket pocket. Leaning back against the wall, he allowed his eyes to close, drawing in a slow, shuddering breath. His energy still lingered in the air, thick and palpable, as if a piece of himself had imprinted on the room.

Reaching for his phone, he opened his messages and typed a quick text to Rapi:

"Need assistance. Find all intel you can on Rat’s movements and connections. Any recent reports, send them my way ASAP."

He stared at the message a moment before hitting send, hoping she’d understand the urgency. Letting out a slow exhale, he allowed the weight of the task ahead to settle on his shoulders, feeling the steady pulse of the talismans in his pocket as the only reassurance.

-

Rapi pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a familiar pulse of irritation as Neon and Anis bickered behind her. Neon, oblivious to the tension in the room, was mid-rant, her eyes blazing as she went on about her favorite topic—firepower.

“Look, Anis, it’s not just about blasting things to pieces. It’s about pure, unfiltered efficiency!” Neon exclaimed, gesturing animatedly. “We could triple our impact if we upgraded our ammo systems. Imagine: no downtime, no lag in fire rate! Just a relentless, beautiful stream of—”

Anis let out an exaggerated groan, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, her face twisted in exasperation. “Neon, please. We get it—you love blowing things up. But some of us don’t have all day to hear the ‘joys of optimized ammunition,’ okay?” She shot Rapi a look, one eyebrow raised as if to say, How do you put up with this?

Rapi sighed, looking back at both of them with a flicker of weariness. “Would you two keep it down? Some of us are actually trying to work here.”

The two fell quiet, though Neon muttered something under her breath about “no one appreciating true firepower” while Anis rolled her eyes. Taking advantage of the newfound silence, Rapi left them to their antics and headed down the sleek hallway toward the Commander’s office. The mission to gather intel on Rat had proven to be frustratingly fruitless, and she was determined to find something worthwhile.

Once inside, Rapi seated herself at the Commander’s computer, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face as she sifted through files with practiced precision. The deeper she dug, the more it became clear that none of the intel on Rat was anything more than hearsay—scattered rumors, a few vague reports on petty criminals, and nothing substantial that tied back to Rat himself. After an hour, her patience had worn thin, and she leaned back in the chair, exhaling in frustration.

Her mind raced over potential leads, but nothing seemed promising. That’s when the name Exia surfaced in her mind. She hadn’t considered using Exia’s unconventional skills, but desperate times called for unorthodox measures. If anyone could follow Rat’s trail through digital chaos, it would be Exia.

Rapi reached for her device, typing a quick, direct message:

“Exia, I need help tracking down Rat. Any data you can dig up would be invaluable. It’s urgent.”

As she sent the message, the office door cracked open, and Neon’s head poked in, curiosity lighting up her face. “Hey, Rapi! Got anything exciting in here? Maybe some… advanced firepower schematics?”

Rapi barely glanced up, sighing. “Not unless you count these dead-end files as ‘exciting.’ And unless you have a useful lead, Neon, I suggest you get back to… whatever you were doing.”

Neon’s shoulders drooped, but she rallied, a determined glint in her eye. “If you need someone to handle firepower, just say the word!”

Anis followed, her gaze flicking between Rapi and Neon, exasperation evident in her expression. “Don’t encourage her, Rapi. If you let her, she’ll summon the whole base and start a lecture on ‘firepower dynamics.’”

“Not a lecture,” Neon muttered, more to herself. “A necessary education.”

“Thanks, Neon. I’ll keep you in mind,” Rapi replied.

Rapi had barely set her device down when it buzzed with Exia’s response. Her screen flooded with a torrent of files and threads—a detailed web of data on Rat, including known associates, hideout blueprints, movement patterns, and threads of rumors about his connections across the Ark.

Stunned, Rapi opened one of the files, eyes scanning the precise, methodical breakdown of Rat’s dealings. How did Exia gather all this so fast?

Almost as if reading her thoughts, another message from Exia popped up:

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you guys. Figured something big was coming up, so I started preparing. Tell the Commander he owes me a thank-you... or better yet, buy me a new game or game pass sometime”

Rapi’s fingers paused, her brows furrowing slightly. Monitoring them? That wasn’t something Exia had done in the past—or at least, not something she’d admitted to. It was possible she was keeping tabs as a safeguard, but Exia’s casual tone made it hard to gauge her motives. After a brief hesitation, Rapi typed a response:

“Thanks for the intel. It’s impressive, and we appreciate it. Just to clarify... is there a reason you were watching us specifically?”

There was a pause—long enough for Rapi to wonder if she’d get a serious answer. But just then, another message appeared:

“Can’t chat, raid starting in Final Quest—my guild needs me. GLHF, Rapi!”

And with that, Exia’s presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Rapi with the cascade of data she hadn’t yet begun to process. She exhaled slowly, a mix of gratitude and unease settling over her as she returned to the files.

-

John flicked open his lighter, watching as the talisman curled and smoked, the faint tendrils of magic drifting upward—a signal only Takumi would understand. He watched the ash settle before brushing it into his pocket, satisfied he’d set his message in motion. Moving on, he descended the creaky stairs, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. The mission wasn’t done, and caffeine was the only thing likely to keep him standing.

In the dimly lit kitchen, he found a half-full jar of instant coffee sitting abandoned on the counter, the last vestiges of a forgotten stash. He unscrewed the lid, eyed the powder, and, without bothering with hot water, dumped a large spoonful straight into his mouth. The gritty, bitter taste was nothing short of revolting, but the jolt of caffeine cut through his exhaustion like a blade. Grimacing, he swallowed and wiped his mouth, the dry grounds scraping down his throat like sandpaper.

Just as he started to close the jar, Jackal’s head popped into the kitchen, her eyes immediately latching onto the jar in his hands.

“Oooh! Commander, whatcha got there?” Her voice was a gleeful mix of curiosity and excitement, and she practically skipped over to his side.

John started to refuse, opening his mouth to shut her down, but then paused, an idea forming. If Jackal got a taste of this stuff, it might keep her—and the rest of Exotic—out of his way for a bit. He reluctantly held out the jar.

“Sure, here,” he said, keeping his face straight as he handed her the jar. “But don’t overdo it.”

Jackal’s eyes sparkled, completely missing the warning. “No problem, Commander!” She didn’t waste a second, tipping the jar back and taking a huge mouthful of the bitter powder. Instantly, her face contorted, and she gagged, coughing violently, her hands clutching at her throat.

“Ugh! This tastes like… dirt and regret!” She hacked, her eyes tearing up as she struggled to swallow. But a second later, the caffeine started to kick in, her eyes sharpening with newfound energy. “Whoa… okay, that’s disgusting, but… I feel so alive!” She looked up at him, her face splitting into a wild grin. “Commander, you got any more of this stuff?”

Before he could answer, Crow’s voice echoed sharply from the hallway, her tone carrying the usual hint of irritation. “John, where do you think you’re sneaking off to?”

He kept it short, glancing over his shoulder with a brief, dismissive answer. “Out. Just some info gathering.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed, clearly unsatisfied, but before she could press further, John added with an air of nonchalance, “Oh, and by the way, I think Jackal might’ve just gotten into the coffee.”

At that, Crow’s expression shifted, her eyes widening with a mix of horror and frustration. She muttered a few choice words under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Damn it, not again.” Without another word, she marched into the kitchen, her expression one of sheer determination to get the jar out of Jackal’s hands before any more chaos could unfold.

Taking advantage of the distraction, John slipped out of the room and into the hallway. He could still hear Jackal’s over-caffeinated laughter echoing behind him, and Crow’s increasingly annoyed commands to “put down the jar, Jackal.” A smirk crossed his face as he moved through the dark corridors and out into the streets, his pulse already racing from the caffeine kick.

John kept his pace steady, each footfall echoing off the narrow walls of the Outer Rim’s maze-like backstreets as he made his way to the abandoned building where Cinder and Echo were guarding the civilians. His mind was entirely focused on reaching them, his senses tuned to the harsh quiet of the darkened streets. Yet, he remained unaware of the silent shadow slipping through the murk behind him.

Just a few steps back, Viper moved with the stealth of a predator on the prowl, her sharp eyes trained on him, a wicked smirk on her lips as she maintained her cover. She’d waited for a chance like this, and now she relished the thrill of trailing him through the shadows, savoring each second he remained unaware of her presence.

As John turned sharply down an alley, vanishing from her line of sight, a flash of frustration crossed Viper's face. She reached the alley entrance only to find him gone, the narrow lane empty, nothing but cracked pavement and muted streetlight casting faint shadows. But annoyance quickly gave way to amusement, her eyes gleaming as she pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up to reveal a live tracker on the screen. The pulsing icon marked John’s exact location as he navigated deeper into the twisting streets.

"Not so fast, honey," she murmured, tracing a finger along his path. "You’re not going anywhere I can’t follow."

A quick flashback surfaced in her mind, and her smirk grew wider as she remembered the setup.

She’d approached John casually that day, her expression syrupy sweet, her tone dripping with honeyed innocence as she leaned in close. “Commander,” she’d cooed, that playful gleam in her eye, “Let me take care of you..” She sidled closer, leaning in with her usual predatory charm. “While we’re at it, why don’t you let me borrow your phone for a second? I’ll add my contact on Blabla. You know, just to make sure we stay in touch.”

John had raised an eyebrow, both intrigued and mildly skeptical, but he’d handed over his phone without a word, watching her with faint amusement. Viper’s fingers moved swiftly over the screen, her eyes never leaving his as she entered her contact—along with a hidden tracking protocol she’d slipped in without hesitation. Satisfied, she’d given him a wink. “Thanks, honey. Now, follow me.”

He’d only shaken his head with a smirk, unaware that the exchange had been part of her careful scheme.

Snapping back to the present, Viper traced the path on her phone as John’s icon drew closer to his destination. Her smirk sharpened, her mind racing with curiosity and calculation. Whatever he was after, she’d be there to see it firsthand, watching him from the shadows as she always had.

With a final glance at the pulsing icon, Viper slipped the phone back into her pocket, her steps calculated and precise as she continued tailing him. She relished the feeling of control, each footfall a silent thread tying her to his path. He was unaware, and she could pull that thread tight whenever she pleased.

Her eyes flicked back to the tracker frequently, her confident smirk fading as the little icon representing John’s location began to behave erratically. It darted between points, ignoring the winding paths and alleys, and then—suddenly—it surged forward at an impossible speed, faster than any human could move on foot. Just as abruptly, it would decelerate, as though he were simply strolling.

A frown creased her brow, her lips pressing into a thin line as she scanned the tracker’s wild blips. She was no stranger to tech, but this was strange—like he was skipping around the map. Either the device was glitching, or John was taking a route that defied all logic. Her pulse quickened, frustration mingling with intrigue. Had he somehow slipped her surveillance?

Finally, the chaotic movement stabilized, and she saw the icon hover near an old, abandoned structure up ahead. Viper slowed her pace, her steps cautious and her gaze sharp as she approached the building. Ducking behind a crumbling wall, she peered around, catching a glimpse of John standing just outside the entrance, partially shrouded in shadow as he conversed with someone.

Her curiosity spiked. Standing with him was a Nikke she didn’t recognize, rugged and scarred, with an aura that suggested she’d been through more than most. Viper squinted, studying the Nikke’s guarded but steady stance. There was a hardened look in her eyes, a steeliness that Viper found unsettling. Yet there was something else too, something in the way the Nikke regarded John—trust, or perhaps even… respect.

A flicker of irritation prickled through her. Who was this mystery Nikke, and why was John keeping her a secret? Viper leaned further into the shadows, irritation mounting as she watched them exchange words. She couldn’t make out their conversation, but John’s posture was telling: his shoulders were slightly slouched, his stance less rigid than usual, as though exhaustion clung to him. He was casual, yes, but worn down, his movements betraying a rare vulnerability.

Her fingers itched to reach for her phone, to snap a photo, document whatever this was. But she hesitated, watching the pair closely, her mind racing with possibilities. The Nikke’s stance held a mixture of defiance and familiarity, an almost palpable sense of loyalty that set Viper’s teeth on edge. This wasn’t some random meeting—this was a rendezvous, one John had clearly intended to keep off the radar.

Viper’s eyes narrowed, her gaze trained on John’s weary form as he spoke, the fatigue in his gestures at odds with his typically unyielding demeanor. She recognized that guarded weariness; it was the look of someone carrying the weight of secrets. But what secrets?

With silent resolve, she stayed rooted in her hiding spot, her curiosity piqued and her patience unwavering. If he was hiding something—and it looked like he was—she intended to find out.

-

Takumi’s grip tightened around the ancient scrolls he’d stolen from the archives, his breath shallow as he crouched in the shadows, every muscle tense. The rows of towering shelves cast dark, stretching shadows across the library floor, hiding him, for now. Somewhere below, hushed voices disrupted the silence.

“Did you hear something?” a voice muttered, wary and tight. “Nobody’s supposed to be in here tonight.”

Takumi pressed himself further into the darkness, cursing his luck. His fingers flexed around the scrolls—these were far too precious to risk over an unwanted interruption. He’d expected the usual empty halls, not unexpected company. He readied himself to slip away, only for the faint words drifting up to freeze him in place.

“Another defector, maybe?” one of the sorcerers whispered, his tone colored by a deep suspicion. “It’s why they’re so bent on keeping this place locked down.”

Takumi’s pulse quickened, his thoughts racing. Another defector? Defectors were nearly unheard of, at least in his experience. They’d all been rooted out over the years, their fates handled swiftly, especially the Great Barrier Witch he and John had confronted. Could one have slipped through the council’s net?

“You’re paranoid,” the other scoffed, though his gaze swept the room. “Besides, we’d know if someone that dangerous was in here. And even if they were, what would they hope to find?”

The first voice was quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “A trace. Something that could lead them back to the pact.”

Takumi’s brow furrowed, the weight of the word unsettling him. A pact? He’d overheard scraps about some ancient agreement buried in council records, but never in a context that suggested it might still be significant—or worth killing to protect.

A faint whiff of smoke drifted up from his sleeve, the aroma unmistakable. Damn it, he thought, feeling the telltale scent of incense lingering in the air. John’s signal—of all the times to call him. The timing was terrible. He watched as the sorcerer caught the scent, his gaze sharpening.

“Incense?” the sorcerer murmured, sniffing the air, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shelves.

Takumi forced himself to remain perfectly still, lowering his cursed energy until it was barely a hum. A chain of spectral energy coiled around his wrist, faint and silent as he hooked it onto a nearby beam, swinging silently to a higher ledge just as an eyeball floated by, oblivious. He slipped behind a row of thick, dusty tomes, exhaling carefully as he pressed his back against the shelf.

“You smell that?” the first sorcerer asked, his voice tight.

"Still skeptical?" the sorcerer who’d sent out the eyes muttered to his partner. "Strong as the library’s barrier is, it can still be bypassed by someone skilled enough."

“By whom?” the other scoffed. “The only two capable of slipping through were that damned Great Barrier Witch and—” He paused, sneering slightly. “That dead street rat the Gojo family took in. Doubt we’d see him slinking through here, though.”

“You're paranoid,” He muttered to his companion, a sneer in his tone. “If someone’s here, they’ll never make it out with anything valuable. They’d be smarter than using something like incense if they can get into here”

If only you knew, Takumi thought, keeping himself hidden as he moved silently toward the archive’s outer edge. The narrow rows felt suffocating, but he knew the layout well, slipping through the maze without leaving a trace. With every careful step, the scent of incense faded, and his escape drew closer.

Just as he approached the exit, he heard a low murmur, words barely above a whisper.

“If that pact ever saw daylight… they’d call us traitors for keeping it hidden.”

A tense silence followed. “Then let’s hope no one’s listening, or they’ll find themselves dealing with far worse than a defector.”

Takumi kept his focus steady, though his mind buzzed with questions. If the council would guard this “pact” with such paranoia, it meant only one thing: secrets dangerous enough to crush anyone who discovered them.

With a final, deep breath, he steadied his grip on the spectral chain and vaulted himself toward the exit. A faint rustle echoed below, and the sorcerers glanced up, just in time to hear his coat flicker out of sight as he disappeared into the shadows.

-

John leaned back against the rough wall, trying to absorb Cinder’s words even as his gaze drifted across the dim, dilapidated room.

“Echo and a few others have already started mapping out routes through the nearby buildings,” she said, her voice calm but steady. “They’re scavenging scrap, whatever they can sell, and finding small caches of water. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

John nodded, the weight of the last few days pressing on him. "I wish I could do more,” he murmured, feeling the inadequacy of the words. “Feels like I’m just keeping you all in survival mode.”

Cinder tilted her head, her mouth quirking with a quiet confidence that almost surprised him. “Commander, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be here at all. But to survive out here—really survive—you’ve gotta learn to do it on your own terms. Out in the Rim, you can’t rely on help forever.” She shrugged slightly, her expression softening. “People who last out here get by only if they stand on their own.”

John let out a reluctant sigh. He understood; that didn’t mean it made it any easier. “Doesn’t mean I’m about to stop looking out for you,” he replied, a wry smile pulling at his mouth. “But I’ll help however I can, whether you need it or not.”

She gave him a long, measured look, nodding. "We’re grateful,” she said, a seriousness in her tone. “But for us, it’s not enough to just get by. We need to find a way to build something, however small. And we know you won’t leave us hanging, but maybe... let us start figuring this out on our own, too. There’s no other way for people like us out here."

Her words hung in the air, weighty and certain. John watched her, silently recognizing the strength in her expression—the resilience he’d seen emerging in all of them. They were pushing forward, trying to make something out of the scraps they’d been left with, and he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride.

“By the way,” he said, glancing back at her, “do you know anything about Rat? Anything that might help?”

Cinder frowned, shaking her head. “Not much. They kept us as prisoners, like the rest of the people they took in. All I know is that they talked about transferring some of us to a place they called the Nuovo Impianto—said it like it was supposed to mean something to us.”

The name clicked in John’s mind, unsettlingly familiar. But before he could dig further, a prickle ran up his spine. The hairs on his arms rose as a faint tremor in his cursed barrier jolted his senses.

Someone had crossed it.

John’s posture shifted instantly, his muscles tensing, gaze sharpening. Whoever had broken through hadn’t stumbled in by accident—they’d come with intent, brushing aside his ward with startling ease.

“Stay here,” he said, his tone low, each word weighted with urgency. “Get everyone into hiding and be ready if something goes down.”

Cinder’s eyes widened, but she nodded, her face setting in determination as she moved to quietly rally the others into a corner. “Be careful, Commander.”

John’s only response was a curt nod before he slipped into the corridor, moving with quiet precision as he tracked the faint thread of cursed energy lingering in the air. Whoever this was had crossed his barrier with practiced ease, leaving a trail that whispered of confidence—perhaps even defiance. He followed it through the shadows, his senses heightened as he maneuvered silently along the cracked floorboards.

After several twists and turns, a faint silhouette came into view, shrouded in dim light just ahead. In a swift, fluid motion, he closed the distance and stopped a pace behind the figure.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low, controlled. “Mind telling me what you’re doing in my territory?”

The figure spun around, surprise flashing in her eyes before fading into an exaggerated pout. Viper. She placed a hand theatrically on her chest, sighing. “Honey! Nearly gave me a heart attack,” she purred, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “A gentleman wouldn’t sneak up on a lady like that, would he?”

John folded his arms, unmoved by her feigned innocence. “You haven’t answered my question,” he replied evenly, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Viper’s smile remained steady, though her gaze gleamed with something sharper, more calculating. She tilted her head, meeting his intensity with her own. “Funny,” she quipped. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Leaving the safehouse suddenly? No note, no goodbye—just what are you up to, Commander?”

John stifled an internal sigh, already sensing her tactic. She’d flipped the question, steering him onto the defensive, and her coy gaze didn’t waver as she waited for him to take the bait. He shifted his weight, deciding it was pointless to press her here—she’d give away nothing she didn’t want to. With a subtle shrug, he met her gaze. “Let’s discuss this somewhere less… exposed.”

Her smirk widened, but her eyes remained alert, sharp with silent questions. “Much better,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to survey the darkened hallway before giving him a slight nod.

Leading her back to the makeshift room where he’d left Cinder and the others, John could feel Viper’s probing gaze lingering on him as if measuring his intentions with every step. When they entered, Cinder’s head snapped up, her face tense until her eyes landed on John. Relief softened her expression, though she gave Viper a wary once-over.

John kept his tone steady, reassuring as he spoke. “Cinder, I’ll be gone for a bit. Keep things steady here, alright?”

Cinder nodded slowly, but her gaze flickered uncertainly to Viper, her unease evident in the way she positioned herself between the two, arms crossed. “We’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice held a guarded edge. “Just… be careful out there, Commander.”

Viper’s voice cut in before he could respond, her tone smooth but with a mischievous bite. “Oh, don’t worry, darling. I’ll keep an eye on him.” She glanced at John, a glint of amusement in her eyes, but there was something unyielding beneath her smirk. “Make sure he doesn’t sneak off without me again.”

With a slight nod, John turned, feeling the weight of her scrutiny as they stepped back into the corridor. Viper’s presence beside him was a constant reminder—she was watching him closely, her intent as guarded as her words. She hadn’t shown up here by accident, and whatever her reasons, he knew this was only the beginning of her quiet, pointed interrogation.

-

The coffee shop was more of a shack than an actual business, squeezed between two decaying buildings. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap coffee, mingling with the damp rust and dust that seemed to permeate every inch of the Outer Rim. Lights flickered above, casting jagged shadows across the cracked walls, and patrons hunched over chipped mugs as if each drink was the last they’d ever get.

In a dim corner booth, John and Viper sat across from each other, a worn, scarred table between them. John leaned back, his shoulders tense, casting a wary glance around the room before his gaze landed on Viper. She lounged across from him, arms crossed, one brow raised in a knowing smirk as she eyed him, her gaze sharper than her casual posture let on.

“So, Honey,” she began, her voice dropping to a drawl, her eyes glinting. “Mind telling me what a high-and-mighty military man is doing sneaking around the Outer Rim? You’ve been making a habit of it, haven’t you?” She leaned forward, voice edged with playful accusation. “What’s got you running off like you’re hiding something?”

John gave a slight shrug, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “Didn’t realize I had to clear my every step with you.”

“Oh, relax.” Viper chuckled, her voice low and teasing. “I’m not here to babysit you. But it’s rare to see a Commander stepping out of his cozy Ark base—especially to sneak around alone. Come on, you must have a reason,” she coaxed, her smile both mocking and curious. “Or is this all just some grand secret?”

John sighed, his fingers tapping lightly against the table as he weighed his words. “I’m not here for secrets,” he said, tone flat. “Just trying to help a few people who got left behind.”

Viper raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear as she looked him over. “Help people?” Her lips curled into a mocking smile, but there was a hint of genuine surprise in her eyes. “How noble. I’m guessing the Ark’s finest trained you for that, hmm?” She leaned back, giving him an appraising look. “Didn’t think Commanders had it in them to care about ‘strays.’”

“Guess I’m full of surprises.” John’s tone was dry, meeting her gaze with a steady, unyielding look. “People out here need help. The least I can do is get them the basics.”

“Basics, huh?” Viper echoed, her voice softening as her smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing in thought. She tilted her head, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “So you’re practically bleeding out and barely standing, all for a few souls nobody else would give a damn about?”

“Something like that,” he replied, tone even, but his eyes darkened slightly. “They’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Viper’s gaze lingered on him, an unexpected quiet falling between them. She hadn’t expected this—a glimpse of conviction that wasn’t wrapped in ego or arrogance. She saw his exhaustion, the grit in his expression, and for once, she didn’t immediately mask her reaction. “So you’re out here, getting yourself killed over scraps for people who probably don’t even trust you. Quite the saint,” she teased, though her voice held a grudging respect she didn’t bother to fully hide.

John’s eyes flickered with a faint smile. “Call it whatever you like. It’s just what I do.”

Her smirk returned, though softer this time, a slight shift in her tone betraying a hint of admiration. “Well, well. Maybe you’re not just another stuffed shirt from the Ark.” She raised her coffee cup, her gaze fixed on him as she took a slow sip, her eyes reflecting a new curiosity. “Rare breed, Honey. Didn’t peg you for one with a conscience.”

His faint smile grew, though he stayed silent, letting her words hang between them.

After a beat, Viper’s smirk sharpened again, her gaze turning sly as she leaned forward. “But enough about your bleeding heart. There’s one other thing I want to know.” Her voice dropped, a challenge slipping into her tone. “Nuovo Impianto. Ring any bells?”

John’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Actually, I was hoping you’d know something about it.”

A pleased glint flashed across Viper’s eyes. “Lucky for you, I know more than a little.” Her smirk grew wider, her voice a soft purr as she added, “It’s one of Rat’s favorite hiding spots. A lovely little operation where people get… sorted. Not quite the scrap yard you’d expect.” Her voice was teasing, but her eyes were deadly serious.

“Sorted, huh?” John’s jaw tightened as he let the implications settle, his mind racing with the possibilities.

Viper leaned back, crossing her arms, her grin challenging. “You want in? I can show you where the rats scurry and hide, Honey.” She lifted her cup in a mock toast, her eyes glinting with mischief and something warmer. “What’s a little infiltration mission between friends?”

John allowed a faint, resigned smile as he met her gaze.

Chapter Text

Cinder knelt down slowly, her gaze warm and steady as she met the eyes of a young mother clutching her child close. Dark circles marred the mother’s face, signs of nights spent awake, and her thin arms wrapped protectively around her little girl, who peeked out with wide, uncertain eyes. Both looked exhausted, their clothes worn, their expressions shadowed by something beyond fatigue—fear, perhaps, or simply the weight of survival.

“Here,” Cinder murmured, her voice soft as she reached into her pack, pulling out a canteen of water. She placed it gently into the mother’s hands, letting her fingers linger a moment, offering a quiet reassurance. “It’s fresh. I boiled it myself just this morning. Make sure you and your little one get some.”

The mother’s face relaxed, and she gave a small, almost hesitant smile, her hand trembling as she held the canteen. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. Her eyes shone with gratitude—a fragile glimmer of hope lighting a face that looked as though it had forgotten how to trust kindness.

The little girl peeked up at Cinder, curiosity sparkling beneath her shyness. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, then looked at Cinder with a question that felt heavy, filled with innocence and hope. “Will you stay with us?” she asked, her voice soft and timid.

Cinder felt a warmth rise in her chest as she knelt down closer, her eyes level with the girl’s. She reached out and gently ruffled her hair, her fingers moving with a tenderness she had long kept hidden. “For now,” she promised with a reassuring smile, her voice steady. “I’ll be close by, so you and your mom can rest easy. And I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay?”

The girl’s lips curled into a small smile, her face lighting up, a moment of pure, unguarded joy that seemed to lift some of the darkness from the room. For just a moment, Cinder felt the weight of her own hardships ease, as if the girl’s smile alone could lessen the burdens they all carried.

Outside, Echo moved along the perimeter, each step deliberate, her gaze sharp as she checked every corner and crumbling wall of the facility. She knew every shadow, every crack in the concrete; she’d mapped it all in her mind, the layout of her silent promise to keep them safe. Her gaze never wavered, listening to the faint murmurs of Cinder’s voice inside, the sound mingling with the faint, shifting winds outside.

She reached a rusted gate, nudging it carefully to ensure it stayed closed. She lingered there, her hand tightening on the metal as she looked out into the alley. The world beyond felt like a threat held just at bay, the silence heavy, as though the city itself were holding its breath. In the distance, a shadow moved—a brief flicker against the brick walls, just long enough to make her tense. Her fingers tightened as she tracked the shape, waiting. But then it vanished, swallowed by the darkness, leaving nothing but stillness behind.

Sighing, Echo released her grip, though her expression remained sharp, her jaw set with resolve. She’d been hardened by survival, her instincts trained to protect without faltering, but there was more here than vigilance. It was a need—one she would never say aloud—to make sure those inside would have the peace they deserved, if only for tonight.

When she finally returned, she slipped through a side door, her gaze immediately seeking Cinder, who was still with the mother and child. Catching her eye, Echo gave a subtle nod, a silent assurance that all was clear—for now. There was no need for words; Cinder returned the nod with a grateful look that lingered, holding within it an understanding, a silent gratitude that needed no explanation.

As Echo moved to stand guard near the doorway, Cinder turned back to the little girl, her smile gentle and warm. “See?” she murmured, giving the girl a comforting wink. “You’re safe here. We’ve got you.”

The girl’s eyes, filled with trust, held Cinder’s gaze as she leaned into her mother’s arms. The room, despite its broken windows and worn walls, felt warmer, like a fragile shelter holding a precious moment.

Echo’s ears caught a faint sound—barely a whisper, distant and muffled, yet unmistakably out of place. She stilled, tilting her head, her senses straining to pick up more. It wasn’t the usual hum of the wind through broken walls or the rustle of debris shifting. This was different: a purposeful shuffling, as if someone—or something—was moving just outside the facility.

A frown tightened Echo’s features, and she shot a glance at Cinder, lowering her voice to a murmur so the others wouldn’t hear. “There’s something outside. I’m going to check it out.”

Cinder’s brows knitted, her gaze flickering with concern as she nodded. She adjusted her stance, inching closer to the mother and child as she kept her tone calm, though it carried a distinct edge. “Got it. I’ll keep a lookout from here.” She reached out and lightly squeezed Echo’s arm. “Be careful.”

Echo returned the nod, a silent message passing between them, and then slipped through the facility’s side exit. She moved carefully, her footsteps so soft they barely disturbed the dust on the floor. With no weapon to steady her, she pressed close to the wall, the structure’s shadow her only cover as she scanned the dark, open space beyond.

Outside, the night felt heavy and still, the silence thick with tension. Echo crouched, inching closer to where the sound had come from. A few meters away, the remnants of a collapsed wall lay half-buried under debris, the perfect hiding place for anyone looking to avoid detection.

Inside, Cinder positioned herself by one of the cracked windows, eyes never straying from Echo’s shadowed figure as she moved. She tensed, feeling the weight of their vulnerability as she glanced back at the small group huddled in the corner. They were watching her, looking to her for reassurance. She offered a faint, calming smile, then turned her focus back outside, every muscle on high alert.

Echo continued, her senses heightened. She could hear her own heartbeat, feel the weight of each breath, her body alive with the tension of being exposed. She glanced back once, catching sight of Cinder at the window, her figure outlined against the faint lights of the distant cityscape. Just that glimpse of her friend watching over her gave Echo a flicker of reassurance, a sense that she wasn’t entirely alone out here.

As she neared the debris pile, a sudden movement caught her eye—a shadow shifting, blending almost seamlessly with the darkened rubble. She froze, watching it, her mind racing through options. With no weapon, she’d have to rely on her speed and wits, and she knew Cinder was counting on her to handle this without drawing danger back toward the others.

A faint scrape sounded, like metal dragging on concrete, and Echo’s heart lurched. She crouched lower, watching, calculating her next move. If this was someone hostile, she’d need to stay one step ahead, keeping them off balance. She adjusted her position, eyes narrowing, every muscle tense as she prepared herself.

Echo’s footsteps were light, yet the eerie silence that hung over the facility seemed to magnify every sound. The further she went, the colder the shadows felt, pressing in like an unseen weight. Then, without warning, something moved at the edge of her vision—a figure that seemed to both blend into and emerge from the darkness itself.

She froze, her instincts screaming at her to retreat, but before she could even think of turning, a voice drifted through the shadows—smooth, almost whimsical, yet laced with a cold malice.

“Oh… a Nikke all by herself,” the figure mused, his tone light and childlike. “You know, I’d heard of you machines—souls wrapped in metal… but I didn’t expect to find one with such spark.”

Echo’s hand inched to her weapon, but her fingers trembled. She couldn’t look away from the figure’s face—a young, almost innocent face with wide, amused eyes, and a grin that seemed to stretch too far.

“Do you know what you really are?” he asked, his voice both taunting and curious, as though the question itself was some grand joke. “Or do you just march along, doing what you’re told, like all those other toys?”

He leaned closer, shadows warping around him like a living cloak, and the intensity of his gaze made Echo’s skin crawl.

“Humans built you for battle, just like they build everything they’re afraid to do themselves,” he continued, almost marveling as he spoke. “They gave you souls to fight, to feel pain—and then threw you to the wolves.” His eyes gleamed with twisted fascination. “It’s like a little game, isn’t it? Seeing if you machines can hold on to those fragile souls while they pull the strings. And here you are, playing along. How charming.”

Echo’s jaw tightened, a defiant spark flaring in her despite the taunt. “I know what I’m fighting for. You—" Her voice faltered but steadied, “I am not a toy.”

A childlike laugh echoed in the corridor, chilling her to the core. “Oh but you are to me. I play with souls. Isn’t it fascinating how easily they mold and break?” His fingers traced the air as though sculpting something delicate. “Even now, I could change you, shape you into something entirely… new. You’d be surprised how malleable a soul can be, how it squirms when you press in just the right places.”

Echo’s hands shook, but she held her ground, even as his eyes narrowed, seeming to savor her defiance.

“I wonder…” he murmured, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper, “how much of that spark would last if I twisted it a little? What would it feel like to see a soul like yours shatter?” He tilted his head, grinning wide. “Maybe then you’d finally understand your place—just another thing made to break.”

Echo’s voice wavered but held steady. “I might be what they made me, but even I can recognize a monster when I see one.”

His laughter echoed softly, a sound light and almost musical. “Monster?” he repeated, voice dripping with mock surprise. “No, no… I’m only here to remind you of the truth. Of what you are, and what you’ll never be.”

-

John crouched in the dimly lit office space of Nuovo Impianto, carefully piecing together fragments of shredded and charred papers scattered across the cracked floor. Bits of sentences and half-formed phrases came together slowly, leaving him squinting to make sense of the information. Behind him, Viper leaned against a crumbling wall, examining her chipped nail with an exaggerated sigh.

“Ugh, you know, it wouldn’t kill you to appreciate the company,” she muttered, her voice carrying a hint of a whine, though her eyes flicked over him with more focus than her tone suggested. “I’m not here for the decor, you know.”

John didn’t even look up. “Didn’t ask you to tag along, Viper,” he replied, focused on salvaging another half-burnt phrase. “And last I checked, you’re not exactly the ‘extra work for free’ type.”

Viper scoffed, flicking a glance his way with a pout. “Wow, honey, you really know how to make a girl feel welcome.” She crossed her arms, studying him with a mix of irritation and something softer she didn’t care to name. “Guess I’m just waiting for a little gratitude here.”

John finally glanced up, brow raised, eyes amused but wary. “So why are you here, really?” He asked, his gaze steady. “You’ve been... let’s say, more invested than I’d expect from you.”

A flicker of hesitation slipped through Viper’s expression, almost imperceptible, and she brushed it off with a quick laugh, tilting her head coyly. “Maybe I just like to keep my options open. You never know when having someone in debt to you might come in handy.”

Even as she spoke, a small voice questioned her own words, forcing her to confront the idea she’d been avoiding. Options? Debt? Those excuses felt paper-thin now. She was drawn to this whole mess for reasons she wasn’t ready to admit, especially not to herself.

John’s eyes narrowed, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Right. So, out of all the favors you could chase, you picked this one?” He gave a faint smirk. “Gotta say, Viper, I don’t exactly scream ‘VIP status.’”

“Believe what you want, but,” she shrugged, feigning indifference as her voice softened, “if you don’t up and die, you might just be worth knowing someday.” Her eyes flicked away, a hint of real thought slipping in despite her best efforts to keep it playful. “People like you, they tend to… leave a mark. One way or another.”

He considered her words, his expression unreadable, then shrugged. “If I’m that ‘important,’ then sure—I’ll owe you one when we’re done here. Just don’t expect anything lavish.”

Viper’s smirk faltered for just a second as she leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. “Don’t worry, honey,” she replied, her voice quieter but still laced with her usual charm, “I’ll collect when the time’s right.” As she watched him, she felt a pang of something—almost like regret—but brushed it off quickly, convincing herself again that this was all just business. Or at least, that’s what she’d keep telling herself.

John glanced over the mess of tattered documents, letting out a sigh before stacking them haphazardly. “Alright, I think that’s all we’re going to get out of this place,” he muttered, nodding to Viper. “Let’s get out of here before this dump collapses on us.”

They moved through the crumbling halls, their footsteps muffled against the grime-streaked tiles. The air was heavy with dust and dampness, punctuated now and then by the distant drip of water somewhere in the abandoned structure. As they stepped outside, John’s Blabla buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out to find a message from Rapi. She’d sent him a comprehensive file dump, each document not only organized but also annotated with notes, highlights, and key points laid out in a near-military level of precision. It was more thorough than anything he could’ve hoped for.

Viper peered over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Well, would you look at that,” she teased, her smirk growing. “Your trusty little assistant’s gone above and beyond, hasn’t she?”

John grinned, scrolling through the files. “Yeah, looks like she’s trying to win Employee of the Month,” he said, a bit amused. “Didn’t think anyone could be this dedicated to sorting out my mess.”

Viper rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “I swear, honey, that girl is practically spoon-feeding you. Where would you be without her?”

“Buried under a mountain of paperwork, I guess,” John replied with a wry grin. He swiped through the notes, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s like she’s already done the whole mission briefing for me. All I have to do now is… I don’t know, show up and not mess it up too badly.”

As they approached the exit, John’s boots scuffed against the cracked concrete, the stillness around them heavy and unnerving. Just as he stepped forward, he felt a tremor beneath his feet—a brief, violent quake that rippled up his legs. He barely had time to glance at Viper in alarm before the ground buckled and gave way, crumbling beneath them like sand.

“John!” Viper’s voice cut through the air as her hand shot out toward him, but an unseen force yanked him downward before she could grab hold. A split-second later, she, too, was dragged down, her usual composure shattered in a startled cry as the darkness swallowed them both.

They plummeted through a seemingly endless shaft, air whistling past them as the dim glow of the facility above vanished. John’s pulse raced as he fought to steady his mind, but the sensation was relentless—like being pulled by an unseen hand, deeper and deeper.

The fall ended with a hard, jarring impact. John hit the ground, his breath driven from his lungs in a sharp gasp as he rolled, absorbing the impact as best he could. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath, then pushed himself up, squinting around. The chamber they’d landed in was vast and dark, the faint glow of phosphorescent moss casting eerie green patches along ancient stone walls. Symbols, twisted and cryptic, snaked across every surface, pulsing faintly, as if alive.

Beside him, Viper staggered to her feet, brushing dust from her coat with a scoff. “What the hell was that?” she muttered, her voice lined with irritation and an edge of genuine unease. She glanced around, her gaze quickly sharpening to assess the unfamiliar environment.

John rubbed his shoulder, the dull ache of the fall settling in, but his focus stayed on the strange chamber. “Some kind of… trap?” he replied, though even he wasn’t convinced. There was something deeply unsettling about the air down here—thick, cloying, as if pressing in on them from all sides. Each breath felt heavy, laced with an undercurrent of wrongness that prickled along his skin.

Viper crossed her arms, casting a skeptical glance at the pulsing symbols. “This is supposed to be a storage facility, not… whatever this is.” She drew a bit closer to him, her casual smirk resurfacing, though it held an undercurrent of unease. “You sure you're not leading us into the middle of a horror flick, Honey?”

John flashed a half-smile, but his focus never left the strange carvings lining the walls. “Not exactly what I signed up for either,” he muttered, voice laced with a bemused tension. “But hey, just think of it as another opportunity for your thrill-seeking side.”

Viper rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, sure. It’s like you planned a whole haunted tour just for me.” She hesitated, her gaze shifting to the dark corners of the room. “But let’s hope it’s the kind of tour we walk out of in one piece.”

John reached out to touch one of the symbols, his fingers just brushing the stone before he stopped, instinct pulling him back. “There’s something wrong here. These markings… it’s like they’re alive, almost.”

The two shared a look, a rare moment of mutual apprehension settling between them.

Viper shook her head, deflecting her discomfort with a dry laugh. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not meet whatever’s responsible for the décor.”

The narrow passageway seemed to tighten around them, their steps muffled against damp stone floors slick with condensation. Water dripped from somewhere above, the sound echoing in uneven rhythms that seemed to mock the silence. As they moved deeper, John’s gaze drifted to the strange carvings along the walls: turbulent waves crashed against rocky cliffs, finely carved crabs hiding beneath stone-cut waters; further down, fires leapt from the etchings, lava spilling from carved volcanoes, while twisted, knotty roots and thick, coiled vines snaked their way through thick forests, each image more haunting than the last.

Viper slowed, her fingers skimming the ancient stone. Her eyes lingered on the figures with a reluctant fascination, her voice a soft murmur that barely disturbed the quiet. “What… what is this place?” The words slipped from her almost involuntarily, the awe in her tone betraying a rare vulnerability.

Their footsteps stilled as they approached a dead end. The wall loomed ahead, solid and unyielding, its stone a dull, oppressive gray. Viper’s heart quickened, her breath coming faster. “So, we’re trapped? There’s no way out?”

Without answering, John stepped closer, his hand reaching for the rough stone. A pulse thrummed under his palm, a subtle, unseen force that tugged at him like a barely whispered invitation. Taking a steady breath, he channeled his energy, feeling the edges of the illusion’s barrier yield to his touch. With a low, resonant hum, the wall began to fade, dispersing into mist to reveal a narrow exit shrouded in shadow.

Viper watched, wide-eyed, the last traces of the wall fading before her as if it had never existed. She turned to him, confusion and a hint of fear flaring in her gaze. “What… what did you just do?” Her voice was taut, barely containing the tension that had crept in.

John met her stare, his eyes steady, almost cold. “Forget what you saw,” he murmured, his voice low and firm. “If you want to keep breathing, don’t ask questions.”

Her usual smirk faltered, the mask slipping as unease filled the silence between them. John’s words sank in, a silent warning as tangible as the air they shared, and for the first time, she was at a loss. The playful edge in her gaze faded, leaving something raw and uncertain in its place. She wanted to press, to find out what he was hiding, but a strange instinct held her back.

Saying nothing more, John turned toward the exit, his figure disappearing into the dim light. The heavy silence returned, wrapping around Viper like a second skin as she took a shaky breath and followed.

When they finally emerged into the open air, the weight of the underground chamber lingered, a shadow stretching between them. Viper trailed him silently, her footsteps faltering as she grappled with what she’d witnessed, her thoughts swirling in silent turmoil. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more—what John had done, or the realization that, for the first time, she was uncertain about the man she thought she had started to figure out.

-

Back in the safehouse, Crow leaned against the doorway, arms crossed tightly, her glare fixed on John with a heat that could have cut through steel. "Care to explain where the hell you ran off to?" she demanded, her voice laced with irritation and a clear challenge.

John, unfazed, continued sifting through the papers and files spread across the table. He finally looked up, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Maybe later, Crow. Right now, you’re gonna want to see what I’ve put together.” He added with a wink, “If you can keep up, that is."

Crow’s scowl deepened, clearly not amused by his nonchalance. She stepped closer, her arms still crossed, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him, but she couldn’t hide a flicker of curiosity.

Viper and Jackal joined them, leaning in with expressions of intrigue as John organized the scattered papers into a rough timeline.

“These are the documents we pulled from Nuovo Impianto, plus Rapi’s data,” John began, tapping a few key notes as he traced the information. “Turns out, our friend Rat was running more than just a sleazy operation.”

Viper raised an eyebrow, leaning in further. “Oh, really? And here I thought he was just Ark’s best-dressed cockroach.”

John grinned, clearly in his element. "Turns out he’s not the one calling the shots. A year back, some big spender reached out to Rat, started buying up escorts. And not just a few—they cleaned him out, supply after supply. Whatever they were doing, they burned through ‘em fast. And get this,” he leaned forward, voice lowering for emphasis, “they didn’t care about the price or the product quality. They just wanted volume. Every single time.”

Viper's brow furrowed. "So Rat thought he’d found himself some kind of… big-shot entrepreneur?”

“Exactly,” John replied, nodding. “But soon, Rat’s records start showing panic, paranoia. Whatever this client was, they weren’t just reckless. Rat’s business tanked, his profits dried up, yet he couldn’t stop supplying them. He went so far as to bankrupt himself, desperately pulling in debt slaves, orphans, even scrap-grade Nikkes.”

Crow’s brows knitted as she processed this, her gaze hard and unrelenting. “And nobody tried to jump ship? They all just kept supplying him?” Her voice held a skeptical edge, her arms tightening as she scrutinized him.

John met her gaze, his tone even but dark. “Yes. This client’s hold was powerful enough to scare off every scumbag under Rat’s wing. No one dared abandon him.”

A tense silence filled the room as the reality settled in, each of them understanding the magnitude of the threat. Viper’s smirk faltered, a faint hint of unease creeping into her expression. “Whoever they are,” she said slowly, “they were enough to make Rat risk everything. And not for money or ambition… but survival.”

“Exactly.” John gestured to a stack of papers, each one marked with names and positions of Ark officials and Sovereigns. “In the last few weeks, Rat’s desperation hit a peak. He was bleeding money and scrambling to blackmail anyone he could—Ark officials, Sovereigns. He wanted leverage, protection, anything he could get.”

He lifted one of Rapi’s analysis sheets, holding it up for emphasis. “Rapi’s highlighted several safehouses that Rat used regularly. I cross-referenced them with activity data from Nuovo Impianto and these other documents,” he continued, tapping a mark on the map. “This location is our best lead on where he’s likely hiding.”

John tossed the stack of documents onto the table with a firm nod. "Alright, we’ve got what we need. Thirty minutes to gear up. We move out then.”

Crow leaned against the doorway, arms folded, and gave him a withering look. “Seriously, John? You look like you’ve been dragged through a meat grinder,” she sneered, eyes sharp as they trailed over him. “You’re barely holding yourself up, wheezing like an old man with every breath. And you’re telling us to be ready to charge into who-knows-what?”

John raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression steady despite the fatigue that gnawed at him. “I’m fine, Crow. Been through worse.”

“‘Fine’? Oh, I’m sure,” Crow retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm. “You look like you haven’t slept in days. Hell, if that wheezing gets any louder, we’re going to mistake you for a malfunctioning Nikke.” Her arms crossed tighter, her glare unwavering. “But by all means, let’s pretend you’re in top form. I mean, who needs rest, right?”

John forced a small grin. “I’ll take it as a compliment that you’re so concerned about my health, Crow. Really, it’s touching.”

Crow rolled her eyes, her tone turning downright cutting. “Don’t flatter yourself, John. It’s not concern—it’s practicality. If you’re the one leading this charge, I’d rather not get dragged down by your mess when you inevitably keel over from sheer exhaustion.”

Viper shot Crow a smirk, clearly enjoying the show but chimed in. “She’s not wrong, Honey. You do look like you’ve seen better days. What’s the plan here? Lead us through on guts alone?”

John shrugged, nonchalant despite the tightness in his ribs. “A little bit of grit, a little bit of luck. You know, the usual.”

Crow scoffed, pushing herself off the wall, her expression a mixture of frustration and skepticism. “Luck? That’s your grand strategy? You’re just going to drag us all out there, half-dead, based on your ‘gut feeling’?”

John’s smirk didn’t falter. “Worked pretty well so far, hasn’t it?” He glanced between them, a glint of determination cutting through his exhaustion. “I’ll manage. You just keep up.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed. “You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head, her gaze sharp and cutting. “Fine, lead the way, Commander. But don’t expect any sympathy when that foolhardy ‘grit’ of yours runs out.”

John matched her glare with a tired grin, unyielding. “Noted, Crow. Now, let’s get going. Rat’s running out of places to hide, and I don’t intend to give him any time to find more.”

-

John adjusted the straps of his armor, tightening the final buckle with a rough tug, though exhaustion hung heavily over him. Just as he straightened up, Takumi stepped into the room, through his window, his sharp gaze taking in every detail—bandages wrapped hastily around John’s burns, the lines of strain etched deeply into his face, the faint rasp in each breath.

“Right on time,” John greeted, forcing a nod at Takumi, masking the pain that flared through his chest with each breath.

Takumi didn’t reply immediately, his eyes narrowing as they traced over John’s bruised face and rigid posture. “You look worse than last time.” His voice held a mild frown. “Let me guess—things went south?”

John exhaled, unable to fully disguise the weakness in his breath. “Yeah, something like that,” he said, brushing it off. He launched into an explanation, filling Takumi in on Rat’s recent moves, the blackmail scheme, and the dangerous unknown curse lurking behind the scenes. Takumi listened intently, arms folded, his expression shifting from intrigue to concern.

When John finished, Takumi’s jaw tightened. “So, Rat’s client, the curse I was assigned to hunt, isn’t just pulling strings but forcing Rat into a desperate scramble. This is more than a simple curse terrorizing people.”

“Exactly,” John agreed, his tone steely. “It’s definitely a Grade One curse, if not worse—something clever enough to exploit him.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Rat’s hideout’s pinpointed. I’ll take care of him, get the information we need. Meanwhile, I need you to backtrack to Nuovo Impianto, see if there’s anything we missed. We’ll circle round and meet up in four hours to launch the assault on the curse”

Takumi didn’t respond right away. He seemed to size up John, his eyes narrowing at the faint wheeze in John’s breathing. “Okay” he said carefully, “but let’s talk about your plan in a second. First, I need to patch you up properly. That punctured lung isn’t going to fix itself, no matter how good you think you are at hiding it.”

John tensed, his shoulders rigid. “I’ve got enough to get through this. I don’t need patching up.”

Takumi’s expression darkened, his usual impassive mask slipping to reveal a sharper edge of irritation. “You’re barely holding together, and if you get any worse, you’ll be a liability. If you want to go after this curse with even half a shot of coming back, we do this my way.”

Before John could protest, Takumi had already grabbed a roll of bandages and antiseptic from a pack nearby, gesturing for John to sit. “Stay still,” Takumi muttered, working methodically to ease the strain on John’s lung and secure his bandages.

Silence stretched as he worked, but Takumi broke it, a hint of unease in his tone. “Grade One’s bad, but if you’re right, and this really could be Special Grade…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Rat wouldn’t have even been able to operate. If it were Special Grade, his entire operation would be ashes.”

John smirked, though his breath hitched slightly. “Who knows what lurks in the Outer Rim, right?” He managed a casual tone, though the weight of the possibility lingered.

Takumi met his gaze, his brow furrowing. “That’s not something to joke about.”

With his wounds finally secured, John gave a faint nod, acknowledging Takumi’s point without responding directly. Instead, he reached into a side pocket, pulling out a set of slender incense sticks wrapped in protective cloth. He pressed them into Takumi’s hand. “Signals, in case we’re too deep to communicate. Light one if things go south, and I’ll know you’re in trouble. Use it, and I’ll find you.”

Takumi’s hand closed around the incense sticks, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. “Understood. Just don’t make me use them to come rescue you, alright?”

John gave a faint grin, though his gaze held an unusual seriousness. “Just keep your end covered, Takumi. I’ll take care of the rest.”

As John tightened the last strap of his armor, Takumi glanced at him, his expression guarded but his voice low.

"While you were busy with this mess, I took a trip to the library,” Takumi murmured, his eyes shifting as if weighing his words carefully.

John raised an eyebrow. “Anything interesting?”

Takumi nodded, his tone cautious. “Found some things in the records. Names.”

John sighed, nodding. “Alright. Let’s handle tonight first. We’ll dig deeper into the rest when this is over.”

Takumi’s eyes softened, a hint of something close to relief crossing his face. “Agreed. After we finish here.”

-

Crow methodically loaded her dual SMGs magazines, each bullet slipping into place with a sharp, deliberate click. Her expression was cold, eyes narrowed in quiet disdain as she glanced up, her gaze hardening as it settled on Viper lounging across from her, shotgun resting casually on her lap.

“So,” Crow began, voice dripping with scorn, “getting cozy with the commander, are we? Didn’t think you’d stoop to playing that game.”

Viper raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed, and gave a light chuckle, adjusting her grip on the shotgun. “Cozy? Please, Crow. Just because I know how to keep things interesting doesn’t mean I’m signing up for loyalty.” She smirked, casting Crow a sidelong look. “Besides, he’s more useful on our side than off. I’d think you of all people would appreciate that.”

Crow’s mouth tightened, her gaze unwavering. “Useful now, maybe. But don’t go fooling yourself. Commanders are all the same. They’re parasites, riding the backs of us Nikkes, getting their hands dirty only when it serves them. And if you’re planning to cozy up to him, then you’d better be prepared to watch him exploit every one of us the moment it suits him.”

Viper shrugged, inspecting her shotgun with a nonchalant air. “You make him sound like he’s some kind of mastermind. But last I checked, he’s just another guy trying to make it out here. Relax, Crow. I know what I’m doing.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed further, her jaw tightening as she cleaned a smear off one of her SMGs. “You think you’re in control of him? Don’t be naive. You’re playing with fire, and once he thinks he owns you, he’ll treat you like everyone else he steps on. Commanders are all cut from the same mold—they’re bred to see us as tools.”

Viper let out a short, dismissive laugh, but a flicker of hesitation crossed her face, quickly masked with her usual smirk. “Oh, Crow, he’s not getting that close. Trust me. You’re acting like I’m about to fall for the guy. I’m just… keeping things interesting.”

Crow’s expression grew darker, her tone edged with a scornful intensity. “Just don’t come crying to me when he uses you like a pawn and leaves you to clean up the mess. The Ark may have trained them to lead, but we’ve been trained to survive. If you’re forgetting that, you’re a liability.”

Before Viper could respond, Jackal, oblivious to the tension, looked up from her gear, rocket launcher balanced across her knees. “Hey, hey, are we talking about the commander?” she asked, eyes wide in genuine confusion. “You guys think he’s hot or something?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Man, I’m just here to blow stuff up. I didn’t realize we had, like, a drama department too.”

Crow scowled, muttering to herself as she resumed loading her SMGs, dismissing Jackal’s interruption. Viper, meanwhile, gave Jackal a wry smile, a touch of mischief glinting in her eyes. “Oh, Jackal, it’s just business. Nothing personal.”

Jackal rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a chuckle. “You guys have the strangest hobbies,” she muttered, grabbing her rocket launcher and slinging it over her shoulder.

Crow and Viper exchanged one last loaded glance, Crow’s filled with barely concealed contempt and Viper’s dripping with smug amusement.

-

Rat’s pacing was relentless, his fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm against his side as he watched the chaos spiraling around him. His men darted back and forth, voices sharp and breath labored, grabbing everything that wasn’t bolted down—documents, crates of tech, even bundles of loose cash. The stale, acrid smell of smoke hung thick in the air, mixing with the rank odor of sweat and tension. His base, his “untouchable” fortress hidden in the rotting outskirts of the Outer Rim, had been breached, and now they had maybe half an hour before someone else found them.

He shot a glance at his lieutenant, who was barking orders at a few gang members frozen in panic. "Move it! I want everything out of here in fifteen minutes or less! Nail it down later, just get it on the trucks now!"

Rat’s eyes landed on the surgeon standing by, waiting with gloved hands and a gleaming ID chip, the needle prepped to embed it under his skin. The man’s face was obscured by a mask, his cold eyes focused entirely on the task as he waited. Rat’s stomach twisted as he considered the idea of that thing being embedded in his neck. Could he trust the surgeon? But he knew he didn’t have a choice if he wanted any shot at slipping into the Ark without detection.

"Can we get this over with already?" Rat snapped, his voice carrying a thin edge of desperation he hoped the others wouldn’t hear. The surgeon merely nodded, unhurried, his gaze steady, while Rat ground his teeth, each second eroding his patience.

One of his men, barely out of his teens and looking pale as paper, shuffled up. “Boss, about those blackmail messages… no one’s responded yet.”

Rat’s face twisted with rage, and he turned on the kid, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Are you kidding me? We’re holding Ark secrets over their heads, threatening to leak every filthy thing they’ve done, and they won’t even pick up a damn phone?” His voice was rising, sharp enough to draw nervous glances from nearby gang members, but he barely noticed. “We could be out of here already if one of those cowards had the spine to follow through!” He slammed his fist against a nearby chair, fingers clenched so tight they went white.

The lieutenant shot him a wary look, but Rat waved him off, forcing his voice into a tense murmur. “Keep sending those messages, again and again if you have to. Ark officials, Sovereigns, anyone who might be desperate enough to take the bait. I don’t care who responds, but someone’s got to, and fast.”

The surgeon cleared his throat and gestured for Rat to sit down, a glint of metal flashing in his gloved hand. With a barely concealed grimace, Rat lowered himself into the chair, gritting his teeth as he felt the needle press into his skin. The implant settled, cold and foreign under his flesh, and he fought the urge to rip it out then and there.

As the implant latched in place, a single thought hammered through his mind, each beat echoing louder than the last: Running out of time. And if no one bites…

His gaze shifted toward the door, the distant sounds of the trucks revving up outside barely cutting through the roar of his own heartbeat.

The flickering fluorescent lights suddenly cut out, plunging the room into darkness. Silence fell like a shroud, as every screen, every device Rat’s people clutched flickered and died, their cold blue glows extinguished in an instant. Rat’s fingers clenched around his dead phone, his pulse thrumming in his ears like the tolling of a distant bell.

“No… no, no, no,” he stammered, backing up until his shoulders hit the cold, unyielding wall. His eyes darted around the room, catching only vague shadows of his men’s outlines in the dark. His breath hitched, and he clutched at his shirt, heart pounding against his ribcage. “It’s him. It has to be… Mahito. He’s here.”

In the dark, his lieutenant’s voice cut through, sharp and commanding, though it carried a tremor. “Runners, check each section! Report back in five. Move!”

Hesitating only briefly, a few men rushed into the dim, labyrinthine hallways. They moved with growing urgency, retracing paths they’d memorized, their footsteps echoing faintly in the tight corridors—until, as they rounded certain corners, they stopped short. The familiar doorways and exits had vanished, replaced by blank concrete walls that stretched out like an endless cage.

One of them, a young runner, froze in front of what should have been the exit. He pressed his palms against the cold, unmarked wall, blinking in disbelief. “What…?” His voice barely rose above a whisper, swallowed by the unnatural stillness that surrounded him.

The runners’ flashlights flickered, dimming to little more than feeble glows as they illuminated dead ends and long stretches of wall that seemed to move subtly in the dark. The hallways twisted into a nightmarish maze of shadows and false turns, as if the darkness itself were alive, waiting to devour them.

“Boss!” One of the men shouted, his voice echoing back emptily. “The exits… they’re all gone. We’re trapped.”

In the main room, Rat was frozen, a raw terror etched into his features. The lieutenant, catching the panic rippling through the remaining men, tried to steady his voice. “Stay close,” he ordered, forcing a thin mask of control. “Nothing is getting in here.”

But even he didn’t believe it. The air had thickened, charged with an oppressive energy that felt almost alive, clinging to their skin like invisible weights. Every corner of the room, every shadow cast by the faint emergency lights seemed to pulse with a sinister life of its own, watching, waiting.

Rat’s breathing grew ragged, a desperate edge slipping into his gaze as he scanned the room, feeling something heavy coiling around him. The air felt thinner, each breath harder to draw, and he clenched his jaw, barely holding himself together.

Then, from somewhere deep within the compound, a low hum began, vibrating through the floor. It was a murmur, a resonant note that seemed to snake into the core of each man’s fear, pulsing in time with their racing heartbeats. Rat felt it through his bones, each pulse tightening like a vice around his chest, growing louder until it was an ominous countdown he couldn’t see. Every beat seemed to whisper the same message:

There is no escape.

A sudden burst of gunfire shattered the silence, ricocheting through the walls. Explosions followed, distant but unmistakable, muted as if swallowed by the very darkness they faced. Rat’s men flinched, eyes darting to each other, their terror cut by the glint of desperate hope. Rat’s panicked breaths slowed, his face contorting as fear gave way to something almost like relief.

“Ark forces,” he muttered, barely daring to believe it. “It has to be the Ark.”

The lieutenant, catching the shift, seized the moment. “Alright, everyone, stay focused!” he barked, his voice hard and commanding. “They’re heading for us. Hold tight, and we’ll be out soon.”

For the first time in hours, Rat’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Surrender wasn’t ideal, but it was leagues better than facing Mahito. He could imagine a new plan forming, bargaining his way out, maybe negotiating his way into rehab, perhaps even bribing his way out if he found the right contacts. The alternative—being left alone in Mahito’s grasp—was unthinkable.

But even as he clung to the thought of Ark forces, doubt slithered back into his mind. The low hum still lingered, weaving through the walls like a spectral thread, seeming to grow stronger, not weaker. What if this wasn’t Ark? What if it was Mahito’s doing, an illusion of hope? What if Mahito had found him, was already watching, amused by the hopeless dance of a trapped rat?

Rat swallowed, his throat dry. He couldn’t shake the image of Mahito, that twisted grin, those cold, gleeful eyes waiting to warp him from the inside out, twisting his bones, bending his memories, making him forget his own name. He shuddered, the thought pressing down on him, filling his mind with a crawling dread.

The staccato beat of gunfire grew louder, rattling the walls, each burst sharper than the last. Rat could hear screams and the brutal rhythm of heavy suppression rounds, the kind that cut through flesh and bone with unflinching precision. His pulse raced, panic carving a hollow ache in his chest as he backed up, his wide eyes fixed on the steel door separating him from whatever merciless force was tearing through his men.

In the dark, his mind conjured the worst, but he clung to the distant hope of Ark reinforcements—someone, anyone to stop what was coming. He could hear his lieutenant’s reassurances falter with each dying scream that echoed through the hall.

Then, with a bone-rattling crash, the door splintered, and Exotic Squad flooded the room like a pack of wild predators. Viper and Jackal were first, their movements quick and chaotic as they dispatched the remaining guards with a savage efficiency that left no margin for error. Jackal’s laugh echoed in the dark as she fired a rocket into a corner where one of Rat’s men tried to hide, the blast rocking the room and scattering debris. Viper was on another guard, her shotgun blazing, every pull of the trigger echoing through the silence that followed each round.

Crow entered behind them, her eyes narrowed, an unsettling hunger in her gaze as she surveyed the body filled floor. Her smirk widened when she spotted Rat cowering by the wall, his body rigid with terror, his hands raised in a trembling attempt at surrender.

“Please… I—I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything,” he stammered, voice cracking as he fell to his knees. “Just… don’t…”

Crow’s smirk sharpened, and she took a deliberate step forward, eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. “Pathetic,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt as she let him wallow, reveling in his fear and desperation.

The sound of steady, measured footsteps filled the silence, and Crow turned, watching as John stepped in. His face was calm, his gaze cold and assessing as he took in the scene. He glanced down at Rat with barely a flicker of emotion, his attention instead shifting to Crow.

“I need a few words alone with him,” he said quietly, his voice smooth but carrying a weight that was impossible to ignore.

Crow’s brow arched, her expression turning skeptical. “Fine,” she replied, casting one last scornful look at Rat. “But make it quick. We’re on borrowed time here, and I’m not keen on any more interruptions.”

“Relax,” John said, a faint, almost sardonic smile on his lips. “No word’s getting out—I made sure of that.” His gaze sharpened, and he added, “Wait outside. I won’t be long.”

As the members of Exotic began to file out, Crow lingered a moment, casting him a skeptical glance. “I told you, cutting the power was basic strategy,” she sneered, though a hint of acknowledgment softened her tone. “But, I’ll admit, that’s more than most commanders seem capable of.”

John’s smirk deepened, unruffled. “You should trust me more, Crow.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but her gaze lingered for a moment before she jerked her chin toward Viper and Jackal. With a nod, they turned and left, their heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. As the door clicked shut, the silence grew heavy, oppressive. Rat stared at John, his eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of escape.

John took a step forward, his expression turning steely. “Now,” he said, voice calm yet laced with a deadly edge, “let’s talk.”

-

Two hours later.

As the towering gates of the Outer Rim loomed before them, John handed a barely coherent Rat off to the waiting Military Police Nikkes. Rat’s eyes were wide, unfocused, muttering fragmented pleas and nonsensical phrases about “the cursed touch” and “warped souls.” The MPs exchanged wary glances as they cuffed him, eyeing John as if looking for an explanation. He only nodded to Crow, Viper, and Jackal, exchanging quick, wordless glances—acknowledgments, maybe even the faintest trace of respect, but nothing spoken.

“See you around,” he murmured, already turning on his heel.

Without a backward glance, he slipped around a nearby corner and vaulted up the side of a building, moving fluidly along the rooftops, shrouded by the shadows. As he moved, he replayed Rat’s desperate, garbled confessions in his mind, the disjointed phrases and ragged, haunted look piecing together a troubling image of Mahito.

Mahito—a figure who could turn people into curses with the mere touch of his hand. Just the thought of it knotted John’s stomach. He pictured the gruesome transformations Rat had described: human features twisted and stretched, bodies warped in agony, as if they were not only cursed but cursed to suffer endlessly in their new forms. He remembered the horrifying curses he had fought the night he rescued Echo, Cinder and the civilians. The very idea unsettled him. It went against every instinct he had, every skill he’d sharpened through years of close-quarters combat, where contact was power, where the only rule was to control the space around him. Now, for the first time, he would have to keep his distance, hold back, and fight on terms that weren’t his own.

As he vaulted back over another wall, he forced himself to push down the tension, blending seamlessly into the crowd below. He had a few hours before meeting with Takumi, and his mind drifted back to the quieter streets of the city. The market stalls along the edge would be winding down for the night, and he made his way there, slipping into a familiar stall to buy a few warm apple pies. Stashing them in his pack, he retraced his steps, heading back to the edge of the Ark and, from there, to the Outer Rim.

He moved through the shadows, his mind lingering on Echo and Cinder, on the survivors he’d helped free from Rat’s grip. He could still see their faces—exhausted, but alive. It tugged at him, pushing him forward. For them, he could handle whatever came next, even if it meant facing Mahito’s twisted power.

With his supplies in hand, he made his way over the walls of the Outer Rim and toward the makeshift shelter where they were recovering, his resolve hardening with each step. He wasn’t just fighting for survival; he was fighting to make sure people like them could finally live free from the chains they’d been forced to wear. Whatever it took, he would see this through.

The eerie silence struck John as he approached the building. His stomach knotted, and a cold sweat broke across his brow. This place—usually alive with quiet murmurs, the gentle scuff of footsteps, and the occasional soft laugh—was utterly still. His pulse quickened as he noticed something missing: the faint shimmer in the air, the barrier he’d set to keep intruders out, had vanished. A chill ran down his spine.

He sprinted inside, feet pounding against the dust-covered floor. The smell hit him first: a sickening mix of decay and scorched metal, sharp and acrid, like something twisted and burned beyond recognition. He skidded to a halt as his gaze fell upon the sight before him. His breath caught, and a horrified whisper escaped his lips.

Bodies, twisted and warped into grotesque parodies of themselves, lay strewn across the ground. Limbs jutted out at impossible angles, flesh grotesquely fused with metal, as if every piece of them had been forcibly reshaped and left to rot. Familiar faces—now unrecognizable—were frozen in silent screams, their features distorted and contorted beyond what was human. But amidst the tangled mass of horror, his eyes fixed on one figure, and he felt a fresh wave of nausea hit him.

Cinder.

Her once protective form, fierce and steadfast, was now a hideous fusion of flesh and machine. Her eyes—empty, wide—seemed to stare past him, forever locked in a moment of agony. John’s heart twisted, the guilt sharp and immediate, a leaden weight pressing on his chest. This was on him; he had left them unprotected, left them to this.

He stumbled back, barely keeping the bile rising in his throat at bay. His mind raced, frantically searching for an explanation, an answer, anything to undo what he was seeing. But a soft, trembling sound froze him in place.

“It hurts… Mama… where are you?”

The voice was thin, broken, and he turned, heart splintering further as he caught sight of a small curse—a twisted figure, barely recognizable as anything once human. Its tiny body was mangled, limbs contorted like the others, but smaller, more fragile. Its face, warped and torn, held eyes that somehow still shone with a fractured innocence, clouded by pain.

Before he could respond, it lurched forward, claws mangled and twisted, mouth open in a wail that echoed through the hollow space, a piercing cry that chilled him to the core.

John steadied himself, anger and sorrow colliding in a violent storm, but his fury wasn’t for the creature before him—it was for the one who had left this grotesque scene in his wake. Mahito’s presence tainted every corner, every lifeless stare, and each broken form. With each twisted figure in his path, a fierce, unyielding resolve took over, his thoughts narrowing into a singular purpose. He would not let Mahito’s work endure.

He moved from one tortured figure to the next, each transformed soul meeting him with flashes of teeth, claws, fragments of their former selves trapped in twisted violence. Each one bore some trace of who they once were, now shattered beyond recognition. As he dispatched each creature, he felt himself grow numb, shutting off the part of him that recoiled from their suffering. His own pain, the sting of every wound on his body, faded under the cold determination overtaking him. This wasn’t a rescue. It was a mercy, a way to lay to rest those Mahito had defiled. Each life ended with grim efficiency, any semblance of hesitation crushed beneath his need to stop the suffering.

Finally, only one remained.

Cinder, or what was left of her, staggered forward, her eyes—somehow still recognizable, still hers—clouded with a flicker of awareness. Her metal-fused frame, battered and broken, moved haltingly, yet she carried herself with a strength that defied her torment. Her hands, twisted and fused with machinery, reached forward, yet she didn’t attack. She sank to her knees before him, her head bowing in something resembling reverence.

John’s fists clenched, his chest constricting as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, to shut down any emotions clawing their way to the surface. He knew what had to be done, yet the hollow remnants of her gaze held him there, her resilience echoing in the dark.

Her voice, a bare whisper, cut through the silence. “Please…”

The single word struck him, the barriers he’d put up cracking under its weight. In her eyes, he saw a fleeting glimpse of who she had been—fierce, loyal, protective, a shield for those who couldn’t stand on their own. She had fought Mahito’s desecration, clinging to her humanity even as her body betrayed her.

He raised his hand, his movements precise, offering her the mercy she had so fiercely earned. His strike was swift, clean. As her head bowed in final repose, her lips parted, barely forming her last words.

“Thank you.”

A heavy silence followed, thick and unyielding, settling over the room like a shroud. John stood motionless, his breaths trembling as he wrestled against the hollow ache gnawing at his chest. He closed his eyes, drawing in a ragged breath, willing himself to feel nothing. But the emptiness clung to him.

He stumbled out of the building, every step weighted down by the horror he’d just faced. Blood and grime smeared his hands, his clothes, even his soul, each step an effort as his mind swirled in a fog of grief and exhaustion. His breaths came shallow, like he was choking on ash.

He almost didn’t see her—Echo, crouched and trembling against the wall, her twisted form mocking the brave figure she once was. Her body was warped beyond recognition: spindly limbs and jagged mechanical parts jutted out at strange angles, her hollow eyes barely able to hold his gaze. Mahito had twisted her into a grim parody of herself, her original form buried under layers of grotesque alteration, her consciousness painfully intact.

“J… John…” she rasped, her voice weak, a shadow of her once-lively spirit. That single word, spoken through labored breaths, shattered him. She reached out with a mangled, trembling arm, each movement agonizingly slow, her broken face twisting with the effort. “Are… are they… safe? I… tried… to… protect…”

Her voice broke, and a strangled sob escaped her lips. In her haunted expression, he could see the weight of her suffering, the raw, unending agony she endured. Her torn body held together only by Mahito’s cruelty, she clung to one last thought, one last sliver of hope. She shifted, her eyes blank with pain but filled with the faintest flicker of longing. “Tell… tell Cinder… I… love her…”

John’s throat tightened, and he struggled to keep his voice steady, even as his heart felt like it might shatter. He bent down, his hand reaching out, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “You kept them safe, Echo. You… you did all you could. I’m here to bring you back… to bring you home.”

A faint, fragile smile touched her lips, the tiniest spark of doubt in her eyes—as if she knew he couldn’t keep that promise, but wanted to believe him anyway. Her gaze softened, flickering with the faint memory of who she once was. With the last of her strength, she managed a small nod.

“Thank… you…” she whispered, her voice barely a breath, as if speaking those words were her final act of hope and resignation.

In one swift, merciful motion, he ended her suffering, his hand steady even as his heart splintered. He granted her the release she deserved, her final, fragile words echoing through his mind like a fading melody.

When it was over, he stood there in silence, the enormity of his actions pressing down on him, hollowing him out. The air around him felt thick, suffocating, as though the walls themselves leaned in to crush him. He shut his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath, willing himself to feel nothing. But the emptiness lingered, gnawing at him from within.

And then came the voices—slithering through the cracks in his mind, crawling into the emptiness his grief had left behind. Each whisper felt like a shard of glass, embedding itself deeper, seeping into his thoughts. They overlapped, a cacophony of bitterness and accusation.

"Nothing you do will ever be enough."

The words echoed like a cruel truth, pressing down on his chest, squeezing his heart until each beat felt heavier, colder.

"You promised to protect them, and look where that got them."

His breath caught, his vision blurring as memories flashed before his eyes—broken promises, haunting failures, and all the pain he’d left in his wake. Every vision laid his faults bare, stripping him of any refuge.

"Hero? You’ve done nothing but cause ruin."

The taunt sliced through him, forcing his pride to the ground and burying it in mud. His mouth filled with a bitter taste as the realization cut deep, unyielding and merciless.

"You led them here. Their blood is on your hands."

The words hammered into him, relentless, each syllable crashing over him like a wave until he stood stripped bare, exposed as nothing more than a hollow shell of valor. The faces of those he’d failed to save flickered before him, their silent, accusing gazes piercing into him, telling him he would always fall short.

"Look at yourself. You’re nothing but a shadow pretending to be whole."

The voice crawled through his veins like poison, settling into every corner of his being, leaving him recoiling from his own reflection. Was he anything more than a vessel for suffering, a shadow wearing the form of a man?

"The only path you walk is destruction."

The words trapped him, caging him within his own mind as the walls closed in, suffocating him in the darkness. The void stretched out before him, mocking him with the hopelessness of escape. He was drowning, and no hand would reach out to pull him free.

"Face it—you’re better at breaking things than saving them."

The voice struck, cruel and taunting, its words searing deeper than any physical wound. His so-called talents—what had they ever brought but chaos and ruin? The thought settled, heavy and unforgiving, erasing any remaining shred of pride, leaving him only hollow.

His mind fractured, splintering under the weight of each accusation, each voice peeling away the last threads holding him together. Anger, regret, guilt—all of it swirled in a dark, relentless storm, swallowing him whole, blurring his sense of self until he could no longer distinguish where one feeling ended and the next began. The weight of it all—every life he had touched, every soul he had failed—pressed down with an unrelenting force.

And then, from the depths of his despair, something raw and feral stirred within him, clawing its way to the surface. It tore through the walls he’d built, rising like a tide of rage and anguish, a desperate need to purge the festering pain within.

John opened his mouth, and the scream erupted from his core—a sound forged from agony, rage, and sorrow. It cut through the desolate streets of the Outer Rim, a roar that shattered the silence, echoing through the darkness with a force that defied words. It was a scream that emptied him, that pulled every last ounce of grief and anger from him, until there was nothing left but silence.

Chapter Text

John stood alone, drowning in silence as his mind unraveled, splintering with each bitter memory that rose to the surface. The faces of those he’d failed hovered in his mind, each one a fragment of the promises he’d broken. Every image dissolved into darkness, leaving him hollow, stripped down to the barest sense of himself.

Faces drifted past, voices he couldn’t protect, promises broken beyond repair. Every image lingered for just a heartbeat before splintering, dissolving, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. He wasn’t sure where he began and the sorrow ended—only that whatever he’d been trying to be, whatever ideal he’d clung to, was crumbling.

He closed his eyes, letting the pieces of himself fall away. Hero? The word tasted empty, meaningless now. He could never be that. He never had been. There was no saving, no absolution waiting for him on the other side of this. All he was left with was the truth, sharp and cold, settling in his bones.

The only thing he’d ever been good at—truly good at—was fighting. That was what he knew, what came to him without thought, without hesitation. He’d never felt as certain of anything as he did of this one cold, merciless fact. All he’d ever done, all he was capable of doing, was destruction. And if that was true, then he was nothing more than a weapon, an instrument honed not for hope or salvation, but for cutting down, for tearing apart.

The realization settled into him, a twisted acceptance that gnawed at his core, and a dark, bitter resolve began to bloom. If he couldn’t save, then he would make sure Mahito felt every ounce of suffering he’d inflicted. Vengeance was a purpose he could hold onto, a direction for all his rage and pain. And if he survived that reckoning?

Then he would simply be what he was meant to be—a weapon. A tool, wielded without question, without will. He would bury the last of his foolish ideals, strip himself of any lingering hope that he could be something more. A weapon didn’t feel regret or loss. A weapon didn’t carry grief. A weapon cut, destroyed, fought.

And so he surrendered to the truth: he wasn’t a hero, not a savior. He was a blade, destined only to destroy. And perhaps that was the only purpose he would ever truly know.

-

Mahito perched on the rooftop edge, watching John with an unsettling, almost innocent curiosity. His eyes sparkled with a childlike delight as he took in the man’s broken stance, the anguished scream that pierced the night. The sound sent a shiver of pleasure through him, an exquisite melody in a symphony of despair that only he could truly appreciate.

"Ah, the beauty of it all," he murmured, letting the words linger in the air, his smile stretching across his stitched mouth. "Humans... so delightfully fragile. Just a nudge, a whisper of doubt, and they crumble so beautifully." His fingers flexed, almost as if savoring the feel of the souls he had twisted, bent, reshaped into his own masterpieces. The way John writhed, tormented by his own failures, was art in motion to Mahito—a portrait of suffering painted in agony and self-recrimination.

Leaning forward with a glimmer of amusement, he rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head as though inspecting a rare, vulnerable specimen. "You really thought you could save them, didn’t you, John?" His tone was soft, almost tender, undercut by a mocking edge. "You fought so hard, held on so tightly to the idea that you could be their savior. And now, you’re a wreck, surrounded by the hollow shells of those you couldn’t protect. How utterly... fragile."

Mahito stood on the rooftop’s edge, watching John below with childlike wonder, savoring every quiver of rage and despair contorting the man’s form. John’s scream cut through the night air—a sound so raw and guttural that Mahito closed his eyes, letting it wash over him like a twisted melody.

“Humans,” he whispered, a satisfied smile stretching across his stitched mouth. “So easy to fracture, to twist. You were already broken, weren’t you, John? I only nudged you a little further.” His fingers flexed, savoring the feel of reshaping souls, of bending human resolve until it snapped. Watching John teeter on the edge of his sanity, he knew the man was at his most vulnerable—yet, that vulnerability held a violence even Mahito hadn’t quite anticipated.

As he prepared to descend, John’s gaze suddenly shot up, locking onto him. The feral intensity in John’s eyes made Mahito’s own pulse quicken with interest—and a flicker of irritation. Before he could brace himself, John was on him, moving with a speed and force that bordered on reckless abandon. Mahito barely had time to raise his arms as John’s fist rocketed toward him, landing with a force that sent a shockwave through his body. His usual smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

“Well, well,” he drawled, quickly recovering, a grin of dark excitement spreading across his face. “Didn’t expect you to still have this much fight left.” But John didn’t respond. His attacks were relentless, devoid of caution or restraint. Each blow carried a brutal desperation.

John’s fist collided with Mahito’s side, and the sickening impact reverberated up his arm. Mahito retaliated with a quick slash, slicing through John’s shoulder, but John barely flinched. Instead, he surged forward, landing a vicious knee to Mahito’s stomach. The twisted satisfaction in Mahito’s gaze sharpened—John’s rage was pure, raw, and utterly captivating.

“Oh, I see,” Mahito taunted, dodging another jab with a wicked smile. “You’re willing to destroy yourself, aren’t you, if it means taking me down?” His voice dripped with morbid fascination as he observed John’s bloodied form, the man’s breaths coming in heavy, ragged gasps.

John’s eyes held a fire that bordered on madness. “If that’s what it takes,” he spat, his voice a hoarse whisper devoid of anything but the need for vengeance.

Mahito’s grin widened, his fingers curling as he ducked, driving a brutal knee into John’s ribs, feeling the sickening crack. John winced but seized the moment, slamming an elbow into Mahito’s chest with a force that rattled through both of them. Blood trickled from the corner of John’s mouth, but his only response was a bitter laugh, hollow and laced with fury—a sound that sent a thrill down Mahito’s spine.

Their movements grew faster, fiercer—a dance of unyielding violence. John’s strikes were wild, laced with pain he willingly absorbed to inflict his own. Mahito’s hands shimmered with cursed energy as he reached out, fingers brushing John’s face. But John countered, grabbing his wrist with a grip like iron, twisting it away and delivering a punishing blow to Mahito’s stomach.

Mahito slipped towards the edge of the rooftop, grinning as he observed John’s battered, unrelenting figure with a gleam of perverse curiosity. Every wild swing, every pained breath seemed only to amuse him further, as though John’s suffering were a masterpiece unfolding before his eyes.

“You really don’t care about your life anymore, do you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as he sidestepped a brutal punch that nearly grazed his chin.

John didn’t respond, his face set in grim determination as he lunged forward, each blow fueled by a relentless, feverish fury. His fists flew, unguarded and unrestrained, his own safety an afterthought. Mahito weaved around the strikes, his lean frame twisting gracefully, but John’s fist finally landed, connecting hard with Mahito’s jaw and sending him skidding back across the rooftop.

Mahito’s smirk faltered briefly as he straightened, wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he murmured, flexing his fingers as they shimmered with cursed energy. “But you’ll have to do better.”

John’s breathing was ragged, each inhale a sharp reminder of his bruised ribs and battered lungs. Still, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t even seem to care that he was bleeding from multiple gashes, his own pain nothing but fuel for his assault. His eyes were wild, bordering on feral, every ounce of his strength poured into each strike, as though by sheer force alone he could break Mahito.

Mahito’s laughter rang out as he raised his arm, morphing it into a massive, sinewy spike aimed at John’s torso. John twisted just in time, feeling the spike rip through his side, blood seeping through his shirt. But he barely blinked, grabbing Mahito’s outstretched arm and wrenching it forward, slamming his elbow into Mahito’s chest, sending him staggering.

John wiped blood from his mouth, meeting Mahito’s gaze with a fierce intensity. "I’ll tear you apart, piece by piece," he growled, his voice hoarse, each word weighed down by his relentless resolve.

Mahito chuckled, mockingly. “You think you’re anything more than a diversion? A toy?” His arm twisted, growing and elongating into a whip of sinew and bone that cracked through the air, heading straight for John’s head. John ducked, feeling the whip slice past his ear, his instincts taking over as he leaped forward, grabbing Mahito by the collar and slamming him into the rooftop. The concrete shattered beneath them, cracks spidering outward in all directions.

Mahito’s grin only widened as he clawed at John’s arm, his hand rippling with cursed energy. “You don’t break, do you?” he whispered, his voice laced with a twisted admiration.

John’s eyes blazed with fury as he tightened his grip. “I don’t need to break. Just need you to feel what they felt.”

But Mahito’s laughter only grew, even as John pummeled him with blow after blow, each one met with a sickening crack of bone. Mahito’s face twisted back into a grotesque smile, his skin bubbling as he healed, regenerating even as John battered him with fists, each punch costing John more of his dwindling strength.

Mahito’s whip-arm lashed out again, striking John in the ribs with bone-crushing force, sending him skidding across the rooftop. He coughed, spitting blood, his entire body trembling from exhaustion.

“You’re a marvel,” Mahito whispered, eyes gleaming. “A man willing to tear himself apart. But for what, John? Do you think this changes anything?”

The rooftop edge crumbled as John and Mahito clashed, their combined momentum ripping them through the floor, down into the depths of the decrepit building. They crashed through walls and beams, each impact unleashing clouds of dust until they slammed into a dark, empty storage room below. The silence that followed was thick, the tension coiled tight, ready to snap.

But in a heartbeat, they were at it again. Mahito lunged forward, his arm twisting into a serrated blade. John dodged just in time, the air slicing past him as he countered, his fist surging with cursed energy. The punch connected, smashing into Mahito’s ribs with bone-rattling force, but Mahito only grinned wider.

“Nice try,” Mahito taunted, his body rippling and shifting with idle transfiguration. He slid fluidly behind John, his movements smooth as water, ducking under John’s next punch and sweeping a leg out to send him sprawling. Mahito’s clawed hands followed, each strike sharp and relentless.

John’s muscles screamed in protest, blood trickling from fresh wounds as he blocked and countered, moving with a precision born of desperation. The narrow space left no room for error; each move had to be flawless, every punch a brutal answer to Mahito’s attacks. John’s fists connected again and again, breaking skin, splintering bone, but Mahito’s laughter filled the room, louder with each blow.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Mahito sneered, ducking under another strike before slipping around him with a flicker of movement, his hand morphing into a claw shimmering with cursed energy. “It’s over,” he whispered, reaching for John’s back, aiming to touch his very soul.

Just as Mahito’s fingers grazed the air near John’s spine, a sudden force slammed into him, sending him staggering back, stunned. His head whipped around, and his eyes widened with disbelief as he saw the faint, ghostly figure of Yuji Itadori standing beside John, his fist still extended, eyes blazing with unwavering resolve.

For the first time, Mahito’s grin faltered, a chill creeping up his spine. Memories rushed back, the echo of Yuji’s voice like a haunting refrain: “I’ll just kill you. And if you’re reborn, I’ll kill you again and again. You can change your name, your face—I’ll still find you.”

For the first time since his reincarnation, Mahito felt fear.

But before he could fully process it, John was on him, his face twisted in a fury that burned like an inferno. His fist shot forward, slamming into Mahito’s face with a force that echoed twice, like a ripple of power. Mahito stumbled back, feeling not one but two impacts reverberate through his skull—a primal, crushing force.

Mahito’s mind reeled as he recognized the impossible: John’s attack bore the mark of divergent fist, the uncanny sensation of Yuji’s presence woven into John’s very soul. The image of Yuji flickered beside John, a silent, burning promise of vengeance, fueling John’s strikes with a power that felt unstoppable.

Mahito sneered, his face a twisted mask of fury and fear. He reformed his hand into a spiked whip, lashing it out with all the strength he could muster, aiming to end John once and for all. But John only pressed forward, every wound ignored, every bruise irrelevant. His eyes held nothing but a single-minded determination, a recklessness that transcended fear, pain, or even survival.

Mahito’s whip-arm cracked through the air like a living beast, but John moved with raw, single-minded purpose, sidestepping it and charging forward. Their clash grew more savage with every second, the confines of the room twisting under the force of their relentless attacks.

The clash grew savage, both fighters becoming more desperate and inventive with every strike. John’s breathing was ragged, his body battered and bloodied, but his attacks only grew fiercer. Mahito, now more cautious yet seething with rage, had discarded his usual playful approach. His transformations became erratic and aggressive, his body twisting into monstrous shapes as he lashed out with sharpened limbs and grotesque tentacles.

John didn’t flinch, charging headlong into Mahito’s assault. A sweeping tentacle whipped through the air, but John ducked under it, closing the distance with a punch that forced Mahito to morph his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. John’s fist left a crater in the wall behind him, sending chunks of concrete flying.

In response, Mahito’s limbs elongated, splitting into twisted claws that slashed toward John from every angle. John activated his Ruinous Gambit, driving all his energy into speed, his movements blurring as he sidestepped and countered each strike. In a flash, he seized a metal pipe from the rubble, channeling his energy into it and swinging it in a wide arc. The pipe collided with Mahito’s shoulder, the brutal impact twisting his form and sending him skidding across the floor.

Mahito snarled, his face contorting as he forced his body to reform. His arms twisted into a mesh of spikes, each one glistening with cursed energy. He thrust them forward like spears, and John responded by enhancing his strength, snapping his body into a spin to deflect the assault. The spikes shattered on impact, splinters scattering across the room.

With his attacks foiled, Mahito grew angrier, his form unraveling and reforming at an even faster pace. He morphed his arm into a thick, serrated whip and cracked it forward, aiming for John’s midsection. John rolled with the hit, gritting his teeth against the pain, then retaliated with a punch that shimmered with Divergent Fist, the spectral energy doubling its force as it struck Mahito dead in the chest, throwing him back.

The walls buckled under the pressure of their battle. Dust clouded the air as John pressed forward, delivering a relentless chain of strikes, each one more vicious than the last. His fists blurred in motion, the Divergent Fist echoing with every hit, overwhelming Mahito’s regenerative abilities. Each impact sent a shockwave through Mahito’s form, distorting his body as he struggled to keep up with John’s onslaught.

John’s face twisted with fury as he unleashed a final, brutal series of punches, his fists driving deep into Mahito’s core. The cursed spirit staggered, reeling as his body destabilized under the relentless assault.

Sensing his defeat imminent, Mahito’s grin returned, more twisted than ever. He raised his hands, his fingers contorting into a complex shape as his cursed energy surged, dark and consuming. The walls around them seemed to collapse inward as Mahito called forth the horrifying power within him.

With a maniacal gleam in his eyes, he uttered a single phrase: “Domain Expansion: Self-Embodiment of Perfection.”

-

An hour earlier

Takumi moved through the dim underground chamber of Nuovo Impianto, the faint glimmer of his spectral chains illuminating the narrow path ahead. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and the cursed energy was thick, almost suffocating—far more potent than anything he’d sensed before. The darkness down here had a weight of its own, pressing on him, as though even the air itself had been twisted by the malevolent energy.

He adjusted his grip, sending a pulse through the chains to check for threats as he proceeded, each step resonating with an eerie echo. The walls were lined with images carved in jagged, chaotic patterns, a mishmash of scenes he couldn’t make sense of but that left a lingering unease in his chest. He had a nagging sense that whatever had unfolded here was long buried, held in check only by the oppressive force radiating from somewhere deeper within.

As he ventured further, the twisted passage opened up into a vast chamber, and Takumi stopped, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. In the center of the room, three towering pillars loomed, grotesque and pulsating, each one formed from interwoven layers of flesh and sinew. The sight twisted his stomach; the pillars were alive, each one subtly breathing in and out, as though they held the remnants of something—someone—trapped within.

Takumi cautiously approached, his eyes tracing over the distinct patterns on each of the pillars. The one on his left was marked with jagged shapes resembling fractured mountains, wreathed in flames, and it radiated an intense heat. The second pillar, a tangle of vines and branches twisted into unearthly shapes, seemed almost like a forest given life, dark and deep. The final pillar emanated the distinct scent of saltwater, its base littered with broken shells and coral, the flesh curling like waves frozen in motion.

Though he didn’t recognize the imagery, he could feel a distinct, overwhelming aura of power tied to each of them. The cursed energy they emitted was raw, almost primal, unlike anything he’d encountered. It was more than a simple curse—it felt like a lingering resonance, as if these pillars held the spirits of curses once alive, their essences woven into the walls of the chamber itself.

Takumi clenched his jaw, sensing the weight of the energy growing as he drew nearer. He extended one of his spectral chains, testing the field around the pillars, and the chains crackled with resistance as they brushed against the cursed aura. It felt almost like a barrier, a wall woven from twisted memories and residual hate. Whatever these were, they had been left here deliberately, preserved as a grotesque monument.

The thought unnerved him, but Takumi knew he couldn’t leave such a cursed place untouched. With a practiced motion, he summoned his chains, each one swirling around him with a faint, ghostly light as he focused, preparing to dispel whatever cursed energy bound the pillars in place. The chains pulsed with energy, and Takumi drew a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever might come next.

Takumi’s voice echoed through the dark chamber, steady and focused as he declared his technique, sealing the binding vow within his words.

“My cursed technique, Spectral Chains, binds and suppresses cursed energy by locking onto its flow. Once wrapped, the chains sever the cursed energy from its source, preventing regeneration and weakening the spirit. So long as these chains hold, curses lose the ability to harm or escape.”

The binding vow took hold, and in exchange for exposing the full strength and limitations of his technique, he felt the chains grow denser, heavier, reinforcing his control over them. His words, now woven into the chains themselves, transformed them from a weapon into a force nearly impossible to break. They coiled with new strength, humming with a power honed by his binding vow.

Takumi’s chains shot forward, snaking through the air. As the spectral chains snaked around the pillars, Takumi’s voice grew firmer, each word feeding into his cursed technique. “Once these chains connect, they not only bind the curse but drain its energy, siphoning the curse’s own strength to reinforce the bonds.” He felt the chains grow almost sentient in his grip, their force multiplying with every layer of flesh they wrapped around.

The pillars trembled under the binding force, and for a brief moment, he felt the cursed energy falter, weakening as the chains sank deep into the flesh.

But then the ground shuddered beneath him, and to his dismay, the pillars began to sink, pulled by some unseen force below. Cursed energy radiated from the dark holes left by the sinking pillars, dark tendrils of it swirling and taking form in front of him. Out of the shadows, cursed spirits began to rise, monstrous figures clawing their way to the surface, flanked by the twisted, transfigured remains of humans, their forms grotesque and contorted.

“Of course…” he muttered, adjusting his stance, his eyes narrowing. He braced himself, the vow still amplifying his chains as he directed his focus toward the attackers. Despite the threat they posed, he didn’t dare release his hold on the sinking pillars. He could only hope his chains would hold long enough for him to deal with the onslaught and reassert his grip.

The spirits lunged, snarling and clawing with frenzied strength. With swift precision, Takumi redirected his chains, fending them off while maintaining his binding vow’s grip on the pillars. He moved fluidly, slicing through the spirits one by one, his chains cleaving through their cursed forms like blades. The transfigured humans came next, their bodies twisting in agony as they staggered toward him. With each blow, Takumi felt his energy drain, but his vow held steady, lending his chains a resilience that matched his unyielding focus.

But even as the last cursed spirit disintegrated before him, Takumi realized with a sinking dread that the pillars were nearly gone, drawn deep into the earth by forces far beyond his reach. He drove his chains into the ground, willing them to pierce the hardened soil, but each attempt was deflected, his cursed energy unable to reach any further.

Realizing he’d need more power to break whatever lay beneath, he laid his hands on the ground and chanted. A sealing barrier flared up, enclosing the site in a basic defensive ward. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold until he returned with reinforcements.

“Hopefully, this buys me enough time,” he murmured, casting one last wary glance at the shuddering earth before retreating from the chamber and leaving Nuovo Impianto. His mind reluctantly pulled from the fresh mystery and drawn toward the meeting point where he was due to rendezvous with John. The name Mahito lingered at the edge of his thoughts, an uncomfortable echo in his mind. He was certain he’d heard it before, somewhere deep in his memory, like a faint whisper resurfacing from his past.

Takumi moved through the narrow, deserted streets, his footsteps rhythmic, almost hypnotic as he pushed forward. The name Mahito buzzed through his mind, elusive and aggravating, like a splinter he couldn’t quite reach. The name lingered on the edge of a memory, just out of focus, but with a weight that unsettled him.

As he walked, his mind drifted back to his student days, over forty years ago, back when he’d been a rebellious kid in the halls of the Jujutsu Society’s famed Seishin Institute. He had been a handful for his instructors—restless, impatient, and too curious for his own good. But one memory surfaced sharply, something from a lesson he had half-listened to in the dimly lit classroom, one he had never thought would matter. The history instructor, a severe old sorcerer with a perpetual scowl, had spoken in hushed tones about a catastrophic event—a turning point in the world of jujutsu.

The lesson had been about the Shibuya Incident, an event that had unfolded over a century ago, where powerful curses had decimated a swath of Tokyo in a single, horrific day. Takumi could remember now the way his teacher had described it: an army of grotesque curses and Special Grade monsters, and the sorcerers who had faced them down in a harrowing, desperate battle. Back then, young Takumi had rolled his eyes, barely listening. But he remembered the name of one curse in particular—one whose methods had haunted the sorcerers for years to come.

Mahito.

The name, even then, had struck him as strange. He remembered now how the instructor had described it as a curse born from humanity’s fear and hatred, a creature that toyed with the human soul as if it were nothing more than clay to be molded, twisted. Takumi hadn’t thought much of it, more interested in testing his limits in fights than in studying the terrors of the past. But now the details were resurfacing with a grim clarity.

As he pieced the memory together, he felt a pull on his senses, a faint tremor of cursed energy that nudged the edge of his awareness. It was a feeling, a pulse, as if the world around him was breathing in sync with his memories. He moved without thinking, his instincts guiding him as the energy grew sharper, vibrating through the air like a silent, chilling hum that seemed to resonate from every shadow. He could feel it—a dark, dense power, the kind that lingered and twisted like rot in the air.

He focused on the feeling, his senses sharpening, and then he recognized it: John’s cursed energy, pulsing strong yet unstable, wild. But alongside it, entwined and overpowering, was another, more sinister presence—one that reeked of malice and cold, sadistic pleasure. His blood ran cold as his subconscious and conscious mind aligned, bringing a dark certainty with it.

With the cursed energy growing sharper in his awareness, his memories snapped into place.

Mahito. The curse that shattered lives, reshaping people into grotesque forms, tearing away the very essence of who they were.

“Damn it, John…” he whispered, fear clawing at him. If Mahito truly was the presence he sensed alongside John, then John was facing a nightmare. Without hesitation, Takumi broke into a sprint, pushing himself faster, each step laced with the urgency to reach John before Mahito tore him apart.

-

Mahito’s Domain Expansion erupted around them, enveloping John in a twisted, otherworldly space where the boundaries of reality bent under Mahito’s control. The air seemed to hum with malicious intent, walls warped with surreal, organic textures that pulsed and breathed. Mahito’s domain was a warped landscape of flesh and bone, filled with shifting faces that whispered and leered from every corner, embodying the chaos and suffering that Mahito thrived upon. Here, Mahito’s cursed technique, Idle Transfiguration, would strike with absolute accuracy—a sure-hit effect that would allow him to reshape John’s soul at will.

The grotesque surroundings pressed down on John like a vise, the unsettling faces surrounding him seeming to mock his every breath. Yet, he stood undeterred, his gaze fixed on Mahito. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation—only a feral, unwavering rage that blazed even in the face of inevitable death.

Mahito grinned, his hand reaching out, fingers curling with intent as his sure-hit effect began to take hold. John could feel his body reacting, his very soul quivering under the touch of Mahito’s cursed technique. In response, he called forth a simple domain, rough and raw yet potent, nullifying Mahito’s influence. There was no satisfaction in the countermeasure, only a surge of fierce intent driving him forward, a fire that burned through his pain. John didn’t need to protect himself; his only thought was to close the distance and land the next blow.

Mahito’s smirk faltered slightly as John surged forward, fists blazing. John’s attacks came in brutal, unrestrained strikes, each punch carrying a devastating weight as if each blow could be his last. He threw himself into every strike with no thought of defense, his fists crashing down with relentless fury. As his knuckles connected with Mahito, a subtle shimmer of cursed energy split from each hit, layered over his raw power, echoing the fury of a second punch immediately after the first, an effect that staggered the twisted sorcerer.

But Mahito’s shock lasted only a moment. His laughter echoed, high and cold, the delight of someone who viewed this brutality as mere entertainment. With every attack, Mahito moved with liquid grace, weaving his body around each strike as if dodging were a dance. His limbs morphed and shifted mid-strike, a grotesque display of precision and control, adapting and countering with seamless fluidity. He lashed out with whip-like appendages, blades, and spiked protrusions that seemed to spring from his body in an endless stream of malice.

John’s approach was brutal, sacrificing precision for sheer impact, the Divergent Fist amplifying each hit into something devastating. He burst forward, the ground beneath him splintering with each movement. When Mahito’s serrated arm shot toward him, John didn’t even attempt to evade it. Instead, he let it sink into his side, a wound that tore flesh, only to grip Mahito’s arm in place, dragging him close enough to drive his knee into Mahito’s gut again with crushing force. The twisted spirit recoiled, his body stretching grotesquely to escape, but John followed him, his fists relentless, each punch a shattering blow backed by the Divergent Fist’s double impact.

Mahito sneered as he reformed his arm, fingers shifting into a serrated blade. He sidestepped John’s next punch with graceful precision, his blade arcing forward to slice through the air. But John didn’t flinch, his gaze fixed and unyielding, throwing himself forward with unrelenting disregard for his own safety. He let the blade graze his shoulder, using the opening to land a solid punch squarely on Mahito’s face. The impact reverberated through Mahito’s skull, splitting his lip and cracking his jaw.

In contrast to John’s fury, Mahito’s attacks were calculated, playful even, as he used every opportunity to twist his body into increasingly grotesque shapes, each one designed to mock and evade John’s strength. His movements were fluid, but there was a gleeful cruelty in every feint, every flicker of a smirk as his limbs elongated into claws and whip-like protrusions, snaking around John’s body to strike from impossible angles.

John moved like a storm, reckless and sacrificial, each attack a testament to his refusal to relent, each wound a mark of his unflinching resolve. When Mahito’s jagged limbs lacerated his flesh, he barely registered the pain, only angling his body to close the distance between them. Every opening was an invitation to strike, every wound a price he paid willingly. His fists collided with Mahito’s form, the Divergent Fist shattering the cursed spirit’s defenses with a double impact, the force enough to splinter even the ground beneath them.

Mahito’s smirk twisted into a snarl as he felt the weight of John’s blows, the relentless, wild force clashing against his own calculated brutality. He reformed his body, his torso rippling as he elongated one arm into a massive, serrated whip. It sliced toward John with blinding speed, the edges glinting with cursed energy, yet John dodged just in time, his own fist driving forward in a counterattack that Mahito barely managed to evade.

Each time they clashed, Mahito tried to toy with him, his twisted amusement laced through each feint and flicker of his cursed energy. But John’s gaze held a ferocity beyond Mahito’s mockery, a fury that fueled every strike. As Mahito transformed his hand into a grotesque claw, swiping it down toward John’s chest, John didn’t move to defend. He left himself open, allowing the claw to rake across his skin, only to drive his elbow into Mahito’s throat in a brutal, punishing blow, the Divergent Fist resonating with an aftershock that forced Mahito back, sputtering.

“Is this all you are?” Mahito sneered, his tone both mocking and intrigued. “Throwing yourself away just to see an inconsequential draw of blood?”

John didn’t reply. There was no banter, no thought of survival—only the unending drive to strike, to bring Mahito to his knees, even if it took his own life. The cold ferocity in John’s gaze sent a flicker of unease through Mahito, and for a split second, the cursed spirit hesitated.

Sensing the slight hesitation, John threw himself forward with reckless abandon, his form a blur of fists and fury. Mahito morphed his arms into serrated blades, slashing downward, and John met him head-on, his fist connecting with Mahito’s shoulder in a blow that splintered bone and reverberated with Divergent Fist’s doubled impact. Mahito’s grin wavered as he staggered back, the laughter fading from his eyes as he realized John’s fury held no end, no restraint.

John’s expression was a twisted mask of pain and fury as he launched himself forward, each attack carrying the weight of his final resolve. He was on the brink, his strength waning, his body buckling under the relentless onslaught. Mahito’s clawed hand drove toward him, aimed to crush whatever remained of his will. With a mocking laugh, Mahito’s fingers grazed John’s cheek, the cursed energy sparking as it began to transfigure his flesh.

Just then, the fractured remains of John’s Simple Domain shattered like glass, leaving him exposed to Mahito’s domain.

Mahito’s grin widened, the faces on the walls around them contorting in laughter, echoing his anticipation of John’s final moments. But as the dust settled, Mahito’s gaze narrowed in shock. Where there should have been nothing, where John should have been defenseless, another barrier pulsed to life—a second, more intricate Simple Domain, layered beneath the first. It shone with an intensity that defied the darkness of Mahito’s domain, casting an aura of defiance that repelled Mahito’s transfiguration once again.

John didn’t give Mahito a chance to react. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with Mahito’s jaw, backed by the raw force of Divergent Fist. The impact resonated with a double hit, sending Mahito stumbling back. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he straightened, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of irritation and intrigue. He wiped the blood from his lip, his smirk faltering as he assessed John with newfound caution. John’s second Simple Domain was already showing cracks, the barriers weakening under Mahito’s relentless assault.

The relentless clash continued, but John was starting to slow, each movement heavy, labored. His breaths came shallow and ragged, each one ripping painfully through his damaged lungs, but he didn’t falter. His strikes were no less fierce, but his body was betraying him, the injuries piling up beyond his ability to push through. Blood seeped from cuts along his arms and torso, trickling down from a deep gash above his brow, blurring his vision. His muscles ached, screaming in protest with every step, yet he forced himself forward, his resolve stronger than the agony weighing him down.

Mahito noticed the shift almost immediately. His smirk widened as he saw John’s faltering movements, his dodges becoming slower, his punches lacking the same bone-shattering force. The cursed spirit danced around him, mocking him with each sidestep, each dodge that felt more effortless as John’s body dragged beneath the weight of pain and exhaustion.

“Oh, are we getting tired?” Mahito sneered, his voice a mockery of sympathy. He lashed out with a whip-like arm, the serrated edges slicing across John’s side. John grunted, the blow staggering him, but he refused to yield, letting the wound spur him on. His fist shot forward, his arm trembling from the effort, each punch heavier, slower. He felt his cursed energy slipping as the force behind his Divergent Fist began to wane, the echoing strikes losing their brutal impact.

Yet, he pressed on, his gaze fixed on Mahito with unyielding fury. Another attack, another hit absorbed—each injury mounting, but John refused to block or defend, willingly allowing Mahito’s blows to land if it meant he could get in a counterattack. His hand shot up to grab one of Mahito’s jagged arms, ignoring the stinging pain of the sharp edges biting into his palm as he used it to pull the cursed spirit closer, throwing a brutal knee to Mahito’s chest.

Mahito staggered, only to straighten with a dark, delighted gleam in his eye, watching John with almost giddy fascination. “I must say, you are quite the marvel,” Mahito taunted, circling him, his voice dripping with sinister amusement. “Throwing yourself away without a thought for your own life… so poetic. But you do realize, don’t you, that this is all meaningless?” He punctuated his words with another swipe, his clawed hand raking down John’s arm, tearing flesh and muscle alike.

John’s face twisted in pain, but he didn’t pull back. He used the agony as fuel, gripping Mahito’s wrist to bring him closer for another punch. The blow connected, resonating with Divergent Fist, but the impact was weaker than before, a mere shadow of the force that had first rocked the cursed spirit.

Mahito took the hit with a grin, barely stumbling. He lashed out with his own counter, a grotesque spike erupting from his shoulder to jab into John’s chest. The blow sent John stumbling back, blood pouring from the wound, his vision blurring as his strength continued to drain. Mahito laughed, his voice echoing through the night.

“What’s the point?” Mahito sneered, circling John like a predator. “You’re nothing but a shadow of your former self now—a man throwing away his life in some feeble attempt at revenge. You’re weak, broken, and pitiful.”

But John’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t care about his injuries, didn’t care about the blood loss or the pain. Each insult only hardened his resolve, a testament to the broken pride he carried, his refusal to fall until he saw Mahito defeated.

He launched forward with one final burst of energy, every fiber of his being thrown into a single, devastating punch. Mahito met him head-on, their fists colliding with a thunderous impact. But Mahito’s laughter only grew louder as he felt the last reserves of John’s strength falter, his once-powerful strikes now sluggish, weakened.

Mahito leaned in close, his voice a low, mocking whisper. “Do you remember Cinder? Echo? They screamed, you know—when I twisted them, reshaped them.” His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “Oh, how they cried out for you, their dear saviour. And what did you do? You failed them. Just like you’re failing now.”

A rage like nothing he’d felt before erupted within John, but his body was nearly at its limit. Just as he forced his trembling arms to rise for one last attack, his second Simple Domain cracked and shattered around him. The effect of Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration surged forward, ready to seize him fully.

But as the darkness began to close in, as Mahito’s domain moved to engulf him, another barrier flared to life, defiant and raw. Mahito’s sneer faltered, his mocking smile twisting into one of shock. Once again beneath the shattered domain was another—rough, barely intact, and flickering with instability, but it held.

John gave a final, unbroken stare, his eyes gleaming with the last fragments of his defiance. He threw himself forward, body battered, broken, but unyielding. The impact of his fist carried the weight of his pain, his fury, and his undying resolve, colliding with Mahito with a force that defied his exhausted form.

Yet even as the third barrier began to splinter, John continued forward, step by step, a force of will that seemed unstoppable. His Simple Domain shattered again, and the transfiguring energy surged once more, his body succumbing to the strain as he fought to bring Mahito down with him.

But just as his final defenses crumbled, as Mahito’s victory seemed assured, a sudden crack echoed through the night, reverberating through the cursed energy. Mahito’s domain shook, an invisible force tearing through the barriers, disrupting the space. The ground beneath them trembled as the walls of Mahito’s domain shattered outward in a cascade of cursed energy.

From the shadows beyond the crumbling domain, Takumi emerged, his chains glowing with spectral energy as they unraveled from his arms. With a fierce command, he cracked the chains forward, each link charged with power, breaking the last vestiges of Mahito’s influence and flooding the night air with a wave of liberated energy.

John crumpled to his knees, the last shreds of his strength giving out as his battered body revolted. Blood and bile surged up, spilling onto the ground as he coughed and retched, the searing pain nearly blinding. Ahead, Takumi was locked in a deadly dance with Mahito, keeping him at a distance, cursed energy rippling through the air as Takumi’s chains whipped and lashed out. Mahito dodged each strike with an eerie grace, grinning as he twisted through the attacks like a shadow.

Through the haze of agony, John could feel something deep within himself—a flicker of energy buried beneath layers of exhaustion, a spark of defiance refusing to extinguish. It was as if he was looking directly into his own soul, an image shimmering, raw and frayed, yet burning with a fierce, vengeful light. It seemed to confirm his revelation: If his only strength was destruction, then he would layer it upon itself to unleash true devastation.

“Final Gambit…” he rasped, barely able to breathe. Summoning every last fragment of his power, he forced the technique to amplify his strength, pressing his very life into his fists. Every wound across his body erupted, expanding and throbbing, blood seeping from countless gashes as his strength swelled unnaturally, painfully. His whole body felt as though it might rip apart, each heartbeat a shockwave of unbearable strain.

With a strangled cry, he surged forward, hurling a fist at Mahito, who was distracted by Takumi’s relentless assault. John's fist shot forward with an unrestrained fury, tearing through the air with a force that defied belief. The very atmosphere around his punch seemed to twist, compressing into a shockwave so intense that it barreled toward Mahito like a force of nature. Even as the blow narrowly grazed Mahito’s form, the unleashed energy detonated with an impact that could only be described as catastrophic.

Behind Mahito, a building stood silent and unassuming—until the full force of John’s attack reached it. The airwave slammed into the structure with explosive intensity, obliterating windows and ripping through steel and concrete as if it were paper. In an instant, the entire edifice buckled and collapsed, a violent shockwave blasting outward, scattering chunks of debris like shrapnel. The ground shook as floors crumbled in on themselves, sending up plumes of dust and fragments into the night sky as the blast of air from his blow continued to scar the land behind the crumpled building.

Though it only grazed him, the shockwave threw Mahito off balance, forcing him to twist mid-air as his face darkened with a flash of genuine surprise.

Mahito’s body reeled, but he quickly reformed, healing the glancing wound instantly, his smile returning, laced with wariness. “Well now,” he muttered, “you’ve unlocked a little trick, haven’t you?” He narrowed his eyes at John, assessing the unnatural surge in power with twisted fascination. “Didn’t think you had it in you… was that reverse cursed technique, perhaps?” But despite his confidence, something uncertain flickered across Mahito’s face. With two Grade One sorcerers now converging on him, now with one who might have potentially unlocked reversed cursed technique, the odds had changed.

In a split-second decision, Mahito’s form began to warp, splitting into two grotesque halves. His head twisted and detached, sprouting spindly legs that skittered across the ground, retreating into the shadows. Meanwhile, his body transformed into a monstrous wave of cursed energy, an onslaught of writhing whips and serrated blades surging toward Takumi and John.

Takumi’s expression hardened, and with a deft swing of his chains, he sliced through the torrent of cursed energy, clearing a path towards a collapsing John. He moved quickly, his focus sharp as he watched the grotesque form of Mahito’s body recede. But as he reached John, he could see the brutal toll the fight had taken. Blood soaked through John’s clothing, and his breathing was shallow, labored—every inch of him was lacerated, pulsing with open wounds that refused to close.

“Damn it, John…” Takumi muttered. He knelt beside him, conjuring his spectral chains with careful precision, each link glowing faintly as he manipulated them to act as makeshift stitches, pulling John’s torn flesh together, sealing the wounds with careful pressure. The chains glowed like embers, holding fast against the injuries, if only temporarily.

Takumi gritted his teeth, lifting John with a steady grip. “Hold on,” he murmured, more to himself than John, who seemed to fade in and out of consciousness. With a final glance at the distant shadows where Mahito’s head had disappeared, Takumi turned and sprinted, moving swiftly through the decaying streets, his only thought on reaching the Ark. Each step pounded in time with John’s faint, ragged breaths, as Takumi’s chains held him together, his life hanging by the slimmest thread.

-

Pepper’s usual upbeat demeanor was gone, replaced with a steely focus as she worked on the man lying before her. John was on the edge, every breath a ragged struggle, his heart a sputtering engine on the verge of failing entirely. Her fingers flew across the instruments, adjusting monitors and injecting stabilizers into his bloodstream, trying to coax him back from the precipice.

“Vitals still plummeting,” Pepper said, glancing up at the heart monitor that showed his erratic, weakening heartbeat. The number edged downward, a steady countdown.

Beside her, Mary kept her face calm but moved with a renewed urgency, her usual composure sharpened to a fine edge as she adjusted an oxygen mask over John’s face. “Lung function barely registering,” she muttered. “His system’s fighting us every step of the way—if we stabilize one area, another tanks.”

Pepper’s jaw clenched as she started compressions, pressing her hands against John’s battered chest. “Come on,” she murmured under her breath, her voice tight. “We need you to hold on.”

Mary glanced over. "Maybe it’s shock? That would explain the inconsistency."

“More like everything’s failing all at once. His body’s in overdrive, and it’s tearing him apart.” Pepper grabbed an emergency vial and injected it into his arm, hoping the stimulant would be enough to push him through the worst of it.

The defibrillator was prepped again, Mary positioning the paddles with a steady hand. “Clear!” she said, waiting for Pepper to step back before administering another jolt. John’s body jerked up, a brief, jolting movement, and the heart monitor spiked for a moment—then fell back to its irregular rhythm.

Mary let out a breath, sweat trickling down her forehead. “One more, we’re doing it again.”

This time, John’s heartbeat flickered erratically but held on, a faint, fragile rhythm. Pepper’s eyes were glued to the monitor, her hands hovering, ready to resume compressions at any second. She looked at Mary, who was already prepping another dose of medication, her face a mask of determination.

“Breathing is shallow but holding,” Mary said, almost too quietly to be hopeful. The color was slowly returning to his face, though his breathing remained faint, each inhale and exhale a struggle. Still, for the first time, he wasn’t deteriorating.

They both watched him, waiting for any sign of a setback, but the monitor’s slow, unsteady beeps held their rhythm.

Pepper and Mary shared a brief, unspoken glance, the weight of their patient’s condition pressing on them. They’d pulled him from the edge for now, but his body was still in a catastrophic state, barely holding together under the strain of his injuries.

Pepper inspected the burns on his torso and the bruising along his ribs, both spreading like dark shadows over his skin. Blood seeped from reopened wounds despite the stitches, each breath threatening to tear them open again. She prepared a stronger blood coagulant, injecting it directly, hoping it would give his body a fighting chance. The injuries were beyond ordinary battlefield damage, as though he had been thrown through an industrial shredder.

“He has multiple fractures,” Mary said, her fingers feeling along his shattered ribs, assessing the extent. “These ribs… his lung could collapse again. I’ll reinforce the oxygen flow, but he won’t hold much longer without proper repair.”

Pepper grabbed the portable scanner, waving it over John’s side. “There’s internal bleeding near his liver—if that worsens, we’ll lose him before we can even think of stabilizing him.”

They worked in tandem, Mary carefully setting a fracture as Pepper adjusted his IV line, infusing his bloodstream with a last-ditch combination of painkillers, stabilizers, and muscle relaxants, trying to coax his body into rest. Every adjustment seemed to come with a complication, each response a slow, uphill battle. The heart monitor continued its erratic, stuttering rhythm, each beep a tentative promise that his heart still had some fight left.

“Blood pressure’s climbing,” Pepper noted, eyes flickering to the monitor. “It’s barely enough to keep his organs going, but it’s something.”

Mary’s gaze remained fixed on John’s face, her expression softening as she murmured, “If he can make it through the next few hours, there’s a chance he’ll stabilize. But with the state he’s in…” She left the rest unspoken, the odds still hanging heavily in the air. His skin was cool and clammy, his breathing shallow, but his pulse—faint as it was—held steady.

Pepper wiped a damp cloth over his forehead, hoping to reduce the fever creeping over him, a silent wish in her actions as she adjusted the blankets over his broken form. “We’ve done all we can,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Now it’s up to him.”

They both stepped back, exhausted but watching as his chest rose and fell in that precarious rhythm, waiting to see if he’d hold on through the long hours ahead.

Chapter Text

In the shadowed haze, John saw a figure standing across from him—himself, but somehow... different. His younger self stared back at him, older than he should have been in memory, and covered in scars that felt both familiar and foreign. Scars layered over fresh wounds, old lines from battles fought, yet the younger self bore them without hesitation, his arms at his sides, face uncovered and unashamed. His posture was upright, a strange pride woven into his stance, the scars displayed like testaments rather than burdens.

John shifted, fingers drifting up to the harsher, jagged lines that marked his own face. He felt the impulse to hide them, his hand hovering near his brow, then lowering in slow reluctance. His gaze dropped, avoiding the piercing look of his younger self, feeling each scar ache beneath his touch as if they were newly earned. The younger figure’s eyes remained fixed on him, a somber weight to his stare—a mixture of disappointment and something else, an ache buried too deep to name.

The silence stretched, unbroken by words but filled with the soundless clash of two selves staring back at each other, the younger one standing tall, his scars uncovered, bared like they meant something. The light from somewhere beyond glinted along each mark, illuminating the paths of hardship he didn’t hide, paths he had faced head-on, unmoved by fear.

John’s own shoulders sagged, the heaviness of shame settling deeper with each passing second. He couldn’t bring himself to meet that gaze again, to bear the silent judgment he felt etched in every unspoken word, every line on the younger man’s face that seemed to rebuke him.

And then, almost naturally, they turned. The younger John stepped forward, his form merging with the darkened path that stretched out behind him, his steps sure, carrying with him an air of fierce purpose, something undimmed and unwavering. His head remained high, his back straight, each step deliberate as he moved deeper into the abyss.

John’s feet moved in the opposite direction, carrying him toward a faint, half-open door ahead. His own steps faltered, his fingers brushing along the wall, clinging as if the path itself might collapse. He wanted to look back, but couldn’t bring himself to. The presence of his younger self faded behind him, swallowed by the dark

-

The room was dimly lit, shadows gathering around the edges as Andersen and Takumi spoke. Andersen sat behind his desk, his gaze intent, his expression a blend of interest and calculation as he listened to Takumi’s report.

“So the blame goes to Heavenly Ascension, and the credit to the Commander,” Andersen murmured, his voice thoughtful. “Precisely as the Ark officials intended.”

Takumi inclined his head, his eyes sharp but carrying a trace of unease. “Yes. The Society was willing to accept it. They’ve agreed to let the Ark officials handle this narrative, but…” He paused, his gaze fixed on Andersen. “I can’t shake the feeling that this will draw unwanted attention back onto John. The whole reason he faked his death was to slip away from their watchful eyes. Now, he’s the face of this victory.”

Andersen’s gaze lingered on Takumi’s words, thoughtful. “It’s a dangerous position,” he said slowly. “I’ve known men like him before, who shouldered burdens they didn’t choose and found themselves drawn into battles that weren’t theirs. In those days, I wasn’t in a place to help them.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But now, perhaps, it’s different.”

Takumi absorbed Andersen’s words, his face showing a flicker of unease as he glanced away. “Maybe he does fit the role you need. Maybe,” he conceded. “But after what happened in the Outer Rim…” He trailed off, his expression darkening. “When I found him, he was—different. He’s still strong, maybe stronger than before, but it’s like something’s shifted…” He left the thought unfinished, his unease plain.

Andersen’s gaze lingered on Takumi, a slight hint of sympathy beneath his usually sharp expression. “You’ve watched over him closely, I take it.”

Takumi didn’t respond directly, instead giving a small, reluctant nod. His eyes shifted, his expression an odd mix of fondness and wariness. “Someone has to. He’s been reckless before, but… I’ve never seen him like this.” Takumi’s jaw clenched as he spoke, and he allowed himself a brief, shadowed look at Andersen. “I don’t think he’d care if he died as long as he took Mahito down with him.”

Andersen studied him with a trace of understanding. “Then it’s good he has someone keeping a watchful eye. Someone who knows what’s at stake.” He paused, his tone unreadable. “We both know men like him can go either way—find their path again or lose it forever.”

“I can’t pretend to know John the way you do, but his presence here… there’s a purpose to it. And if he’s anything like the others I’ve known, he won’t easily lose himself if there’s someone to keep him grounded.” He looked pointedly at Takumi. “In that, I suspect he’s already got what he needs.”

Takumi’s eyes narrowed, studying Andersen carefully. “That may be true,” he murmured, his voice thick with a restrained warning. “But if I see him slip too far… if that darkness in him becomes something else…” He let the words hang in the air, their weight unmistakable.

Andersen gave a single, slow nod, his gaze still calm, even as the shadow of Takumi’s words lingered. “Understood. But remember—there’s more at stake than either of us alone. If John’s the one to help change things, then it falls to us to ensure he has the chance to do so.” He met Takumi’s gaze, the faintest glint of determination in his eyes.

Takumi nodded, though his expression remained shadowed. The room fell silent, the weight of their conversation settling between them. Finally, Takumi reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of sake, two cups clinking softly against each other. He poured a generous measure, offering one to Andersen.

“To new alliances,” he said quietly, raising his glass, his eyes meeting Andersen’s. They drank, the faint burn of the sake lingering as a reminder of the path they’d both chosen.

Andersen placed his empty cup down, a faint, knowing smile crossing his lips. “To new alliances,” he echoed. Glancing at the time, he sighed, rising from his seat. “I have a meeting to attend. I’ll see you off”

-

In the quiet hum of the hospital room, where machines pulsed in steady rhythm, Pepper’s gaze lingered on John’s vital signs. The air was thick with the faint smell of antiseptic, a sterile sharpness that settled uneasily against the quiet tension of the room. ‘You’re one stubborn patient, Commander… just keep holding on,’ she murmured.

The door slid open quietly, and Rapi, Anis, and Neon stepped inside. They each paused, taking in the sight of John, battered and silent in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines that tracked his every breath. Anis leaned against the doorway, folding her arms tighter around herself. ‘I didn’t realize he was… this bad,’ she muttered, her voice softer than usual. Neon stepped closer, eyes wide, gaze sweeping over the medical devices as if searching for answers.

Rapi observed John in silence, her gaze calm but intense. “He pushed himself beyond his limit, that much is clear. Whatever happened out there wasn’t an ordinary mission. He must have known the risks.”

Pepper looked over her shoulder at the three of them, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’re doing everything we can for him, but… he’s holding on by a thread. I can tell he’s fighting, but whatever he went through, it’s taking a toll.”

Neon stepped closer, her usual energy subdued as she gazed at John’s battered form. “I’ve only worked with him once, but… I don’t get it. Why would anyone push themselves like that?”

Anis shrugged, her usual smirk softened. “Guess he’s the type who’d rather go down swinging than let anyone else take the hit. Doesn’t make it easier to watch, though.”

Pepper gave a faint smile, glancing back at John. “I don’t know much about him, but I’ve seen this kind of will before. It’s rare. Usually, people fighting that hard have something or someone they want to protect.”

Rapi’s gaze softened, and she placed a hand on the side of the bed, her fingers brushing the edge of the sheets. “If he’s anything like I think he is, he’ll pull through. It’ll just… take time.”

Anis leaned in, giving a quick, crooked smile. “Well, he better. I’m not about to lose the only Commander who actually made missions interesting.”

Pepper chuckled, her voice a bit lighter. “Seems like he’s got a strong team waiting for him. If anything’s going to help him fight through this, it’ll be that.”

With a final look at John’s still form, the three nodded, a quiet sense of camaraderie settling over them as they stood watch.

Pepper glanced at John’s monitor, her brows furrowing as she noted a subtle but unsettling shift in his vitals. Heart rate spiking, blood pressure dropping—it didn’t make sense given his stable condition just moments before. Her hand shot to the call button on the wall as her voice tightened, “His stats are changing rapidly… This isn’t normal.”

Rapi, Anis, and Neon looked over, their faces mirroring concern as the beeping on the monitor grew faster, erratic.

“Is he… is he waking up?” Neon asked, her tone caught between hope and worry.

Pepper’s hands flew to the controls, adjusting his IV drip and scanning his stats. “He shouldn’t be, not yet. We induced the coma to give him time to heal—this is too soon.” Her voice had a panicked edge as she worked to stabilize him. “I need to get more help; something’s not right here!”

But as she moved toward the door, John’s breathing hitched, and his fingers twitched, gripping the edges of the bed. Then, with a sudden jolt, his eyes snapped open, a sharp intake of breath filling his lungs.

Everyone froze, stunned.

“John!” Anis exclaimed, rushing to his side, her expression a mix of surprise and relief.

Pepper’s panic turned to shock as she leaned over him, her hand instinctively going to his pulse. “Commander, can you hear me? You… shouldn’t be awake yet.”

John’s gaze drifted, unfocused at first, his breathing shallow as if he were trying to piece together where he was. His eyes moved from Pepper to Rapi, Anis, and Neon, recognition slowly settling in. He swallowed, his voice hoarse. “Yeah… I hear you,” he rasped, his gaze hardening as he took stock of his surroundings.

Rapi stepped forward, her steady presence grounding the moment. “You gave us quite a scare, Commander.”

John managed a weak smirk. “Guess… I couldn’t keep you all waiting too long.”

John’s smirk faded as quickly as it came, his gaze dropping, subdued, as if something inside him had dulled. He pushed himself up, ignoring Pepper’s hand on his shoulder. “I… I can’t stay here,” he muttered, voice flat as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body protesting with every movement.

“Commander, don’t—” Pepper started, but John was already trying to stand, his legs wobbling under him. Within seconds, his balance faltered, and he collapsed forward, his strength betraying him. Rapi and Anis caught him, guiding him back to the bed, their faces tense with worry.

“Guess I’m not quite in fighting shape yet,” he murmured, eyes drifting to the polished metal surface of the nearby medical tray. His scarred reflection stared back at him—lines etched across his face, jagged and ugly. He managed a faint, bitter smile. “Well, I always thought I’d age gracefully, but I think the universe had other plans.”

Anis forced a chuckle, though her eyes were shadowed with concern. “Come on, Commander, scars add character, right?”

John huffed softly, but there was no real humor in it. He averted his gaze from the reflection, as if even looking at himself was a reminder he didn’t want. “Character, sure,” he mumbled, slumping back against the bed. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, his expression haunted, his body and spirit visibly drained.

Neon shifted uncomfortably, exchanging a look with Rapi. “Commander… just rest for now, alright? We need your firepower back at a hundred percent.” She forced a small smile, trying to lighten the mood, though her own worry was clear.

Pepper checked John’s monitors again, the steady beep of his vitals filling the silence, her hands trembling slightly. “Commander, you’ve been through something that should’ve… well, let’s just say it’s a miracle you’re here,” she said softly, trying to reach him. “You need time to recover properly.”

John’s gaze was unfocused as he looked around, taking in the concerned faces surrounding him, though he seemed to draw no comfort from them. “Time… right,” he mumbled, a hollow tone seeping into his voice. He managed a weak attempt at a smile, but it barely reached his eyes. “Not sure I know what to do with it.”

Rapi stepped forward, her usually stern expression softer. “Commander, you don’t have to do anything right now. Just rest. The mission is over; you’ve earned some peace.”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes flicking over to her, but his expression didn’t change. “Peace,” he echoed, almost as if he didn’t recognize the word. He tried to straighten himself, wincing as the motion tugged at his barely-closed wounds, forcing him to lie back down, defeated.

After Pepper wrapped up her examination, confirming that John’s healing was progressing rapidly—though not enough to clear him from the hospital—she excused herself, encouraging him to rest. Anis and Neon also took their leave, wanting to let their commander rest. Rapi stayed behind, glancing toward him as the door clicked shut, her usually composed expression tinged with concern.

“Commander, I thought I’d give you an update on the outpost,” she began, her tone steady yet softened, as if weighing her words carefully. “Since you… since the incident, things have been progressing quickly. We’ve secured more ground in the surrounding areas, and new teams have been deployed to handle the overflow. The outer sectors are under control, and we’ve reinforced the defenses.”

John nodded, though he seemed barely present, his gaze drifting toward the window, as if searching for something far beyond the walls. His eyes, usually sharp with purpose or hardened resolve, were now dim, carrying a weight that seemed to hollow him from the inside out.

Rapi hesitated, sensing his detachment. “I can come back later if you’re too tired, sir,” she offered, her voice holding an unusual gentleness. He shook his head, a faint, tired smile touching his scarred lips.

“No, Rapi. Stay,” John’s voice was soft, almost as if the words were meant more for himself than for her. Silence stretched between them, and when he finally spoke, his gaze held a troubled flicker. “Do you… wonder if you're still human?”

Rapi held his gaze, a calm expression on her face, though a faint wariness stirred in her eyes. She didn’t hesitate as she replied, as if she were reciting an unshakable truth she’d long since accepted. “Commander, we may look human, but we’re weapons first. Built for one purpose, to follow orders.”

John’s jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I don’t see it that way,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Her lips softened into the faintest, almost wistful smile. “It’s not really about how you see it,” she said quietly. “The longer you’re around us, the more you’ll understand. That’s just… how it is.”

As the words hung between them, John studied her with a quiet intensity. The way she spoke of herself as a weapon grated against something deep within him. It struck him as a lie she was accustomed to telling herself—a role she assumed, perhaps, but not one he could accept. In her loyalty, in the fierce determination he had seen her show, there was something undeniably human, something true and strong that she carried whether or not she could admit it.

She wasn’t a weapon. Not really.

A memory flashed through his mind—of her pulling Anis and Neon back from the brink of succumbing to Gravedigger, of her unyielding resolve in the field. Those weren’t the actions of a mere weapon but of someone driven by a deeper purpose, someone he could trust with his life. Rapi might see herself as a weapon, but to him, she was a person, complete and whole, far more human than he felt he could ever be.

Meanwhile, Rapi’s eyes drifted over the lines of exhaustion and anguish etched into John’s face, and she saw a man weighed down by ghosts she could only guess at. The shadows of battles fought and lives lost clung to him like armor. But still, he looked at her as though she were something solid, something more whole than she felt within herself. If only he knew. The only reason she kept fighting wasn’t for herself—it was for… her. A presence she felt she carried within her, something greater than herself. And in that way, she was nothing more than a vessel.

They both stood in silence, two sides of the same hollow coin, seeing in each other what they could never accept in themselves. To him, she was the unbreakable soldier. To her, he was the resolute leader. And yet, they each believed themselves nothing more than a shadow of what the other saw.

Neither spoke of it.

-

In the sterile stillness of the medical wing, two days after his unexpected awakening, John was struggling to stay upright. The dull ache of healing injuries coursed through his body, and every movement felt like trudging through quicksand. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the pain hold him back, though he hadn’t taken more than a few successful steps before nearly collapsing. Fortunately, Privaty was there, steady and composed as she offered her arm for support, her expression a calm yet subtly attentive one.

“Commander, if you’re going to insist on walking,” she said, her tone as straightforward as ever, “at least let me help you. You’re not exactly in top form.”

John attempted a dry chuckle, though it came out more like a cough. “It’s fine. Just… need a bit more practice.”

Privaty’s lips thinned slightly in mild disapproval, but she didn’t press him further, simply holding steady. She had been assigned to help him reach his meeting with Andersen, a task she seemed to treat with her usual professionalism. It was clear from the focused look in her eyes that she didn’t view him with sympathy but rather a duty to get the mission done. He appreciated that—it was the exact lack of pity he wanted.

They were halfway down the corridor when they saw someone approaching from the other end. John squinted, trying to make out the figure who walked with the easy confidence of someone well-accustomed to this place. As the figure came into focus, John’s eyes widened, surprised by the familiar face of Takumi. He hadn’t seen him in months.

“Takumi,” John greeted, his tone almost casual, as though he were encountering an old friend at a coffee shop instead of a hospital hallway. He barely had a chance to get another word in before Takumi closed the distance in three brisk strides, his gaze fixed on John with an intensity that belied his usually cool demeanor. Before John could react, Takumi wrapped him in a tight, almost crushing hug.

The embrace caught him off-guard, and for a split second, John hesitated, uncertain of how to respond. He wasn’t used to this—Takumi had always been more reserved, careful with his displays of emotion. But now, the hug was unrestrained, almost desperate, as if he’d been holding back this moment.

“John…” Takumi’s voice was low, filled with a quiet relief and a hint of something else—guilt, maybe? “You idiot. You had me thinking…” His voice faltered, and he tightened his hold, unwilling to let go just yet.

John’s initial surprise softened, and he managed to lift a hand, patting Takumi’s back lightly. “Hey, it’s… it’s alright. I’m here.” He tried to keep his voice light, though a pang of warmth and sadness twisted in his chest. The embrace brought with it memories he’d tried to bury, reminders of everything Takumi had done for him—the man who had been more of a father than anyone else in his life. For a fleeting moment, John felt like he could let down his guard.

Takumi finally pulled back, though his hand lingered on John’s shoulder, gripping it tightly, his gaze sharp as he studied John’s face. “You shouldn’t even be out of bed yet,” he said, trying to sound scolding, though the concern behind it was impossible to miss. “And here you are, walking around like you’ve got something to prove.”

“Yeah, well,” John said, managing a faint smirk, “it’s either that or stay stuck in bed all day, and you know that’s not my style.”

Privaty cleared her throat, watching the exchange with mild intrigue. “Takumi, it’s good you’re here. The Commander here is determined to make it to this meeting with Andersen, whether he’s fit for it or not.”

Takumi’s expression shifted, amusement flickering across his features. “Of course he is. You were always too stubborn for your own good.” He cast a critical glance over John, noting the slight tremble in his legs, the unsteadiness in his stance. “Alright, but if you’re going to be foolish about this, at least let me help too.”

John grunted, as though he found the idea of needing help mildly offensive. But with a resigned sigh, he allowed both Takumi and Privaty to guide him down the hallway, their steady presence on either side keeping him balanced.

As they walked, Takumi leaned in slightly, his voice dropping so only John could hear. “When I saw your condition… I thought I’d lost you for good. And after everything… You had me thinking I’d never get to see you again.” He squeezed John’s shoulder as they continued down the corridor.

“I’m not that easy to kill,” John replied, a faint hint of humor breaking through, though his eyes betrayed something more—an exhaustion, a weight that even Takumi couldn’t quite penetrate.

Takumi didn’t push, recognizing the familiar look in John’s gaze as one he’d worn himself countless times over the years past.

As they neared Andersen's office, John could feel a subtle tension in the air—a quiet expectancy that had little to do with his physical strain. Takumi and Privaty continued to steady him, but there was a sense of purpose in their strides now, each step closer carrying the weight of something unspoken yet significant.

Once they reached the door, Andersen rose from his desk, his gaze sharp as he noted John's condition before nodding toward Privaty. "Thank you, Privaty. That will be all."

She gave a quick nod, glancing at John before quietly excusing herself. Andersen waited until the door clicked shut behind her, leaving the three of them alone, the silence thickening in her absence.

As they gathered in the dim light of Andersen’s office, the conversation took on an air of urgency. Andersen leaned forward, resting his hands on the polished surface of his desk, his eyes flicking between John and Takumi with an intensity that betrayed his resolve.

“Gentlemen,” Andersen began, his tone grave, “we’re standing at a crossroads—one where inaction is no longer viable. The Ark, as it stands, is a stagnant entity, mired in complacency. Without decisive leadership, it risks becoming irrelevant in a world that’s changing more violently with each passing day. What we need is more than survival; we need revival.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “We’re in dire need of someone who can rally the troops and inspire loyalty. And in combat, you’re unmatched. There’s no one better suited to set the tone, to remind them why we fight.”

Takumi crossed his arms, nodding, though his expression remained tense. “I agree with Andersen on this. Your ability in combat, John, is invaluable, but it’s not just about your strength. There’s something in your character, in the way you’ve faced all of this, that stands out. People need someone who doesn’t fight out of self-interest but because it’s the right thing to do. And you do that, even if you don’t see it in yourself.”

John remained silent, taking in their words with an unreadable expression. He looked almost reluctant, as though unsure whether he wanted to embrace the role they were describing. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet. “You're talking about a leader, huh? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen myself that way. I just… keep going. But if you think that’s what’s needed, I can do that.” His gaze turned introspective, almost resigned. “But leading? I’ll be out there, doing what needs to be done, but don’t expect me to be in any spotlight.”

Andersen’s eyes softened, and he nodded. “Your skills are best used where the need is immediate, and I understand your reservations. But I still believe you’re the one we need on the front lines, especially with the Ark’s current state.” He sighed, his voice tinged with frustration. “The Ark is stagnant, growing comfortable in isolation. What was once a vision of hope has become little more than a fortress. Over fifty years ago, we had people who believed in its potential, who had the strength to see it through. That hope has faded.”

Takumi’s expression hardened, his gaze shifting from Andersen to John. “Humanity’s future is at stake, more than even the Ark’s survival. John, Andersen is right about the Ark growing complacent, but there’s threats from within the ark and outside it.” He paused, his eyes distant, as if recalling some dark memory. “We both saw it with our own eyes - the reincarnation of a special-grade curse. It’s the kind of thing that shakes the foundations of everything we’ve fought for. If we can’t rise to meet these threats, we’re lost.”

Andersen nodded, leaning forward. “The Ark once had a clear vision—a covenant of safety and progress. But that vision has eroded, replaced by bureaucratic squabbles and risk-aversion. It’s left us vulnerable, both to threats within and to external forces waiting for an opportunity. We are at a point where strong, visible leaders must step forward. Individuals who can reforge the Ark’s purpose and align it with humanity’s survival.”

He fixed his gaze on John. “Which brings us to you. I believe you are uniquely positioned to embody this shift. Your strength in combat, your willingness to endure—these are traits the people within the Ark need to see. They need to believe that such resilience is still attainable. I need a figure who can lead by action, someone capable of being both shield and sword. I need you, John.”

John met Andersen’s gaze, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of skepticism crossed his eyes. He took a measured breath before speaking, his tone steady, almost resigned. “It sounds like what you’re describing isn’t a leader. It’s a weapon—a tool. If that’s what you’re looking for, I’ll fulfill that role. I’ve always understood my place to be on the front lines.” He paused, glancing at Takumi. “But if you need someone to inspire people, I don’t know that I’m the best choice.”

Takumi’s brow furrowed, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Andersen, he has a point. The Ark doesn’t just need a field commander. We need a figurehead to rally around, someone who can spark hope. And John being in that position—highly visible—could draw dangerous scrutiny from the Jujutsu Society. Neither I nor John want to risk their attention towards us.”

Andersen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t dismiss your concerns. The Jujutsu Society’s influence is extensive and self-serving. I’m well aware that placing John too visibly at the forefront could paint a target on his back, especially with how they monitor any rising threat or deviation from their control. However,” he continued, glancing meaningfully at John, “I’m convinced that someone with your skills and principles is what the Ark needs to survive this juncture. And not as a mere ‘tool.’”

Takumi nodded, but his gaze remained wary. “Andersen, there are elements within the Ark that won’t support a single leader if they feel they can manipulate things from the shadows. I know you’ve considered this, and that’s why I’d suggest placing this burden on more than one individual. We need other commanders or figureheads to deflect attention, spread the visibility.”

Andersen’s expression hardened, frustration flashing briefly beneath his otherwise composed demeanor. “Believe me, I’m aware of the factions at play within the Ark,” he replied. “You’re right—its governing bodies are a maze of agendas, tangled interests. What I’m suggesting is a coalition of those who are both capable and dependable. Leaders who can act independently but share a common purpose.” He paused, scrutinizing John’s reaction. “There’s another commander I’ve been observing closely, someone with promise. But I need to be sure she’s suited for what lies ahead.”

John’s gaze remained steady, his voice cool. “A coalition, then. If that’s what it takes to keep the Ark from crumbling, I’ll do my part. But don’t mistake what you’re getting.” His tone shifted, carrying a subtle edge. “I know what you’re asking, and I’ll carry it out. But I won’t be anything more than what I am. I’m a weapon, a field leader. Don’t expect more than that.”

The shadows deepened in Andersen’s office as he leaned forward, his eyes unwavering. “Another thing John. If you recall, you were instructed to prepare for a mission to locate the Pilgrim who assisted us against Chatterbox before you headed to the Outer-rim. The situation has escalated. The research base in the Frozen North, where she was last tracked, has gone dark. Missed transmissions—three in a row—indicate a potential breach. This connection is critical. We need any data that could lead us back to Chatterbox, or at the very least, to confirm what became of her.”

A flicker crossed John’s expression as Andersen continued, his tone grim. “Recently, I’ve uncovered information suggesting that someone high up has found a way to corrupt Nikkes just as they’re sent on mission, slipping past the Aegis barriers without setting off any warnings. This method aligns with some… disturbing theories. Whoever is responsible could be working alongside Chatterbox. And as the first Rapture we’ve encountered with sentience, with intelligence—his existence is a threat on its own. If he’s allied with someone within our ranks, it’s far worse.”

Memories washed over John like a wave, drawing him back to a haunting image etched in his mind.

Marian’s face—soft, resigned, as if carrying a burden of acceptance—lingered.

“Don’t do this,” he’d murmured, voice barely a breath. “We can fix this. We can save you.”

Her head shook gently, her gaze calm but final. “Some things can’t be fixed, John.” Her thumb rested over his on the trigger, steady. “It’s okay.”

Time slowed as the world faded, narrowing to the quiet space between them. He remembered the weight of the pistol, the softness in her eyes, the shared understanding in that silence. A single tear had slipped down his cheek, cold against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Her smile softened further as she leaned forward. “Me too.”

Their fingers tightened together, pressing the trigger.

The pistol’s crack shattered the silence, reverberating into the stillness. Marian’s body relaxed, her eyes drifting closed like she was finally at peace. John knelt beside her, hands trembling as he draped the coat he’d given her earlier over her still form, his fingers lingering on the fabric as though it could somehow hold her. But she was gone.

Blinking, the memory dissipated, replaced by Andersen’s steady voice drawing him back to the present.

“We’ll need you and the Counters ready to deploy within a week,” Andersen said. “Ingrid’s preparing a custom exoskeleton for you—a cast of sorts to help with recovery while ensuring your mobility. You’ll need every advantage in this mission.”

John’s jaw clenched, resolve flaring in his eyes. “Appreciate it, but I don't need a week. The trail’s already cooling, and we can’t afford to lose any more ground.” He straightened, voice firm. “We’ll head out in two days. I’ll manage without the exoskeleton.”

A brief look passed between Andersen and Takumi, a shadow of unease flickering before Andersen gave a nod. “Two days, then. Prepare yourself, Commander. I trust you’ll be ready.”

Chapter Text

In the closed traditions of the Jujutsu Society, the arrival of twins was rarely cause for celebration. Born under the same stars, they were believed to bear too much of the same fate, an anomaly in a world that prized singular gifts. Twins, they said, bore the seeds of discord. Where one should rise, both would fall.

-

The hallway was silent, the soft shuffle of footsteps echoing as the two teenagers walked side by side. The faint overhead light caught their blond hair—a stark contrast to the black-haired Zenin clan members passing by, each glance carrying silent judgment.

Jun walked with his shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground as though avoiding even his sister’s glance. His steps were slow, burdened by the weight of another disappointing day, another reminder of the silent verdict hanging over them.

Beside him, Mei kept her head high, her chin lifted in defiance despite the bruises from her match. Her lips pulled into a mocking smirk as though daring anyone to comment. Her voice broke the silence, forced bravado coloring her tone. “Hey, that wasn’t so bad, right?” She forced a casual shrug, throwing a punch in the air with a grin. “Next time, they won’t stand a chance.”

Jun gave her a sidelong look, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but his gaze was still somber. “Sure,” he replied softly, his tone devoid of her false cheer. “Just a bit.”

Mei nudged him in the ribs, irritation flickering over her face. “Come on, at least pretend to believe me,” she muttered, though her voice held more desperation than she intended.

They passed a cluster of older clan members, who didn’t bother hiding their disdain. The whispered words—waste of Zenin blood, weaklings—hung in the air, a constant refrain that had settled into the twins’ bones. One elder shook his head in disgust, muttering to his companion, “Such a shame. Born of a great lineage, and yet...”

Mei’s shoulders tensed, and she lifted her voice slightly, forcing the bravado back into her tone. “Just wait. I’ll show them—I’ll be the best. I don’t need anyone’s approval.”

Her words rang hollow, and Jun flinched, the weight of her desperation too familiar. Mei glanced at him, searching his face for reassurance, but he kept his head turned, hands clenched in his pockets.

As they approached the courtyard, they saw their parents waiting under the stone archway. Their father, Zenin Ryo, stood with arms crossed, his gaze icy as he watched them approach. Beside him, their mother, Hana, stared somewhere past them, her expression an unreadable void. Neither warmth nor pride softened her features, as though the twins were little more than an inconvenience.

Jun instinctively lowered his gaze, shoulders shrinking under his father’s steely look, while Mei forced herself to keep her chin high. She gave Jun’s arm a quick squeeze, her lips set in a hard line.

Their father’s voice sliced through the silence, cold and sharp. “You really outdid yourself today, Jun. I expected more. Weakness like that reflects on all of us, do you understand? You make our clan look pathetic.”

Jun swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ground. He managed a nod, words stuck somewhere in his throat.

Mei bristled, unable to hold back. “Oh, so now you care about appearances?” Her voice was cutting, her tone drenched in sarcasm. “Coming from the man who’s been with half the women in the clan, that’s rich.”

Ryo’s gaze snapped to her, and without a word, he raised his hand and struck her. The force of it sent her stumbling back, clutching her cheek, the sting of it silencing her. Hana watched with detached indifference, turning on her heel to follow her husband as he walked away.

Jun moved to help his sister up, but she shrugged him off, forcing herself to her feet with a strained grin. Her voice was brittle as she forced a laugh. “Guess I struck a nerve.”

Jun’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t have to say that, Mei. You know he’s looking for any excuse.”

Mei shrugged, brushing dust off her clothes. “Better me than you.” She straightened, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s go watch some real fighters. Maybe we’ll learn something.”

The twins found seats at the edge of the stands, watching as two fighters squared off in the arena. One was a young Kamo clan member, Riku, his movements graceful and fluid. His opponent, an outsider adopted into the Gojo clan, was a dark-haired teen introduced as Anāman. The announcer’s voice echoed over the crowd as they began, describing Riku’s elegant, almost theatrical style. By contrast, Anāman’s movements were sharp, unadorned, and brutally effective.

Jun leaned forward, unable to hide his admiration. “He’s… good,” he muttered, awe coloring his tone. “There’s no wasted movement. Every hit lands with purpose.”

Mei scoffed, crossing her arms. “And he’s an outsider. Figures he’d get respect just for that. Meanwhile, we can’t catch a break.”

Jun shot her a look. “You know it’s usually worse for outsiders. They’re treated like they don’t belong… but he’s different.” He nodded toward Takumi Gojo, who stood near the edge of the ring, watching Anāman with something close to pride.

Mei’s gaze hardened. “Look at that,” she muttered bitterly. “He’s treated like family while we’re ignored.”

Jun watched Anāman, sensing something in his movements, something beyond skill. He looked to Takumi, noting the almost familial warmth between them. “Maybe he’s earned it,” he suggested quietly. Mei’s hands tightened on the railing. “Must be nice,” she muttered. “Having someone who cares. It’s unfair.”

Jun didn’t respond, but he couldn’t shake the thought as he watched Anāman dominate Riku, driving the Kamo boy to abandon his polished style in favor of desperate defense.

As the match concluded, Jun nudged Mei, a spark of determination in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s talk to him. Maybe… maybe he’ll train with us.”

Mei’s expression shifted, reluctant. “You really think he’d bother with us?”

Jun nodded. “It’s worth a shot. He might understand.”

-

The two of them approached Anāman as he spoke quietly with Takumi, his demeanor relaxed yet focused. But as another figure neared—a severe-looking instructor from the Gojo clan, his face shadowed with disdain—a subtle shift passed over Anāman. Jun noticed it, a flicker of fear in his eyes that mirrored his own when his father was near. It was a look he’d seen in Mei too, the same unease that marked anyone who’d grown used to fear.

The instructor’s gaze bore down on Anāman, lips twisted into a sneer. “Still wasting your time on this stray, Takumi? A pity to see your skills squandered like this. There are real members of the clan who deserve that time. Not some… outsider.”

Takumi’s expression remained calm, but a sharper edge colored his tone. “Funny, considering he was under your instruction before I took him in. And from what I’ve seen, he’s made more progress since.”

The instructor’s face darkened, anger flashing in his eyes. “Is that so?” He turned to Anāman, his voice lowering to a menacing tone. “Perhaps your progress has given you ideas above your station, boy. A reminder might do you well.”

For a moment, Jun saw Anāman’s shoulders tense, the brief flash of fear in his gaze revealing a history of intimidation. Memories of harsh “training sessions” he’d endured at the hands of this very instructor surfaced, bringing back physical scars and emotional wounds alike. But instead of shrinking, that fear shifted into something colder, a smoldering defiance.

Anāman met the instructor’s gaze, his voice steady but laced with bitterness. “Station? That’s rich, coming from someone who couldn’t even do his own job right.”

The instructor’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping lower, each word weighted with threat. “You’d better remember who you’re speaking to. Insolence has its price.”

Anāman’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, the glint in his eyes grew fiercer. “Oh, just fuck off you stupid prick.” His words landed with finality, biting and unapologetic.

The instructor’s face tightened, momentarily thrown by Anāman’s words, before he regained his composure, anger simmering beneath the surface. Takumi, sensing the tension rising, placed a firm hand on Anāman’s shoulder, offering both a steadying presence and a clear dismissal.

“Perhaps,” Takumi said coolly, “you should take up your concerns with someone who shares them.”

The instructor gave them a final venomous glare before turning on his heel, retreating into the crowd with an air of suppressed fury.

Jun watched in awe, admiration stirring as he took in Anāman’s unyielding stance. He hadn’t expected to see fear give way to defiance, nor had he anticipated seeing an outsider who held his ground so firmly. Anāman, an outsider to the society, had carved out a place not by submitting but by challenging the very expectations others had set for him.

The twins lingered in the shadows of the courtyard, waiting until they saw Takumi step away, leaving Anāman by himself. Jun shot a quick, uncertain glance at Mei, his nervousness clear as he tried to work up the courage to approach him.

Mei gave him a nudge. "Go on, Jun. You wanted to do this," she whispered, a smirk on her face, though her own hesitation was evident.

With a gulp, Jun stepped forward, his voice coming out a bit too soft. "Uh, hey, Your Anāman right?… I was, uh, wondering if… if maybe you could, you know, run a train with us?"

Anāman’s face went blank for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processed what Jun had just asked. His eyes widened slightly, and he took a step back, giving the twins a look that was half shock, half horror. He had heard enough about the Zenin clan’s notorious family dynamics, but this… this was a level he hadn’t expected.

"Uh… sorry, what did you say?" Anāman stammered, looking from Jun to Mei as if waiting for one of them to clarify this potential nightmare.

Jun’s face flushed, utterly unaware of the misunderstanding, and he stammered, “I mean… we thought maybe you could… help us get stronger?”

Seeing the confusion on both sides, Mei stepped forward, rolling her eyes. “Oh for—he means train with us. You know, sparring. Drills.” She shot her brother a look. “Not whatever that sounded like.”

Anāman visibly relaxed, his shoulders losing their tension as he realized his mistake. He gave a slight chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Training. Sorry, I, uh, misunderstood.” He cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “So… you both want to train with me?”

Jun nodded quickly, trying to look confident again despite his embarrassment. “Yeah. I saw how you fought, and… well, you didn’t seem afraid of anyone. We want to learn how to be like that.”

Anāman studied them both, the hint of a smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. “Well, if you’re serious about it, I’ll show you a few things. But you’d better be ready to work hard. Takumi doesn’t go easy on me, and neither will I.”

Mei smirked, her usual bravado returning. "We can handle it."

Anāman nodded, a glint of respect in his eyes. “Alright then. Meet me here tomorrow morning, and don’t be late.”

-

In the Jujutsu Society, twins were viewed with superstition and suspicion, seen not as two separate individuals but as a single entity split into two bodies. Such a division, the elders claimed, would inevitably lead them to weigh each other down, their shared potential weakened, forever pulling each other back from true greatness. In a world that demanded singular strength, twins were believed to be an imbalance—two halves destined to remain incomplete.

-

Jun and Mei waited in the training yard, faces bored from waiting for the improtue trainer. Mei’s scowl deepened as she spotted Anāman walking casually, his posture relaxed as if he hadn't kept them waiting. In one hand, he held a small box, which he opened as they arrived, revealing two slices of apple pie.

“Thought you might want something sweet,” Anāman said, offering them each a slice with a nonchalant smile.

Mei snatched hers without a word, eyes narrowed as she took a bite. To her, the gesture felt hollow, almost mocking. This outsider, a non-clan member, a latecomer, was giving her pie like she was a kid he was trying to appease. She caught Jun giving her a look, but she ignored him, focusing on the training ahead.

Anāman’s calm voice broke the silence. “So, are you two ready to show me what you’ve got?”

“Yeah, if you’re actually ready to train,” Mei shot back, a hint of irritation lacing her tone. She barely waited for his response before taking her stance, her arms tense, eyes challenging.

Jun watched her, sensing her frustration. He took his place beside her, nodding to Anāman. “We’re ready. Let’s go.”

Anāman stood in a simple martial arts stance “Cursed technique: Ruinous Gambit!”

The training began slowly. Anāman deflected their initial attacks with a kind of effortless grace that only heightened Mei’s frustration. She and Jun worked to synchronize, each one throwing basic strikes that were meant to get a feel for Anāman’s movement, to lure him into their rhythm. But every time they thought they’d caught him off-guard, he slipped away, sidestepping or blocking with almost no effort.

Mei clenched her teeth, feeling like he was playing with them, toying with her in a way that only stoked her anger further. She moved faster, striking with more force, but he just blocked her fist, glancing briefly at Jun as if encouraging him to strike harder, faster.

Finally, Mei glanced at Jun, nodding slightly. It was time to activate their technique.

Jun and Mei’s cursed technique, "Twin Pulse," manifests as two interdependent abilities that reach their peak only when used together. Jun’s Resonant Impact channels cursed energy from the surrounding area into his strikes. Mei’s Phase Disruption releases cursed energy waves that alter and amplify Jun's pulses when synchronized, creating sudden, destructive bursts. Combined, their techniques form a continuous cycle of energy that generates devastating shockwaves, with each pulse enhancing the other’s force, resulting in potent, oscillating waves that can destabilize and overwhelm anything in their path.

But for the technique to work, they had to be perfectly aligned, each acting as one half of a single force.

Jun shifted into position, his gaze steady as he began absorbing Mei’s pulsing energy. They moved in concert, aligning their energies to create a field that grew stronger with every second.

Anāman’s gaze shifted, his expression sharpening as he sensed the shift in the air. The field pulsed, vibrating through the ground and causing loose stones to tremble.

Mei’s eyes glinted with a mix of excitement and defiance as she launched a pulse toward Jun, their energies converging. Jun stepped forward, his fist now glowing with amplified cursed energy, and struck out at Anāman with a force meant to shatter anything it touched.

But Anāman was ready. He sidestepped lazily at the last second, letting the wave of energy pass by him as it struck the ground, causing a small explosion of dust and debris. He moved into the disrupted field, slipping between Mei and Jun before they could re-synchronize.

Anāman redirected one of Mei’s pulses by striking the ground, disrupting the medium the waves were traveling through, deflecting it just enough to break the flow of their resonance. Mei’s face twisted in frustration as the alignment faltered, and Jun’s power sputtered, losing its potency.

In the next heartbeat, Anāman struck. His movements were fast, precise, first catching Mei off-balance and sweeping her feet from under her. She hit the ground with a grunt of frustration. Before Jun could react, Anāman closed the distance, blocking his next strike and twisting him around, sending him sprawling to the ground beside Mei.

They lay there, breathing heavily, their technique dismantled as easily as a strong gust of wind disperses smoke.

“Your synchronization is good,” Anāman said, his tone neutral, almost instructive. “But relying entirely on it makes you predictable. What happens if you get separated? Or if someone disrupts the resonance? You’ll need to think beyond just working as one.”

Mei shot him a glare as she sat up, her jaw clenched. “Right. Just another way of saying we’re weak.” She dusted herself off, trying to ignore the sting in her pride.

Anāman tilted his head, unfazed by her attitude. “Not weak. Just inexperienced. You’ll get there if you keep working at it.”

Mei scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, thanks for the advice,” she muttered, though her voice was tight with resentment. It felt like he was just another person looking down on them, hiding behind polite words and unwanted advice.

Jun, however, looked at Anāman with newfound respect, taking his words to heart. He reached out a hand to help Mei up, his gaze thoughtful. “We’ll work on it,” he said, giving Anāman a nod. “Thank you.”

Anāman returned the nod, his gaze shifting to Mei for a moment before he turned away. As Anāman turned to walk away, Mei called out, her voice edged with frustration and a hint of curiosity. “How did you figure it out so fast?”

Anāman paused, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Because my own technique wasn’t anything remarkable when I started out,” he replied, his tone unusually candid. “I’d trained it to what I thought was its peak… until I realized I wasn’t being nearly creative enough. It took a lot of studying—physics, chemistry, human biology—all of it, to bring it up to a level I was satisfied with.” His gaze softened slightly, as if recalling his own struggles. “Along the way, I picked up enough residual knowledge to recognize some of the principles behind your technique.”

Jun’s eyebrows raised, a mix of admiration and confusion flickering across his face, but Mei remained unconvinced, still trying to decipher his method.

Anāman took a breath, then added, almost as an afterthought, “And smell helped.”

Both twins blinked, staring at him in bewilderment.

“Smell?” Mei echoed, her voice dripping with skepticism. “How does smell tell you anything about our technique?”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Anāman’s mouth, but he didn’t elaborate. “That’s for you two to figure out,” he said simply. Without another word, he walked away, leaving the twins with more questions than answers.

Jun turned to Mei, scratching his head. “Smell… what could he mean by that?”

Mei’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she watched Anāman disappear around the corner. “I don’t know,” she muttered, determination flickering behind her gaze. “But I’m going to find out.”

-

Mei’s journey to master her technique began with a growing pile of old books she could barely afford. The covers were faded, and some of the pages were torn, but they held what she hoped were the keys to a deeper understanding. She had physics and chemistry textbooks stacked beside her, though the biology texts she wanted were beyond her budget. With a mix of determination and frustration, she threw herself into the material, convinced that learning the fundamentals of how things worked in the physical world might help her grasp the potential Anāman hinted at in her cursed technique.

She started with basic physics. Force, mass, energy—all these concepts floated on the page, taunting her as she struggled to connect them with what she felt during combat. Cursed energy flowed through her like a second pulse, but now she realized she had never thought about how it moved or what laws it obeyed. Anāman’s words lingered in her mind, a challenge that drove her forward. She needed to understand what he had seen in her and Jun’s technique that she was missing.

Late at night, when the rest of the Zenin household was quiet, Mei sat hunched over her desk, her eyes fixed on the diagrams and formulas in the physics book. She tried to map her cursed technique onto the forces she read about. When she and Jun activated their technique, it felt like a resonance—an oscillating, powerful connection between them. She struggled with concepts like wave interference, energy transfer, and momentum, finding parallels to her own abilities but unable to fully articulate them. She read about harmonic motion and imagined how it could apply to the energy she and Jun generated together.

At first, the formulas and equations swam before her eyes, nothing more than symbols on a page. But as she worked through simple problems, drawing connections to her own experiences in combat, something started to click. She began to understand how energy could travel and change, how force could build and break, even how two different energies, when synchronized, could amplify each other. She imagined her technique as a wave, riding the currents of cursed energy that she and Jun could create together. Slowly, she began to appreciate how cursed energy might interact with the rules of the world it inhabited, bending and warping physics but never fully escaping it.

But Mei wasn’t naturally gifted in academic pursuits. Every paragraph, every diagram was a battle of comprehension, and often she felt like she was losing. Her brow stayed furrowed, her pencil frequently snapping under the pressure of her grip as frustration mounted. The science didn’t come easily. She couldn’t remember half the definitions, and the equations felt distant from the raw, instinctive power she was accustomed to wielding. She was a fighter, not a scholar, and the gap between these two worlds often seemed insurmountable.

One night, after struggling through another particularly dense chapter, she sighed and pushed the book away, staring at the notes she’d scratched out on a piece of paper. She glanced across the room where Jun was reading, half-asleep but ready to help her whenever she asked. With a groan, she called him over.

“Jun, what the hell is a ‘wave function,’ and why does it even matter?” she asked, rubbing her temples in frustration.

Jun joined her at the desk, looking over the mess of notes she’d scrawled. “A wave function? It’s… well, it’s a way of describing how something moves or acts in space, kind of like cursed energy, right? Imagine if our technique was a wave, and every time we synchronized, it amplified. It’s like resonance.”

Mei stared at him, the wheels turning in her mind. “Resonance… like when we line up our cursed energy perfectly, and the technique hits harder. You think that’s what Anāman was talking about? That we’re using this resonance effect?”

Jun nodded slowly. “Maybe. Our technique works best when we’re completely in sync. It’s like we’re building off each other’s energy, like two waves joining to make something bigger. Maybe that’s why we have to use it together—it doesn’t work otherwise because it relies on that perfect alignment.”

Mei leaned back, a glimmer of excitement cutting through her exhaustion. “So if it really does work like that, we should be able to control it better by understanding these… wave principles. But then, what did Anāman mean by ‘smell’?”

Jun shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the books on her desk. “Maybe it’s just his way of saying there are things we don’t usually notice. Or maybe it’s something specific to our cursed energy that he picked up on. Either way, it seems like he wanted us to see beyond what we’re used to.”

The thought gnawed at Mei for the next few days. She returned to her books with fresh purpose, poring over concepts that went deeper than raw strength—concepts that probed into the nature of energy and resonance, of how two forces could align to create something more powerful. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake her frustration at the idea of “smell.” She felt like she was hitting a wall, grasping at something just beyond reach.

Finally, her patience broke. Determined to get answers, she tracked down Anāman after a training session, cornering him as he was heading out of the training grounds.

“Hey!” Mei called out, her tone edged with impatience as she approached him. “You said something about ‘smell’ helping you understand our technique. I’ve been studying, trying to get what you meant, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

Anāman turned, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Oh? Still stuck on that, are we?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, I’m serious. I’ve put in the work. I’ve read about resonance, about wave principles—I’ve done everything I can think of. But I still don’t get what smell has to do with anything.” Her voice was tight, almost pleading, though she masked it with irritation.

Anāman studied her for a moment, then sighed, feigning reluctance. “Alright, alright. You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” he said, chuckling. “Tell you what—I’ll give you a hint. But it’ll cost you.”

Mei narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

“Apple pie,” he replied with a mischievous grin.

She rolled her eyes, but within the hour, they found themselves seated in a small café, each with a slice of pie in front of them. Mei waited impatiently, her gaze fixed on Anāman as he savored the first bite, clearly taking his time just to annoy her. Finally, he leaned back, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

As they sat in the café, Anāman finally shared his insights, pulling the layers of their technique apart with an ease that was both infuriating and inspiring.

“Your technique,” he began, “has a very distinct pattern. I figured it out partly because of the smell as it moved through the ground—it gave away the energy fluctuations and, in turn, the timing. Everywave subtly shifted the grass and earth, putting out a distinct smell that I could use my technique to pick up on. Each pulse of cursed energy you sent out was precise, identical, almost like clockwork.”

Mei frowned, trying to process what he was saying. “The smell… helped you figure out our timing?”

Anāman nodded, smiling as if to encourage her to think further. “The scent told me the energy was moving in waves, like sound or light, and each pulse was exactly the same, and that it would not continue past where Jun was standing. This led me to conclude that the pulses somehow helped Jun. By observing—smelling—for the peaks, I could predict exactly when Jun’s strength would surge. That regularity, that rhythm, made it easy to anticipate his attacks.”

Mei’s face twisted in frustration. “So, it was predictable? We were making it easy for you?”

Anāman shrugged, though there was no arrogance in his tone, only honesty. “Your synchronization is impressive, but it’s a double-edged sword. If you’re too consistent, anyone with enough experience can pick up on it and time their moves accordingly. Your technique has a lot of power, but it’s limited if you follow the same pattern every time.”

He took a bite of the apple pie she’d brought, letting his words sink in, then added, “Think of your waves like a beat. You don’t want them to be too predictable. Throw in some irregular pulses, shift the timing or wavelength, surprise the opponent. That way, they’re never able to track it or time it as I did.”

Seeing her disappointed expression, he leaned back and gave a final piece of advice. “The smell tip I gave was a bit of a trick question,” he admitted. “It wasn’t just about the scent but about training you to pick up on all aspects of your technique—how it feels, looks, even sounds. You need to see it from all angles. Combat skills alone aren’t enough; awareness and control over every part of your technique are what will make it truly powerful. We do not have the same level of experience, not yet, so don't be discouraged”

With that, he gave Mei a meaningful nod and walked away, leaving her to absorb the insight, now fully aware that the way forward would require more than just raw strength.

-

As Mei and Jun talked together later that day, Mei shared everything Anāman had told her, trying to pass along the lessons she had learned. Jun, though interested, was caught by a single phrase Anāman had said: "We do not have the same level of experience, not yet, so don’t be discouraged." His words echoed in Jun’s mind, lingering in a way that felt strange. Anāman was around their age—so where had this “experience” come from?

Later that night, unable to shake his curiosity, Jun made his way to the kitchen for some coffee. As Jun made his way back to his room with a steaming cup of coffee, he nearly stumbled upon his grandmother standing alone in the dim hallway, her posture as straight and silent as stone. She seemed almost lost in thought, her gaze distant and unfocused. For a moment, he hesitated, but he swallowed his nervousness and stepped closer, his voice quiet.

“Grandmother,” he began, gathering his courage, “I… I wanted to ask you something.”

She turned slowly, her sharp eyes landing on him with a faint glimmer of curiosity, though her expression remained unreadable.

“Speak,” she replied, her voice as quiet as it was firm.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at the coffee in his hands. “I… I wanted to ask about Anāman. You know, he seems to have a lot of experience—more than me or Mei. And he’s our age, so… I just wondered how that’s possible.”

For a few heartbeats, his grandmother remained silent, her gaze shifting to some distant point in the dim hallway. Jun was about to take her silence as an answer and excuse himself, but then she spoke, her voice softer, almost reflective.

“Do you know, Jun, that the blood of our clans has grown weak?” she began, the words measured and deliberate, carrying the weight of something long held back. “There was a time when our blood alone was enough to carry the strength of our ancestors. But time… and tradition, have taken their toll.” Her eyes drifted back to him, sharp and piercing. “In the last generation, some of us saw this, saw that we needed to bring in fresh blood to restore our strength.”

Jun’s eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the implication. Bringing in new blood? It was almost unthinkable within the Zenin clan.

“You… you mean… outsiders?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Some of us fought to integrate outsiders. Not just for their cursed techniques but for the strength they carried in their blood—untouched by years of selective breeding and the pride that blinds too many in our society. I wanted them to be a part of our families, to build a stronger foundation, but…” She paused, a hint of bitterness slipping through. “The politics were beyond me. Others with louder voices and more ‘refined’ sensibilities saw my intentions as a threat to tradition.”

Jun watched her carefully, piecing together the implications of her words. “But… there are outsiders in the clans now. Even Anāman…”

His grandmother nodded slowly. “Yes, but not in the way I’d hoped. They were not given true kinship. Instead, they were scattered, used as tools, pushed into the outer reaches where the curses grow more feral.” She tilted her head, studying Jun’s reaction. “Our clan members are protected, sent only to places where the spoils are guaranteed and risks are minimal. The outer rim, though… that is where we send the expendable. Those of lesser blood.”

The words struck him, heavy and unfiltered. He felt the depth of her disappointment—not just in the clan’s decision but in what it symbolized.

“Anāman… he’s one of them, isn’t he?” he asked, the realization dawning on him.

“Most likely,” she replied, her tone colder now. “He’s been hardened by real combat, by experiences that you, raised in the security of the clan’s embrace, can barely imagine. That boy may stand here now, but his fate is written in blood.” She paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “No matter how strong he is, he will not survive past twenty-five. Not out there.”

Jun’s heart sank, the revelation settling heavily in his chest. He tried to grasp what she had just said. Anāman’s strength, his resilience—it was all born from survival. And survival, she seemed to suggest, came with an expiration date for those cast out to fend for themselves.

He looked at her, wanting to ask more, to understand how she could accept this so coldly, but before he could open his mouth, she turned, a finality in her movements.

“Remember, Jun,” she said, her voice a ghost in the dim corridor, “strength and tradition are not always the same. We created this fate for those like him.”

Jun watched his grandmother disappear down the dim hallway, her words echoing in his mind, settling over him like a weight he didn’t know how to lift. For a moment, he stood alone, coffee forgotten, his grip tight around the cup as if the warmth might ground him. But her revelations lingered, unfolding inside him with a strange clarity that made him shiver.

He had always known the Zenin clan was strict, even ruthless, in its standards, yet he’d never imagined that anyone in their ranks would suggest diluting their blood. The idea of outsiders merging with clan blood felt almost taboo, a challenge to everything the clan held as sacred truth. And yet… the logic was undeniable, as sharp as the winter air. The strength of the clans, once a proud claim, had grown stale, and beneath that pride lay a hollow decay. Her words had exposed the cracks in the foundation of everything Jun had been taught to value.

And then there was Anāman. The thought of him drifted to the forefront of Jun’s mind, a complex image made all the sharper by what his grandmother had revealed.

No matter his strength… he’ll be dead before he reaches twenty-five, his grandmother had said, her tone heavy with resignation. Those words struck a note of despair Jun hadn’t expected, a revelation that even the mightiest were not immune to the consequences of their lives. His own fears—of disappointing the clan, of failing to live up to their expectations—paled in comparison to what Anāman had likely faced out there, fighting curses in isolation, far from the protection of the family’s name.

The corridors felt emptier as he walked back to his room, each step heavy with the knowledge he had gained. He could almost see Anāman, standing alone in some desolate field in the outer rim, his eyes sharp, posture unwavering, yet carrying that flicker of fear Jun had glimpsed during their encounter with Anāman’s old instructor. That fear had been real, a response honed by experiences Jun could only imagine—enough to make anyone question their own strength. But what had stood out even more was how quickly Anāman had transformed it, turning that fear into defiance, wielding it like a weapon rather than a weakness.

Jun’s thoughts spun as he considered this. Anāman’s experience made him something else entirely—a person who knew both fear and survival, and perhaps, for that reason, respected power without becoming consumed by it. He seemed to understand something about himself that Jun was only beginning to grasp. How did someone live like that, knowing every day might be their last?

By the time he reached his room, Jun’s mind was buzzing with questions, each one laced with the strange feeling that his path had irrevocably shifted. He felt the world open up before him, larger, more intimidating, and undeniably real. He was no longer just a child in the Zenin clan. He was beginning to see himself as a part of something far greater, something shaped by those who fought not only to survive but to reclaim what power they could, even if it was at the cost of their lives. And in that realization, he could almost feel the eyes of his grandmother and Anāman upon him, each waiting to see which path he would take.

-

In the traditions of the Jujutsu Society, twins were seldom welcomed with open arms. They bore the weight of a shared fate, an anomaly that disturbed the delicate order of singularity so deeply revered. Where one spirit was meant to rise, two tangled souls could disrupt the balance. They were seen as one—one essence split in two, destined to drag each other down in a world that demanded strength in solitude. Together, they could rise. But together, they could also fall, each step heavier under the weight of the other.

-

Jun stood alone in the center of the vast hall, surrounded by the silent, judging faces of the Zenin elders. The cold light filtering through the narrow windows cast harsh shadows, sharpening the lines on his face as he held his head high, his gaze fixed forward. His heart pounded, but his voice remained steady as he delivered his request.

“I want to be assigned to the outer rim,” he said, his tone unwavering.

A ripple of disbelief ran through the assembled elders, their eyes narrowing, murmurs rising in low tones. His father sat among them, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that hinted at amusement rather than pride. He crossed his arms, regarding his son with a detached curiosity, as though he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

One elder finally spoke up, his voice laced with a barely concealed disdain. “The outer rim, you say? A curious request. Are you aware of what that entails, boy?”

“Yes,” Jun replied, meeting the elder’s gaze without flinching. “I want the real experience. I want to face what’s out there.”

His father’s mouth twisted, but there was no warmth, no sign of approval. If anything, he seemed almost entertained. “So, the boy wants to prove himself,” he said with a sneer, his words cutting through the silence. “You want to be rid of the safety these walls offer, do you? Fine. Go prove yourself. We won’t stop you.”

Another elder nodded, waving a hand dismissively as though this request was hardly worth their time. “Very well, your request is granted. You leave at dawn.”

Jun inclined his head, accepting their decision with a calm resolve. His gaze shifted momentarily to Mei, who stood off to the side, her face a mask of shock and disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but the words seemed to stick, her eyes searching his for some explanation he couldn’t offer here.

As he turned to leave, he noticed his mother standing in the doorway, watching him with that same empty expression she always held. There was no pride in her gaze, no warmth—only a distant, smoldering resentment that had cast a shadow over him his entire life. She made no move to approach, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes staring somewhere just beyond him.

Jun swallowed, the weight of her indifference heavier than any curse. Still, he forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for something—anything—that would tell him he mattered to her, even a little. “Goodbye, Mom,” he murmured, the words laced with a hope he couldn’t quite bury.

She didn’t blink, didn’t soften. Her gaze was cold, as though she were merely observing a stranger. “You are no child of mine,” she replied, her voice flat and emotionless, as if she were stating a simple, irrevocable fact.

The words struck like a blow, the finality in them leaving him momentarily breathless. He stared at her, but her expression didn’t change, her eyes already drifting away from him, as if he were no longer worth the effort.

A hollow silence filled the room as she turned and walked away, her back to him without a second glance. Jun clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand tall, the sting of her rejection settling deep within him like a cold ache he would carry long after he left this place.

-

As he crossed the compound toward the outer gates, Mei caught up to him, her face flushed with anger and desperation. She grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her, her voice a mixture of fury and heartbreak. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her fingers digging into his sleeve. “Why are you doing this, Jun? This isn’t… this isn’t a game. You could get killed out there.”

Jun gently pulled his arm free, meeting her gaze with a firm, unyielding expression. “Mei, I need this. I need to get stronger. Real strength isn’t something I can find here, hiding behind these walls, going through the same motions day after day.”

“You think running off to the outer rim is going to make you stronger?” she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness. “You think throwing yourself into danger is the answer? This isn’t just about you, Jun! You’re my brother—you’re all I have!”

Her words wavered, the fear and hurt bleeding through her anger. Jun’s face softened, but he shook his head, his resolve unwavering. “I’m not doing this to leave you behind, Mei. I’m doing this so I can become someone worth protecting you, worth protecting both of us.”

Her fingers clenched, trembling as she tried to keep her composure, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “So you’re just going to abandon me here?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Leave me alone with… them? Leave me to deal with all this on my own?”

“It’s not abandonment,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, though she pulled away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to lose you, Mei. But if I stay here, I’ll never be more than what they want me to be. And neither will you.”

She laughed, but the sound was hollow, filled with bitterness. “You think you’re so much better than this? That going to the outer rim is going to turn you into some kind of hero?”

Jun’s jaw tightened, his gaze steady. “I don’t care about being a hero. I just want to be free from this… from them. And if that means I have to go to the outer rim, face whatever’s out there, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Mei shook her head, her face hardening as she forced herself to stand taller, masking her pain with a forced sneer. “Fine. Go. Run off to the outer rim if it makes you feel better about yourself. But don’t expect me to be here waiting for you to come back in one piece.”

Jun’s gaze softened, the ache in his chest deepening as he looked at her, his heart heavy with the weight of their parting. “I never wanted to leave you behind, Mei. But sometimes, to find yourself, you have to walk away from what’s familiar.”

She stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off, her footsteps echoing down the path, each step carrying her further away from him.

Jun watched her go, his hands clenched at his sides, the urge to call her back twisting inside him like a knife. But he stayed silent, swallowing the words that lingered on his tongue, knowing that nothing he could say would change the path he had chosen.

He turned back toward the road leading away from the compound, the weight of his decision settling over him as he took his first steps into the unknown. This was his path now, a journey he would face alone, for better or for worse. And though it would take him far from everything he’d known, he knew that somewhere beyond the horizon lay the answers he had been searching for.

-

In the months that followed, Jun’s journey through the outer rim hardened him in ways he hadn’t expected, the harsh realities of life there carving themselves into him with relentless precision. Each battle was grueling, each fight chipping away at the ideals he’d held onto, filling the cracks with a dull, unyielding exhaustion.

In one fight, he clashed with a cursed spirit larger than any he’d faced before, its many limbs flailing wildly in the thick fog that hung over the desolate landscape. He barely had time to react, dodging to the side as a claw raked through the air where he’d stood. His movements were sharp, controlled, each strike landing with brutal force. But the moment it was over, he’d simply be handed his next mission, another name, another location—no recognition, no respite.

In the villages and settlements scattered across the outer rim, he saw more of the lives he’d been assigned to protect. Families huddled together in makeshift shelters, their faces gaunt and hollow, the constant threat of curses hanging over them like a cloud. The people here were different—harder, worn down by years of living under constant fear. Their eyes flicked over him with a mix of wariness and resentment, an outsider in their midst, his clan name meaningless in a place that had little need for pride or prestige. Their lives seemed devoid of hope, driven by the harsh necessity of survival rather than the ideals he’d once clung to.

And the sorcerers assigned to the outer rim? They were mercenaries, cold and detached, their gazes blank as they extorted coin for exorcisms with little regard for the lives at stake. More than once, he overheard their conversations, talk of lucrative contracts in safer areas, the disdainful chuckles as they spoke about the villagers they’d saved—people to whom their services were merely transactional, obligations that they’d fulfill for the right price. The sense of duty he’d once believed to be inherent to a sorcerer seemed all but absent here, the ideals of the clans eroded by greed and indifference.

He tried to speak to one sorcerer after a particularly brutal fight, asking him about the principles they were sworn to uphold, about the purpose behind their duty. The sorcerer only laughed, his gaze as hollow as the desolate landscape around them.

“Principles? Out here? You’re green if you think ideals mean anything this far out. Out here, we survive. Nothing more,” the sorcerer had scoffed, turning away without another word, leaving Jun to stand there, his hands clenched at his sides.

Each encounter left him with a heavier heart, a creeping sense of doubt beginning to burrow into his mind. He’d come here to grow stronger, to find a purpose beyond the walls of the Zenin compound, but now he found himself wondering if there was any purpose at all. He was seeing strength in its rawest form, stripped of the honor and pride his clan spoke of—strength that was selfish, that cared nothing for the people it affected.

One night, he found himself sitting alone under the dim glow of a fire, his arm resting across his knees, the flickering light casting shadows over his face. The exhaustion weighed on him, deeper than any physical fatigue, a weariness that gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

“Is this what it’s all for?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the darkness around him. The memory of his sister, her determined smile, her defiance in the face of their family’s scorn, drifted to the forefront of his mind. She’d have told him to keep fighting, to prove them all wrong. But here, in this wasteland where duty meant nothing and survival was all that mattered, her voice felt distant, almost unreal.

The days dragged on, each fight blurring into the next, his purpose slipping away with each cursed spirit he exorcised. He was losing himself, his vision clouded by the brutality he saw around him, by the indifference of the sorcerers who walked beside him. It was all he could do to keep going, the fire in him flickering, weaker with each passing day.

And yet, he continued, even as his doubts grew louder, even as the light within him dimmed. The ideals he’d held to so fiercely back home felt like fragile things here, easily crushed under the weight of reality. And as he looked out over the desolate landscape of the outer rim, he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever really existed at all.

-

The safehouse was dim, its narrow hallways filled with the muffled sounds of snoring sorcerers and the distant rustle of shifting bodies. Jun lay on a thin cot, staring up at the ceiling, sleep evading him as restlessly as his own thoughts. His mind was a mess of doubt and fatigue, the harshness of the outer rim etched deep into his mind. He exhaled, giving up on rest. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his pack of cigarettes, and made his way up to the roof, hoping the chill air might clear his head.

Once on the roof, he lit a cigarette, coughing as the smoke hit his lungs. He’d only started recently, but the habit had become something to anchor him, a small rebellion against his own weariness. The night was cold, faint lights in the ever distant ceiling of the outer rim scattered across it like distant embers, their glow faint. He took another drag, letting the silence settle over him.

Movement on the ground below caught his eye, and he tensed. Someone was approaching the safehouse, their figure moving with ease through the wards and barriers like they weren’t even there. Heart pounding, Jun flicked the cigarette away and moved to the edge of the roof, ready to intercept—until he saw the stranger’s face.

Anāman.

The two of them locked eyes in the dim light, and Jun’s shock softened into something warmer, unexpected—a fleeting sense of familiarity. Anāman just grinned, hoisting up a bag he carried over his shoulder and giving it a playful shake. He climbed up to the roof without a word, settling beside Jun and pulling out an assortment of snacks, along with a bottle of vodka. He handed over a pack of chips and twisted the cap off the bottle, taking a long swig before passing it to Jun.

They ate and drank in silence, the distant sounds of the outer rim falling away as the vodka warmed Jun’s throat and the quiet presence of Anāman took the edge off his loneliness. Finally, after a while, Jun looked over, unable to hold the question back any longer.

“What makes you keep fighting?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Anāman’s usual mischievous expression softened, and he smirked, “For the love of the game,” he joked, a glint of humor in his eyes. But he could see Jun was serious, so he leaned back, his gaze drifting to the horizon as his face took on a rare, earnest expression. “Honestly? Helping people just feels good. That’s all there is to it. I don’t need another reason.”

Jun stared at him, processing the simplicity of his answer. Anāman fought because it felt right, because it mattered to him in a way that didn’t need justifying. Jun took another drink, his voice quieter as he spoke again. “How do you…deal with all the fear? The death? How do you stay… sane? How do you handle it so well”

Anāman paused, his face unreadable. “Who says I handle it well?” His tone was flat, and Jun almost laughed, thinking it was another joke—until he saw the seriousness in Anāman’s eyes, a depth of weariness that mirrored his own. Anāman didn’t dwell on it, though, and instead reached for another cigarette, lighting it as the silence stretched between them.

Jun took a drag of his own, studying the quiet determination in Anāman’s face. Here was a sorcerer who faced the same horrors he did, the same relentless fear, yet still held onto something pure, unbroken. Jun wondered if he’d ever find that within himself, or if he’d let this place hollow him out entirely. They smoked together, letting the quiet settle over them as if it could keep the weight of the world at bay, just for a moment.

After a while, Jun looked over, the vodka easing the edge off his words. “Next time, drinks are on me. I’ll get us something proper. Sake, maybe.”

Anāman scoffed, shaking his head. “Sake tastes like shit.”

-

Three years had passed since Jun had left the Zenin compound. The world beyond had reshaped him, molded him in ways he hadn’t expected, ways that left marks deeper than the scars on his skin. His eyes, once bright with determination, now held a tired but unyielding focus. Yet, as he approached the familiar walls of the Zenin estate, he carried himself with a quiet dignity. There was no grand purpose in his return, but there was a clarity, a resolve: to become strong enough that he and his sister could live the life they deserved.

The gates loomed ahead, and for a moment, a pang of doubt crept into his heart. But it was brief, overshadowed by a sense of calm he had worked hard to cultivate. As he stepped through the threshold, he noticed a figure walking toward him from the courtyard, her form silhouetted against the morning light.

It was Mei.

She walked with a new confidence, her steps firm and unhesitating, but as she neared, her gaze softened, and her pace slowed. Her physique had changed dramatically in his absence, her body honed, muscular, each step a testament to the time and effort she had poured into her training. She looked powerful in a way he hadn’t seen before, not just physically but in the quiet, unwavering way she carried herself.

Neither of them spoke at first. They simply stood there, taking each other in, both aware of the years and experiences that had passed between them without words to fill the space.

Finally, Mei moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that was both fierce and tender. The roughness of her grip, the warmth of her arms—it grounded him, settled the last of his doubts. She didn’t need to say it, but he could feel it, the pride she had in his return, the unspoken bond between them.

“Welcome home,” she murmured, her voice soft but filled with a depth he hadn’t heard before.

Jun felt a weight lift from him, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting himself feel that simple sense of belonging, the quiet joy of returning to someone who truly understood.

-

In the closed traditions of Jujutsu Society, twins were seen as a single soul split across two bodies, a concept met with suspicion. Even if they were content to exist as two halves of one whole, others rarely accepted it. Power, after all, had a way of blinding others to the subtleties of their bond.

-

Over the next month, Jun and Mei gradually found their rhythm again, falling into a familiar yet changed companionship. They spent hours together, exchanging stories of their past battles and the challenges they had faced while apart, each filling in the blanks left by years of separation.

Mei, who had become a Grade One sorcerer over a year ago, was treated with a newfound respect by the Zenin clan. Her formidable skills and unapologetic attitude had earned her both admiration and fear from the other sorcerers. Yet she was still Mei—bold, sharp-tongued, and always with a hint of defiance in her gaze. Some of the elders regarded her with a begrudging respect now, but she knew, as Jun did, that their acceptance came with unspoken conditions, lingering doubts.

One evening, they found themselves on a quiet terrace overlooking the training grounds. The lanterns cast a soft glow, illuminating their faces as they sat side by side. Mei leaned back, stretching her arms, a confident smile on her lips as she gazed at the stars.

“It’s been strange, you know,” Jun began, a hint of admiration in his voice. “Seeing how everyone looks at you now, like you’ve always belonged here. I never doubted it, but… it’s good to see it, to see them finally recognize it.”

Mei shrugged, though a proud smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “They don’t really respect me, not in the way they respect the others. They’re just scared I’ll be more trouble if they keep treating me like they used to.” She scoffed, though the edge of bitterness was gone. “It’s easier to pretend I’m one of them now that I have the title. But titles don’t mean everything. Not to me, not anymore.”

Jun nodded, absorbing her words. He was still striving for that recognition, that elusive Grade One title. The elders had noted his progress, his discipline, and the confidence he’d brought back from the outer rim, but he knew he hadn’t proven himself yet—not by their standards. Yet being here, beside his sister, reminded him of why he was on this path.

“They might promote me someday,” he mused, half to himself. “But… I’m not sure it matters as much as I thought it did. Not if it means bending to fit into their mold.” He glanced at Mei, his voice growing steadier. “I think… being strong enough to protect us, to make sure we can live as we choose—that’s what matters to me now. I want us both to have that freedom.”

Mei’s expression softened as she looked at him, her usual sharpness replaced with a warmth she rarely showed. She reached over and ruffled his hair, a playful glint in her eyes. “Look at you, finally sounding like someone I can be proud of.” She smirked, but it was genuine, without the teasing edge. “But seriously, Jun… you’ve come a long way. Whether they see it or not, I do.”

Jun managed a smile, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thanks, Mei. I’m glad I have you on this path with me.”

They sat in companionable silence, both absorbing the quiet understanding that had always been there between them, even when the world seemed determined to separate them. They knew there would always be those who feared their bond, who would never understand the strength that came from being two halves of the same whole.

But it didn’t matter. They had each other—two parts of a shared destiny, each walking their own path but forever intertwined, carrying forward with the strength they’d forged alone and together.

-

The air was thick with incense and formality as Jun and Mei's grandmother was laid to rest in the Zenin compound’s small, secluded family cemetery. It was a quiet affair, attended by only the immediate family and the most senior members of the clan. The funeral rites were solemn, a ritual steeped in tradition and the kind of reverence that carried weight only to those with a stake in the clan’s carefully crafted legacy.

Ryo stood among the elders, his face an impassive mask, though his eyes held a flicker of something darker. As the rites concluded and the attendants drifted away, he stayed with a few of the clan’s senior members, their heads close in hushed conversation.

“It’s a relief, truly,” one elder murmured, glancing back at the freshly covered grave. “She held too much sway. If she’d kept her way, we’d be a clan filled with strangers instead of strength.”

Another nodded. “Her ideals of bringing in new blood and outsiders—it would have diluted everything. This clan was built on tradition, on the strength of our lineage. Now, with her gone, we can finally act.”

Ryo’s mouth tightened, a faint scowl pulling at his lips. “Yes. A shame she couldn’t see reason. And now… we have an image to uphold. A front to restore.” He looked off toward the compound, where the echoes of their ancestor’s decisions and sacrifices reverberated in every stone and shadow. “We’ve been weak for too long, letting her drag the Zenin name down with these absurd notions.”

“With her gone,” Ryo began quietly, his tone steely, “the path is clear to proceed with the plan. This isn’t just about restoring the clan’s prestige; it’s about enforcing our legacy. We need to project strength, authority—pride.”

The elder beside him nodded, his voice low, tinged with a conspiratorial satisfaction. “Precisely. The girl will make a fitting heir, embodying the pride of the Zenin name… though, it’s a shame about the choice.” He shook his head slightly. “A daughter to uphold the Zenin strength—unusual, but the alternatives…” He trailed off, glancing at the dossier in Ryo’s hands.

Ryo followed his gaze, lips curling in faint disdain as he looked down at the familiar face in the dossier. Jun’s image stared back at him, a stamp across the page reading eliminate. “There’s no place for weakness,” Ryo continued. “To secure the girl’s loyalty, to bind her strength to us, we have to remove her twin. They are two halves of the same existence—when one falls, the other rises.”

Another elder, who had been listening closely, chimed in with a cold chuckle. “The bond of twins... yes, they draw power from one another. By eliminating him, we’ll force a surge in her cursed energy, channeling all of it into a single vessel.”

Ryo’s face hardened as he slipped the dossier back into his coat. “Exactly. His death will strengthen her—she will feel the loss, understand the necessity of loyalty, and recognize that our power is her only family. This, after all, is for the Zenin pride.”

The elder beside him smirked. “You think she’ll suspect?”

“Not a chance,” Ryo replied dismissively. “Intelligence is not her strength. She’s fierce, but she won’t question the power she gains from his death. In her mind, it will be fate, a shift to further her destiny with the clan. That way, her loyalty to us will deepen along with her strength.”

The gathered elders nodded, satisfaction settling in the air between them. The woman buried at their feet had, in her final days, stood in the way of this decision, shielding her grandchildren from the clan’s plans. But with her death, the path was clear, the clan’s future purified of distraction and softened family ties.

They lingered in silence a moment longer, casting one last glance at the grave behind them. It was all for the clan. With the boy gone, Mei would become a weapon—one crafted from loss, sharpened by tradition, and bound unknowingly to their ambition. The Zenin legacy would stand stronger, unified and unchallenged.

-

In the quiet of the night, Jun lay sleeping in his quarters, the faint hum of the compound’s surroundings settling into an uneasy silence. Outside his door, shadowed figures moved with careful, trained steps, their breaths barely audible, blending seamlessly with the darkness. One assassin crept forward, his eyes fixed on Jun’s still form, and in one fluid motion, he plunged his dagger deep into the figure’s chest.

Satisfied, he turned to make his exit, but the faintest sound stopped him. There, standing by the door, was Jun—very much alive. As his stunned gaze flicked back to the bed, the assassin realized the figure he had stabbed was another figure entirely, a different assassin who had been assigned to keep overwatch. Before he could react, Jun’s fist shot forward, colliding with his jaw and sending him crashing through the window into the night air.

Jun moved with newfound awareness, his eyes sharp, his body braced. He had learned to feel the currents of cursed energy flowing around him, honing his senses to anticipate attacks even before they fully formed. His sensitivity allowed him to sidestep attacks and evade strikes with uncanny precision, as though the energy itself whispered to him.

Before he could catch his breath, more assassins poured into the room, surrounding him in a tight circle. Jun felt the familiar thrum of cursed energy emanating from each one. As one lunged at him, Jun dodged, his hand brushing the attacker’s arm briefly. He closed his eyes for an instant, feeling the cursed energy pulse from his opponent, allowing him to siphon it just enough to disrupt the attacker’s strength.

He twisted, using the stolen energy to amplify his own movements. Another assassin lunged at him from the side, and Jun countered by ducking low, sweeping his leg to trip the attacker. With a sharp elbow jab, he sent the assailant sprawling across the floor.

As they regrouped, Jun sensed their hesitation, a flicker of caution that he intended to exploit. He fought with ruthless efficiency, using any tactic available. His foot lashed out, kicking dirt from a broken vase into one assassin’s eyes, blinding him just long enough for Jun to land a devastating punch. He felt another presence behind him and dropped low, grabbing a nearby chair and smashing it backward to shatter his attacker’s knee.

Despite his skill and grit, they were relentless, coordinating in groups, trying to corner him. He blocked and dodged, but fatigue was seeping into his muscles. Suddenly, one of them slipped behind him, blade raised and poised to drive it into his back.

Jun’s senses screamed, the cursed energy flaring behind him. He had only a split second to act.

Just as the blade was about to sink into Jun’s back, the ground beneath his attackers suddenly crumbled and the walls of the room collapsed, disintegrating into dust as violent waves of cursed energy pulsed outward, spreading from a figure standing defiantly at the edge of the courtyard. In the clearing dust and debris, Mei stood, her hands outstretched, energy swirling around her in controlled, devastating pulses. The waves surged in opposite directions, tearing apart the ground under Jun’s would-be killers but canceling each other out as they reached Jun, leaving him untouched and safe within a narrow circle of calm amid the chaos.

She smirked as the assassins stumbled back, momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected display of raw power. Mei’s voice cut through the silence, cold and mocking. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see it coming? That I wouldn’t notice you stalking my brother?” She took a step forward, her gaze sharp as knives, eyes flicking over the stunned assassins with seething disdain. “Or maybe you thought I was too naive to see how our own clan would try to take us down? How foolish could you be?”

Jun, still catching his breath, looked over at his sister, a surge of both relief and shock passing through him. Mei had been watching over him all along, anticipating their family’s betrayal. But her eyes didn’t meet his; instead, they stayed locked on the assassins, fierce and unyielding. He could see the hurt in her expression, beneath the fury—a quiet, simmering resentment at the realization that their family, their blood, would stoop this low.

The assassins exchanged uneasy glances, but their leader, sneering, stepped forward. “So you figured it out,” he spat. “Doesn’t matter. Orders are orders. The clan has decided to keep only one of you around. It’s nothing personal.”

Mei laughed, the sound hollow, bitter. “Nothing personal?” she echoed, her voice sharp with disbelief. “All those years of training, of fighting for them—and for what? To be cast aside? To be hunted down by our own blood?” Her fists clenched, the cursed energy around her crackling with raw intensity.

Jun felt a twist in his chest as he watched her, anger simmering under his own skin. But he knew now wasn’t the time for questions. They had to survive first. Nodding, he positioned himself beside Mei, meeting her gaze briefly. It was a look of understanding, of shared betrayal. Together, they would fight for each other—no one else.

Without warning, Mei unleashed another wave of cursed energy, the ground splintering under the impact as she struck. Jun charged forward, using the opening she’d created to slam his fist into one of the assassins, siphoning the man’s cursed energy to bolster his own strength. The two of them fought back-to-back, seamlessly weaving their attacks, an uncanny familiarity guiding their movements. Mei’s technique disoriented the assassins, while Jun’s enhanced reflexes and experience in the Outer Rim allowed him to exploit every opening, every flaw in their opponents’ attacks.

But as they fought, more assassins poured in, surrounding them, closing the circle tighter. Jun felt his energy waning, his movements slowing, and Mei’s cursed energy pulses became more erratic, leaving dangerous gaps in their defense. He glanced over his shoulder at her, worry gnawing at him as he saw her wavering.

Just as he landed a blow on one of the assassins, another one slipped through, lunging toward Mei from behind. “Mei, look out!” Jun shouted, but she was already aware, her energy pulsing in time to disrupt the strike. But they both knew they couldn’t keep this up much longer. The sheer number of assassins was overwhelming them, and they were out of options.

A momentary pause settled over the courtyard as the last of the assassins regrouped, preparing for a final assault. Mei’s breathing was labored, her face slick with sweat. She shot a fierce look at Jun, determination in her eyes. “We’ll survive this, Jun. Together. We’re not going to let them win.”

Before they could act, however, one of the fallen assassins stirred, a dangerous glint in his eye as he channeled the last of his energy into a desperate final strike. Mei noticed his movement first, her gaze snapping to the assassin, understanding dawning in her eyes as she realized what he intended. The air grew thick with a charged silence, the threat of imminent danger crackling like static.

“Run!” she shouted, throwing herself between Jun and the incoming surge of energy. Before he could react, an explosion ripped through the courtyard, a flash of blinding light and searing heat. The force of it hurled him back, slamming him into the ground, and then—darkness.

-

Jun woke up days later in a dimly lit room, the sterile scent of a makeshift infirmary filling his senses. Disoriented and weak, he tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his body, forcing him back onto the bed. Fragments of memory flashed through his mind—the blinding explosion, Mei’s voice shouting, her silhouette framed by the violent light, and then… nothing.

A doctor at his bedside noticed his stirring and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her expression somber. “You’re awake,” she said softly, her tone filled with cautious sympathy. “You were lucky to survive.”

Jun’s heart sank, dread pooling in his stomach. His mind raced with questions, each one filled with a gnawing sense of fear, but he forced himself to ask the one that mattered most. “My sister… Mei… where is she?”

The doctor's face fell, her gaze lowering as she shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “Your sister didn’t make it. She… she protected you until the end.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, the weight of them sinking deep into his chest, suffocating him. He stared blankly at the doctor, his mind refusing to process the meaning behind her words. Mei, his twin, his other half—gone. The realization tore through him, raw and unforgiving, as the weight of her sacrifice crushed him.

He lay back against the bed, numb, hollow, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. She had known. Mei had seen the betrayal coming, had understood the risks, and she had given everything to protect him. His chest ached, grief mingling with a rage so fierce it left him trembling. His sister, the one person who had always stood by him, had been taken from him by their own family, by the very people who should have protected them both.

Jun lay there, his body heavy with pain, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache settling deep within his chest. The doctor had left him alone with the quiet hum of medical equipment, the sterile scent of antiseptic, and the raw emptiness Mei's absence left behind.

A slow, familiar rhythm of footsteps echoed down the hallway, interrupting his dark reverie. Jun didn't need to look up to know who it was; his father’s presence was unmistakable, a weight pressing down on the room before he even stepped inside. When Zenin Ryo entered, he surveyed the room with a quick, calculated glance before his gaze settled on Jun, his expression a strange mix of pride and indifference, as if surveying a prized horse after a hard race.

“Well, look at you,” Ryo began, his voice smooth and self-satisfied. “Surviving an attack like that—clearly, you’re stronger than they anticipated.” He took a few steps closer, hands clasped behind his back as he continued in a low, almost smug tone, “Not that it wasn’t expected. You have the blood of the Zenin clan, after all. Such strength and resilience can’t be taken down so easily, no matter who tries.”

Jun’s gaze stayed fixed on the wall, his face void of expression. Every word grated on his nerves, twisting the knife of grief and betrayal even deeper. His father’s attempt at sounding paternal only heightened the burning disgust in his chest.

Ryo didn’t seem to notice or care about Jun’s silence; he was already busy crafting a new narrative. “We have our suspicions about the attackers. They’re likely from one of those rogue factions outside the clan,” he continued with a feigned air of concern, as if he were presenting some carefully rehearsed lie. “They must’ve felt threatened by the Zenin name and sought to weaken us by striking at my children.” He clicked his tongue in mock disdain, his gaze narrowing as he affected an expression of righteous anger. “But they miscalculated—attacking someone as strong as you… a fatal mistake on their part.”

Jun’s hands curled into fists under the blanket, his knuckles white. The rage simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to remain still, his face unreadable. He knew the truth. The truth that his father, his clan, were the ones who orchestrated the attack. The man standing before him, masquerading as a proud and caring father, had ordered his own children’s death.

Ryo’s eyes swept over his son’s silent form, evidently satisfied by the lack of protest. His mouth twisted into a smirk, a self-satisfied gleam lighting his eyes as he straightened, pleased by his own theatrics. “I know you’ll recover quickly, Jun. We’ll make sure our enemies regret ever thinking they could weaken the Zenin bloodline,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You’ll rise stronger, and your sister’s… unfortunate sacrifice will not be in vain.” His voice turned almost dismissive at the mention of Mei, as if her life had been a minor inconvenience rather than a tragic loss.

Jun finally turned his gaze to his father, his expression icy and unyielding, his eyes burning with quiet, controlled fury. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. The silence between them grew thick, the cold disdain in Jun’s eyes speaking louder than any words ever could.

Ryo either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the silent accusation in his son’s gaze. Instead, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, his chest swelling with pride at the apparent obedience his son displayed. “Good,” he said, nodding approvingly as if Jun’s silence was an affirmation of loyalty rather than the disgust it truly was. “The Zenin bloodline will stand strong, no matter what.”

He turned on his heel, walking out of the room with the same confident stride, a picture of arrogant satisfaction. As the door clicked shut behind him, Jun’s fists tightened further, his nails digging into his palms, leaving red half-moon marks on his skin. The room felt colder, emptier in the silence that followed, and the hollow ache Mei had left behind grew sharper, harder.

His father’s satisfaction was like poison, curdling in his veins. He had betrayed them, he had orchestrated Mei’s death, and now he walked away with the satisfaction of a job well done, blind to the simmering rage and the oath of vengeance taking root in his son’s heart.

-

The incense smoke drifted lazily through the grand hall of the Gojo Clan’s headquarters, carrying with it a faint bitterness that clung to the walls like the ghosts of past decisions. Shadows stretched long and sharp across the marble floor, bisected by thin beams of cold light that slipped through the high windows. Takumi stood rigid, his face a mask of unreadable calm as he finished his report.

“…The explosion was caused by a gas pipe rupture in the warehouse during the fight with the curse,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection. “Anāman was unable to escape in time.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the faint creak of an elder shifting in his seat. Their eyes were cold, indifferent, like judges weighing the worth of a pawn. One elder leaned forward, his face etched with both age and disdain, his gaze like a dagger.

“A tragic end for such a promising young sorcerer,” he murmured, dripping with insincerity. “But that is the risk of trusting outsiders. Perhaps if we had kept a tighter leash on such a wild mutt, he’d still be alive.”

A few of the elders shared thin smiles, their quiet, mirthless chuckles echoing off the cold stone walls. Takumi’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, a flicker of tension under his calm exterior, but he lowered his head, bowing in submission as the elder gave a dismissive wave.

“You’re excused, Takumi,” the elder said with a faint smirk. “We’ll consider the matter closed.”

Takumi bowed deeply, his steps precise and measured as he exited the hall. The phrase “matter closed” clung to him, a bitter reminder of how Anāman’s life was weighed, found lacking, and cast aside like so much dust. But as he walked down the long, dim corridor, he caught sight of a figure waiting at the far end—a young man with piercing, furious eyes, his blond hair catching the faint light. Their gazes locked, and for a brief moment, a flash of understanding passed between them.

Takumi continued without pause, his steps unhurried, his expression unchanging. But Jun felt something shift within him, a dark resolve settling deeper into his bones. His grandmother’s words echoed in his mind, the grim prophecy she’d shared about Anāman. In a way, he realized now, she had been right. Anāman was no longer a part of their society—he had broken away, forsaken the chains that bound him to a place that treated him like dirt. But that didn’t mean he was gone.

No, Jun didn’t believe for a second that Anāman was dead. His grandmother had warned him that the boy would be dead before he reached twenty-five, and though he’d seen darkness swallow many, he now understood Anāman’s fate was something entirely different. Anāman had made a choice—he had abandoned this decaying society, rejected its cruelty and rot, and forged his own path. And though he had left them all behind, Jun realized that Anāman’s disappearance was a kind of silent condemnation of everything their world stood for.

And now Jun, in his bitterness, his rage, could feel something else seething beneath his grief—a hunger that twisted and sharpened with each passing thought. He thought of his sister, of the nights they had spent trying to prove themselves, clawing and scraping for the approval of men who only saw them as tools. He thought of her final moments, of the betrayal that had snatched her from him, and something in him hardened, reshaped by the pain.

They had taken everything from him, and he would not let it stand.

Anāman might have chosen to abandon the fight, but Jun would not. He could not let the Zenin rot fester, nor would he stand by as the other clans preyed on the innocent under the guise of honor and tradition. No, he would do what Anāman had not: he would cast down every last one of them. His fists clenched, and a glint of dark ambition flickered in his eyes, igniting a fire within him that burned with the intensity of pure vengeance.

Yes, he would bring them all down. The Zenin, the Kamo, the Gojo—all the ancient families and their so-called “honor” would crumble beneath his feet. He would destroy their legacy, dismantle their influence, and grind their very names into the dust. Only when he stood above them, when they lay broken at his feet, would he finally be satisfied.

And from the ashes, he would take control—not just of the Zenin, but of the entire Ark. He would forge a new world, one molded in his own image, one where he and Mei could have lived free from judgment and scorn. A world where no one would suffer as they had. He would build a place where strength meant more than lineage, where power served the people, and not the other way around.

But it would not be a world of mercy or compromise. He would not offer the weak or the corrupt the chance to redeem themselves. The suffering he had endured, that Mei had endured, demanded a price, and Jun would see it paid in full. He would rule with an iron grip, leaving no room for weakness, crushing all who dared to resist his vision.

And in this new world, Mei would be there with him, in spirit if not in body. Her memory would drive him, her death would be his strength, and her sacrifice would be vindicated in the blood of their enemies. They would build a world together, even if he had to conquer it alone.

His hand brushed against the sword at his side, his gaze hardening as he turned from the Gojo Clan’s headquarters. He could feel the weight of his destiny pressing down on him, but it only fueled his resolve. He would not rest, he would not waver, and he would not be denied.

And as he walked away, the final image in his mind was that of Mei, her bright smile forever etched into his memory, a silent promise that he would make this world suffer until it deserved her.

He murmured her name under his breath, his voice a low, fierce vow. “This is for you, Mei. For everything they took from us. I will make them pay.”

-

Twins, they said, were two halves bound to the same fate, always pulling each other down. But what they didn’t understand was that twins could be more than a shared destiny—they could be the seed of something greater, a force that defied tradition. Together, they could either rise, their power intertwined, or become a catalyst, tearing apart the structures that sought to bind them. And in the end, if one fell, the other would carry that weight, turning shared grief into an unbreakable resolve, a singular will that no one could ever hope to control.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and John stepped inside, his movements stiff, each step like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. Takumi followed, his eyes immediately catching the subtle drag in John’s left leg. It was small, nearly imperceptible to anyone else, but Takumi knew better. He could see the exhaustion, the way John’s body tried to fight through the strain, the pain that still lingered from the injuries he’d sustained.

John’s eyes remained fixed on the elevator’s control panel, fingers stiff as they hovered over the button. Takumi didn’t say anything, letting him do it, but his gaze was fixed on John, watching the faint ripple in the air—the way cursed energy flowed, reinforcing his body, sealing up the fractures. It wasn’t a full, controlled wave of power, just enough to keep his legs from trembling, enough to stop them from giving out under the weight of his exhaustion. It was a temporary fix, but for John, it was necessary.

The tension in the confined space thickened as John fought to stay upright, leaning slightly against the railing. Takumi resisted the impulse to step closer, knowing full well that John wouldn’t want or accept help. So he stood a few feet away, silently observing, the quiet hum of the elevator the only sound between them.

John’s body shuddered as the elevator began its ascent. He shifted his weight, and the cursed energy flared once more, wrapping around his legs, stabilizing his stance for a moment before the tremors returned. Takumi’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. It was the only thing keeping John upright. Takumi knew it wasn’t enough.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Takumi said quietly, his voice low but firm, as he stepped a little closer, his gaze searching John’s face for any sign that he might listen.

John’s jaw clenched, and without a word, he straightened, his back stiffening as if Takumi’s words had struck a nerve. The cursed energy around John intensified, and the glow around his body pulsed visibly in the dim light of the elevator. It was stronger now—fighting against the fatigue, pushing his body forward with the force of someone who wasn’t broken. Not yet.

Takumi hesitated, watching as John’s movements became more calculated, more rigid. The faint pulse of cursed energy surrounded him like armor, but Takumi could feel the strain beneath it, see the subtle cracks forming. It wasn’t going to hold for much longer.

“You’re going to break yourself down if you keep this up,” Takumi added, voice gentle but insistent.

John didn’t answer. He kept his eyes forward, his posture stiff, as though the suggestion alone was an offense. The cursed energy surged again, more pronounced now, locking his muscles into place with a force that could almost be mistaken for strength. Almost.

Takumi took another step closer, his concern slipping through. “John—”

But John’s hand shot out to steady himself, grabbing the railing as he forced his leg forward. His body trembled under the strain, but he pushed through it, pulling with everything he had. Takumi saw the effort in his movements, the strain in his arms, the way he was fighting against his own limits.

The elevator doors opened, and without hesitation, John stepped out, his movements stiff and calculated, as though he was forcing himself to keep moving. Takumi lingered for a moment, watching him, before he followed. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of worry. John was pushing himself too far, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with him.

As they moved out of the elevator, Takumi kept his distance, his eyes flicking to John’s back, noting the tension in his shoulders, the subtle way his steps faltered.

They stepped out onto the streets of the outpost, and there at the foot of the road Rapi stood, her gaze sharp as it landed on John. She took in his stiff posture, the way his movements lacked the fluidity she was used to seeing. Takumi noticed the subtle shift in her expression—a tightening of her lips, a furrow of her brow. She stepped forward without a word, her eyes scanning him carefully.

“Commander,” she said, her voice neutral, though there was something beneath it—an edge of concern, barely concealed. “Looks like you’re on your feet.”

John chuckled dryly, the sound bitter and faint. “Guess I’m not as good at staying down as you think.”

Rapi’s eyes softened ever so slightly, but her words remained firm. “Don’t push yourself.”

John shrugged, his posture rigid as he made a conscious effort to stand taller, trying to ignore the pain creeping in. “I’m fine. Just need to get to the command center. No need for a babysitter.”

Rapi’s lips parted as if to argue, but Takumi’s voice interrupted, calm and measured. “I’ll take my leave for now.” His tone didn’t waver, but there was a weight to it—he wasn’t about to engage in the argument. “I’ve got errands for the Gojo clan, and I need to start planning the next phase of the investigation into Nuovo Impianto. I’ll meet with you tonight, though, and we can go over the results of my findings in the archives.”

John nodded, his gaze momentarily meeting Takumi’s. “Good. I’ll expect you.” His voice softened with a finality that made it clear the conversation was over. “We’ll talk then.”

Takumi gave a brief nod, his gaze lingering for just a second longer before he turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one measured and purposeful as he left them behind.

John gestured ahead, his voice low. “Let’s move.” He began walking, though each step felt heavier than the last. The weariness from his injuries crept back in, his movements slow, calculated. Before he could fully continue, he stopped. His breath hitched.

The light of the outpost’s artificial sky lit everything in a bright glow, casting long shadows along the streets. John’s mind drifted, consumed by the conversation with Takumi, the weight of what was to come. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself.

Rapi glanced over, her expression unreadable. “You alright?”

John took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Just needed a second.” He shook his head slightly, pressing a hand against the wall for support before pushing forward. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence, the streets of the outpost stretching out before them. It was a strange mix of old and new: the industrial, military feel of the facility clashing with the new signs of life. John’s steps faltered slightly as they passed a café with a cartoonish coffee cup logo, a strange incongruity in this place. He squinted at the sight, confusion flickering in his mind.

“What the hell?” he muttered, pausing to take in the sight of laughter and voices spilling from inside.

Rapi didn’t say anything, but John’s thoughts began to race. This place—once a desolate skeleton—had shifted in just a month. Now, it felt almost like a town, albeit one built on the edges of an unstable foundation. Small cafés, a toy store, even a convenience store. The outpost was transforming into something resembling a community. It felt surreal to John, almost like an illusion.

He continued walking, his body aching with every step. Despite the physical toll, he kept his pace steady, unwilling to show weakness. His hand brushed against the railing as a group of Nikkes passed by. The ease in their movements caught his attention. They weren’t just soldiers—they were people. There was something in the way they interacted with each other, something undeniably human in their presence.

They passed a small field where a few of the mass-produced Nikkes were kicking a football back and forth. The sound of their laughter cut through the air, light and easy. A young Nikke darted after the ball, her movements swift, her joy palpable as the ball rolled to a stop near John’s feet. But then she froze, her eyes locking onto John. The fear was immediate, her body rigid with hesitation.

John stopped, his breath caught in his chest. Her fear wasn’t for him—it was for his title, the weight of the Commander’s role. He wasn’t just a person to them. He was a figure of authority. He nudged the ball back toward her with a gentle tap, a simple gesture. Her hesitation lasted just a moment before she scrambled to join the game again, the fear slipping away with the reassurance of his quiet act.

Rapi, still beside him, didn’t comment. She didn’t need to. She understood. They continued walking, passing by the scattered remnants of the outpost’s growth.

John broke the silence after a moment, his voice rough from exertion. “How long have they been here? These Nikkes... how many came after the spots opened up?”

Rapi’s gaze flicked briefly to him before returning to the path ahead. “Not long. Some came looking for a place to be treated like more than weapons. Others were sent to reinforce security, but most volunteered after the first squads opened up. They wanted to belong somewhere. Not just in service, but in life.”

The weight of her words settled heavily in his chest. These Nikkes weren’t just soldiers—they were people, trying to carve out a space for themselves, to be seen as something more than tools. The idea struck him harder than expected. He had always seen them as human, but the realization of what they had been through—their need for recognition, for community—made him pause.

As they passed the café, a few Nikkes were sitting outside, chatting and laughing. The sight felt alien. These weren’t the faceless soldiers he’d grown accustomed to. They were living, not just fighting.

“You ever think about what they’re really after?” John asked quietly. “The ones who volunteered?”

Rapi’s eyes flicked toward him, her expression unreadable. She didn’t respond immediately, as if considering the question. “They want what everyone wants,” she said softly. “A chance to be more than what they were made to be. To feel human.”

John nodded slowly, his mind still swirling. The weight of his own doubts was palpable now. He had never questioned the humanity of the Nikkes, but the idea that they had to fight for recognition, to carve out a place for themselves in a world that still saw them as tools—it stung.

They reached the command center, and John paused at the entrance, looking around as if trying to process everything. The weight of his injuries began to pull at him again. Every step felt like an effort, and his body was protesting in ways he couldn’t ignore.

Rapi looked at him with the barest flicker of concern in her eyes. “You need rest, Commander.”

John shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll be fine.”

John and Rapi stepped into the command center, the door sliding shut softly behind them. As their footsteps echoed through the dark room, a sense of unease crept over him. The usual hum of the systems, the steady flicker of the overhead lights—none of that was there. The silence was almost suffocating, as if something was deliberately off. His senses sharpened, and an unshakable feeling of paranoia tightened in his chest.

The darkness felt heavy, oppressive. John’s breath hitched, his body tensing instinctively. Something wasn’t right.

His hand moved reflexively to his side, where his cursed energy surged upward, instinctively pushing past his fatigue. Ruinous Gambit. His vision sharpened almost instantly, the shadows of the room growing darker, the edges of objects now defined and precise. His body shifted into a combat stance, muscles coiling as his senses took in every detail of the room.

He could almost hear his own pulse pounding in the quiet, the stillness pressing in on him. His hand flexed at his side, barely contained power waiting to be unleashed, his mind running through scenarios—who was here? What was waiting?

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the tension broke. The lights flickered back on, and the hum of the systems roared to life.

"Welcome back!" Neon’s voice rang out, light and cheerful, almost startling in its suddenness. She stood in the center of the room, holding up a warm, golden-brown apple pie with a message written in frosting: "Welcome back."

Anis stood beside her, arms crossed, her lips curved into a rare smile. “We thought we’d give you a little surprise. Time for something sweet.”

John blinked, his muscles still coiled, his heart still pounding from the sudden rush of adrenaline. The combat stance suddenly felt absurd. He straightened quickly, forcing himself to relax as his pulse began to steady. The warmth of the pie, the smiles on their faces—it was such a stark contrast to the tension that had gripped him only a moment before.

Neon, brimming with her usual energy, added, “Happy birthday!” before popping off a small party popper, sending a tiny burst of confetti into the air. The cheeriness of the moment collided with the unease John had just been feeling.

John felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over him. His reaction had been too much. He'd let his guard slip over something so trivial as the room being dark. He exhaled, a faint smile trying to form on his lips as he stretched, feeling the ache in his hamstring. "Ah, no, no... Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this. Long day," he muttered, trying to shrug off the tension.

Anis raised an eyebrow, noticing the slight limp in his step. "You sure you're alright, Commander?" she asked, her voice carrying an edge of concern.

John nodded, pushing the soreness aside. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just got caught off guard." He smiled more genuinely this time, the weight of the surprise easing some of the tension in his chest. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Really.”

The room hummed with the soft flicker of the lights and the pleasant aroma of pie. Neon’s poppers littered the table as they settled into a quieter moment. John sat, trying to ease the pressure on his hamstring. His expression was unreadable, though his mind was still partially distracted by the weight of the upcoming mission. Anis toyed with her fork, Neon still beaming, and Rapi watched John, her expression as unreadable as ever.

Finally, John set his fork down with a quiet clink, drawing their attention. He leaned forward slightly, his tone steady but with an underlying tension. "I appreciate the welcome," he said, meeting their eyes. "But there’s something I need to tell you."

Anis’s fork froze mid-air. “What, no speech about how grateful you are for our heartfelt efforts? I even made Neon stop at three poppers instead of five.”

John’s lips twitched at the jab, but he didn’t smile. "It’s about our next mission."

The room fell silent. Rapi’s posture stiffened, her brow furrowing as she processed his words. Neon’s smile faltered, her usual energy dimming with surprise. Anis set her fork down with a low whistle. “Mission?” she repeated slowly. “You just got out of the hospital. You’re saying we’re heading out already?”

John met her gaze with a steady look. “In two days. We’re heading north.”

The room was still. Rapi’s gaze narrowed, her mind already turning over the implications. Neon blinked, confusion flickering across her face. Anis let out a low whistle, shaking her head.

“Two days?” Rapi’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and firm. “Commander, you’re still recovering. That’s not enough time for you to be mission-ready, let alone leading us.”

John’s jaw tightened, but he held firm. "I’ll manage. This mission is critical. We don’t have the luxury of waiting."

Anis leaned forward, her voice laced with disbelief. “What’s so important that it can’t wait for you to be back at full strength?”

John hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. “I’ll brief you tomorrow. For now, just know it’s urgent.”

Rapi’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing for a long moment, her mind calculating. Finally, her voice was cold but even. “You’re putting this mission above your recovery, then. Fine. But don’t expect us to be okay with this.”

Neon frowned, the brightness in her eyes dimming. “Commander, are you sure this can’t wait? I mean, we all want to get back out there, but not at the cost of you breaking yourself even more. We need your firepower intact.”

John met her gaze, exhaling slowly. “I wouldn’t ask this of any of you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. I need you to trust me on this.”

Anis threw her hands up in frustration. “Trust you? Sure. But maybe trust us enough to let us know before dropping a bomb like this. Two days isn’t exactly a lot of prep time.”

John’s shoulders slumped, the weight of their reactions pressing on him. "You’ll know everything tomorrow. For now, just be ready."

The tension lingered, unspoken but heavy. Rapi finally broke the silence, her voice softer. “We’ll follow your lead, Commander. Just… don’t forget you’re part of this team, too. We need you as much as the Ark does.”

John nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, though it didn’t fully ease the tension in his posture. He picked up his fork again, cutting a small piece of pie. He took a bite, savoring the flavor, but something about it felt... dulled. The sweetness didn’t hit him the way it used to. He chewed slowly, his eyes distant, staring at the plate.

Anis watched him quietly before sighing. “Well, here’s to a relaxing two days,” she muttered, her tone dry, but the concern was still there.

-

John lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. The faint hum of the outpost's generators, the occasional creak of the structure, and every little sound around him seemed to amplify. Each noise, no matter how small, sent a shiver through him, igniting a quiet panic in the back of his mind. His body felt like it was caught in a perpetual state of readiness, as though waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Sleep felt out of reach.

The meeting with Takumi replayed in his head, each word etched vividly into his memory.

-

They sat in John’s dimly lit office. The only light came from a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the room. Takumi slid a thick folder across the table, the pages yellowed with age, brittle at the edges. It felt like a relic from a time better left forgotten, but John’s hands instinctively reached for it, compelled to know what it held. The cover bore a single, ominous label: Project Genesis.

“Most of this is redacted,” Takumi’s voice was low, cautious, but steady. “But what remains is enough to make your skin crawl.”

John flipped through the pages. The text was hard to decipher, faded and incomplete, but the implications were still clear. An experiment, something far worse than just a simple project. The merger of cursed techniques with humans without techniques. With Nikkes.

“‘Subjects unsuitable for curse engraving terminated,’” John muttered, his voice devoid of any emotion. His hand tightened around the pages, but the grip was not to steady himself—it was to control the anger and sickness roiling in his stomach. “How many?”

Takumi’s expression hardened, a quiet disgust in his eyes. “Too many. They were desperate. Entire large groups of Humans. Nikkes. Children. They thought young, developing brains would be more adaptable.”

John’s throat tightened. He wasn’t surprised, but he hated that he wasn’t surprised. These weren’t just failures—they were lives lost. Lives used.

John’s stomach churned as he flipped to another page. The ink was faded, but the words engraving process and viability of cursed energy infusion stood out starkly. “How far did they get with this?”

“Hard to say,” Takumi admitted. “What’s here is barely legible, and most of it’s blacked out. But it’s clear they saw this as a long-term project to help combat raptures.”

John’s throat tightened. The implications were chilling. “They didn’t care how many people they killed to get there.”

“Clearly not,” Takumi replied, his voice heavy with disgust. He flipped to the last page of the file, pointing to a signature scrawled at the bottom. “But this is where it gets interesting.”

John squinted at the name. “‘Atsutada Gojo.’” He leaned back, the name unfamiliar to him. “Why does that matter?”

Takumi crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. “Atsutada Gojo was the head of the Gojo Clan at the time this project was authorized. But here’s the catch—he was a kid. Barely into his teens. He died young, somewhere in his late teens. The clan was under a regency while he was alive, led by Yuta Okkotsu.”

John froze at the name, his gaze sharpening. “Yuta Okkotsu? One of the last Special Grade sorcerers?”

Takumi nodded, his expression grim. “Exactly. And if you know anything about Okkotsu—and clearly, you don’t, since you apparently slept through your history classes—you’d know he’d never sign off on something like this. Everything we know about him points to a man who valued life and detested senseless cruelty. This project reeks of the opposite.”

John’s mind raced, his thoughts colliding with one another. “So why would his name be attached to this? Was it a cover?”

“Maybe,” Takumi replied. “Or maybe someone else in the clan was pulling the strings while he was distracted—or worse. Either way, this doesn’t align with what we know of him.”

John leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “So, we’re looking at a conspiracy within the Gojo Clan, or at least someone with enough knowledge of the internals of the Gojo clan.”

“Looks that way,” Takumi said, his tone steady. John’s eyes flicked back to the folder. The faded words and fragmented reports felt like a weight pressing against his chest. “This… Project Genesis. Do you think it’s still active?”

Takumi’s jaw tightened. “Hard to say. The files I found are over a century old, but the techniques they were experimenting with... let’s just say, they’re not impossible to reproduce.”

-

John lay in his bed, his body restless, mind spinning with the weight of what he had just learned. The conversation with Takumi kept looping in his head. He tried to shake it off, but the knowledge that something like Project Genesis could still be out there, still possibly alive and festering, made him sick to his core.

The stillness of the outpost only seemed to magnify the anxiety crawling under his skin. He could feel the hum of the generators as though they were vibrations in his bones. The creaks of the old building, the occasional groan of steel and stone shifting, sent waves of unease through him.

What if it’s still happening? he thought, his breath hitching.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts aside. Stop thinking about it. He had to. He couldn’t focus on this now. Two days until the mission. There was no time to dwell on ghosts from the past.

But it didn’t work. The thoughts wouldn’t let him go. They clawed at his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach. Two days. Two days to move forward. But in his head, Project Genesis loomed like a shadow, and sleep was a distant dream.

Chapter Text

The artificial sunlight flooded through the skylights of John’s room, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the exhaustion he felt. The clock on his bedside terminal read 12:07. He had only just woken up, his body still groggy from a restless night. The events of the past few weeks and the weight of everything on his mind had kept sleep at bay. Now, with only a few hours of rest, he rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his muscles aching in protest.

Before he could get moving, there was a soft knock on his door. It slid open slightly, and Rapi’s voice drifted in, quiet but firm.

“Commander?” Her voice was steady, but her brow creased faintly as she took in the disheveled state of the room—and him. “You were supposed to brief us today. We haven’t heard from you yet.”

John blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. “Ah… yeah, sorry. I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he said, his voice gravelly. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as the motion pulled at his still-healing side.

Rapi stepped just inside, her arms loosely crossed. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, he considered brushing it off. But her tone wasn’t accusatory—just quietly observant. He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Not much,” he admitted, keeping his gaze on the floor. “But I’ll manage.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You don’t have to manage alone, Commander. We’re a team.”

He stiffened slightly at her words, the weight of them settling heavily on his chest. “I know,” he said quickly, though the reply felt hollow. “Thanks, Rapi.”

Her eyes lingered on him, as if she wanted to say more, but she simply nodded. “Take your time. We’ll be ready.” She turned and left, the soft click of the door sliding shut leaving him alone again.

John exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Her concern felt like another weight—one he didn’t feel he deserved. You’re their leader, you’re supposed to be the one they rely on, not the other way around. The thought gnawed at him as he moved to get ready, his body sluggish but his mind refusing to let him rest.

-

The Command Center was quieter than usual, the hum of the systems filling the still air. John sat at the center table, a tin of beans in one hand and a fork in the other, lazily scooping them into his mouth. A steaming cup of black coffee sat untouched in front of him, its bitter aroma mingling with the sterile scent of the room.

Across from him sat Rapi, Anis, and Neon. Rapi’s usual composed demeanor was intact, though her sharp eyes occasionally flicked toward the tin in John’s hand, a faint crease of disapproval forming. Anis leaned back in her chair, balancing it on two legs as she twirled a pen in her fingers, a smirk playing at her lips. Neon, ever the energetic one, tapped her boots against the floor, her expression a mix of impatience and curiosity.

John set the tin aside, his expression turning serious. "Alright, team, here's the situation. Andersen assigned me a mission before I headed to the Outer Rim. We were supposed to locate the Pilgrim who assisted us during the Chatterbox incident."

At the mention of Chatterbox, the room's atmosphere shifted. Neon's usual grin faltered, her hands resting still on the table. Anis stopped leaning back, her chair landing on all four legs with a soft thud. Rapi's eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of unease crossing her face.

"She was last tracked near a research base in the Frozen North," John continued. "That base has gone dark. No transmissions for three cycles. Andersen's exact words were 'potential breach.'"

"Raptures?" Rapi's voice was sharp, her concern evident.

"Most likely," John replied. "Curses tend to hang around areas saturated in cursed energy, so unless some horrific things have been going down at the base we will be facing Raptures. The base is critical. If it's compromised, we risk losing any data they had on Chatterbox, or the Pilgrim herself."

Anis let out a low groan, crossing her arms. "Great. So we’re heading into frozen hell to deal with whatever decided to tear up this base. I swear, next time, can’t we get assigned somewhere tropical?"

"Don't worry, Anis," Neon chimed in with a grin, her usual enthusiasm bubbling up again. "The cold keeps you sharp. And it gives me more chances to hone my firepower!"

Rapi leaned forward slightly, her tone measured. "Do we have anything else? Tactical maps, known personnel at the base? Anything that gives us a clearer picture?"

John shook his head. "Not much. The transmissions we do have are vague. Last thing we heard was routine—then silence. And the location itself isn’t doing us any favors. The base is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by ice fields. Harsh terrain, minimal visibility, and temperatures that’ll freeze you in minutes if your gear fails."

Anis groaned again, louder this time. "So, we’re going in blind and cold. Perfect. Just perfect."

John gave a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Despite his attempt at levity, the weight of the mission pressed down on him. Inside, his thoughts churned. You can’t fail this one. They’re counting on you. If something goes wrong, it’ll be on you. Part of him wished he could go on his own.

Rapi nodded, her tone firm but cautious. "Understood. We’ll prepare for the worst. What’s our timeline?"

"We leave tomorrow morning," John replied. "Standard cold-weather gear. Neon, I want you to double-check all weapons and calibrations before we head out. Anis, Rapi, you’re on supply checks. Make sure we’ve got everything we need for sub-zero conditions."

Neon gave a mock salute. "You got it, Commander. I’ll make sure everything’s ready to fire on all cylinders."

Anis leaned back in her chair again, smirking. "Sure thing, boss. Just don’t expect me to enjoy it."

Rapi stood, her movements precise as always. "We’ll be ready, Commander."

John stood from the table, stretching his back with a slight wince as the strain of his injuries made itself known. He pushed the empty tin of beans aside and picked up his coffee, downing the rest in a few quick gulps before setting the mug down. He moved toward the door, his boots echoing faintly against the cold metal floor.

As he reached the exit, Anis called after him, leaning casually against the back of her chair. "Hey, Commander. Apart from all this mission prep, what else are you up to today? Or are you just gonna keep sleeping?"

John glanced back at her, one hand already on the door’s edge. "Training," he replied, his voice measured. "Need to get a bit of fitness back before we head out."

Rapi’s sharp tone cut in before he could take another step. "Absolutely not," she said, her brows knitting together in a rare show of open disapproval. "Commander, you’re still recovering. I won’t let you risk further injury by pushing yourself too soon."

John hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. "I didn’t mean physical training," he lied smoothly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth to sell the bluff. "I was talking about sorcerer-style training—mental discipline, energy refinement. Nothing that would strain me physically."

Rapi’s stern expression softened slightly, though a trace of doubt lingered in her eyes. "Good. That’s more reasonable. But I’m coming with you."

"Wait, sorcerer training?" Neon piped up, her usual curiosity and enthusiasm bubbling to the surface. "You mean like the stuff you used to fight Raptures? Count me in! I wanna see what makes you tick, Commander. Maybe I can learn a thing or two to add to my firepower!"

Anis snorted, standing and stretching. "I’m not letting you have all the fun, Neon. If the Commander’s gonna show us some mystical mumbo-jumbo, I’m tagging along. Besides, someone’s gotta make sure he’s not actually sneaking off to do burpees or whatever insane thing he’s planning."

John swore under his breath, his thoughts racing as he realized his cover was about to be blown. He had hoped to squeeze in some light physical training—just enough to test his limits without pushing too hard. But now, with the three of them tagging along, that plan was out the window.

"Fine," he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Just… don’t expect anything flashy. Sorcery’s not exactly spectator-friendly."

Rapi nodded, her focus unwavering. "As long as it’s safe for you, Commander, we’re coming. Let’s move."

Neon practically bounced with excitement, while Anis rolled her eyes but followed with a smirk. John led the way, his mind still muttering curses as he tried to pivot his plans. If he couldn’t train his body, he’d at least have to make his sorcerer training convincing enough to keep them from questioning him further.

-

The sun-like artificial light filtered through the skeletal remains of the old construction site, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete and rusting scaffolding. John sat cross-legged on the ground in the center of the site, a piece of piping held firmly in his hands. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, and cursed energy flowed subtly through the metal, faint vibrations buzzing under his fingertips.

In his mind, however, John was far from serene.

Get bored already, please. Just get bored and leave. He cursed silently, feeling the weight of their presence a short distance away. It wasn’t that he disliked their company, but this wasn’t the training he wanted to do. If they’d leave, he could start working on his body—testing his limits properly.

Nearby, Neon and Anis had turned the construction site into their personal playground. Neon balanced precariously on a beam, arms outstretched for effect, while Anis leaned against a nearby wall, chuckling at her antics.

"Careful up there," Anis called, her tone dripping with mock concern. "You fall, and I’m not carrying you back."

Neon shot her a grin. "Don’t worry! I’ve got perfect balance! Like a cat. Or… maybe a squirrel?"

Anis shook her head, laughing under her breath. "You’re more like a hyperactive puppy, Neon."

A few feet away, Rapi stood apart from the commotion, her focus entirely on the work tablet in her hands. She tapped at the screen, running what seemed to be maintenance checks on the squad’s equipment. Her posture was relaxed but disciplined, her presence a grounding contrast to the others.

John kept his focus on the piping, trying to ignore the distractions. His cursed energy pulsed gently, running through the metal in waves as he practiced controlling its flow. It wasn’t flashy, but it was fundamental—essential to maintaining his edge as a sorcerer. Still, he couldn’t help feeling the weight of Neon and Anis’s antics pressing on his patience.

Finally, Neon’s voice broke through. "Hey, Commander," she called out, hopping down from the beam. "What are you even doing over there? Just sitting and holding a pipe? Doesn’t look like training to me."

John opened one eye, glancing at her. "I’m working on cursed energy control," he replied, his tone neutral.

Neon tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Control? Like… you’re doing something with it right now? Doesn’t look like much."

John sighed, setting the piping down for a moment. "It might not look like anything to you, but it’s a basic technique. The fundamentals of sorcery. It’s not meant to be flashy."

Neon plopped down cross-legged in front of him, her eyes gleaming with interest. "So… can you, like, make a rabbit appear out of a hat? Or something cool like that?"

John blinked, momentarily thrown by the absurdity of the question. He exhaled heavily and shook his head. "That’s not how cursed energy works, Neon," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, on a whim, he secretly pulled a coin from his pocket, leaning forward slightly. "But here. Watch closely." Before Neon could react, John smoothly reached up and appeared to pull the coin from behind her ear. "Ta-da," he said flatly, holding it up between his fingers.

Neon gasped, her face lighting up with amazement. "Whoa! You can do that? That’s awesome!"

Anis, leaning casually against a stack of bricks, rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Neon. That wasn’t sorcery. That was sleight of hand. He just palmed the coin."

Neon’s expression fell, her amazement giving way to suspicion. "Wait, really? Commander, was that just a trick?"

John leaned back, giving her a faint smirk. "Guess you’ll never know," he said, letting the coin vanish into his palm again.

Anis laughed, shaking her head. "Good save, Commander. Maybe you should join a circus next time we’re off duty." John smirked faintly, but inside, he sighed. At least they’re entertained.

-

The artificial lights above cast muted reflections on the steel walls of the outpost as the group made their way back from the training site. Neon and Anis walked ahead, their voices lively as they debated the mechanics of sorcery, each idea more absurd than the last.

“I bet he can turn invisible,” Neon said, throwing exaggerated hand gestures into the air.

“Invisible?” Anis scoffed, her smirk widening. “Please. If anything, he’s probably just hiding snacks from us with some kind of magical pocket dimension.”

John trailed behind, the quiet hum of their voices becoming a dull backdrop to his own thoughts. His boots scuffed against the floor, his steps slower than usual. His chest felt heavy—not from exertion, but from frustration. He flexed his fingers idly, aching to test his limits, to push himself harder, but he had spent most of the session holding a pipe and pretending to meditate for their benefit. Nothing real. Nothing useful. Just wasting time.

As the group reached the central hub, the chatter from the others faded. Neon and Anis veered off toward the main table, still trading playful jabs. John shifted to take the staircase up to his quarters, hoping for a reprieve from the weight pressing down on him.

“Commander.”

The voice stopped him mid-step. He tightened his grip on the railing, his knuckles whitening slightly before turning to see Rapi standing at the base of the stairs. Her arms were crossed loosely, her posture composed as always. But her expression was unreadable—a mix of calm professionalism and something sharper that he couldn’t quite place.

John sighed, his hand still on the railing. “What is it?” His tone came out rougher than intended, but he didn’t correct it.

Rapi took a single step forward. “Why are you so against waiting?” she asked, her voice level but unwavering. “You know you need rest. Even you can’t deny that.”

His jaw tightened, the familiar sting of guilt rising unbidden in his chest. “I’m not against anything,” he said, too quickly. “I told you—I’m fine.”

“Are you?” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

The simplicity of her words struck a nerve. His fingers curled against the railing, and he turned fully to face her, his gaze hardening. “Why do you care so much?” he asked sharply, bitterness edging his tone. “I said I’m fine. Isn’t that enough?”

For a moment, Rapi didn’t answer. Her steady gaze softened just slightly, her arms lowering to her sides. “Because someone has to,” she said quietly, the words heavy in their simplicity. Her eyes shifted toward where Neon and Anis were still talking, her expression becoming almost imperceptibly distant. “Commander. I care about my squad. They trust you, and so do I. But if you keep pushing yourself like this, you’re going to break. And we’ll be the ones left to pick up the pieces. Your not only putting yourself at risk here”

Her voice didn’t waver, but there was something deeply personal threaded into her words, something unsaid that hit harder than any sharp rebuke.

John’s mouth opened slightly, but no response came. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, before he finally looked away. “I…” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m not asking for an apology,” Rapi interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You can’t do your job if you’re too stubborn to admit when you need help.”

He looked back at her, the faintest flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before it hardened again. “I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

Rapi studied him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, her gaze steady. “Just make sure you are.”

She turned and walked away, her footsteps soft against the metal floor. John lingered at the base of the stairs, his grip tightening on the railing. The bitterness in his chest twisted painfully, not at her words, but at the truth they carried. I’m fine. Sure. Just a tool doing its job. What else is there?

-

The artificial lighting of the outpost’s simulated moonlight cast soft shadows through the command center’s windows. John lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint ambiance of the outpost blending into the silence. Sleep evaded him, the stillness of the night offering no solace from the churn of thoughts about the mission ahead.

After a long stretch of futile rest, he sat up, exhaling sharply. Lying there wasn’t helping. He pulled on his boots and jacket, deciding to take a walk through the outpost’s quiet streets. Perhaps the cool night air would clear his mind.

The streets were deserted, bathed in a pale glow from the overhead lighting that mimicked moonlight. The ground was crisp and dry. He wandered past the outpost’s growing network of buildings—barracks, shops, and other structures designed to foster a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. The sight of them was a stark contrast to the militaristic origins of the base, and it left him with a strange sense of detachment.

Turning a corner, John’s gaze fell on one of the newer establishments—a small café with a cheerful sign reading Café Sweety. Its lights were still on, spilling a warm glow into the otherwise still night. He hesitated. It was late—far too late for a place like this to still be open. Curiosity nudged him forward, and he pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell announcing his presence.

The interior was warm and inviting, with soft music playing faintly in the background. A faint aroma of coffee and baked goods lingered in the air. Behind the counter, slumped over with her head resting on the surface, was a woman with silver hair. She wore a red jacket, and a black sleep mask obscured her eyes. Her steady, even breathing made it clear she was asleep.

John glanced around the empty café before his eyes landed on a set of vending machines in the corner. Not wanting to disturb her, he walked over and scrolled through the options. Selecting a caffeine-free coffee, he waited as the machine hummed and dropped the can into the tray below. He grabbed it, then made his way to a small table near the window and sat down.

The chair creaked slightly as he leaned back and cracked open the can. He took a slow sip, savoring the bitter taste. His eyes flicked briefly toward the sleeping woman, her posture unguarded and peaceful. For a moment, the scene felt strangely ordinary—so removed from the chaos that usually defined his life.

The soft chime of the bell above the door broke the silence, pulling his attention. A tall figure entered, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. A Nikke, John noted, as her black hair framed her pale face, tied into a neat ponytail with a few loose strands brushing her cheeks. She wore a lab coat, its hem slightly rumpled, and her red-rimmed eyes betrayed recent tears.

John’s grip on his coffee tightened slightly as he watched her approach. “Can I help you?” he asked cautiously, his tone even.

The Nikke stopped a few feet from his table, her gaze dropping to the can in his hands before lifting to meet his. “You’re Commander John, aren’t you?” Her voice was soft but strained, the kind of tone that carried the weight of an unspoken purpose.

He studied her for a moment before nodding. “I am. And you are?”

“Mihara,” she said quietly, the name falling from her lips like a formality. She didn’t elaborate, her red-rimmed eyes scanning his face, searching for something.

The silence stretched as John waited for her to speak, but she seemed hesitant. Finally, he set the can down, leaning forward slightly. “What’s on your mind, Mihara?”

Her lips parted, but the words came slowly, trembling as if they’d been buried for too long. “Yuni,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “She… was everything to me. And she’s gone.” She took a shallow breath, gripping the edge of her lab coat as though it were the only thing keeping her steady. “I know you were there when it happened. Please, tell me what… what happened to her.”

John exhaled softly, his eyes dropping to the can in his hands. The memory of that day surged unbidden to the surface, the chaos, the desperation, the futility of it all. “She was unconscious when I found you both,” he began, his voice measured. “Chatterbox…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “He absorbed her. It happened so fast. I tried to stop him, but… there was nothing I could do.”

Mihara’s hands trembled as she processed his words. Her gaze dropped to the table, her knuckles whitening against the fabric of her coat. “She always kept me grounded,” she murmured, her voice distant. “Even when everything fell apart, when I was with Yuni… we never did. And now…” Her voice cracked again, and she blinked quickly, trying to force back the tears threatening to spill.

John leaned back slightly, his eyes softening. “You couldn’t have done anything, Mihara. You were unconscious. There’s no way you could have stopped it.”

Her head lifted slightly, her expression tightening as if trying to reconcile his words with her own guilt. “And you?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling but firm. “You were there. Why couldn’t you stop it?”

The question wasn’t accusatory, but it hit like one. John’s lips pressed into a thin line. He hesitated before responding. “Sometimes, no matter what we do, it’s not enough,” he said, his tone steady. “But I tried. I can promise you that.”

Mihara’s eyes lingered on him, her tears threatening to spill over. “I believed in us, you know,” she said softly. “Believed that we could be more than what we were made for. I thought… if I could ask you, maybe it would make things clearer. But now…” She shook her head, looking away. “Now I don’t even know what to do with this.”

John watched her, his sharp features softening as he took in her pain. He didn’t have answers for her—there were none to give. “You keep going,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “One step at a time.”

Mihara’s lips twitched slightly, a faint shadow of a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you believe that?” she asked, her tone pointed, though not unkind.

His jaw tightened, the words caught in his throat. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away. “I do,” he lied, the words heavier than the silence that followed.

Mihara’s gaze faltered, her hands trembling slightly as she stared down at them. “Yuni and I… we were like two broken gears,” she murmured. “Twisted, imperfect. But we fit together. Without her, I… I don’t know what I am anymore.”

Mihara then turned to leave, her movements slow and deliberate. She adjusted her lab coat, her posture stiff but composed. “Thank you, Commander,” she said softly. “For telling me.” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as she left, her figure disappearing into the quiet night.

John remained seated, his gaze falling to the coffee in his hands. The silence returned, louder than before, pressing against his chest. He exhaled softly, leaning back in his chair.

“One step at a time,” he muttered again, but even he could hear the hollowness in the words.

-

The snow crunched beneath their boots as they made their way north, the biting chill seeping into every exposed gap in their gear. The transport ship had dropped them off a fair distance from the research base, leaving them to trudge through the unrelenting cold. The landscape stretched out in endless white, broken only by jagged ice formations that loomed like silent sentinels over the frozen expanse.

John led the group, his coat pulled tightly around him as he trudged through the snow. Each step sent a dull ache through his barely healed body, the cold biting mercilessly into his body where his wounds hadn’t fully closed. His breaths came out in visible puffs, each one a reminder of how far they still had to go.

Behind him, Neon and Anis were locked in their usual banter, their voices cutting through the eerie stillness of the tundra.

“Speed beats size every time,” Anis declared, expertly forming a compact snowball in her gloved hands. “Quantity is quality all on its own.”

“Ha! We’ll see about that,” Neon shot back, crouching down to pack an enormous snowball. “One good hit, and you’re done.”

John glanced back briefly, his face hidden by the scarf wrapped around his neck. Neon hurled her oversized creation at Anis, missing by inches and sending a spray of snow into the air. Anis retaliated with a rapid-fire barrage, her snowballs hitting their mark with uncanny accuracy.

“Gotcha!” Anis crowed as Neon tried to dodge, laughing as one of her snowballs hit squarely on Neon’s arm. The two dissolved into laughter, the tension of the cold and the mission briefly forgotten in their playful rivalry.

Rapi, walking a few steps behind them, finally stopped. Her sharp voice cut through the air like a blade. “Enough.”

The two froze, Neon still mid-throw and Anis smirking behind her makeshift snow fort. Rapi’s glare left no room for argument.

“This isn’t the time for games,” she said flatly. “Focus. We have a mission.”

“Relax, Rapi,” Anis said with a shrug, brushing snow from her coat. “We’re just letting off some steam.”

“Save your energy,” Rapi replied curtly, her tone brooking no further discussion.

Shifty’s voice crackled over their comms, breaking the tense silence. “Hello? Can you hear me now? I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes!”

Rapi reached for her comm device, her irritation shifting focus. “We hear you, Shifty. Go ahead.”

Shifty’s exasperation was palpable even over the static. “Finally. I was saying that the Alva Particle concentration here is low—no need for a purge sequence. Your path to the base looks clear. Just watch your footing; the terrain gets worse the closer you get.”

“Understood,” Rapi replied. “Thanks for the update.”

John flexed his fingers in his gloves, his body stiff from the cold and his injuries. He adjusted his coat, his jaw clenched against the ache radiating from his side. Every step felt heavier, the cold gnawing at his resolve.

“Let’s move,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “The sooner we get there, the better.”

As the group trudged forward, Neon and Anis exchanged a glance, their earlier antics subdued. Rapi stayed close to John, her sharp eyes flicking over his movements. She noticed the way his steps faltered slightly, the stiffness in his shoulders.

“Commander,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the wind. “Are you sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” John replied curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. But as he adjusted his coat, he avoided meeting her gaze. The cold wasn’t the only thing biting at him—it was the nagging reminder of how much weaker he felt.

The snow crunched steadily beneath Rapi’s boots as she led the group forward, her eyes scanning the endless white horizon. The cold bit at her exposed skin, but she ignored it, her focus honed on every step, every sound around them. She had always been able to do this—channel herself into the present, block out distractions, push aside emotions. It was second nature, something she had once been proud of.

But lately, cracks had begun to form.

John’s words echoed in her mind, quiet but persistent. “Do you… wonder if you’re still human?” It had been such a simple question, but the way he had asked it—the flicker of something vulnerable in his voice—had unsettled her. It wasn’t because of the question itself; it was because she hadn’t hesitated to answer. We’re weapons first, she had said, as though it were an immutable truth. And for a long time, it had been.

Her grip on her rifle tightened slightly. That had been the problem, hadn’t it? Believing that truth too fully, letting it define her, letting it excuse her.

The weight of her past pressed against her, a familiar ache she could never quite shake. She had wanted to carry on the legacy of the one who had come before her—the one who had shown her what it meant to fight with purpose, to protect. She had thought it was about strength, about being unwavering, about doing what had to be done no matter the cost. But there had been moments when she had misstepped, when the line between following orders and losing herself had blurred.

Her chest tightened as a memory surfaced, one she had tried to bury. It wasn’t the act itself that haunted her—not entirely. It was the aftermath. The way she had felt nothing at first, the way irritation over the protocol had overshadowed the gravity of what she had done. And then, the realization—the hollow, gut-wrenching realization of what that detachment meant. For all her efforts to carry on the legacy, she had failed in the most fundamental way.

The wind howled around her, pulling her back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, her sharp eyes flicking to John. He was trailing slightly behind her, his movements stiff, his breath visible in short bursts against the frigid air. She could see the strain in him, the way he carried himself like a man trying to convince everyone, including himself, that he was fine. His words from before tugged at her again, unspoken questions lingering between them. She knew that feeling too well.

Had Red Hood ever doubted herself like this? Rapi had always imagined her as unshakable, a figure of pure conviction. But maybe that wasn’t the whole truth. Maybe that strength had come from somewhere else, from something deeper. Rapi wasn’t sure she had that. She had spent so long trying to emulate it, trying to live up to an ideal she didn’t fully understand. And every misstep, every failure, only made that legacy feel further out of reach.

The others’ voices cut through her thoughts. Neon and Anis were bickering again, their laughter breaking the stillness of the frozen landscape. It was the kind of moment Rapi would have brushed off before, filing it away as inconsequential. But now, as she watched them, she felt something stir—a faint warmth beneath the cold. They trusted her, relied on her. Maybe that was enough.

Rapi slowed her pace slightly, letting herself fall in step with John. She didn’t look at him directly, her gaze remaining forward, but her voice was calm when she spoke. “You asked me if I thought I was still human,” she said, her words quiet but deliberate. “I think… I’ve spent so long trying not to be, I don’t know what the answer is anymore.”

It wasn’t an admission, not fully. But it was a crack in the armor, a small acknowledgment of the doubts that had lingered too long in the back of her mind. She didn’t expect a response, and John didn’t give one. But the weight of the silence between them felt a little lighter now, a shared understanding settling into the space.

The wind picked up again, and Rapi squared her shoulders, her focus sharpening once more. The path ahead was still unclear, the snow obscuring everything but their immediate steps. She didn’t know what the future held, what her role would be, or if she could ever truly live up to the legacy she had inherited. But for now, she had a team to lead, people to protect.

And for now, that was enough.

-

The faint noise of the Ark-issued portable heater filled the otherwise silent night. It was their only solace against the freezing cold, tucked between the group like a makeshift campfire. Neon and Anis lay huddled nearby, wrapped tightly in thermal blankets, their soft breaths fogging the air. The snow around them glowed faintly under the moonlight, its stark whiteness blending into the endless horizon.

John sat against a jagged ice formation, his right hand resting across his knees, while Rapi sat a short distance away, her posture rigid and watchful. The cold bit into the exposed edges of their gear, and though the air was still, tension hung heavier than the frost.

For a while, neither spoke. John stared out into the endless expanse, his thoughts a storm of unwelcome memories and regrets. Rapi’s gaze stayed trained on the horizon, but her mind wasn’t on the landscape. There was a weight in her chest that had nothing to do with the cold.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice low but clear. “Earlier, when you asked me if I thought I was still human… why did you ask?”

John didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the rifle in his lap. His hands tightened around it briefly, the metal cold even through his gloves. “Because I’ve wondered about it myself,” he admitted, his tone rough but subdued. “Not about you. About me. If I’m still… whatever that means.”

Rapi’s eyes flicked toward him briefly, her expression calm but searching. “And?” she prompted.

John let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “And I don’t think I am. Not really. A human doesn’t keep going when everything else stops making sense. A human doesn’t survive by just… fighting.”

Rapi’s gaze lingered on him, her own doubts surfacing as his words echoed in her mind. Her grip tightened slightly on her rifle as she turned her eyes back to the horizon. “You keep fighting because you have something left to protect,” she said evenly. “That’s human, isn’t it?”

John shook his head, the motion stiff. “I keep fighting because it’s all I know. It’s all I’m good for. Protecting people? I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. People still die. I’m just a tool, Rapi. Tools don’t protect. They get used.”

Rapi’s jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of something crossing her face—frustration, maybe, or hesitation. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but with an edge to it. “You think that makes you not human?”

John let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Humans don't only feel a thrill in nothing but fighting, don’t get used to killing. I don’t even... I Just keep moving forward because I’m afraid of stopping.”

Her eyes drifted briefly to the sleeping forms of Neon and Anis, her expression softening. “I’ve thought that too. That I wasn’t human anymore. That I didn’t deserve to be.”

John’s gaze shifted to her, surprised by the admission. “What changed?”

Rapi was quiet for a moment, her hands tightening slightly around her rifle. “I met people who made me think I could be more. That maybe I didn’t have to stay the way I was.”

John frowned, the skepticism clear in his voice. “And that worked?”

She hesitated, her voice dropping slightly. “Not always. I still… I still don’t know if I deserve it. There’s a lot I’ve done that I can’t take back. Things I let happen. People I failed. Someone I…” Her voice trailed off, but the weight in her words lingered, heavy and unspoken. She exhaled softly, her breath fogging in the cold air. “But I try. Even if I don’t feel worthy of it.”

Her words hung in the air, her posture tensing as though bracing for judgment. John studied her quietly, the sharpness in his gaze softening.

“What keeps you going, then?” he asked eventually, his voice quieter now. “If you don’t feel like you’re worth it?”

Rapi’s eyes returned to the horizon, her expression distant. “I think… it’s because someone believed in me once. They gave me a purpose when I didn’t have one. I’ve tried to carry that forward, even when I’ve failed. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it isn’t.” She paused, her voice dropping. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve let that legacy down.”

John’s brow furrowed. “What legacy?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze fixed on the snow as if searching for something buried there. “Someone who was better than me. Stronger. They… left something behind, and I thought I could take it up. But the more I’ve tried, the more I’ve realized I don’t measure up.”

John leaned forward slightly, his voice even. “Sounds like you’re the one holding yourself to that standard. Maybe no one else would see it that way.”

Rapi’s lips quirked into a faint, almost wistful smile. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change how it feels.”

Her words landed softly. John exhaled quietly, his breath curling into the frigid air. Leaning back against the ice, he allowed the silence to stretch, his voice subdued when he finally spoke. “Carrying on a legacy means you’re still holding onto something worth fighting for. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Rapi’s gaze shifted to him, her sharp eyes locking onto his. She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “And you, Commander? What are you fighting for?”

John hesitated, his fingers flexing in the night air. The question hung in the air, pressing against him in a way that felt heavier than the cold. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice low and strained.“Maybe it’s because… fighting is the one thing that makes sense to me. I don’t just do it because I have to—I like it. The rush of it, the clarity it brings, even when everything else feels like chaos. It’s simple.”

He paused, his eyes dropping to the snow. “But it’s not just that. Maybe I still think—hope—it can mean something to someone. That it can help people, even if I don’t know how or why anymore.”

His words were halting, as if he was trying to piece together a truth he hadn’t fully accepted. He looked down at the snow, his grip tightening on his rifle. “But that’s it. It’s not noble or grand,,” he added quietly. “It’s just… what keeps me moving.”

Rapi’s expression softened—not with pity, but with something quieter, harder to define. “That’s more than nothing,” she said after a beat, her voice carrying a rare note of reassurance. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

The silence stretched between them again, but it felt less heavy this time. Rapi turned her focus back to the horizon, her thoughts still tangled in the weight of the past, the legacy she carried but didn’t feel worthy of. John stayed where he was, his mind quieter but no less troubled, the cold biting into them both as the night pressed on.

Chapter Text

The icy wind cut through the cliffside, carrying with it the mechanical growls of advancing Raptures. Their glowing red cores pierced through the swirling frost, their jagged frames glinting like knives against the snow. Each movement was a calculated threat, their claws digging into the frozen ground as they closed in.

John scanned the horde, his breath visible in short puffs. He rolled his shoulders, the ache of his healing injuries dull but present. “Rapi, pick off the heavy ones. Neon, stay mobile on the flanks. Anis, disrupt clusters. I’ll keep them off you.”

“Copy that,” Rapi replied curtly, her assault rifle already raised. Her finger hovered over the trigger, calculating her shots with the precision of a veteran. She fired short, controlled bursts, her bullets striking a towering Rapture’s joints. A quick switch to her underbarrel missile launcher sent a guided explosive soaring into the air, striking a particularly large Rapture from above and leaving it reeling.

“Nice hit!” Anis called, snapping open the chamber of her grenade launcher to load another round. “Let me finish it off.” She angled the launcher high, firing into the damaged Rapture. The explosion ripped through its core, scattering molten shrapnel across the ice. “Gotcha!”

Neon zipped to the side, her shotgun roaring as she blasted a smaller, spider-like Rapture mid-leap. Its shattered body crashed to the ground as she slid into cover behind a jagged ice formation. “Gotta admit, these guys aren’t so bad when you keep moving and using firepower!”

“Focus,” Rapi said sharply, her tone steady but commanding. She adjusted her aim, targeting another heavy Rapture in the backline. “More incoming.”

John wasted no time, charging forward into the fray. The nearest Rapture swung its blade-like arm at him, but he sidestepped, his movements precise and fluid. His fist slammed into its torso, cursed energy crackling along his knuckles. The impact crumpled the machine’s plating, sending it skidding across the ice.

A second Rapture lunged at him, claws outstretched. John ducked low, his breath sharp as he pivoted on the slick surface. With a powerful roundhouse kick, he shattered the creature’s knee joint, causing it to collapse. Before it could recover, he drove his heel into its core, finishing it in a burst of sparks.

“Master, you’re crowding my shot!” Neon called out, frustration edging her voice as she reloaded. A Rapture leapt toward her, but she fired point-blank, the shotgun’s blast tearing through its frame.

“Then take the shot faster!” John retorted, twisting to parry another strike with his forearm. He grabbed the Rapture’s outstretched limb and used its momentum to fling it into a nearby cluster.

"Commander, get out of the way!" Anis yelled, her grenade launcher firing with a resounding thump. The explosion tore through the tangled Raptures, sending shards of ice and metal scattering dangerously close to John. She huffed, a teasing edge to her voice. "You're always running into the worst possible spot!"

Rapi kept her focus, her rifle’s reticle tracking a hulking Rapture at the edge of the cliff. She launched a missile, the guided explosive striking true and causing the machine to falter dangerously close to the ledge. “John, keep your distance. We can handle the front line.”

“I’ve got this,” John replied, his tone tight. He ducked beneath another swipe, his movements a blur of efficiency. A swift uppercut dislodged a Rapture’s head, sending it spinning into the snow.

Rapi frowned, her sharp gaze flicking toward him. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep overextending.”

John didn’t respond, his focus locked on the next threat. He launched himself at a larger Rapture, his cursed energy flaring as he drove a powerful knee strike into its chest. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ice beneath them.

Neon dashed past him, unloading another shotgun blast into a pursuing Rapture. “Commander, seriously! We’ve got this side covered.”

“Fall back, John!” Rapi snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos. “This isn’t a solo fight.”

The order snapped him out of his adrenaline-fueled haze. He nodded sharply, retreating just in time for Anis to lob a grenade into the advancing Raptures, clearing a path for him.

With the horde thinning, the team fell into a synchronized rhythm. Rapi provided precise cover fire, her missiles strategically disabling key threats. Neon darted between targets, her shotgun’s booming blasts keeping smaller Raptures at bay. Anis disrupted the remaining clusters, her grenades breaking their formations and leaving them vulnerable.

John took up a supportive role, intercepting any stragglers that slipped through. His strikes were calculated now, each movement deliberate as he moved in tandem with the others. Together, they dismantled the last of the Raptures, the cliffside falling silent once more.

As the dust settled, the team regrouped. Rapi’s sharp gaze lingered on John, her expression unreadable. “You can’t keep fighting like that,” she said, her tone even but firm. “We’re a team. Act like it.”

John exhaled, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Noted,” he said simply, adjusting his gloves.

Anis smirked, leaning on her grenade launcher. “Good. Because if you pull another stunt like that, I’m strapping a grenade to you and calling it a day.”

The snow crunched underfoot as the team regrouped, their breaths forming small clouds in the frigid air. Neon approached the last downed Rapture, shotgun in hand, the barrel still faintly glowing from the heat of her recent volley.

“This one’s still twitching,” Neon said, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “Time to put it down for good.”

She leveled her shotgun, but before she could pull the trigger, John stepped forward and gently pushed the barrel downward. His gloved hand met the hot metal, a faint sizzle followed by a sharp intake of breath. He yanked his hand back, shaking it rapidly. “Ow! Damn it, Neon! How hot is this thing?”

Neon stared at him, wide-eyed, before crossing her arms in exasperation. “Master! Rule number one of gun safety: don’t touch the barrel! And rule number two: respect the firepower! You’re lucky you didn’t melt your glove.”

Anis smirked, leaning casually on her grenade launcher. “You okay there, hotshot? Pun absolutely intended.”

John ignored the sting in his hand, flexing his fingers and sighing. “I’m fine. Just... don’t shoot it.”

Neon tilted her head, confused. “Don’t shoot it? Master, are you going to try to negotiate?”

Anis arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, mind sharing why you want us to leave this one breathing? Or are you planning on interrogating it for Rapture secrets?”

John didn’t respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the Rapture’s mangled form, its metallic frame twitching as sparks danced across its joints. A memory flickered to life, unbidden—the sensation of his fists colliding with Mahito’s body, the reverberation that followed, and the strange, instinctive technique he had somehow pulled off in the heat of battle.

The scene shifted in his mind’s eye. Mahito’s twisted grin was seared into his memory, his monstrous frame shifting and contorting as the fight raged. John had been desperate, every punch and kick feeling like a gamble against the sorcerer’s horrifying agility and regenerative abilities.

Then, out of nowhere, it had happened.

He had landed a strike, but before the force could fully dissipate, it was as if a second wave followed—a double impact that seemed to reverberate through Mahito’s body, eliciting a rare cry of pain. John didn’t know how he had done it, but it had worked, and it had hurt Mahito in a way no other attack had.

He blinked back to the present, the cold biting into his skin as the memory faded. That technique... it wasn’t something he understood. He hadn’t trained it. It didn’t belong to the arsenal he was familiar with. But if it could work against Mahito, maybe...

“I need to try something,” John said finally, stepping toward the Rapture.

Rapi, who had been watching silently from a distance, took a step forward. “Commander, be careful. You’re still recovering.”

He glanced back at her briefly before nodding. “I will.”

Neon gave an incredulous snort. “You’re gonna punch it, aren’t you? Master, you should join me on the path of fire…”

“Neon,” Rapi said sharply, her tone enough to quiet the younger Nikke. She turned her attention back to John, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Make it quick.”

John approached the Rapture, his muscles tensing as he focused. The mangled machine twitched weakly, its exposed core flickering with faint light. He steadied his breath, his fist tightening as cursed energy flowed to his knuckles.

Alright. Let’s see if this works again.

He slammed his fist into the Rapture’s body, the impact resounding like a thunderclap. The metallic frame crumpled inward, sparks and shards of metal flying as the machine was launched backward. It skidded across the icy ground, coming to rest several feet away. Its movements slowed, but it wasn’t completely destroyed.

John straightened, his breath fogging in the cold air as he flexed his hand. The technique hadn’t triggered. Not the way it had with Mahito. He sighed, frustration tugging at the corners of his mind. Why did it work then, but not now? What even was it?

“Well, that was dramatic,” Anis remarked, breaking the silence. “Care to share what that was all about? Or are we just punching Raptures for fun now?”

John shook his head, glancing at the smoldering wreckage. “Just... trying to figure something out.”

Neon stepped forward, looking at the remains of the Rapture before turning back to him. “You didn’t figure it out, did you?” she asked, her tone half-teasing, half-curious.

“No,” John admitted, his voice flat.“I was trying something. Didn’t work. Now we know.”

“‘Trying something,’” Rapi echoed, her tone calm but skeptical. She stepped closer, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “What exactly were you expecting, Commander?”

John exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the Rapture’s mangled form. “During my mission in the Outer Rim, I didn't get caught up in stopping some terrorist plot, that was just a cover story Andersen came up with. I fought a Special Grade Curse.”

The weight of his words hung in the frigid air. Neon tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “Special Grade? That sounds... serious. What’s that mean?”

“It’s part of the grade system sorcerers use,” John began, flexing his hand as he talked. “It’s an old-fashioned system. Flawed. Doesn’t hold water anymore. But essentially, Grades 4 to 1 measure power, with 1 being the most dangerous. Then there’s Special Grade. Beings so powerful, they’re off the scale—capable of destroying entire regions if left unchecked.”

“Sounds fun,” Anis quipped, raising an eyebrow. “And you survived that?”

“Barely.” John’s tone was clipped, but his expression betrayed a hint of weariness. “The fight pushed me to my limit. That’s when I unlocked two new techniques. One is an extension of my cursed technique called Final Gambit. The other...” He hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “The other isn’t something I understand. It’s why I stopped Neon earlier—I wanted to see if I could make it work again. But it didn’t.”

“Final Gambit?” Rapi prompted, her tone measured. “That sounds like a technique with a cost.”

John nodded. “It is. It takes a lot out of me, but it works. The other technique, well, I guess it wasn’t the right moment for it.”

Neon stepped forward, shotgun barrel still trained on the twitching Rapture. “Okay, but what’s the plan now? We leaving it for scrap or—”

Before she could finish, John stepped between her and the Rapture, raising a hand to halt her. “Hold on.”

Neon huffed, lowering the shotgun but glaring up at him. “Again? Master, this is becoming a bad habit.”

“Not yet,” John said calmly, moving closer to the damaged Rapture. “I want to try out Final Gambit, I haven't had time to properly test it out, and this maybe the best time to test it out before we get into another full on battle”

John steadied himself, his muscles tensing as he focused. His fists clenched tightly, cursed energy swirling faintly around his knuckles.

He inhaled deeply, feeling his cursed energy shift and divide as Ruinous Gambit activated. For a fleeting moment, he allowed the technique to siphon power from every part of him—his sight dimmed, his reflexes dulled, even the strength in his legs wavered—all redirected into two distinct streams of cursed energy. One, wild and unrestrained, condensed into his fist, a raw surge of destruction. The other, razor-sharp and precise, flowed like a thread through the air, homing in on the point of impact.

As he launched the punch, the two streams converged at the precise moment of collision. The overwhelming power met the focused precision, triggering his reversed cursed energy to invert the negative energy into a devastating release. The Rapture was obliterated instantly, its remains scattering across the icy ground. The sheer force of the attack sent a gust of wind rushing past the team, causing Neon’s hair to whip dramatically.

Anis let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

John straightened slowly, his breath fogging the air as exhaustion crashed over him. His legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied himself. “It worked,” he muttered to himself, though his voice carried a note of weariness.

“What the hell was that?” Neon exclaimed, her eyes wide with awe. “Some kind of magic energy punch? A wind cannon? Oh! Oh! Was it a sorcery spirit bomb?”

John turned toward her, visibly trying to keep his composure. “It’s reversed cursed energy,” he explained, his voice steady despite his fatigue. “I’ve figured out how to use it offensively. It’s why Final Gambit works.”

Neon’s hand shot up like a kid in a classroom. “Okay, but—wait! If it’s reversed, does that mean it’s like, double-powered? Or... does it go backward? Like, do you rewind reality or something? Oh! Can you reverse time?”

John blinked, his brain too foggy to process her rapid-fire questions. He opened his mouth to respond but ended up turning away, his attention momentarily drawn by Rapi’s assessing gaze.

Neon pouted, crossing her arms. “He’s ignoring me. Again. Typical. I ask the hard-hitting questions, and nobody listens.”

Anis snorted, nudging Neon lightly with her elbow. “Maybe he’s just too tired to figure out how to answer your... let’s call them ‘creative theories.’”

“Or,” Neon shot back with a grin, “he doesn’t understand it either.”

“Fair point,” Anis conceded with a smirk.

John, meanwhile, exhaled heavily, leaning on his knees for support. The technique had drained him far more than he expected. His limbs felt leaden, and a dull ache spread through his chest. “It’s effective,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “But I can’t use it often. Takes too much energy.”

Rapi stepped closer, her expression even but with a hint of concern in her eyes. “You should pace yourself, Commander. That kind of strain can’t be sustainable.”

“I know,” John replied, his tone soft but firm. “But for now, it’s what we’ve got.”

The group began to move again, leaving the wreckage behind. John lingered for a moment, flexing his hand and feeling the residual tingling of cursed energy. Whatever Final Gambit was, it was powerful—but it was also a double-edged sword. He’d have to use it sparingly and carefully.

Neon, however, wasn’t done theorizing. “I bet next time, he’s gonna use it to make a tornado or something. Like, bam! Instant cyclone. Right, Master?”

John gave her a faint, tired smile but didn’t answer. Neon grinned triumphantly. “See? He’s totally planning it.”

Anis rolled her eyes as they walked on. “You’re impossible, Neon.”

“I prefer the term imaginative” Neon retorted with a wink.

-

The snow crunched softly beneath their boots as the group pressed on, the icy wind biting at any exposed skin and carrying with it an oppressive stillness. John walked ahead of the group, his steps deliberate as he scanned the horizon. Behind him, the chatter of Neon and Anis filled the air, their voices a lively contrast to the desolate landscape.

Neon jogged up beside him, shotgun slung casually over her shoulder. “Hey, Master, I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice bright with curiosity. “Can you teach us any magic? You know, real stuff. Like making things explode with your brain or summoning fireballs.”

John raised an eyebrow, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Magic tricks, maybe. Sleight of hand. Pulling coins from behind your ear. But if you’re talking about sorcery, that’s a hard no.”

Anis chuckled from behind, hefting her grenade launcher. “Aw, come on, Commander. You can’t hold out on us like that. Neon’s clearly dying to be the first Nikke magician.”

“Please,” Neon said, feigning a dramatic sigh. “I’d be amazing at it. Imagine—‘The Great Neon and her Amazing Firepower spells!’”

John smirked faintly. “That’s not how this works. Sorcery isn’t something you just pick up. It’s tied to cursed energy, and only a handful of people are naturally capable of using it. Even then, it’s dangerous and unpredictable.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the faint outlines of distant cliffs. “And... it’s not exactly something you want to dabble in without knowing what you’re doing.”

Neon pouted. “Well, that’s disappointing. What’s the point of fighting alongside a sorcerer if we don’t get to learn any cool tricks?”

“You do use cursed energy,” John said, glancing back at them. “Even if you don’t realize it.”

That caught their attention. Anis slowed her steps, her head tilting in curiosity. “Wait, we do? Since when?”

“Humans—and I guess Nikkes too—have cursed energy. It’s the negative energy generated by emotions, mostly fear and anger. You fluctuate yours a lot during combat. It’s small, almost nothing, but it’s there.”

Neon frowned, her nose scrunching as she tried to process his explanation. “So… wait. We’ve been using magic this whole time and didn’t know it?”

“Not exactly,” John said, his tone patient but firm. “It’s not enough to do anything significant. Think of it like static electricity. It’s there, but you don’t control it. Most humans don’t even notice it unless they’re in life-or-death situations. That’s when people sometimes see curses or ghosts.”

At the mention of ghosts, Rapi, who had been walking silently a few paces behind, visibly stiffened. Her sharp eyes darted to the edges of their path as though expecting something to appear out of the snow. It was subtle, but John caught it immediately.

“Ghosts?” she repeated, her voice unusually tense. “We’re not going to… run into one, are we?”

Neon turned to her with a grin, clearly relishing the moment. “Oh, Rapi. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of ghosts.”

“I’m not afraid,” Rapi said quickly, though her clipped tone betrayed her unease. “It’s just… unnecessary. There’s no point in bringing them up.”

John couldn’t resist. “Don’t worry, Rapi. If we see one, I’ll ask if it’s friendly.”

The joke fell flat, Rapi’s sharp glance cutting through any levity. John sighed, holding up a hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No ghost jokes.” He paused, his tone softening. “I’ll look into getting some cursed artifacts for you. Just in case.”

“Artifacts?” Neon perked up, her curiosity reigniting. “You mean like magic weapons or charms? Oh! Can I get a ghost-busting cannon?”

“No,” John said firmly, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “They’d be more like protective charms. But don’t get your hopes up—they’re rare.”

As they continued walking, Neon fell into step beside him, her energy undeterred. “You know, Master, you’re really good at making all this spooky stuff sound boring. I’m starting to think you don’t believe in fun.”

John chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Fun’s overrated.”

“Spoken like a true party pooper,” Anis said, grinning.

The group trudged along the icy trail, the crunch of snow beneath their boots the only sound accompanying the howling wind. John walked slightly ahead, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his sharp gaze scanning the barren landscape. Behind him, Neon, Anis, and Rapi kept pace, their weapons at the ready. The biting cold had sapped much of the conversation from the group, leaving only the quiet determination to reach their destination.

Then, the sharp crack of gunfire split the air.

John froze mid-step, his head snapping toward the source of the noise. The sound echoed off the jagged mountains around them, followed by a rapid burst of fire that sounded almost unnatural in its intensity. A sniper rifle’s steady rhythm suddenly erupted into a frenzied barrage, the shots coming so fast they overlapped.

“What the hell?” Anis muttered, gripping her grenade launcher tightly. “That’s not normal.”

“Definitely a sniper rifle,” Rapi said, her tone level but her eyes narrowing. “But that rate of fire... something’s off.”

John’s expression darkened as he felt the faintest ripple in the air, a pulse of energy that prickled at his senses. It was subtle, but unmistakable—cursed energy. He motioned for the group to stay close as he moved forward. “Let’s check it out. Stay sharp.”

The group moved cautiously, following the echoes of gunfire through the winding trail. As they climbed higher, the bursts became sporadic, interspersed with the chatter of a submachine gun. John’s unease grew with each step. Whoever was fighting down there wasn’t just well-armed—they were good.

They reached the peak of a ridge overlooking a narrow valley, and the source of the chaos came into view.

Below, a horde of Raptures surged across the snow, their metallic bodies glinting in the faint light. At the center of the chaos were two figures—both clearly Nikkes—holding their ground with precision and skill.

The first was a silver-haired woman clad in a bright pink bodysuit. She wielded a sniper rifle with an ease that belied its weight, her shots clean and precise. Her weapon would periodically erupt into a flurry of rapid fire, the cursed energy John had sensed earlier flaring briefly with each burst.

The second woman, dressed in a fur-lined coat and armed with a sleek submachine gun, fought with equal efficiency. Her movements were calculated, her strikes powerful enough to send Raptures sprawling. When one lunged too close, she deflected it with a sharp kick, her boot leaving a dent in its armored chassis.

“Well, that’s new,” Neon said, her shotgun resting on her shoulder. “Who brings a sniper rifle to a swarm fight? And why does it work so damn well?”

“Maybe she’s just better than you,” Anis quipped, earning a glare from Neon.

John ignored their exchange, his focus locked on the silver-haired sniper. Her bursts of cursed energy were faint but deliberate, tied directly to her weapon’s sudden surges in firepower. He frowned, watching as she adjusted her rifle and unleashed another devastating volley, cutting down a row of advancing Raptures.

“They’re good,” Rapi said quietly, her eyes scanning the battlefield. “But they’re outnumbered. We should move in.”

John nodded. “You three are gonna have to handle it on your own since I can't reveal my abilities to people we don't know. I’ll stay back and provide overwatch.”

Neon shot him a disbelieving look. “You’re not jumping in? Come on, Master, this is prime punching material.”

“Orders, Neon,” Rapi said sharply, cutting off any further protest. She adjusted her grip on her rifle. “Anis, grenades on the clustered groups. Neon, our flanks. Let’s move.”

The three women descended the ridge, their practiced coordination taking over as they joined the fray. Anis fired first, her grenade arcing through the air before detonating in a fiery burst, scattering a pack of Raptures. Neon moved quickly, her shotgun booming as she covered Anis’s flank, each shot sending mechanical limbs flying. Rapi provided suppressive fire, her under-barrel missiles striking down the largest clusters with pinpoint precision.

The silver-haired sniper glanced up as the trio joined the battle, a faint smile crossing her lips. She didn’t stop firing, her rifle’s sharp crack echoing across the valley. Her companion, the blonde with the submachine gun, spared the newcomers a brief nod before returning to her work, her strikes just as precise as her shots.

John remained on the ridge, his sharp eyes tracking the battle. His instincts screamed at him to intervene, but he held back. He couldn’t risk revealing his abilities to strangers, no matter how dire the situation seemed.

As the last Rapture fell, its mangled frame collapsing into the snow with a metallic groan, silence descended over the frozen landscape. Alice lowered her pink sniper rifle, her wide, sparkling eyes scanning the battlefield. Her smile widened as she clapped her gloved hands together. “Oh, how wonderful! The Queen of Hearts’ minions have been vanquished once again! Surely, this means we’re one step closer to reaching Elysium!”

Rapi raised an eyebrow at the statement, glancing briefly at John as he joined them. The expression on her face read: What did we just walk into? John gave a subtle shrug, deciding to let the situation play out.

Ludmilla stepped forward, her boots crunching against the snow. Despite the bitter cold, her regal posture never faltered. She adjusted the fur trim of her coat with a graceful air before addressing the group. “I see reinforcements have arrived, summoned as per my royal decree,” she said smoothly, her piercing eyes locking onto John. “Servant, you and your companions are most welcome. Your timely intervention has ensured our continued march against the Queen of Hearts.”

Anis blinked, tilting her head in confusion. “Uh… servant?”

Ludmilla raised her chin slightly, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yes, servant. Surely, you wouldn’t wish to shatter Lady Alice’s world by suggesting otherwise, would you?”

Alice spun around, her snowy pigtails bouncing with the movement. She gasped, clasping her hands together. “Oh, my Queen! Did you really summon them? I knew it! I knew Mr. Rabbity would send us helpers in our quest!” She rushed over to John, her excitement palpable. “You’re from Wonderland too, aren’t you? Have you seen the Rabbity? Or maybe the Cheshire Cat?”

John hesitated, glancing between Alice and Ludmilla. The former’s eyes sparkled with childlike wonder, while the latter gave him a pointed look as if daring him to ruin the illusion. He adjusted his scarf and gave a small nod. “Uh, yeah. Something like that. I haven’t seen the Rabbity yet, though. Busy taking care of... other things.”

Alice’s face lit up, and she gave an approving nod. “Of course! You must be fighting off the Queen’s other minions. How brave!”

Neon stepped closer, her shotgun resting on her shoulder. “Wait, Queen of Hearts? Wonderland? What exactly is going on here?”

Before Alice could respond, Ludmilla stepped in, her voice calm but authoritative. “It’s quite simple. We’re in the midst of a grand campaign to rid this region of the Queen of Hearts’ influence. The Raptures you saw? Merely her pawns. And now, with you all here, we’ll have the strength to continue.”

Anis crossed her arms, smirking. “Right. Got it. So, we’re your royal task force now?”

Ludmilla gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Precisely. And you will address me as Queen while in my domain.”

Rapi’s stoic expression didn’t change, though there was a faint flicker of skepticism in her eyes. “Understood, your Majesty,” she said dryly, her tone flat enough to be interpreted as either respectful or sarcastic.

Alice didn’t seem to notice. She was already bouncing excitedly around Neon, asking if she’d ever encountered a talking caterpillar during her missions. Neon tried to keep up, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Queen, do you think Mr. Rabbit will lead us against the Queen of Hearts soon?” Alice asked, her voice light and filled with wonder. She twirled her rifle in her hands like it was a toy, glancing up at Ludmilla with wide, eager eyes.

Ludmilla’s expression softened slightly, a rare crack in her icy demeanor. “Perhaps, Alice. But for now, let’s focus on the battle in front of us. If the Queen of Hearts sends more of her army, we’ll need to be ready. Take overwatch. We’ll need your eyes on the horizon.”

Alice brightened instantly. “As you command, my Queen!” She saluted with exaggerated enthusiasm before bounding up a nearby ledge with the grace of a seasoned sharpshooter. From her elevated position, she scanned the area, her rifle at the ready.

John watched her go, his brow furrowing slightly. “She’s... unique. Are you sure she’s safe up there?”

Ludmilla glanced at him, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Alice may seem whimsical, but don’t underestimate her. She’s one of the best marksmen we have. Her view of the world might be… unusual, but it keeps her focused.”

John tilted his head, unconvinced. “It’s not her skill I’m worried about. It’s whether she’ll stay on task.”

Ludmilla’s lips quirked into a faint smile, her frostiness melting for just a moment. “Alice thrives under pressure. She’s far more capable than she seems. I wouldn’t have brought her here if she weren’t.”

John sighed but nodded. “Fair enough. I’m Commander John Smith of the Counters”

“Commander,” Ludmilla began, her voice even but edged with curiosity. “Why is someone like you out here in the Frozen North? Most surface commanders don’t stray far from the Ark unless they’re forced to.”

John glanced at her, his expression guarded. “I’m looking for Pilgrims. One in particular. She might have information that could help with an investigation of mine.”

Ludmilla arched an eyebrow. “Pilgrim? That’s quite an ambition for someone of your rank. Pilgrims don’t exactly make themselves easy to find.”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” John replied, his tone firm. “It’s something I need to do.”

“For the Ark?” Ludmilla asked, her tone skeptical.

“For myself,” John admitted after a pause. “A Nikke I was responsible for... she died under my watch. I need answers. I need to know if there was something I missed, something I could have done differently.”

Ludmilla’s piercing gaze lingered on him, studying his face for any sign of dishonesty. “A Nikke, you say? That’s unusual. Most commanders wouldn’t lose sleep over one of us. We’re tools to them—disposable assets. You, however…” Her voice trailed off deliberately, her tone contemplative rather than accusatory. “What makes you different?”

John frowned, his jaw tightening slightly. “I never thought of them as anything less than human. It just… never crossed my mind.”

Ludmilla blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his answer. “Never crossed your mind?” she echoed, her voice lighter now, almost curious.

John nodded. “Why would it? They think, feel, and bleed like the rest of us. What else should they be, if not human?”

Before Ludmilla could respond, Rapi stepped forward, her calm voice cutting through the tension. “He’s telling the truth,” she said firmly, her sharp eyes locking onto Ludmilla’s. “The Commander’s different. He’s never treated us like tools, not even for a second.”

Ludmilla’s gaze shifted to Rapi, her expression unreadable but less sharp. “And you trust that? Completely?”

“I do,” Rapi replied without hesitation. Her tone was steady, her words carrying quiet conviction. “I’ve served under commanders who only saw us as weapons. John isn’t one of them. He’s proven that.”

For a moment, Ludmilla’s piercing gaze held on John, as though searching for something deeper. Her tone shifted, becoming more contemplative. “So, Commander, if I may ask...” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Do you care because it’s the better way to motivate your squad, or because you genuinely believe you’re their equal?”

John stopped mid-step, his voice sharp but calm. “What exactly are you trying to say, Ludmilla?”

Her lips quirked into a faint smile, her tone deliberate but not unkind. “Relax, Commander. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m testing your sincerity.” She hesitated, her own expression softening as she added, “Because if you truly mean it... then I think you’re rare.”

John exhaled quietly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I’m not trying to be rare,” he said. “I just don’t see the point in treating them like anything less than they are.”

Ludmilla gave a small nod, her expression thoughtful. “Fair enough. But I hope you understand, Commander... caring like that isn’t without risks. Letting your emotions lead can cloud your judgment—and out here, that could cost lives.”

John met her gaze, his tone firm. “I know the risks. But I’m not going to treat them like tools just because it’s easier.”

Ludmilla studied him for a moment longer, her sharp eyes softening as she gave a faint smile. “I believe you,” she said quietly. “But be careful. Ideals like yours are a rare thing, and the world isn’t kind to rare things.”

“Duly noted,” John replied, his tone neutral.

Ludmilla turned her gaze forward, her voice taking on a more formal tone. “To answer your earlier question, the base you’re heading for is ours—or was. Unlimited’s primary function is to rescue lost Nikkes and return them to the Ark. For those stranded on the surface, their best chance is to head north, toward our base. Unfortunately, that base is now infested with Raptures. We were forced to abandon it, and we’ve been operating as nomads ever since.”

John frowned. “You didn’t try to take it back?”

“We did,” Ludmilla said, her tone heavy. “But the Raptures that overtook it aren’t ordinary. They’re organized, almost as if they’re protecting something—or someone.”

His expression darkened. “And now they’re in our way.”

“Precisely.” Ludmilla glanced at him. “If you’re truly looking for Pilgrims, then you’ll find the information you need at that base. But don’t expect it to be easy.”

John nodded. “It never is.”

For a moment, they walked in silence, the weight of their shared mission settling over them. Then Ludmilla spoke again, her voice quieter but no less firm. “You’re an odd one, Commander. Most humans wouldn’t bother with a mission like this, especially not for the sake of a Nikke.”

John gave her a sidelong glance. “Maybe they should.”

Ludmilla smiled faintly, a rare warmth breaking through her frosty demeanor. “Maybe. Just don’t let that get you killed. I’ve seen too many good people fall for one lifetime.”

-

The group continued their trek through the snow-covered expanse, the cold wind biting at their exposed skin. Despite the harsh conditions, the conversation carried on, offering a much-needed distraction from the chill.

“You know,” John started, his voice breaking the silence, “Alice reminds me of a character from a book.”

Anis perked up instantly, leaning casually on her grenade launcher. “Oh, let me guess—Alice in Wonderland. I mean, her name’s Alice. It’s a layup.”

Ludmilla arched an eyebrow, nodding. “Indeed. The comparison is obvious. It’s practically her whole thing.”

John tilted his head. “Alice in Wonderland? Never heard of it.”

The reaction was explosive.

“WHAT?!” Anis nearly dropped her grenade launcher, her jaw hitting the metaphorical floor. “How have you never heard of Alice in Wonderland? It’s, like, mandatory culture!”

Ludmilla, looking appalled, stepped forward, gesturing with her rifle. “Commander, are you telling me you’ve gone through life without knowing one of the most famous literary works of all time?”

John shrugged, nonchalant. “Guess it just never came up.”

Anis shook her head in disbelief. “Fine. If it’s not Alice in Wonderland, who does she remind you of?”

“Don Quixote,” John said, as though it were the most logical conclusion in the world.

The group froze. Ludmilla blinked, her cool composure cracking as she registered his words. “Don Quixote?” she repeated, her tone dripping with incredulity. “You’re comparing Alice to… to that?”

Anis furrowed her brow. “What’s a Don Quixote? Sounds like a fancy piece of armor or something.”

“It’s a book,” John explained, completely unfazed. “About a guy who thinks he’s a knight and goes on a bunch of delusional adventures. Fights windmills and stuff.”

Before anyone could spiral further into confusion, Neon interjected, her cheerful voice breaking through. “Oh! Don Quixote! I know that one! It’s a Spanish literary masterpiece. A satirical exploration of idealism versus realism, and the tragedy of pursuing impossible dreams.”

Everyone turned to Neon, stunned. Anis pointed at her accusingly. “Hold on. How do you know this?”

Neon shrugged, beaming. “I came across it in the archives. It’s one of my favorite books. It dives into how society treats dreamers, and the dynamics between Don Quixote and Sancho Panza are just—”

John nodded, cutting her off. “Top-notch character work. I always liked Sancho’s grounded perspective. Keeps the story balanced.”

“Thank you!” Neon clapped her hands together, clearly delighted. “Sancho is the real unsung hero.”

Anis threw up her hands. “Am I the only one who finds this completely insane? Since when is Neon a literature expert? And, Commander, you’re just rolling with it?”

John smirked faintly. “What’s wrong? She’s got good taste.”

Rapi frowned slightly, glancing between them. “I’ve never heard of this book. Is it really that important?”

“It’s a classic!” Neon said brightly. “Much deeper than Alice in Wonderland, to be honest.”

“Hold on, now,” Ludmilla cut in, looking offended. “You don’t get to insult Alice in Wonderland. It’s a nuanced masterpiece in its own right.”

“I’ve read both,” Alice said suddenly, her voice soft but full of excitement. “And I think Don Quixote is charming! Oh, what fun it would be to charge at windmills! I wonder if they’re giant teapots instead.”

Ludmilla froze, her expression an amusing mix of betrayal and horror. “Alice,” she said carefully, “please don’t tell me you actually read that.”

Alice nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, my Queen! It’s delightful! I see so much of myself in Sir Quixote. Why, I bet the Queen of Hearts has her own windmills somewhere…”

Anis pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m surrounded by madness. Absolute madness. I can’t tell what’s weirder—Alice being a secret fan of windmill-fighting, or Neon suddenly turning into a literature professor.”

Neon crossed her arms, mock-offended. “Hey! Just because I’m full of surprises doesn’t mean it’s weird.”

“It’s a little weird,” Rapi said quietly, her tone as neutral as ever.

Ludmilla sighed, motioning for Alice to set up overwatch. “Enough. Alice, go find a vantage point before this conversation derails further.”

“Yes, my Queen!” Alice saluted dramatically and skipped off, humming to herself about windmills and teapots.

Ludmilla shot John a glare but didn’t comment as the group prepared to move. Neon, still grinning, leaned closer to Anis. “We should all read Don Quixote together. It’ll be a great team-bonding experience.”

“Pass,” Anis muttered. “I’ve got enough crazy in my life already.”

-

The group crouched on the icy ridge, the relentless wind slicing through their gear as they gazed down at the fortress below. The structure loomed like a dormant beast—an unyielding mass of steel and weaponry, bristling with turrets, missile launchers, and artillery. Its design was utilitarian, cold, and commanding—a war machine that once symbolized dominance in the frozen north, now twisted into an instrument of annihilation under Rapture control.

John lowered his binoculars, his breath visible in the frigid air. “That’s not a base,” he muttered. “It’s a damned war machine.”

Ludmilla stood beside him, her gaze fixed on the fortress, her voice steady but underscored with bitterness. “It was a sanctuary for Unlimited,” she said. “A fortress that was supposed to be unbreakable. Now, it’s a weapon aimed at anyone who gets too close.”

Rapi’s sharp eyes flicked across the structure, her tone skeptical. “With all that firepower and security, how does something like that fall? It should’ve been impenetrable.”

Ludmilla let out a measured sigh, her breath mingling with the wind. “Not all fortresses fall from the outside. This one crumbled from within. It started with small glitches—minor issues that were ignored because the higher-ups didn’t see them as urgent. One after another, those glitches piled up, creating cracks in the system. By the time anyone took notice, it was too late. The Raptures didn’t have to storm the gates; they hacked their way in and turned every defense into an offense.”

“Hacked?” Anis raised an eyebrow, leaning casually on her grenade launcher. “I thought Raptures were all about brute force, not brainpower. Since when do they mess with systems?”

John furrowed his brow, his gaze lingering on the fortress. “A facility like this wouldn’t be easy to hack,” he said slowly. “I’m not knowledgeable in hacking, but surely a place like this would have redundancies, firewalls, backup protocols—layers of protection.”

Rapi nodded, her sharp gaze focused on the structure. “Raptures are good at brute force, but breaking into something like this would take more than just persistence. Hacking is predominantly a human specialty,” she said. “Even advanced Raptures struggle to comprehend systems designed by humans. Their logic is too different. For a Rapture to pull this off... it would have to be operating far beyond standard parameters.”

John’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as a troubling thought formed. “Ludmilla,” he began, his tone measured, “I’m going to say something that might be best... ignored.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Consider it done.”

He turned to Rapi, lowering his voice. “What if it wasn’t brute force? What if it wasn’t just persistence or a human mole? What if it was something—or someone—like Chatterbox? A Rapture with human intelligence.”

Rapi’s expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That would explain a lot,” she said quietly. “But it also raises more questions—questions we won’t have time to answer until we’re inside.”

Ludmilla, overhearing enough, raised an eyebrow. “A Rapture with human intelligence?” She crossed her arms, her voice taking on a wry edge. “Fascinating theory, Commander. If that’s the case, it makes our job even more complicated.”

John exhaled, the weight of the situation pressing on his shoulders. “It doesn’t change the mission. We still need to get in there and find what we’re looking for.”

“Whatever the cause, the outcome’s the same,” Ludmilla said, her tone hardening. “The Raptures have infested our fortress, turning it into their stronghold. It’s no longer a sanctuary—it’s a death trap.”

Alice, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly clasped her hands together, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “It’s just like a fairy tale! The Queen of Hearts has seized the castle, turning it into a dark, twisted lair. But don’t worry—when we defeat her, the kingdom will be saved!”

John, about to speak, was interrupted by Alice’s delighted gasp. She turned to him, her eyes wide with realization. “Of course!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. “It’s all so clear now!”

John blinked, caught off guard by her sudden enthusiasm. “What’s clear?”

“You!” Alice pointed directly at him, her expression glowing with conviction. “You’re the knight! The hero! The one destined to save us all—the legendary Don Quixote himself!”

John groaned, running a hand down his face. “Alice, no. I am not—”

“But you are!” she interrupted, her voice lilting with pure conviction. “Charging headfirst into danger, tilting at impossible odds! It’s you, Sir Knight! The windmill-slayer, the defender of the weak, the dreamer who inspires us all!”

Anis burst out laughing, leaning against her weapon for support. “Oh, this is gold. I am never letting you live this down, Commander.”

Ludmilla folded her arms, her smirk growing as she watched John’s exasperation. “You do fit the description, in a roundabout sort of way. Maybe I should start calling you ‘Sir Don Quixote.’ It has a certain ring to it.”

John turned to Rapi, his expression silently pleading for assistance. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t immediately speak, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Before the conversation could spiral further, Rapi cleared her throat, cutting through the growing amusement with her usual calm authority. “Focus,” she said evenly, though her tone carried the faintest warmth. “The base isn’t going to retake itself.”

Alice, undeterred, reached out and clasped John’s arm, her expression filled with sincerity. “Fear not, Sir Knight. With your courage and our combined strength, we shall prevail against the Queen of Hearts and restore the kingdom!”

John sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Anis said dryly, her smirk widening. “You might as well lean into it. You’d make a decent knight.”

Shooting her a long-suffering look, John straightened up and adjusted his gloves. “Right. Let’s get moving. The sooner we take down that oversized metal monstrosity—‘Land Eater,’ let’s call it—the sooner I can forget this entire conversation ever happened.”

-

The moment the group advanced from their rocky perch, the Land Eater responded with terrifying efficiency. A klaxon wailed, echoing across the frozen expanse as the massive fortress sprang to life. Turrets unfolded like blooming steel flowers, their barrels gleaming with icy condensation. High-pitched whirring signals heralded the launch of blue plasma projectiles that cut through the air with searing intensity, while bomb mortars rumbled ominously before launching their devastating payloads skyward.

John raised a hand to signal the team. "Move now! Spread out, keep low, and don’t stop moving! Engage the drones, but stay focused on the base!"

The group scattered as a salvo of plasma rounds tore into the ground where they had been standing, leaving smoldering craters and scorching the frost beneath. The air itself seemed to tremble with the energy discharged by the Land Eater’s weapons.

The first wave of drones skittered out from the base’s sides like mechanical spiders, their sharp legs clicking against the frozen ground as their red eyes scanned for targets. They weren’t large, but they moved in unpredictable patterns, weaving erratically as they closed in.

“Neon, watch the left!” Rapi shouted, her rifle snapping up. A burst of fire struck one of the drones mid-leap, sending its shattered chassis tumbling into the snow.

Neon was already moving, her shotgun pumping rhythmically as she shredded the nearest drone. Sparks showered around her as she vaulted over a patch of uneven ice, narrowly dodging a plasma round that seared past her shoulder. "I'm on it, Rapi! But can someone shut that thing up?" She motioned toward a nearby bomb mortar that had just launched another explosive into the sky.

Above them, the mortars rumbled like distant thunder. The bombs arced high before crashing down in precise, calculated intervals, forcing the team to break formation repeatedly. One landed too close to Anis, the blast throwing her off balance and sending her sprawling into the snow. She cursed, pulling herself up and leveling her grenade launcher at the offending turret.

“Oh, you’re going down for that one!” Anis snarled as she fired. The grenade arced perfectly, slamming into the base of the mortar. The explosion rocked the structure, sending shrapnel flying, but the mortar wasn’t destroyed—only staggered.

“Focus fire!” John barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. He hurled one of his cursed-energy-infused stones with pinpoint accuracy, striking the damaged mortar with enough force to shatter its mechanisms. The weapon sputtered and went still, smoke rising from its remains.

The Land Eater retaliated immediately. A massive plasma launcher swiveled toward their position, the barrel glowing ominously as it charged. John’s eyes widened as he recognized the danger. “Incoming! Move!”

The blue plasma round surged forward with blinding speed, slamming into the ridge they had been using for cover. The explosion was deafening, the shockwave throwing ice and rock into the air. John barely had time to dive behind another outcropping, the heat from the blast searing the back of his coat.

Rapi was already on the move, her rifle firing precise bursts at the plasma launcher. “It’s too heavily armored!” she called out. “We need a direct hit with explosives!”

“On it!” Anis shouted, loading another grenade. She dashed forward, using the terrain for cover as she lined up her shot. A drone scuttled into her path, but before it could lunge, Neon intercepted it with a well-placed shotgun blast.

“Keep going, Anis!” Neon shouted. “I’ll cover you!”

Anis didn’t hesitate. She fired, her grenade slamming into the base of the plasma launcher. The explosion rocked the turret, and a cascade of sparks erupted from its housing, but it wasn’t enough to take it down.

From her vantage point, Alice adjusted her sniper rifle, her cursed energy unknowingly flaring as she lined up her shot. Her voice carried over the comms, light and cheerful despite the tension. “Allow me, dear friends! A knight never lets her Queen down!” She squeezed the trigger, her bullet streaking through the chaos to strike the weakened plasma launcher. The projectile pierced its core, and the turret detonated in a spectacular burst of blue energy.

“Nice shot!” Rapi called out, her voice laced with urgency. “But don’t stop—there’s more incoming!”

As if in response, the Land Eater deployed a second wave of drones. These moved faster, their metallic limbs glinting as they skittered across the ice. John gritted his teeth, pulling another cursed-energy-charged stone from his coat. He hurled it with precision, the projectile striking a drone mid-leap and shattering it into scrap. He turned to his team, his voice sharp. “Keep those drones off us! Ludmilla, focus on suppressing fire. Rapi, cover her!”

Ludmilla was already moving, her SMG roaring as she laid down a hail of bullets to keep the advancing drones at bay. Her movements were methodical, each step calculated as she used the terrain to her advantage. “They’re pushing hard,” she said, her voice calm despite the chaos. “But they’re not getting past me.”

Rapi fell into position beside her, her rifle spitting bursts of fire. Together, they created a deadly crossfire, mowing down the advancing drones before they could reach the rest of the team.

John’s eyes flicked to the remaining turrets. The Land Eater was a fortress, but its weapons had patterns—vulnerabilities. He spotted a momentary pause in one of the bomb mortars’ firing sequence and signaled to Anis. “There! Hit it now!”

Anis grinned, leveling her grenade launcher. “With pleasure, Commander!” She fired, the grenade slamming into the exposed mortar just as it prepared to fire. The resulting explosion sent debris flying, and the mortar crumbled into a smoldering wreck.

The Land Eater seemed to sense the shift in momentum. Its klaxon blared again, and the remaining turrets began to charge in unison. John’s heart sank as he realized the fortress was preparing for a coordinated strike.

“Everyone, regroup!” he shouted. “We need to focus fire on those remaining turrets before they wipe us out!”

The team moved as one, their weapons trained on the final turrets. Plasma rounds and bullets filled the air as they unleashed everything they had. Alice’s sniper rifle rang out, her shots finding weak points with uncanny precision. Anis and Neon worked in tandem, clearing the field of drones while Rapi and Ludmilla focused on suppressing the turrets.

John hurled his last cursed-energy-charged stone, the projectile slamming into a damaged turret and finishing it off. The Land Eater shuddered, its weapons faltering as the team’s relentless assault finally began to take its toll.

As the final turret fell silent, the battlefield was momentarily still. Smoke rose from the remains of the drones and destroyed turrets, and the Land Eater’s once-imposing silhouette seemed less invincible.

The Land Eater let out a deep, mechanical groan, the sound reverberating through the frozen landscape as smoke and sparks erupted from its turrets. For a brief moment, silence settled over the battlefield. The fortress, now riddled with bullet holes and scorched scars from the team’s assault, seemed to sag under its own weight. Then, with a sharp, ear-piercing whine, its outer shell began to shift.

“What the hell?” Neon muttered, stepping back as a deep rumble shook the ground. “Did we… did we actually win?”

“Stay sharp,” Rapi warned, her eyes narrowing as she tracked the movement. The fortress groaned again, sections of its massive base folding and retracting as gears and pistons hissed and whirred into motion.

John clenched his fists, his breathing quickening as he stared at the unfolding monstrosity. His sharp gaze locked onto the shifting form, his chest rising and falling like a predator on the hunt. “It’s not over,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Get ready.”

With a deafening clang, four massive metallic legs extended from the base, their jagged, spiked ends slamming into the ice. The sheer force of the impact sent cracks spiderwebbing across the ground, and the Land Eater rose higher, its enormous frame looming over the team. As it straightened, a monstrous head emerged from the central dome, its glowing blue core blazing with malice. The head resembled a turtle’s, but its jaws were lined with jagged teeth that gleamed like blades. It let out a guttural, electronic roar, the sound so loud it sent snow avalanching off nearby cliffs.

“Nope. Nope. Nope.” Anis stepped back, her grenade launcher hanging loosely in her hands. “What is this, a bad sci-fi movie? Did the fortress just grow legs? And a head?”

“Whoa!” Neon’s shotgun was up, her grin widening despite the chaos. “Now this is what I’m talking about! It’s like we’re fighting a giant metal kaiju! Let’s see if its bite is as good as its bark!”

John didn’t respond. His breathing had grown heavier, his fingers twitching as if itching to grab something—anything—to throw. His eyes were locked on the towering metal beast, his pupils dilating with a dangerous intensity. A faint grin tugged at the corners of his lips, but it wasn’t the calm, measured Commander his team was used to. It was something sharper, more primal.

“John?” Rapi’s voice cut through the rising tension. She turned to him, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. His gaze didn’t waver from the Land Eater as it took a lumbering step forward, the ground shaking beneath its weight. “Just focus on the fight.”

Rapi frowned but didn’t press. Instead, she reloaded her rifle, her movements quick and precise. “Alright. Target its legs. If we can take them out, we might be able to bring it down again.”

Alice, perched on a nearby ledge, clapped her hands together with childlike glee. “Oh, how marvelous! The Queen of Hearts’ turtle has come to life! Shall we tame the beast, Sir Knight?”

“Not tame,” John muttered, his voice low and strained. His grin widened, teeth bared as his hands flexed at his sides. “Destroy.”

The Land Eater’s head snapped toward the group, its red eyes locking onto them with a predator’s precision. With a deafening whir, its mouth opened, revealing a cannon barrel that glowed with blue plasma. A beam of energy shot toward them, carving a molten scar into the ice as the team scrambled to dodge.

“Move!” John roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. He darted to the side, barely avoiding the beam as it seared past him. The heat singed his coat, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he grabbed a jagged piece of ice from the ground, his cursed energy flaring around it as he hurled it with all his might. The projectile struck the Land Eater’s leg with a resounding clang, leaving a dent but doing little else.

“Focus fire on the legs!” Rapi ordered, her voice sharp and commanding. She aimed for the nearest joint, her rifle spitting controlled bursts of bullets. Ludmilla joined her, her SMG spraying suppressive fire as the team began to coordinate their assault.

Neon darted to the side, her shotgun roaring as she blasted one of the smaller drones skittering toward her. “These little guys just don’t give up!” she shouted, kicking another drone away before turning her attention to the towering turtle. “Come on, big guy—let’s see what you’ve got!”

Anis, meanwhile, was frantically reloading her grenade launcher. “I swear, if this thing breathes fire like the dragon, I’m quitting. Just throwing that out there.”

The Land Eater roared again, its massive legs shifting as it began to charge. Each step shook the ground, throwing the team off balance. Bomb mortars on its back launched into the air, raining explosive death across the battlefield. The team scattered, dodging the blasts as shrapnel and debris filled the air.

“John!” Rapi called out, her tone edged with urgency. “We need a plan!”

John didn’t respond immediately. He was too focused on the Land Eater, his breathing ragged as his cursed energy began to crackle faintly around him. His hands trembled, not with fear, but with barely restrained excitement. The thrill of the fight was consuming him, drowning out everything else.

“Commander!” Rapi’s voice snapped him out of his haze. He shook his head, his grin fading slightly as he forced himself to focus.

“Take out the mortars first!” he ordered, his voice steady but strained. “Neon, Anis, keep the drones off us. Ludmilla, Rapi, focus on the legs. Alice, aim for the head—hit anything that looks like a sensor!”

Alice saluted from her perch. “With pleasure, Sir Knight! Let us strike down the beast!”

The team moved as one, their weapons blazing as they unleashed everything they had. Neon and Anis worked in tandem, cutting down the drones that swarmed toward them like mechanical locusts. Rapi and Ludmilla focused their fire on the Land Eater’s legs, their bullets chipping away at its armor with relentless precision.

Alice’s sniper rifle cracked, her cursed energy flaring as she fired shot after shot at the turtle’s head. One of her bullets struck a glowing blue sensor, causing the beast to roar in electronic rage. The damaged sensor flickered, its glow dimming as smoke began to seep from the wound.

John stayed back, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield for an opening. His fingers itched to join the fray, but he forced himself to hold back. Not yet. He clenched his fists, his cursed energy crackling faintly around him as he prepared for the moment he could strike.

The Land Eater reared up on its hind legs, its massive frame casting a shadow over the team. Its mouth glowed with blue energy as it prepared to unleash another devastating plasma beam. John’s eyes widened, his battle lust momentarily replaced by cold calculation.

“Scatter!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. The team dove in different directions as the beam carved a molten path through the ice, narrowly missing them.

The turtle landed with a thunderous crash, its legs sinking slightly into the ice. John’s eyes lit up, a manic grin spreading across his face. “Now!” he roared, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement. “Hit it with everything you’ve got!”

The team unleashed their full arsenal, their combined firepower slamming into the Land Eater with explosive force. Grenades, bullets, and cursed-energy-infused projectiles tore into its armor, leaving it battered and smoking.

The Land Eater let out another thunderous roar, its glowing red eyes blazing with anger as its massive head twisted to track the attackers below. With a mechanical groan, it reared back on its hind legs again, its immense bulk shifting to prepare for a devastating counterstrike. Bomb mortars and plasma launchers mounted on its shell unleashed a punishing volley, blanketing the battlefield in explosions and streaks of searing blue energy.

John darted between the blasts, his movements swift and calculated. But his mind wasn’t entirely clear. The battlelust was gnawing at him, that burning desire to test himself against this behemoth, to sink deeper into the fight. He clenched his fists, shaking his head to force the thoughts back down. Stay focused. Don’t lose it.

To his right, Ludmilla and Alice were coordinating their fire. Ludmilla’s SMG rattled with precise bursts, targeting the joints of the massive legs, while Alice’s sniper rifle cracked with each shot, her cursed energy flaring as she focused her aim on the head.

“Keep it distracted!” Ludmilla commanded, her tone sharp and authoritative. “Alice, hit the sensors again. We need to blind it—”

The Land Eater shifted with shocking speed, its massive head snapping toward them. Its cannon-like mouth glowed with plasma energy, and before they could react, it unleashed a blinding, concentrated beam. The impact struck the ledge where Ludmilla and Alice were perched, detonating in a shower of snow and shattered rock.

The two Nikkes were thrown through the air like ragdolls, their cries barely audible over the roar of the explosion. They hit the ground hard, disappearing into the swirling snow and debris.

“Ludmilla! Alice!” Rapi shouted, her usually stoic voice breaking with alarm.

John’s head snapped toward the falling figures, his breath hitching as he watched them disappear. His chest clenched with an unexpected burst of emotion—fear? Concern? But then, before he could stop it, another feeling surged forward: joy. Raw, unfiltered joy at the chaos, at the sheer brutality of the fight. His heart raced, his vision narrowing as the Land Eater’s monstrous form filled his gaze.

This is what I live for, he thought, his grin widening, his cursed energy crackling faintly around him. But then the guilt hit him like a punch to the gut, twisting his stomach into knots. How could he feel this way? How could he enjoy this, when two of his allies might be hurt—or worse?

“Get it together,” he growled under his breath, forcing himself to focus. The Land Eater was still advancing, its massive legs crushing the ice with each step, its cannons swiveling to target the remaining team members.

John’s gaze hardened as he spotted a weak point in the monster’s armor—an exposed seam where the fortress’s torso met the head. He darted forward, weaving through the barrage of mortars and plasma fire with the speed of a predator closing in on its prey. His cursed energy flared to life, surging through his limbs as he leapt onto the Land Eater’s leg, his boots scraping against the cold metal.

Rapi’s voice crackled through his comms. “John! What are you doing?!”

“Ending this,” he snapped, his voice tight with determination. He ran up higher, his hands gripping onto the jagged edges of the metal as he scaled the beast’s side. The Land Eater’s legs swayed as it tried to shake him off, but John held firm, his cursed energy anchoring him in place.

As he reached the fortress-like torso, he planted his feet on the broad, flat surface and raised his fist. His cursed energy surged, crackling around his hand like lightning. With a roar of exertion, he drove his fist into the armor, the impact reverberating through the metal shell. A dent appeared, then a crack, and finally, the armor gave way, splintering apart to reveal the glowing core inside—a pulsating mass of red energy surrounded by twisting machinery.

“Core’s exposed!” John shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos. He leapt backward, his body twisting as he landed on the ground in a crouch. He raised his hand, signaling to the others. “Take it out! Now!”

Rapi was the first to react, her sharp eyes locking onto the exposed core. She raised her rifle, unleashing a barrage of bullets that tore into the vulnerable machinery. “Focus fire on the core!” she commanded, her voice cutting through the noise.

Ludmilla and Alice, bruised but alive, emerged from the snowdrift where they had fallen. Ludmilla brushed herself off with a scowl, raising her SMG. “We’re not done yet,” she growled, opening fire with renewed determination.

Alice, ever the optimist, clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement despite the chaos. “Oh, what a glorious turn of events! The beast’s heart is vulnerable! Let us strike it down, Sir Knight!” She raised her sniper rifle, her cursed energy surging as she took aim. Her shot struck true, sending a ripple through the core as sparks and smoke erupted from within.

Neon, grinning like a madwoman, charged forward, her shotgun blasting away at the smaller drones that tried to swarm them. “Finally! A target that actually matters!” she shouted, firing round after round into the core.

Anis joined in, her grenade launcher thumping as she lobbed explosive rounds at the Land Eater’s chest. The grenades detonated on impact, sending chunks of metal flying and further destabilizing the massive beast.

The Land Eater roared again, its electronic bellow tinged with static as its systems began to fail. The ground trembled as it took an unsteady step forward, its massive frame swaying dangerously. The red glow of its core flickered, dimming with each successive hit.

“Keep going!” John shouted, his voice hoarse but commanding. “It’s almost down!”

The combined firepower of the team was relentless, a storm of bullets, grenades, and energy that tore through the Land Eater’s defenses. With a final, ear-splitting shriek, the core exploded in a brilliant burst of red light, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield.

The Land Eater’s legs buckled, and the massive, fortress-like torso collapsed back onto the ground with a deafening crash. The ice groaned under the weight of the impact, but it held firm as the beast finally fell silent.

For a moment, the battlefield was still. The only sound was the faint crackling of flames and the hissing of steam as the wreckage cooled. John stood at the center of it all, his chest heaving as he stared at the smoking remains of the Land Eater. His hands trembled at his sides, not from fear, but from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

John's gaze lingered on the wreckage, his thoughts a tangled mess of relief, guilt, and that lingering thrill of the fight. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. “It’s done,” he said finally, his voice low. “Let’s move. We’ve still got a mission to finish.”

The team nodded, regrouping as they prepared to search the remains of the fortress.

Chapter Text

The team stood at the entrance of the research facility, the aftermath of their battle with the Land Eater still visible in the scorched ground and jagged debris scattered around them. The massive, reinforced iron door loomed ahead, an imposing barrier that seemed to mock their efforts. The faint hum of operational systems from within the facility was the only sound breaking the otherwise eerie silence.

John scanned the area, his sharp gaze lingering on the massive door. The faint chill of the air pressed against them, mingling with the tension as the team regrouped. Rapi stepped forward cautiously, her rifle raised and her posture alert as she motioned for the others to stay close. The weight of what lay behind the door was palpable.

“This is it,” Ludmilla said, stepping forward to examine the door. Her voice, calm yet edged with frustration, carried through the quiet. “The heart of the facility. The data we need should be inside, but…” She gestured toward the door, the sharp lines of her face betraying her irritation. “This isn’t going to be simple.”

Neon cocked her shotgun, her grin wide and confident. “What’s the problem? Let me blow it open! A little firepower never hurt anyone.” She patted the barrel of her shotgun, already eyeing potential weak points.

“Don’t bother,” Ludmilla said sharply, shooting her a look of exasperation. She stepped closer to the door, running a gloved hand over its surface as if inspecting it. “This door is made of a goddesium-reinforced iron alloy, approximately forty centimeters thick. It’s magnetically sealed and designed to withstand every form of conventional weaponry. Nothing you have is going to even scratch it, let alone breach it.”

Neon blinked, her grin faltering. “Forty centimeters? Seriously? Who makes a door that thick?”

“People who don’t want visitors,” Ludmilla replied curtly. Her tone carried a bite, though her focus remained on the sealed barrier.

Anis groaned, slumping against her grenade launcher. “Great. So, what’s the plan now? We’re stuck outside because someone forgot the keys?”

Ludmilla let out a measured sigh, glancing at the blinking panel beside the door. “The security system is still operational. When the base fell, I didn’t have time to grab a pass. We were running for our lives.”

John cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “We might not be completely out of options,” he said, pulling a sealed envelope from his coat pocket. The gesture was deliberate, his tone calm, though his subtle smirk hinted that he had been waiting for the right moment to intervene.

“What’s that?” Rapi asked, her sharp eyes narrowing as they focused on the envelope.

John carefully tore it open, revealing a sleek metallic card bearing the emblem of Tetra Line. Alongside it was a folded piece of paper, which he opened and began to read aloud. His voice took on a slightly bemused tone as he deciphered the ornate script.

“Cher Commander,
It is with great regret that I cannot meet you personally. Malheureusement, I am currently assisting un autre promising commander with equally exciting ventures.

But fear not! Please accept this pass, the very pinnacle of Tetra Line innovation. It will grant you access to the most impénétrable facilities, ensuring your mission is as entertaining as possible.

Et bien sûr, my warmest regards to Anis. Should she ever wish to return to my side, my offer remains open—sans condition.

Yours in entertainment,
Mustang”

Anis groaned audibly, burying her face in her hands as John lowered the letter. “That’s… that’s definitely Mustang,” she muttered, her voice muffled by her gloves. “Why is he like this?” John read the card over, his brow furrowing. “Well, at least we’ve got the pass. Let’s activate it and move on.”

“Not so fast,” Rapi said, stepping closer to point at the card. “There’s something written on the back.”

John squinted at the fine print, his eyebrows lifting as he read it. Below the text was an illustrated diagram of a muscular, broad-shouldered man mid-dance, his movements outlined in a sequence of dramatic poses. The caption below the image read:

“Activate by performing the Danse de l’Activation. Grace and flair are key!”

John tilted his head, studying the diagram with mild curiosity. “You’ve got to admit,” he said, his tone casual, “the guy’s got an impressive build.”

Anis groaned louder, as if the conversation couldn’t get any worse. “That’s him,” she said, gesturing weakly to the illustration. “That’s literally Mustang.”

“Well,” John said with a shrug, tucking the letter back into his coat, “guess I better get to it.” Without hesitation, he began mimicking the dance from the diagram, his movements surprisingly fluid and precise despite the absurdity of the situation.

Anis buried her face in her hands again. “I’m dying. This is it. I’m actually dying of secondhand embarrassment.”

Alice, however, was positively thrilled. She clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with delight. “A victory dance for the goddess! How wonderful! Allow me to join!” Without missing a beat, she began twirling beside John, adding her own dramatic flair to the routine.

“My queen!” Alice called out, spinning gracefully. “Join us my queen!”

Ludmilla hesitated for a moment, her sharp eyes flicking between the spectacle in front of her and the pass in John’s hand. Finally, with a faint sigh, she stepped forward. “If you insist,” she said, her voice calm as ever. Yet, as she moved, her steps were perfectly coordinated, her regal bearing unshaken even as she followed the ridiculous sequence.

As the trio completed the final pose, the pass began to glow faintly, a soft hum resonating as the massive door slid open with a hiss. The team fell silent, staring at the now-unlocked entrance.

Rapi crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as she turned to John. “Thank you for sacrificing your dignity for us, Commander.”

John adjusted his gloves, his gaze lingering briefly on the glowing pass before turning to the open doorway. “Dancing and fighting aren’t so different,” he said with a faint smirk. “It’s all about rhythm, precision, and knowing when to act. Metaphorically, I’m kind of like a flathead screwdriver—it might not be a tool made for a cross-slot screw, but it’ll still get the job done. Now, let’s move.”

-

“This is the data hub,” Ludmilla said, gesturing toward the terminal at the room’s center. Her tone carried the usual regal authority. “Servant, check it. I’ll guide you through the directories.”

John raised an eyebrow but moved toward the console without comment. Anis, however, leaned her grenade launcher on her shoulder and shot Ludmilla a teasing smirk. “Anyone else notice she’s been giving out a lot of orders? We’re doing the heavy lifting while she’s playing Queen.”

Ludmilla arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Leadership requires delegation, Anis. Besides, would you prefer I do this myself?”

She strode forward and placed her hand on the terminal. The moment her fingers touched the surface, the machine sputtered and fizzled before powering down entirely, its screens going dark in an instant.

Anis blinked. “Okay… point taken.”

Ludmilla pulled her hand back with a sigh. “And that is why I don’t. Any machine I touch ceases to function—one of my many... peculiarities.”

Rapi frowned, her sharp gaze flicking between Ludmilla and the now-dead terminal. “You could’ve mentioned that earlier.”

Alice, ever the optimist, clapped her hands. “No worries! I’ll handle it!” With a cheerful skip, she moved to another terminal and began typing away with practiced ease.

The group stood in tense silence as Alice worked, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. The screens flickered as directories opened one by one—until, suddenly, the interface vanished, replaced by the pixelated image of a cop shooting at blocky criminals. An upbeat 8-bit soundtrack began to play.

Alice giggled. “Oops! Wrong password. Let me try again.”

Neon tilted her head, smirking. “I’m not complaining, but what’s with the game? Don’t tell me this place doubles as an arcade.”

Alice stuck her tongue out playfully as she typed in another password: “SuperUltraNikke.” The game disappeared, and the directories reappeared.

“Found it!” Alice announced, scrolling through files. Within moments, she brought up a detailed map of the northern region, dotted with markers denoting Pilgrim sightings. The team gathered around the screen as she enlarged the map.

Each sighting was marked with coordinates and dates, forming a clear pattern.

“They’re on a patrol route,” Rapi said, her eyes scanning the screen. “This isn’t random movement—it’s deliberate. They’re covering ground systematically.”

Ludmilla nodded. “Exactly. It’s how we’ve managed to track them. If the pattern holds, our paths should cross soon.”

“Let’s hope so,” Neon said, gripping her shotgun. “After all this, we’d better not be chasing ghosts.”

Alice beamed at the team, her enthusiasm undimmed. “Don’t worry! With this map, I’m sure we’ll find them. It’s just like in a fairy tale—the heroes always meet their allies when the time is right!”

John studied the map, his sharp eyes tracing the markers and paths. They weren’t random; every route intersected with known sources of shelter or areas marked for resources. The timing of the sightings lined up, too. Each point was carefully chosen, likely after extensive reconnaissance.

They’re efficient. Too efficient. His thoughts cut through the faint buzz of optimism from the others. This isn’t a crusade; it’s calculated survival. They aren’t fighting to reclaim anything—they’re retreating from something.

He leaned against the terminal, letting the others chatter while his mind pieced the pattern together. Pilgrims. Heroes of the surface. That’s the image some people and Nikke cling to in the Ark, the myth that keeps the hope-starved masses from tipping into despair. But look at this. They’re just like us—surviving day by day, clinging to whatever edge they can find.

A pang of guilt surfaced. It wasn’t the Pilgrims’ fault that they weren’t what people wanted them to be. How could they be? No one can bear the weight of those expectations. His fists clenched, his voice silent as his inner thoughts spiraled deeper. And when they don’t live up to the legend, people will crumble all over again. Hope isn’t a shield—it’s a sword with no handle.

Alice’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Isn’t it incredible?” she asked, her voice brimming with genuine delight. “We’re finally close. Real Pilgrims—they must be amazing, don’t you think?”

He glanced at her, her wide, hopeful eyes lighting up her face. For a moment, John considered telling her the truth, his logical deductions stacking into cold certainty. But then he hesitated. Her optimism wasn’t ignorance; it was a fire burning against the cold reality they faced.

You’ve lost the right to believe in things, he reminded himself, a heavy ache settling in his chest. But that doesn’t mean you get to snuff out someone else’s light. Just because I’ve failed doesn’t mean she will.

He forced a faint smile, his voice measured and calm. “Let’s hope they’re everything the stories say,” he said, deliberately leaning into her optimism, as much for her as for himself. “Sometimes, reputation alone can inspire. Maybe we all need that right now.”

Alice beamed, her excitement reignited as she turned back to the screen. John watched her for a moment longer before exhaling quietly and refocusing on the map. He didn’t believe the Pilgrims would be some sort of legendary heroes. But for now, he wouldn’t be the one to take that hope away, and he still needed to talk to them, to hopefully get answers to Marian's corruption or at the very least, a lead on chatterbox’s location.

Ludmilla continued guiding them through the base, until they arrived at a lab. The lab’s dim, sterile light reflected off rows of capsules, each containing fragmented Nikkes suspended in a viscous, faintly glowing liquid. The hum of machinery was the only sound in the room, but it felt suffocating rather than comforting.

“These,” Alice said with a cheerful clap of her hands, “are the sleeping princesses!” She moved forward with a graceful step, her pigtails bouncing as she gestured toward the nearest capsule. “Look! That’s Princess Blue Hair! And over there—Princess Yellow Eye.”

Anis’s voice broke the silence, her tone wavering between shock and horror. “Alice… they’re—” she hesitated, gripping her grenade launcher like a lifeline, “they’re in pieces.”

Rapi’s sharp eyes scanned the capsules, her jaw tightening as she processed what she was seeing. One Nikke had the top of her skull removed, her exposed brain visible beneath the faint glow. Another’s body was severed cleanly at the waist, her upper torso floating unnaturally in the liquid. “They’re still alive,” Rapi said quietly, the words carrying a strange mix of disbelief and anger. “How is that even possible?”

Alice turned back to them, completely unfazed. “Of course, they’re alive!” she said brightly. “They’re waiting to wake up. One day, we’ll all go to Elysium together.”

John stood motionless, his gaze lingering on the nearest capsule. His fists clenched as his mind churned, thoughts flashing back to memories he preferred buried. He exhaled sharply, forcing his darker thoughts into submission. When Alice’s hopeful gaze turned to him, he managed a small nod and said, “They’ll need someone like you to guide them when they do.”

Alice’s smile widened, a genuine warmth that seemed to cut through the oppressive air in the room. “Of course! I’ll be their guide, and we’ll all find happiness together.”

Ludmilla, standing silently nearby, gave John a measured look. There was something unreadable in her expression—a faint hint of understanding, perhaps even approval.

“They removed their own brains,” Rapi said, her voice breaking the moment with its steely edge. “Didn’t they? To survive.” Her words were less a question and more a grim realization.

Ludmilla’s cold blue eyes softened slightly as she nodded. “Yes. When the body fails, the brain is all that can be saved. Most Nikkes who endure catastrophic damage have one last hope: to store their consciousness in safety, waiting for someone to find them and give them another chance.” She gestured to the capsules. “This is where we keep them until that day.”

Neon crossed her arms, her usual energy replaced with quiet contemplation. “And what if you can’t find a body? What if it doesn’t work?”

Ludmilla’s gaze flicked to one of the capsules, her tone steady but heavy. “Then they stay here. Waiting. Hoping. But when it does work, when we bring them back, it’s worth it. Every risk, every failure—it’s worth it for the ones we can save.”

“And when it doesn’t work?” Anis asked, her voice soft for once.

Ludmilla’s hands tightened slightly at her sides, but her composure held. “We keep trying. Because what choice do we have?”

John’s gaze lingered on her, watching the way her shoulders held the weight of responsibility as though it were second nature. She’s doing what I can’t. Rebuilding lives while I tear down threats. But he refused to say something so self-pitying out loud. Instead, he straightened and said, “You’re doing more than most ever will. Don’t doubt that.”

Ludmilla’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re a charmer, Commander. I always have hope in our mission.”

Alice, seemingly unaffected by the heavy conversation, clapped her hands again. “Speaking of hope—would anyone like some milk and cookies? I always share with the princesses, and they love it.”

Rapi raised an eyebrow. “They love it?”

“Of course!” Alice said, beaming. “It’s part of the ritual! Every Queen should share her treasures with her kingdom.”

Ludmilla sighed. “Alice, fetch the milk and cookies, but—” She paused as Alice bolted for the nearby storage unit. Moments later, she returned, juggling a tray piled with cookies and a carton of milk.

As Alice eagerly passed out the snacks, Ludmilla’s eyes narrowed. “Alice,” she said, her voice sharp, “why is there milk on your lips?”

Alice froze, her wide eyes darting guiltily to Ludmilla. “I… I had to make sure it wasn’t spoiled!” she said brightly, a drop of milk still clinging to her lip. Ludmilla sighed, before signaling to the others to follow her.

Ludmilla led the group through the desolate corridors to a secure room, its reinforced walls offering shelter from the biting cold outside. The faint hum of old machinery provided a rare semblance of warmth, and the dim lighting softened the harsh, metallic space. She gestured to a corner where salvaged cushions were stacked. “Rest,” she said firmly, her gaze fixed on John. “You’re no use to anyone if you collapse.”

John’s instinct to argue faltered under the weight of exhaustion settling in his limbs. He exhaled sharply, nodding. “Fine. But just for a bit.”

Before he could settle into the least uncomfortable spot, Alice darted over, her bright smile cutting through the tension. She patted the seat beside her. “Sit here! I’ll keep you warm.”

John blinked, his hesitation evident. “Alice, I don’t—”

“Oh, don’t argue,” she interrupted, tugging gently at his arm. “My cooling suit makes me the perfect heater.”

Reluctantly, he sat down. “A cooling suit?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep!” she said brightly. “My body temperature’s naturally really high, so this keeps me from overheating. It also makes me great at keeping others warm.” Her tone was so casual, as though this simple truth was the most normal thing in the world.

For a moment, John stayed stiff, the unfamiliarity of her warmth disarming. Kindness isn’t something you expect, but it’s hard to refuse when it’s given so easily, he thought, glancing sideways at her earnest expression. He sighed, leaning back slightly, letting some of the tension leave his shoulders.

Alice adjusted beside him, leaning slightly closer as if to make sure the warmth she offered wasn’t wasted. “See? Isn’t this much better?” she said with a soft hum.

John didn’t answer directly, instead muttering, “It’s fine.”

The quiet settled around them for a moment before John looked toward Ludmilla. “Unlimited’s been tracking Pilgrims for a while, haven’t they? Why?”

Ludmilla paused, her fingers brushing against the fur trim of her coat as her expression turned contemplative. “Two reasons,” she said, her tone quieter. “The first… is personal.” She met his gaze evenly, though the words carried a weight she didn’t elaborate on. “The second is duty. If Pilgrims are out there, it’s our responsibility to know. They might hold answers—or at least hope for someone out there.”

Alice hummed a soft tune beside him, her head tilted slightly as she glanced at him. “You should really sleep, sir knight. You’ve been going nonstop since we got here.”

John hesitated, his gaze lingering on her bright, unwavering optimism. “I’m fine.”

Alice grinned, shaking her head. “You’re not. But that’s okay. I’ll stay right here. You don’t have to worry.”

He didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed himself to lean back against the cold wall, her warmth contrasting sharply against it. Even the strongest tools need maintenance, he thought with a flicker of practicality. Alice’s hum filled the room, easing some of the tension in his chest.

-

The team gathered near the edge of the research base, the icy winds carrying the faint hum of machinery from within. Unlimited had chosen to remain behind, their duty to the sleeping princesses pulling them away from the path ahead. The group was quiet, the weight of the departure settling over them like the ever-present frost.

Alice stood close to John, her usually bright and cheerful demeanor tinged with a rare melancholy. Her hands clasped together tightly, and she looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. “You’re really leaving?” she asked softly, her voice carrying over the faint whistle of the wind.

John paused, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon before turning to her. “We don’t have a choice,” he said simply. “The Pilgrims might have the answers we need. If we don’t find them, everything we’ve done so far might be for nothing.”

Alice nodded slowly, but the glimmer of hope in her expression didn’t fade. “Then I’ll wait for you, Sir Knight,” she said with a small smile. “You’ll come back, right?”

John hesitated, feeling the weight of her trust. He wanted to give her the reassurance she sought, but he knew better than to make promises he couldn’t guarantee. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. “We’ll try,” he said finally. “And until then, take care of the princesses. They’ll need someone like you.”

Her smile brightened, her confidence unwavering. “I will! I promise. The Queen and I will keep everything safe for when you return.”

Behind them, Ludmilla watched the exchange with quiet intensity. As Alice turned away to join the others, Ludmilla approached John. “She believes in you,” she said, her tone calm but pointed. “Don’t make her wait too long.”

John didn’t respond immediately, his eyes lingering on Alice’s retreating form. “I’ll do what I can,” he said finally, his voice low.

The group began to gather their gear, preparing for the journey ahead. Rapi walked over to John, her expression as unreadable as ever. “Do you think the Raptures might’ve accessed the data?” she asked quietly.

John exhaled through his nose, the thought already weighing heavily on him. “It’s possible. If they did, it could compromise everything. We’ll need to adjust.”

Anis, overhearing, rolled her eyes. “Commander, you’re being paranoid. Machines don’t think like that. They’re not out here plotting against us.”

John stopped mid-step and turned to her, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Chatterbox,” he said, the single word enough to drain the confidence from Anis’s expression.

Her smirk faded, replaced by a furrowed brow. “Fine,” she muttered, “but what are we supposed to do? We can’t second-guess everything.”

John glanced at the others, his expression unreadable. “I have a plan,” he said after a moment, his tone steady. “But it’s not something I’m sharing right now. We’ll adjust as we go.”

Anis frowned slightly, but Rapi placed a hand on her shoulder, signaling for silence. “We’ll follow your lead, Commander,” Rapi said, her voice even. “Just make sure we’re not walking into something blind.”

As they prepared to leave, Ludmilla approached them one last time, her coat trailing lightly over the snow. Her piercing gaze softened as she addressed the group. “Before you go,” she began, her voice carrying the weight of her authority and experience, “remember this: Fear of the unknown leads to destruction. You must learn to see the value in others’ worlds, even if it costs you part of your own. Never destroy someone’s world—it’s their home.”

John met her eyes, her words sinking deeper than he expected. After a pause, he gave a short nod. “I’ll do my best to follow your advice,” he said simply. Internally, though, his thoughts took a darker turn. If I ever had a home, it’s long gone. All I can do now is ensure others don’t lose theirs.

Alice returned with a hurried step, her pigtails bouncing as she rushed to stand beside Ludmilla. “We’ll be waiting for you, Sir Knight,” she said brightly, her optimism like a shield against the somber atmosphere. “And when you come back, we’ll celebrate with the princesses!”

John’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Take care, Alice.”

The team turned and began their trek into the vast, frozen wilderness. The snow crunched beneath their boots, the icy wind cutting at their exposed skin. John led the group, his steps deliberate and measured, his gaze fixed ahead. He didn’t look back.

Rapi, walking just behind him, glanced at his rigid posture. “You’re unusually quiet,” she remarked.

“Just thinking,” John replied, his tone neutral. He adjusted his scarf against the biting wind, his thoughts swirling with doubt and determination. I may not save the day, but I can still make the world a little less dark for the ones who can.

The horizon stretched endlessly before them, the unknown waiting like a predator in the shadows. Despite the weight of his own cynicism, John resolved to keep moving forward. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

-

The snowfield stretched out before the group, an expansive, desolate expanse broken only by jagged peaks looming in the distance. The icy wind cut across the terrain, carrying flurries of snow that obscured the horizon and added an oppressive stillness to the scene. The shroud of white gave little indication of life—or danger.

“This is it,” Rapi said, her voice steady as her sharp eyes scanned the barren landscape. “If Ludmilla’s map holds true, this is where the Pilgrims will pass. Perfect for interception.”

“Perfect for an ambush, you mean,” Anis muttered, her grenade launcher resting on her shoulder. Her skeptical gaze swept across the snow. “It’s too open, too quiet. Something about this doesn’t sit right.”

Neon squinted through the swirling snow, then pointed sharply. “Wait! There—do you see that?” Her voice carried a mix of excitement and caution. “Master! There’s something humanoid in the distance.”

The group turned their attention to where she was gesturing. A dark figure stood motionless in the snow, partially obscured by the wind and haze. From this distance, it appeared humanoid, its stillness eerie against the shifting white backdrop.

“Humanoid,” Anis repeated, narrowing her eyes. “That’s suspicious. Don’t tell me you think we’re that lucky?”

Rapi frowned, her tone turning clipped. “There’s no footprints leading to or from it. It doesn’t make sense.”

John stood a short distance away, his gaze fixed on the figure. When he spoke, his voice was calm but carried an unusual authority as if projecting from farther away. “Stay sharp. Observe first. No sudden moves. We’ll know soon enough if it’s what we’re looking for.”

The others exchanged glances, their unease evident. The figure felt too convenient—too perfectly placed to be real. John gave out several instructions using hand signs, having the counters subtly spread out, taking positions as if to keep watch on the area but really preparing for what was to come.

Keeping his movement hidden, John activated an almost imperceptible barrier. It was subtle, bending light and perception in a way that distorted the true positions of the group. To any observer, it appeared as if the team were standing together in a tight formation, an easy target. In reality, they were spread out at strategic points, their true positions masked by the distortion.

John remained where he appeared to be, standing seemingly exposed at the group’s supposed focal point. His coat flapped lightly in the wind as he raised his voice again, loud enough to cut through the howling cold. “No sudden movements,” he called. “Keep steady. If it’s nothing, we move as one.”

Before anyone could respond, a low rumble began to grow. The sound started faintly, a distant vibration that grew rapidly into an all-consuming roar. The ground beneath their feet trembled as snow began to cascade from the peaks above.

“Avalanche!” John shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. “Hold your positions! Anchor yourselves!”

The avalanche came barreling down with terrifying force, an unstoppable wave of snow and debris that consumed everything in its path. The team didn’t panic. Each member used the terrain and their training to hold firm as the wave engulfed them, burying them under layers of snow.

“Everyone still in place?” John’s voice called out, his tone strained but deliberate. The muffled quality of the sound hinted at his buried position, though his voice carried a distant quality, as if further than it should be.

“Still here, Master!” Neon’s voice came through the snow, upbeat despite the circumstances. “A bit frosty, but I’ll manage.”

“Upside down,” Anis grumbled, her irritation cutting through the muffling snow. “You owe me for this.”

Rapi’s response was calm and firm. “Resecuring position. Will be ready in ten seconds.”

John nodded to himself, though no one could see it. “Good,” he said, his voice carrying a deliberate authority. “Wait for my signal.”

The landscape grew still again, blanketed in cold silence.

A jagged, mechanical laugh broke the quiet, its mocking echo sending a chill through the snow-covered battlefield.

“Oh, how delightful!” The voice was unmistakable. Chatterbox emerged from the swirling mist, his jagged frame cutting an imposing figure against the icy backdrop. His glowing red eyes scanned the apparent cluster of buried figures, his mechanical claws twitching eagerly.

“Look at this—little mice, frozen in place!” he sneered, his tone dripping with cruel glee. “You made this too easy for me.”

The humanoid figure Neon had spotted earlier flickered and dissolved into static, revealing itself as a decoy projection. Chatterbox lept towards the apparent positions of the team. “Let’s make this quick,” he growled, flexing his claws.

As Chatterbox came closer, crossing what seemed like the edge of the buried team’s positions, the air around him shimmered. The distortion of the barrier rippled, bending the snowy backdrop unnaturally. His glowing eyes narrowed in confusion as his targets seemed to dissolve before him.

“What... what is this?” he hissed, scanning the area frantically. The apparent positions of the group vanished, replaced by empty snow. “Where are they?!”

The truth was laid bare: the figures he had targeted were illusions created by the barrier. The real team was spread further back, freeing themselves from the snow, weapons being trained and ready.

“Got you,” John’s voice rang out, calm but cutting.

Chatterbox spun toward the sound, but it was too late. John erupted from the snow in a blur of motion, his body crackling with cursed energy. His fist connected with Chatterbox’s jaw in a devastating uppercut, the impact reverberating through the snowfield. The sheer force sent Chatterbox hurtling backward, his jagged frame crashing into the snow with a thunderous thud.

The snowfield once again became eerily quiet as Chatterbox’s frame lay partially buried in the snow, his jagged claws twitching and glowing eyes narrowing with mechanical precision. Sparks sputtered from his damaged jaw, but the mocking glint in his gaze remained undimmed as he pushed himself upright. The air was thick with tension, the surrounding team keeping their weapons trained on him.

John took a step forward, his boots crunching in the snow. His hand was still flexing from the uppercut that had sent Chatterbox sprawling. He didn’t let his guard down; his cursed energy still crackled faintly around him like a storm waiting to break. “Chatterbox,” John called out, his voice cold and sharp, “Parley.”

The word hung in the frigid air for a moment. Chatterbox tilted his head with a mechanical whir, his jagged teeth pulling into a twisted mockery of a smile. “Parley?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. “What, are we pirates now, Commander? Or are you here to beg for your lives?”

John’s expression remained impassive, but his tone was laced with dry amusement. “Not quite. Answer my questions, and I might make your death painless. Otherwise...” He rolled his shoulders, letting the implication hang in the air.

Chatterbox let out a stuttering laugh that echoed across the snowfield, sharp and grating like broken machinery. “Oh, I do love a good negotiation. Fine, Commander. You’ve piqued my interest. Ask away. But,” his glowing eyes narrowed with malicious glee, “one question each. Fair’s fair, after all. A back-and-forth game. You answer mine, I answer yours.”

John inclined his head slightly, a calculated move to show he wasn’t intimidated. “Deal.”

The others exchanged tense glances, keeping their weapons trained. Rapi’s rifle stayed steady, her eyes darting between John and Chatterbox. Anis muttered under her breath, “What the hell is he doing?” but held her position, trusting the Commander’s plan.

John crossed his arms, his voice cutting through the frosty air. “First question. Is there a mole in the Ark feeding you information?”

Chatterbox’s jagged grin widened. “Oh, Commander, straight for the throat, are we? I like that.” He chuckled, his mechanical laugh filled with malice. “Yes. There is indeed a little rat running through the Ark’s walls, whispering secrets into my ears.”

The weight of his words hit the team like a blow. Rapi’s grip on her rifle tightened imperceptibly, but she didn’t speak. Anis visibly bristled, while Neon’s expression darkened, her usual cheer absent.

Chatterbox’s glowing eyes flickered. “My turn.” He leaned forward, his tone dripping with mock curiosity. “Have any of your little imposters been... enhanced? Upgraded in some way, perhaps?” His gaze swept over the Nikkes, calculating and sharp. “I do wonder.”

John’s response was immediate and steady. “I have no idea.”

Chatterbox’s grin faltered slightly. “Really, Commander? You don’t know?” He turned his gaze toward Rapi, Anis, and Neon, his voice twisting with amusement. “Let’s ask them, shall we?”

John’s voice snapped like a whip. “No. The deal was we ask each other questions, no one else. You play by the rules, or the parley ends here.”

The tension crackled between them, a silent battle of wills. For a moment, Chatterbox’s grin twitched, but then he threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, very well! I do admire a man who sticks to his word. Go on, Commander. Your turn.”

John’s eyes hardened. “Did you have something to do with Marian’s corruption and death?”

Chatterbox’s laugh faded, replaced by a quiet, eerie hum. He straightened slightly, his claws twitching. “Ah, Marian... Yes, I had a hand in that delightful little tragedy. Such... potential she has, wouldn’t you agree?”

John’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone steady. “Has? Are you suggesting she’s still alive?”

Chatterbox’s grin returned, sharp and mocking. “Nice try, Commander. I’ve already answered your question. Now it’s my turn again.”

The implication struck John like a lightning bolt, freezing him in place. Marian might still be alive. The possibility sent his thoughts spiraling, colliding with memories he’d buried but never truly escaped. He had failed her once—failed to protect her, to save her—and the weight of that failure, compounded by all the others he hadn’t been able to save, had become a relentless strain. But now, if there was even the faintest chance to find her, to right that wrong, could this be his moment? Could he become something more than the weapon he’d resigned himself to being—a hero, even, if only for her?

His heart pounded against his ribcage, but his expression remained a mask of cold, unyielding calm.

Chatterbox’s amusement deepened, his glowing eyes narrowing as he prepared to ask his next question. “So, Commander, what—”

John cut him off with a bitter laugh, the sound raw and humorless. “No. Parley’s over. I’ve heard enough” His tone was ice-cold, the sharp edge of his voice sending a shiver through even the hardened Nikkes. “I’ll break you into pieces and drag the answers out of whatever’s left.”

The snowfield crackled with tension, its vast expanse now a battlefield of strategy and survival. Chatterbox’s jagged frame loomed, his glowing red eyes scanning the group like a predator savoring its prey. The air, thick with frost and the echoes of earlier clashes, grew colder with each passing second.

Without warning, Chatterbox's missile pods erupted in a coordinated salvo. Explosions tore through the snow, forcing the team to scatter.

"Positions!" John shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. The Counters snapped into action, each moving according to their plan. Rapi held the mid-line, her rifle barking sharply as she fired controlled bursts. Neon darted low, her shotgun blasting at Chatterbox’s legs, trying to slow his relentless advance. Anis, positioned further back, unleashed grenades to corral him into a kill zone.

Chatterbox moved like a phantom despite his monstrous size, his rapid dashes almost creating afterimages that disoriented their aim. One second he was there; the next, a shadow. Neon fired at where she thought he would be, only to curse as the shot went wide.

"He's toying with us!" Neon shouted, rolling to avoid a cluster of missiles that detonated near her.

"Focus!" Rapi barked, her voice steady. "Neon, keep his legs busy. Anis, tighten the perimeter."

Anis lobbed a grenade that exploded just behind Chatterbox, forcing him to swerve toward a snowbank. "I'm trying, but he's slipperier than a soap bar in a shower!" she snapped, her hands working quickly to reload.

John watched the battle unfold, his sharp eyes catching Chatterbox’s patterns. The Rapture wasn’t just fast; he was calculating, using his agility to probe their defenses while keeping them scattered. John gritted his teeth. He could feel the weight of his earlier injuries slowing him, but the sight of his team in danger overrode the pain.

Chatterbox veered toward Neon, his claws raised. "You’re annoying," he sneered. "Let’s fix that." His missile pods hummed, readying another barrage aimed directly at her.

John moved before he could think, his cursed energy flaring as he closed the distance. With a roar, he delivered a flying strike to Chatterbox’s shoulder, the impact denting the metal and disabling one of the missile pods. The force sent Chatterbox skidding back, but it also threw John off balance.

"John, fall back!" Rapi yelled as Chatterbox recovered almost instantly. The Rapture lunged, his mechanical claw catching John in the chest and sending him sprawling into the snow.

Chatterbox laughed. "You’re bold, human, I’ll give you that. But boldness won’t save you."

John coughed, the impact sending sharp pain through his ribs, but he forced himself to his feet. "It’s not about saving me," he growled. "It’s about ending you."

Rapi used the distraction to reposition, her rifle’s reticle locking onto Chatterbox’s head. She fired a volley, the bullets pinging off his armored skull but forcing him to shift his focus. Neon took the opening to close in, her shotgun blasting at his legs. One shot landed true, hitting a joint and causing Chatterbox to stumble.

"Gotcha!" Neon grinned, only for Chatterbox to twist and slam the ground, sending a wave of snow and debris into her path. She shielded her face, her momentum breaking.

"Neon, pull back!" Anis yelled, hurling a grenade that detonated near Chatterbox’s feet. The explosion sent shards of ice and metal flying, creating a temporary barrier between Neon and the Rapture.

"Stop babysitting me!" Neon retorted, darting to Anis’s side and reloading.

Chatterbox’s laugh echoed again, this time deeper, darker. "You think this will stop me? Pathetic human imposters." His remaining missile pod swiveled, launching a cluster that forced the team to dive for cover. Snow erupted into the air, obscuring their sightlines.

John, still catching his breath, clenched his fists. His cursed energy crackled faintly around him, a sharp contrast to the icy landscape. He could feel the anger bubbling beneath his calm exterior—anger at himself for the reckless charge, anger at Chatterbox’s smugness, and anger at his own limitations.

"Enough games," he muttered under his breath. His voice rose, cutting through the storm of chaos. "Rapi, Neon, Anis! Hold him steady. I’ll finish this."

Rapi’s rifle barked again as she laid down suppressive fire, drawing Chatterbox’s attention. "Neon, take the right flank!" she ordered.

"On it!" Neon sprinted low, her shotgun blasting at Chatterbox’s exposed side.

Anis lobbed another grenade, timing the explosion perfectly to box Chatterbox into a tighter zone. "We’re clearing a path for you, John!" she called out.

John took a deep breath, feeling his cursed energy surge. Ruinous Gambit activated, siphoning strength from his other senses to amplify his power and precision. His vision blurred slightly, and the cold bite of the snow faded as all his focus honed in on one thing: Chatterbox.

The Rapture turned toward him, his jagged grin widening. "Finally decided to stop hiding? Come on, then. Show me what you’ve got."

John moved like a streak of light, his energy propelling him forward. He dodged Chatterbox’s claws, the world slowing as he anticipated the Rapture’s movements. His fist collided with Chatterbox’s chest, the impact creating a shockwave that rippled through the battlefield.

Chatterbox staggered, his frame dented and sparking. "You... you think this changes anything?" he snarled.

"It’s a start," John replied coldly. He didn’t give Chatterbox a chance to recover, his movements relentless as he drove the Rapture back.

"Now!" Rapi shouted, her missiles streaking through the air. The first two struck Chatterbox’s legs, destabilizing his balance. Neon’s shotgun followed, blasting his remaining missile pod. Anis’s grenade sealed the deal, detonating at his feet and sending him crashing into the snow.

The battered snowfield bore witness to the relentless clash, steam rising from the heat of explosions and cursed energy clashing against the icy terrain. Chatterbox struggled to regain his footing, his jagged frame sparking and twitching as the team prepared their next move.

John’s voice cut through the haze, calm but filled with commanding authority. “Switch tactics! Hit-and-run! Keep him guessing. Stay in motion, don’t give him time to lock on!”

Rapi nodded sharply, her eyes narrowing as she reloaded. “You heard him! Let’s move!”

Chatterbox growled, his glowing red eyes flickering erratically as he scanned for a target. “You think speed will save you? I’ll crush you like the insects you are!”

John was already in motion, his cursed energy propelling him forward like a blur. He leapt, twisting mid-air to deliver a powerful kick directly to Chatterbox’s face. The impact snapped the Rapture’s head back, and John landed with a roll, already darting away before Chatterbox could retaliate.

The moment John moved, Neon emerged from the snow like a shadow. Her shotgun roared, the blast connecting with Chatterbox’s exposed shoulder and sending sparks flying. She grinned, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Firepower saves the day!,”

Chatterbox swung wildly, but Neon had already darted away, her agile movements keeping her out of reach.

Before Chatterbox could regain his balance, a grenade arced through the air, landing at his feet with a resounding thump. The explosion ripped through the ground, sending the Rapture’s massive frame skidding across the snow. Anis smirked from her position, already preparing another round. “How’s that for a love tap?”

As Chatterbox tried to rise, Rapi descended like a hammer from above. Her heel slammed down onto his shoulder in a devastating axe kick. The force drove him deeper into the snow, his claws flailing as he tried to swipe at her. She landed gracefully, pivoting to deliver a series of precise rifle shots to his remaining damaged missile pod.

Chatterbox roared and leapt away, creating as much distance as he could. The battlefield trembled as Chatterbox’s shattered frame emitted a sudden burst of sparks and mechanical groans. His jagged shoulder pods, which had been obliterated by the team's relentless assault, began to glow with a crimson hue. The ruined metal shifted and reformed, regenerating into fully functioning missile pods once again.

Chatterbox sneered. "Did you really think I was done?"

Before anyone could react, he unleashed a barrage of missiles, not directly at the team, but toward the jagged mountains surrounding them. The missiles struck with deafening explosions, dislodging massive chunks of snow and ice that tumbled down in an avalanche. The air filled with the roar of cascading snow, burying parts of the battlefield under a suffocating white blanket.

The Nikkes, weighed down by their mechanical bodies, struggled to move through the rising snowdrifts. Anis gritted her teeth, her grenade launcher dragging in the snow as she pushed forward. "Damn it, this snow’s worse than quicksand!"

Neon stumbled, her shotgun barely held above the drifts. "Someone tell that oversized toaster we don’t need more snow!"

Rapi remained composed but visibly slowed, her assault rifle raised as she scanned for threats. "He’s trying to immobilize us. Stay alert!"

Chatterbox, undeterred by the terrain, hovered effortlessly above the snow using the levitation provided by his fist propulsion mechanisms. His jagged frame glinted ominously in the faint light as he landed further away, preparing his next move. His core pulsed with energy, his fist transforming to reveal the glowing barrel of his Heavy Particle Cannon.

The weapon began to charge, energy crackling and distorting the air around him. "Let’s see you crawl out of this one," he snarled, his voice dripping with malice.

John’s sharp gaze locked onto the charging cannon. The team, partially buried in snow, wouldn’t have the speed to evade the blast in their current state. His mind raced, calculating distances and time. He realized grimly that he couldn’t physically reach Chatterbox in time to stop the attack.

Think. You’ve got seconds, not minutes.

Breathing deeply, he activated Ruinous Gambit once again, shifting cursed energy into his lungs and respiratory system. The technique began to siphon strength from other parts of his body, dimming his senses and strength as he focused everything on enhancing his body’s capacity for air.

The process unfolded with clinical precision in his mind. His lung capacity expanded, the alveoli stretching to their limits to maximize intake. His diaphragm, reinforced with cursed energy thanks to his cursed technique, became a powerful piston, capable of generating immense pressure. His intercostal muscles, responsible for moving the rib cage during breathing, were fortified to sustain the force.

Diaphragm: strengthened. Rib expansion: maximized. Lung capacity: peak.

John inhaled sharply, the sound like a rushing wind as his enhanced lungs filled far beyond their normal capacity. His chest expanded painfully, his ribs creaking under the strain of the super pressurized air.

With a surge of power, he exhaled, releasing a concentrated wave of air that roared toward Chatterbox. The sheer force of the airwave tore through the snow-covered battlefield, kicking up a blinding storm of snow and debris. The makeshift whiteout enveloped Chatterbox’s vision, obscuring the team’s position just as his cannon discharged.

The heavy particle beam sliced through the air, striking the space where the team had been moments before, but finding only empty snowdrifts. The blast carved a molten scar into the ground, sending tremors rippling through the battlefield.

John staggered, clutching his chest as he fought to steady his breathing. Pain lanced through his ribs, a deep, throbbing ache that made him wince. “Ribs... strained. Likely bruised. I can still move.”

Rapi’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and focused. "He missed! Everyone, move now while we have the chance!"

The team scrambled out of their buried positions, using the cover of the snowstorm John had created to reposition. Anis, now free from the worst of the drifts, turned to John, concern etched on her face. "Commander, you okay?"

John gave her a tight nod, his voice firm despite the pain. "Keep moving. I’ve got more in me if we need it."

Neon grinned, brushing snow from her shotgun as she joined the regrouping team. "Nice lungs, Master! You should sing karaoke with power like that!"

"Focus, Neon," Rapi snapped

The battle had shifted from their favour. With the avalanche burying much of the battlefield, Chatterbox had gained an advantage, throwing up continuous clouds of snow with his missiles and mechanical thrusters. The thick veil obscured the team’s vision, forcing them to huddle into a tighter, more defensible formation. The air was dense with tension, every sound amplified by the oppressive whiteout.

“Stay close!” Rapi ordered, her voice firm despite the chaos. She fired precise bursts into the air, her bullets intercepting the incoming missiles before they could reach their position. "Focus on defending the group. We can’t afford to scatter!"

Neon crouched nearby, her shotgun ready as she scanned for movement. "Great plan, but how about we actually hit the guy? All this shooting snow is getting old!"

Anis huffed, gripping her grenade launcher as her sharp eyes darted through the swirling white. "He's turning this place into a snow globe, and we're the decorations! We need to find an opening."

Chatterbox’s mocking laughter echoed faintly through the blizzard-like haze. His shape flickered like a ghost, appearing and disappearing with sudden bursts of speed. He attacked in quick, relentless melees, his jagged claws slicing through the air. Each time he lunged, John intercepted him, their clashes sending shockwaves that rattled through the dense snow.

John grunted, deflecting another blow with a cursed-energy-reinforced forearm, his body moving with precision but showing signs of fatigue. “We’re pinned down,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. “If we stay like this, he’ll pick us off.”

He turned to the others, his mind racing. "I’ve got a plan. It’s risky, but it’s our best shot."

Rapi wiped the frost from her visor, nodding sharply. "What do you need?"

John pulled a length of climbing rope from his belt, quickly tying one end around his waist. He handed the other end to Rapi. "Hold this. When I leap, slam the rope toward wherever I pinpoint his position. It’ll give me the momentum to close in and take him down.”

Anis’s eyes widened as she grasped the idea. "We’re slingshotting you into him? That’s insane."

Neon grinned despite the tension. "Crazy enough to work, though. Let’s do it!"

With a shared nod, the team braced themselves. John crouched, channeling cursed energy into his legs, reinforcing his muscles and tendons. His body tensed like a coiled spring before he launched into the air with a thunderous leap, snow exploding outward from the force. High above the battlefield, the swirling snow thinned, giving him a clear view of Chatterbox.

"There!" John shouted, his voice cutting through the storm. He extended an arm, pointing toward Chatterbox’s position.

Rapi, Neon, and Anis acted in unison. Using their combined strength, they swung the rope in a wide arc, propelling John like a human projectile toward the target. The air whistled around him as he hurtled downward, his fist crackling with cursed energy, aimed directly at Chatterbox’s core.

But just as he closed the distance, a strange, oppressive energy flooded the battlefield. Chatterbox’s mechanical voice rang out, unnervingly calm and deliberate.

"Cursed Technique: Negatio Libri Philipp - Yuni."

John’s body froze mid-air, his momentum abruptly dissipating. A pulse of unnatural energy rippled outward, and he felt his limbs lock up as if weighed down by invisible chains. His strike went wide, and he crashed into the snow, skidding to a halt with a groan.

“Commander!” Rapi called, her voice tinged with alarm. But as she and the others tried to move, they too found themselves immobilized. Their bodies refused to obey, frozen in their defensive stances as though they were puppets whose strings had been cut.

Chatterbox stepped through the haze of snow, his glowing red eyes fixed on the paralyzed team. “Surprised? You should be. Humans, Nikkes, sorcerers—you all rely so heavily on movement. It’s almost poetic to take that away.”

John gritted his teeth, his muscles straining against the unnatural hold. He could feel the cursed energy wrapping around his spine like iron bands, sapping his ability to fight back. His mind raced, searching for a way to counter the technique. It’s not raw strength… it’s precision. A suppression field, targeting the nerves in his spine.

Chatterbox’s mocking tone cut through his thoughts. "Ah, Commander, was this part of your grand strategy? To fall flat on your face? I must admit, it’s quite entertaining."

John forced out a ragged breath, his mind sharpening despite the pressure bearing down on him. He glanced toward his team, their faces etched with effort as they struggled to move. He growled low, focusing his cursed energy inward. "I’m not… done yet."

But then, something shifted. John’s eyes narrowed, a sharp clarity breaking through the haze. He closed his eyes, his cursed energy pooling within him, steady and deliberate. The space around him shifted, the air growing unnaturally still. In an instant, a wave of energy rippled outward, its edges sharp and precise, carving out a space distinct from the chaotic snowstorm. The energy tore through the hold on his spine, creating a sphere of clarity where the bindings of Chatterbox’s cursed technique unraveled like a frayed thread.

John flexed his fingers, feeling control return to his body as the limitations dissolved. He stood and took a slow step forward, his boots crunching against the snow, his gaze locked on Chatterbox.

Chatterbox’s glowing eyes flickered in confusion before narrowing. “Do you really think that changes anything, Commander?”

John didn’t respond. Instead, he moved. Faster than a flash of light, he closed the distance between them, his fist colliding with Chatterbox’s arm, deflecting the jagged claws that swiped toward him. The sound of metal on flesh and energy cracked through the air as the two engaged in a ferocious melee.

Chatterbox lunged, his clawed arm a blur as it aimed for John’s chest. John pivoted, narrowly dodging the strike, his body twisting like a coiled spring before he delivered a spinning kick to Chatterbox’s midsection. The impact sent a ripple through the mechanical frame, forcing Chatterbox to stagger back.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Chatterbox sneered, his thrusters activating to push him forward. His clawed hands moved in rapid succession, each strike aimed to tear through flesh.

John’s movements were fluid but deliberate, his cursed energy reinforcing his body as he blocked and countered. He ducked under a swipe, his fist slamming into Chatterbox’s chassis with enough force to dent the metal. The exchange was relentless, both combatants pushing each other to the limit.

The mountain trembled beneath them, snow cascading in waves as the fight raged on. Chatterbox’s thrusters flared again, propelling him upward before he came crashing down with a devastating punch aimed at John. John rolled to the side, barely dodging the blow that left a crater in the snow before rapidly backpedaling.

But John wasn’t retreating. He was preparing.

He stood tall, inhaling deeply as his cursed energy shifted. The world seemed to dim around him as he activated Ruinous Gambit. His body trembled under the strain as the technique siphoned energy from every part of him. His sight dimmed, his reflexes dulled, even the strength in his legs wavered. But in return, two streams of cursed energy surged within him.

One was raw and wild, a torrent of destructive power that coalesced into his right fist, crackling with unrestrained energy. The other was razor-sharp, precise and focused, flowing like a thread through his arm, homing in on the exact point of impact.

He launched forward, his body a blur as he closed the distance in an instant. As Chatterbox raised his arms to defend, John’s fist surged forward, the two streams of cursed energy converging at the exact moment of collision. He screamed, his vocal chords almost tearing themselves in his declaration “Technique reversal: FINAL GAMBIT!”

The impact was cataclysmic.

The raw energy met the focused precision, triggering a devastating release of reversed cursed energy. The explosion ripped through the air, sending Chatterbox flying like a ragdoll, his mechanical frame hurtling through the snow and slamming into the mountain with a deafening crash. The force of the blow left a massive crater in the mountainside, the rock and ice shattering under the sheer magnitude of the attack.

The snowstorm stilled for a moment, the battlefield falling eerily silent as the dust settled. John stood in the center of the chaos, his body trembling from the exertion. His ribs ached fiercely, the strain of Ruinous Gambit leaving him gasping for air as he fell to his knees.

In the distance, Chatterbox’s battered frame twitched, his glowing eyes flickering weakly as he struggled to rise from the crater.

John’s breathing was heavy, and he felt a warm stream of liquid run down his right arm. He looked at his right hand, seeing his blood flow over it. A blistering pain in his shoulder confirmed he had reopened one of his barely healed wounds.

John stood in the settling silence of the battlefield, his chest heaving as he scanned the snow-covered field for his team. His ribs and shoulder burned with every breath, a painful reminder of the toll Ruinous Gambit had taken on his body. Despite the ache, he forced himself to move, his boots crunching through the snow as he checked on his squad.

“Rapi, Neon, Anis!” he called, his voice sharp but hoarse.

A faint groan answered him, and he turned to see Neon brushing snow off her shoulder, her shotgun held loosely in one hand. “Still in one piece, Master,” she called out, though her usual cheer was tempered by exhaustion. “But I’m gonna feel this one tomorrow.”

Rapi stood a few feet away, her rifle steady as her sharp eyes darted across the battlefield, scanning for any lingering threats. “We’re here,” she confirmed, her tone clipped but calm. “Anis?”

A grumble came from behind a snowdrift as upside down Anis emerged, getting up and shaking off the frost, hefting her grenade launcher. “Alive, but if I end up upside down one more time, I’m demanding a raise.”

John gave a nod of relief. “Good. Stay alert. This isn’t over yet.”

His gaze shifted to the crater in the mountainside, where Chatterbox’s battered frame twitched weakly. His glowing eyes flickered like a dying ember as he struggled to pull himself upright. John’s expression hardened as he stepped forward, each movement deliberate despite the pain coursing through his body.

Reaching the edge of the crater, John stared down at the mechanical monstrosity. “Marian,” he said, his voice low but laced with steel. “Where is she? You’re not leaving this place alive, Chatterbox, but how much you suffer before the end depends entirely on how useful you make yourself.”

Chatterbox’s head jerked up, his frame rattling as if from a shudder. His voice crackled, a mix of static and desperation. “Spare me... please, I beg you!”

John froze for a moment before a cold laugh escaped him, cutting through the frigid air. “You? Begging? That’s rich. Don’t bother wasting your breath. Start talking, or I’ll tear the answers out of you one piece at a time.”

But Chatterbox wasn’t done pleading. “Not me... not me... My queen, I beg you! Have mercy!”

John’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Your queen?” he repeated, his tone dark and biting. “Who are you talking about?”

The others exchanged uneasy glances as they approached, confusion etched across their faces. “What’s he on about now?” Neon muttered, her grip tightening on her shotgun.

Before John could press further, his entire body tensed, his instincts screaming in warning. A searing wave of cursed energy surged through the air, oppressive and blisteringly hot. It felt like fire coursing through his veins, its sheer intensity leaving him momentarily breathless. But it wasn’t just the fiery energy that rattled him.

Behind it, there was something else—an immense, terrifyingly familiar presence. It was vast, like staring into an endless abyss that pressed down on his soul. The fiery cursed energy was enough to make him flinch, but this second force... it was something far worse. It was like standing at the edge of a precipice, knowing that one misstep would mean annihilation.

“They’re coming,” John said, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart pounded as he tried to focus, his mind racing to make sense of the two approaching energies. “And fast.”

“Commander?” Rapi asked, her voice steady but tense. “What is it?”

John didn’t respond immediately, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon. The two forces were closing in at impossible speeds, their combined pressure threatening to crush everything in their path. He clenched his fists, ignoring the ache in his ribs as he steadied his breathing.

“Whatever it is,” he said finally, his voice grim, “it’s more powerful than anything we’ve faced before. And it’s headed straight for us.”

Chapter Text

Several years earlier…

The dojo was silent, the stillness broken only by the faint creak of the wooden floor as John—then still known as Anāman—leaned against a support beam. His breath came in labored gasps, his knuckles raw and trembling from the countless strikes he'd thrown in frustration. Across the room, Takumi sat cross-legged, sipping tea with the calm demeanor of someone observing a storm from a safe distance.

“You look like a man trying to outrun his own shadow,” Takumi said at last, his voice smooth and unhurried. “Do you know why you’re stuck?”

John glanced at him, his jaw tightening. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be here beating myself bloody.”

Takumi’s lips curved into a faint smile, though his gaze remained sharp, cutting. “You’re caught in a trap of your own making,” he replied. “Trying to separate yourself from your desires. Caught up in the chains of morality. That’s your problem.”

John frowned, pushing off the beam, his voice taut with irritation. “What’s wrong with caring about right and wrong? Isn’t that what separates a sorcerer from a monster? Isn’t that why we fight—to protect?”

Takumi set his tea cup down with deliberate precision and stood, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced across the room. “Protection. Righteousness. Altruism. Those ideas can guide you, yes. But they will also chain you. A sorcerer doesn’t grow by clinging to them. You need something more fundamental—a desire, a selfishness that can push you further.”

“Selfishness?” John scoffed, his disbelief obvious. “And you think being selfish somehow makes me stronger?”

Takumi stopped sharply, turning to face him, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “Yes,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of certainty. “Because no one fights for nothing. Even the noblest causes are rooted in personal desire. To grow stronger. To prove something. To have control over your life. Everyone fights for what they want, whether they admit it or not.”

John shook his head, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m not fighting for myself. I’m doing this for the people I can protect.”

“And there it is,” Takumi said, his smile turning faintly knowing. “Even that is selfish. Because you want to be the one who stands between them and danger. You want the power to decide their fate, to be the savior, to bear the weight of their safety. That isn’t selflessness, Anāman. That’s control. That’s your desire.”

The words made John falter, his brows knitting. Takumi took a step closer, his voice steady but firm. “You’re stuck because you’re trying to filter everything through a moral lens. Let me give you a scenario. Imagine two warriors training to be the strongest. One does it because they want to conquer, to stand above everyone else. The other does it because they want to protect the people they care about. Which one is selfish?”

“The one who wants to conquer,” John answered without hesitation.

“No,” Takumi said simply. “They’re equally selfish. The first one is honest about their desire. The second hides it behind a noble purpose, but it’s still about what he wants: to protect, to feel like a savior, to avoid guilt. Both are driven by their own needs. That’s not a bad thing, but here’s the key—selfishness is what pushes them beyond their limits.”

John crossed his arms, his frustration simmering. “So you’re telling me I need to stop caring about right and wrong?”

“No,” Takumi said, shaking his head. “I’m saying you need to face your own desires. Stop pretending they don’t exist. Selfishness isn’t wrong—it’s human. It’s what drives you forward.”

John hesitated. “And if what I want is wrong?”

Takumi’s expression softened, though his words were firm. “Then accept that. Understand why you want it. If you can’t be honest with yourself, how can you ever be strong?”

-

John’s eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, his breath visible in short, tense bursts. The two forces loomed closer, their sheer power distorting the air like a mirage. The ground itself trembled beneath their feet, as if the earth could feel the violence approaching. His ribs ached with every movement, but he forced himself to stand firm, cursed energy crackling faintly along his arms like the last embers of a dying fire.

“Whatever’s coming,” he said finally, his voice low and grim, “it’s stronger than anything we’ve faced before. And it’s heading straight for us. I’ll buy you guys as much time as possible so you can escape.”

Rapi adjusted her grip on her assault rifle, her sharp gaze unyielding. “We’re not leaving you, Commander,” she replied, her tone steady and resolute. “We stand and fight.”

“You don’t understand.” John turned to face her, his expression strained, desperation clawing at his voice. “This isn’t a fight—it’s a massacre waiting to happen. I can sense them; you can’t. Their power... it’s like staring into an abyss. You need to leave while you still can.”

Neon tilted her head, her usual optimism dampened by unease. “Master, you’re scaring me. What’s out there?”

John hesitated, his mind racing for the words to convey the enormity of the threat. How could he explain power so overwhelming it felt like gravity itself had shifted? He clenched his fists, the cursed energy flaring faintly around them. “Just trust me. Run.”

“No,” Rapi cut in, her tone sharp and unwavering. She stepped closer, her voice slicing through the rising tension like a blade. “We’ve been through worse. We’re not abandoning you.”

“Worse?” John snapped, his frustration boiling over. “This isn’t ‘worse.’ This is suicide! I’m telling you to leave because I can’t protect you from this!” His voice cracked, his usual control slipping. “Let me do my job!”

“And our job,” Rapi countered, her voice calm but unyielding, “is to stay by your side.”

Anis let out a sharp laugh, though the tension in her voice was unmistakable. “Nice try, Commander. You know we don’t take orders like that. You’re stuck with us.”

Neon, gripping her shotgun tightly, gave a small, nervous smile. “Yeah Master, you’re our Commander. Deal with it.”

John’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking between them. Their resolve cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Part of him wanted to scream at them for their stubbornness, but another part—a selfish, desperate part—was relieved. Because if they stayed, he wouldn’t have to face this alone.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. Neon’s eyes widened suddenly, and she pointed at his arm. “Commander... why is your arm on fire?”

John glanced down at his hand. Blue flames of cursed energy flickered and swirled around his fist, a sight so familiar to him that he hadn’t noticed. But what struck him wasn’t the energy itself—it was the shock on their faces. They could see it.

His voice tightened as realization set in. “You can see this?”

Anis nodded slowly, her usual bravado slipping. “Clear as day. That’s... not supposed to happen, right?”

“No,” John muttered, his voice grim. “It’s not.”

The cursed energy was so dense, so overwhelming, that even those without the innate ability to perceive it could now see its effects. The realization hit him like a blow: whatever was coming was beyond anything he’d ever faced.

The ground trembled again, the pressure thickening with every passing second. John turned back to his squad, his expression hardening. “They’re almost here. Last chance. Run.”

But Rapi stepped forward, Anis and Neon moving in to flank her. Together, they stood shoulder to shoulder with him, their expressions firm and unyielding.

“We fight,” Rapi said simply, her voice like steel. “Together.”

John stared at her, his fists clenching at his sides “Fine,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Fine.”

Neon tried to crack a smile, though her hands trembled as she adjusted her grip on her shotgun. “We’ve got you, Master. Just tell us what to do.”

“Survive,” John said, his voice like iron. “That’s your only objective now. Survive.”

The air grew heavier with every second, the pressure suffocating as two massive forms emerged from the storm. The sound of slicing wind and an unnatural hum heralded their arrival, their silhouettes sharp against the pale backdrop of snow. The squad froze, their breath caught in their throats as the mechanical monstrosities came into view.

The first resembled a towering angel of death, its metallic wings stretched wide like jagged blades poised to strike. Its silver frame gleamed coldly in the dim light, every edge sharpened to lethal perfection. Lines of molten orange streaked along its sleek armor, glowing faintly like veins of liquid fire. As its weaponized arms unfolded, the precision in its movements suggested a force designed purely to annihilate.

The second figure exuded raw, uncontrollable chaos. Its crimson and black form writhed as though alive, segmented appendages clawing deep trenches into the snow with each step. Its massive wings radiated a searing red glow, the heat melting patches of snow in its wake. A pair of draconic heads coiled behind its shoulders, jaws lined with razor-sharp metallic teeth that hissed steam with every breath. The scent of scorched iron filled the air, thick with malice.

The group tensed instinctively as the monstrosities began to shift. Their massive frames collapsed inward, the grinding of metal and whir of machinery creating a haunting, mechanical symphony. Plates of armor twisted and retracted with unsettling elegance, unveiling humanoid forms beneath. The transformation wasn’t a retreat—it was a mockery, a demonstration of how easily they could shed their monstrous appearances to become something even more unnerving.

The silver figure stepped forward first. Her form was sleek and commanding, her long silver hair cascading down her back in a stark, almost ethereal contrast to the metallic visor concealing her eyes. A loose commander's coat hung from her shoulders, its insignia obscured but unmistakably tied to the Ark. Her movements radiated precision and control, and though her lips curved into a faint smile, her presence exuded a quiet menace. Even without her gaze visible, it felt as though her focus pierced directly into John, weighing and measuring him.

The crimson figure followed, her wild energy a sharp contrast to the other’s cold control. Crimson hair tumbled in untamed waves, framing a face lit by burning, feral eyes. Her form seemed both human and monstrous, her armored appendages twitching like a restless predator’s, while the twin draconic heads hissed and snapped behind her. Her grin widened into something cruel and mocking, a sharp promise of chaos and destruction.

The silver-haired woman broke the silence, her voice calm and almost playful. “I suppose introductions are in order, though I prefer actions to words.” Her smirk deepened, the faintest hint of amusement in her tone. “I am Modernia, the one who holds the strings in this little game, and this is my colleague Nihilister. You’ve caught my interest, sorcerer. Let’s see if you’re worth it.”

Her gaze drifted lazily to Chatterbox, who cowered at her feet, his frame shivering with faint, mechanical twitches. “How pitiful,” she said softly, her tone dripping with disdain. “I trusted you to complete a simple task, and yet here you are, broken and useless.” She knelt slightly, her voice shifting to mockery laced with an eerie softness. “Don’t worry. I’ll save you... even if you don’t deserve it.”

A harsh laugh broke through her words. Nihilister stepped forward, her claws tearing into the snow as she moved. “Save him?” she growled, her grin spreading wider. Her fiery eyes flicked to Modernia, brimming with unrestrained glee. “You’re too soft, Modernia. He’s a failure. Let me break him apart—it’ll be fun.”

Modernia didn’t turn, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Not yet, Nihilister. Play with the others first.” Her hand gestured dismissively toward the Counters. “The red and yellow ones... leave them breathing. The white one? Do as you like.”

Nihilister’s grin widened, revealing predatory teeth. “Finally,” she hissed, her fiery wings flaring with anticipation. Her gaze locked onto Neon, and her voice dropped to a cruel whisper. “You’ll be my first. Let’s see how long you last.”

Neon tensed, her grip tightening on her shotgun, though her hands trembled slightly. “Try it,” she spat, her voice defiant but edged with fear.

Modernia turned back to John, her faint smile returning as if nothing else mattered. “And you...” Her tone was almost curious, her words deliberate. “You found him, didn’t you?” She glanced briefly at Chatterbox, who whimpered in response. “Interesting. I had hoped he’d deliver you intact, but I suppose I’ll have to handle this myself.”

John stepped forward, his cursed energy flaring to life. Blue flames roared around his fists, casting flickering reflections across Modernia’s visor. His voice was steady, though the strain of his resolve was evident. “You’re not taking anyone,” he said. “Not me. Not them.”

Modernia’s smirk widened slightly, her tone still laced with calm amusement. “We’ll see,” she said simply. “But you’ll come with me eventually. It’s inevitable.”

Behind her, Nihilister let out a sharp laugh, stepping closer to the group. “You can’t protect them all, sorcerer,” she taunted. Her twin dragon heads roared unleashing a blast of heat, snow hissing as it evaporated beneath her. “I’m going to enjoy watching you fail.”

The air grew impossibly heavy, charged with the weight of cursed energy and the cold certainty of violence about to erupt. Modernia tilted her head slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips as she watched the tension build. “Let’s see,” she said softly, “if you’re as strong as you believe yourself to be.”

Modernia made the first move. The machine gun that unfolded from her side was sleek and mechanical, its ammunition belt winding up with a deadly hum. A burst of bullets tore through the space between her and John with blistering speed, faster than anything he had ever encountered.

Normal human bullets were nothing to him—a blur he could dodge with ease. Nikke bullets, however, were different: fast, precise, and difficult to evade. But these... these were on an entirely different level. His instincts screamed at him, and he threw himself to the side. The bullets grazed his shoulder and ribs, leaving a trail of searing pain in their wake. He barely avoided being torn apart.

John stumbled, his balance momentarily thrown off, but he could tell by the faint smirk on Modernia’s face that the grazing shots were intentional. She was toying with him, gauging his movements, his reactions.

Before John could recover, the crimson blur of Nihilister shot into the air, propelling herself towards the Counters with incredible speed. Her claws gleamed as they extended, her manic grin widening with glee as she targeted the group. Rapi raised her rifle, but there was no time to fire. Neon’s shotgun and Anis’s grenade launcher were poised, but their movements were a fraction too slow.

John’s eyes snapped toward the Counters, and his body moved on instinct. His feet dug into the snow as he twisted his torso, rearranging his weight to whip into a flying side kick aimed at Nihilister. The burst of cursed energy that propelled him made the air ripple as he surged forward.

The kick cut through the air toward Nihilister's side, but at the last moment, she shifted, her body moving with serpentine grace. His kick missed her by inches, the sheer force of the motion sending a wave of displaced snow crashing into the ground. Nihilister laughed as she darted past, a streak of heat and malice blazing toward the Counters.

John’s focus snapped back to Modernia even before his body began descending from the peak of his jump. He could feel her presence closing in, faster than he could fully register. His combat instincts screamed again, and with years of experience guiding him, he guessed her next move: a knee aimed at his abdomen.

He braced himself, raising his arms in a tight block just as she struck. Her knee connected with his forearms, and the impact was nothing short of devastating. The force of the blow sent him flying backward through the air, his arms trembling from the shock of absorbing the strike. Even through the cursed energy reinforcing his body, he felt the raw power of the hit radiate down to his bones.

John hit the snow hard, rolling to disperse the impact before flipping back to his feet. His arms ached from the block, the muscles and bones groaning in protest, but he steadied his stance. His sharp gaze locked onto Modernia, whose calm expression was betrayed only by the faintest hint of satisfaction in her stance.

Modernia closed the distance with terrifying speed, her form a blur of metallic precision. John braced himself as her attack came—a blindingly fast strike aimed at his head. He managed to duck just in time, the sound of her fist slicing through the air like a blade making his ears ring. His heart pounded in his chest as he retaliated with a counterpunch aimed at her midsection, only for her to sidestep effortlessly, leaving his fist to strike empty air.

The melee began in earnest.

Modernia’s movements were a masterclass in efficiency. Every strike, every kick was deliberate, precise, and devastatingly powerful. Her attacks flowed seamlessly, with no wasted effort, forcing John to rely on every ounce of his combat training. His cursed energy flickered and roared, Ruinous Gambit running at full tilt to reinforce his body. He shifted attributes multiple times per second—enhancing his reaction time one moment, his muscle strength the next, then his balance, then his lung capacity—just to stay in the fight.

Her punches came in a relentless barrage, each blow aimed at vital points. John’s experience kicked in, his mind racing to predict her movements. He focused on her body language: the slight shift in her weight before she pivoted, the tightening of her shoulders before a hook, the faint twitch of her hip telegraphing a kick. It was a technique drilled into him over years of combat—reading an opponent’s intent before they committed to an attack.

Even so, each block felt like stopping a freight train. Her strikes sent shockwaves through his arms, the cursed energy barely keeping his bones intact. His forearms throbbed with every impact, and he could feel the tendons in his wrists straining under the relentless pressure. Modernia wasn’t just strong—she was overwhelming.

He was being forced back, his boots digging trenches in the snow as he fought to maintain his footing. His mind raced, searching for a way to turn the tide. She was too strong to trade blows with, and her speed made counterattacks nearly impossible.

He needed a plan, something she wouldn’t expect. As he ducked under a vicious right hook, his mind latched onto an idea born of desperation. He would have to create his own opportunities. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting for her to slip up—because she wouldn’t.

As he narrowly avoided another strike, the thought solidified. If she wouldn’t make a mistake, he’d have to force one. His stance shifted, looser now, less guarded. He left small gaps in his defense—openings that to someone of Modernia’s caliber would seem too tempting to ignore. It was a gamble, but it was the only way he could survive.

Modernia took the bait almost immediately. She feinted a jab toward his head before aiming a brutal kick at his ribs, exactly where he’d left the opening. John twisted his torso just in time, the kick grazing his side as he spun to the outside of her reach. Using the momentum, he delivered a low sweep aimed at her legs, but she hopped over it effortlessly, countering with an axe kick that he barely avoided by diving to the side.

Ruinous Gambit surged again, the cursed energy coursing through him like molten fire. His body was running on borrowed time, each enhancement burning through his reserves faster than he could manage. He reinforced his diaphragm to inhale deeply, his lungs expanding to their limit as he tried to steady his breathing. The next moment, he amplified his calves, launching himself backward to create distance as Modernia’s fists slammed into the snow where he had been standing a split second earlier.

He left another opening, this time at his neck. Her eyes flicked to the exposed area, and she lunged with a sharp elbow strike aimed at his throat. But he had already moved, pivoting away from the attack and delivering a spinning backfist aimed at her temple. She caught his wrist mid-swing, her grip like a vice, and slammed him into the ground with a thunderous crash.

John gasped, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He rolled to the side just in time to avoid her follow-up stomp, the ground splitting beneath her foot. He scrambled to his feet, his arms trembling, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. His cursed energy flickered, the blue flames around him struggling to maintain their intensity.

-

Nihilister’s crimson claws hung suspended mere inches from Neon’s face, her molten breath steaming up the lenses of Neon’s glasses. The smaller Nikke’s breath hitched, her finger trembling on the trigger of her shotgun. The oppressive heat radiating from the claws made her feel as though she were suffocating.

“Scared, little one?” Nihilister sneered, her voice a melodic mockery. “You should be.”

Before the claws could carve into Neon, Rapi and Anis slammed into Nihilister from opposite sides, their combined momentum enough to knock her off balance. The towering figure skidded across the snow, her clawed feet gouging deep trenches in the frozen ground. Neon staggered back, her breaths shallow as she scrambled to regain her composure.

Nihilister’s dragon heads snapped in unison, releasing guttural growls as she steadied herself. “Rude,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing into slits. “I was savoring that moment.”

Rapi didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, rifle blazing as bursts of fire erupted against Nihilister’s armor. Pivoting into a low stance, she followed the gunfire with a powerful spinning kick to Nihilister’s side, her foot slamming into the joint of the monstrous figure’s leg. The force was enough to stagger even Nihilister.

Anis flanked her, sliding into a calculated stance. Her grenade launcher slung aside, she opted for raw, unrelenting fists. Each jab and hook was aimed with precision at weak points in Nihilister’s armor. The two worked in perfect tandem—Rapi’s kicks and strikes flowing seamlessly with Anis’ heavy punches, their unspoken rhythm driving Nihilister back.

But Nihilister wasn’t just strong—she was an apex predator. With a growl, her claws lashed out in wide arcs. The wild ferocity of her strikes was almost impossible to predict, forcing Rapi and Anis onto the defensive. One dragon head snapped at Anis mid-punch, its metallic jaws locking around her forearm with a sickening crunch.

“Ahh, damn it!” Anis cried out, her face contorted in pain as the dragon’s fangs dug deeper. The head twisted, the glow of molten heat creeping toward her armor as it prepared to melt through.

“Such pitiful resistance,” Nihilister purred, her second dragon head rearing back, its maw glowing with fiery intent. A torrent of flames spewed toward Rapi, forcing her to dive into a roll. The ground where she’d stood moments ago was reduced to molten sludge.

“Get this thing off me!” Anis yelled, thrashing against the dragon’s unrelenting grip.

From above, Neon launched herself onto the dragon’s neck, her usual cheer replaced with raw determination. “You want a piece of her? Deal with me!” she shouted, racking her shotgun with a mechanical clack. At point-blank range, she fired into the dragon’s skull, the blast tearing into metal and circuitry. She fired again, the recoil nearly toppling her, but the dragon head released Anis with a shriek of twisted metal.

As the dragon head collapsed, Nihilister staggered, her balance momentarily disrupted. Anis cradled her injured arm but reached for her grenade launcher, her jaw set in grim determination.

“Nice work, Neon,” Rapi said, her voice clipped as she surged forward, capitalizing on the opening. Her strikes came faster now, her movements sharp and unrelenting. A knee to Nihilister’s abdomen. An elbow to the jaw. A spinning back kick to her exposed side. Each hit landed with precision, but the towering figure barely flinched.

Nihilister recovered swiftly, her laughter echoing across the battlefield. “Oh, this is delightful,” she cooed, her grin widening. “But let’s see how long you last.”

Her body began to shift, armor plates twisting and contorting with mechanical precision. The already monstrous figure grew taller, her crimson and black form exuding an aura of raw, suffocating power. Twin Gatling guns unfolded from her arms, their barrels spinning up with a whir that promised devastation. The vents along her limbs glowed brighter, pulsing with molten energy.

“Let’s make this more entertaining,” Nihilister purred, her distorted voice crackling with malice. The Gatling guns roared to life, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets that tore through the battlefield. Snow and rock erupted in all directions as the Counters scrambled for cover.

Anis threw herself behind a jagged boulder, her injured arm shaking as she primed her grenades. Neon dove into a snowbank, firing blindly to keep Nihilister distracted. Rapi darted through the chaos, her rifle trained on Nihilister’s legs as she barked orders. “Aim for her joints! Slow her down!”

Anis launched a grenade that detonated against Nihilister’s knee, the explosion sending shards of armor flying. Neon followed up with a close-range shotgun blast, her hands trembling from the recoil as she aimed for the exposed joint. The attacks staggered Nihilister for a moment, but her grin never faltered.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Nihilister mocked, her dragon heads snarling in unison. She lunged forward, her clawed foot slamming into Neon’s side with the force of a freight train. Neon was hurled across the battlefield, her body crashing into a crumbling rock formation. She crumpled to the ground, her shotgun slipping from her grasp.

“Neon!” Anis screamed, rage flashing in her eyes. She unleashed another grenade, but Nihilister swiped it away with a casual flick of her claw. The explosion scattered debris, but Nihilister emerged unscathed, her glowing eyes locked on Anis.

“Your turn,” Nihilister hissed, her claw slicing through the air. Anis raised her grenade launcher in defense, but the impact sent her sprawling. Her weapon clattered away, leaving her vulnerable as Nihilister loomed over her.

Rapi’s rifle barked out precise shots, each bullet aimed at Nihilister’s joints. “Stay away from them!” she shouted, her voice a mix of command and desperation.

Nihilister turned her attention to Rapi, her strikes growing faster and wilder. Rapi dodged and parried, her movements honed by years of training, but Nihilister’s strength was overwhelming. Each block sent shocks rippling through Rapi’s arms, her defenses buckling under the relentless onslaught.

Anis, bleeding and battered, pulled herself to Neon’s side. “Come on, Neon,” she muttered, shaking Neon’s shoulder. “You’re tougher than this. Get up.”

Neon groaned, her voice faint but defiant. “Still... here,” she whispered, her hands fumbling for her shotgun.

Nihilister, meanwhile, grinned down at Rapi, her claws raised for a final strike. “You’ve fought well enough,” she said mockingly. “But it’s time to end this little game.”

The air grew heavier, the battlefield drenched in the oppressive weight of Nihilister’s malice. Flames erupted from her vents, casting an eerie glow as she prepared to strike. The Counters were outmatched, their injuries piling up, their weapons ineffective. Nihilister’s laughter rang out, triumphant and cruel.

-

Modernia launched her fist at speeds almost imperceptible, the sound of the blow echoing like a cannonshot. Her gut punch landed squarely, knuckles slamming into John’s abdomen with enough force to lift him off the ground. The sheer power behind the strike rattled his bones, and his body involuntarily recoiled, preparing to be hurled backward. But before he could be flung away, Modernia’s cold, calculating eyes tracked his movement, her hand shooting out to grip his right forearm.

Her fingers, impossibly strong, clamped down like a vice, the pressure threatening to pulverize his bones and splitting skin. John gritted his teeth, his vision momentarily swimming as he tried to focus. Before he could attempt any kind of counter, her free hand came up and delivered another devastating gut punch. Then another. And another. Each strike was precise, calculated, designed not just to hurt but to drain him of any fight left.

John's head snapped back as the world tilted. Consciousness slipped for a fleeting moment, his vision replaced with dark static before snapping back. He wheezed, gasping for air, but Modernia wasn’t done. With an almost methodical ease, she hoisted him above her head and slammed him into the ground with earth-shattering force. The impact reverberated through the frozen battlefield, and cracks spiderwebbed across the snow and stone beneath him.

John struggled to breathe, his body screaming in pain, but Modernia was far from finished. She moved with terrifying precision, pinning him beneath her. Her hands wrapped around his throat like a vice, the cold metallic grip tightening as she stared straight into his eyes.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, her tone unnervingly calm. “It’ll be easier that way. I’ll wake you up when it’s over.”

John’s vision darkened, black spots creeping in at the edges as his lungs begged for air. His arms clawed weakly at her unyielding grip, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His thoughts raced. This can’t be how it ends. Think, John, think.

A sudden, desperate idea struck him. He locked eyes with Modernia, his voice a rasp as he forced himself to speak. “You’ve made... a mistake.”

Her grip loosened slightly, just enough for him to drag in a ragged breath. She tilted her head, amusement flickering across her otherwise emotionless face. “Oh?” she said, her voice laced with curiosity. “And what would that be?”

John’s lips twisted into a faint, bitter smile. “Nikkes’ heads are unarmored. A built-in weakness. Manufacturers always leave a failsafe... in case they need to put you down.”

Her expression remained unreadable, but he caught the faintest hesitation in her face. He pushed harder, playing on her intrigue. “And your grip—” he winced as her hand tightened slightly again. “You’ve split the skin on my right forearm. Enough blood to activate... my true cursed technique.”

He raised his bleeding arm, pointing it toward her chin as if aiming a weapon. “Supersonic Blood.”

For the briefest moment, Modernia flinched, her mechanical body twitching in reaction. Her grip loosened as she prepared to counter the attack. Nothing happened.

It had been a bluff.

John didn’t waste the opening. With a burst of desperation-fueled strength, he twisted his body and bucked her off, the sudden movement sending her sprawling slightly to the side. Before she could recover, John coiled his legs beneath him, using the momentum of the roll to pivot into position. His feet aimed squarely at her head as he unleashed Final Gambit.

All the cursed energy he had left surged into his legs. The strain was immediate and agonizing—his muscles screamed, and his vision swam—but he forced it all out in one decisive motion. His legs lashed out like a spring-loaded weapon, colliding with Modernia’s head with devastating force.

The impact was cataclysmic. The air seemed to rupture as the blow connected, sending Modernia flying back like a missile. She smashed into the snow several meters away, carving a deep trench into the frozen ground as her body skidded to a halt. A low, metallic groan emanated from the crater where she lay, faint trails of smoke rising from the damaged areas of her sleek frame.

John collapsed onto the ground, his body trembling from the exertion. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, every inch of him screaming in agony. His legs felt like dead weight, and his arms trembled violently as he pushed himself to his knees.

His eyes flicked toward Modernia, who was slowly rising from the crater, her head tilted slightly as if resetting. She wiped away a faint smear of spit—or was it blood?—from the corner of her mouth, her expression calm, though her face now burned with a flicker of annoyance.

“Impressive,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the damage she’d taken. She flexed her hands, rolling her neck as if testing her systems. “You might actually sting… Too bad that was your last shot”

John grit his teeth, forcing himself to his feet even as his body protested. His cursed energy flickered faintly around him, the blue flames struggling to hold their form. His breathing was labored, but his gaze remained unbroken, locked on Modernia with unyielding determination.

“I’m not done yet,” he muttered, his voice low but firm.

Modernia’s lips curled into a faint, almost patronizing smile. “Good,” she said, her tone carrying a quiet confidence. “I’d hate for this to end too soon.”

John lunged forward, his cursed energy flickering like dying embers, barely clinging to life. Modernia met him head-on, her movements calm, deliberate, and precise. Their fists collided and then locked, the impact sending a shockwave through the air, scattering snow in all directions.

John’s arms trembled violently, his muscles screaming under the strain. Her strength was crushing, a force of nature he couldn’t match. Veins bulged along his forearms as he pushed with everything he had, but Modernia didn’t even flinch. Her visor covered eyes locked onto his, cool and detached, like she was watching an insect struggle underfoot.

“You’re wasting your energy,” she said, her voice infuriatingly calm. “Why fight so hard when you know you can’t win? Surrender. I’ll make sure you survive.”

The words struck him like a blow, fueling the fire burning in his chest. “FUCK YOU!” John bellowed, defiance ringing in his voice like a war cry. With a roar, he slammed his forehead into hers. The first headbutt sent a shockwave through his skull, and stars exploded in his vision. He didn’t stop. Another. And another.

Blood trickled down his forehead as the third headbutt cracked Modernia’s visor. His vision swam, and his head throbbed with pain, but he grinned through gritted teeth. She faltered, her composure briefly slipping as she touched the cracked visor, her faint frown betraying irritation.

“How crude,” she said softly, her voice laced with disdain.

Her leg swept out in a blur, catching his ankles and sending him flying. But instead of falling helplessly, John twisted midair, using the momentum to swing his legs around her arm. His body coiled tightly as he locked onto her arm, attempting an armbar with a burst of cursed energy flaring around him.

“Clever,” she murmured, almost amused. Then, without hesitation, she slammed him into the ground with bone-crushing force.

The impact left him gasping, the wind knocked from his lungs. Pain radiated through his back, but he refused to let go, twisting her arm with every ounce of strength he had left. She raised him again, slamming him down once more, the ground cracking beneath the force as snow erupted around them. This time, his grip broke, and she released him, towering over his battered form.

“What’s the point?” she asked, brushing off her arm as if his effort had been nothing more than an annoyance. “You’re broken. Outmatched. Why keep fighting when it’s so clearly futile?”

John coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth as he struggled to his knees. His vision blurred, but his resolve burned brighter than ever. He forced himself upright, swaying slightly but refusing to back down. “Because... it’s personal,” he rasped, his voice trembling but unyielding. “I... need to find Marian.”

Modernia froze, her expression blank for the briefest of moments. A subtle tremor passed through her frame, so faint that neither she nor John fully registered it. Her cursed energy flickered—a microsecond of vulnerability, so brief it felt like a breath caught in the frozen air.

John didn’t notice, his gaze locked on her as he took a shaky step forward. “You wouldn’t understand,” he spat, his voice ragged yet fierce. “But I don’t care how strong you are. I’ll find her. No matter what.”

Modernia’s lips curved into a faint smile, but there was a stiffness to it now, as though something unseen was weighing on her. “Marian…”

The air grew heavier as John’s cursed energy began to spike. The faint blue flames that had flickered so desperately moments ago now erupted into something darker, more volatile. He stood hunched, his breaths ragged and shallow, yet there was an eerie stillness in his gaze. His resolve had shifted.

John clenched his fists, feeling the strain deep within his body. He didn’t just pull from his cursed energy now—he reached deeper, into the core of his very being. The rules of Ruinous Gambit were clear: the technique could amplify his attributes by drawing power from one to enhance another. But John knew that wouldn't be enough anymore. This was different. A binding vow. His body for his strength. His life for his survival.

A sharp, painful heat surged through him as the technique ignited. His body glowed faintly, veins illuminating with a fiery red as if magma coursed through his blood. He felt his muscles tighten, his joints creak, and his skin blister under the sheer energy coursing through him. Every heartbeat carried a cost, every second chipped away at his lifespan.

Two minutes. Maybe two and a half. That was the time he estimated he had left before his body collapsed under its own weight.

Despite the pain, John grinned grimly, baring bloodied teeth. “Let’s finish this.”

He moved faster than he thought possible, the snow crunching violently beneath his feet as he dragged his hands through it, scooping and throwing a cascade of frost into the air. Modernia leapt back instinctively, her crimson eyes narrowing as she analyzed the attack. The snow hung like a veil between them, masking his movements.

Then she saw it. A shadow approaching from the left—faintly human-shaped, the unmistakable outline of his coat. She moved to intercept, her combat instincts honed to perfection. Her fist cleaved through the figure, tearing it apart effortlessly. Only then did she realize it wasn’t him at all. The coat fell in tatters, revealing the rock it had been wrapped around.

Modernia turned sharply to her right, her sensors registering the heat before her eyes did. A red-glowing figure emerged from the snow like a phantom—topless, his skin steaming, his torso scarred and burned from his own cursed energy.

John was upon her in an instant, his movements primal yet precise. He launched a brutal elbow strike aimed at her head, the blow narrowly avoided. Modernia retaliated, her fist lashing out, but John ducked low and countered with a savage uppercut that clipped the edge of her jaw. The force of the strike sent her reeling, her crimson eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise.

He didn’t let up. His strikes came in rapid succession—a flurry of elbows, punches, and open-handed blows all aimed at her head and neck. Each attack carried the weight of his burning life force, each one faster and more vicious than the last. Modernia tried to retaliate, her movements smooth and efficient, but John dodged with razor-thin precision, his body moving like a dancer in a deadly rhythm. Every strike he avoided opened an opportunity for a counter, and every counter landed with enough force to send tremors through her frame.

Modernia staggered as one particularly brutal punch hit the side of her head, her crimson visor cracking further. She stumbled, trying to right herself, but John didn’t give her the chance. He closed the distance in a blur, his knee driving into her abdomen with enough force to send her skidding backward through the snow, her feet leaving trenches in the frozen ground.

For the first time, Modernia looked... confused. Her mind raced, analyzing the situation. Her systems were operating at peak efficiency. Her condition was near flawless. By all calculations, she should be able to handle him with ease. And yet, here he was—this battered, broken human—forcing her onto the backfoot.

John wiped blood from his mouth, steam rising from his glowing body as he stood tall amidst the swirling snow. His breaths came heavy and labored, but his grin never faltered. “What’s wrong?” he spat, his voice rough but mocking. “You’re supposed to be stronger than me. Can’t keep up?”

Modernia’s red eyes narrowed, her frown deepening. She steadied herself, her stance shifting slightly as she began to recalibrate her approach. “You shouldn’t be able to do this,” she said, her voice calm but edged with frustration. “Your condition is so deteriorated... and yet...”

John cut her off by darting forward again, his movements erratic yet purposeful. Every motion screamed desperation, but there was precision in the chaos. Modernia moved to intercept, but this time she was slower—just by a fraction, but enough for John to exploit. He drove his elbow into her torso, followed by a spinning backfist that connected with her temple. She staggered again, and for the briefest moment, there was a flicker of something in her crimson eyes. Doubt.

John’s body burned, his skin searing with the heat radiating from his cursed energy. Each step felt heavier, the countdown in his head relentless: 1 minute 43 seconds. His breath came ragged, his chest heaving as he watched Modernia with bloodshot eyes. She was stronger, her movements faster, and yet... there was a crack in her precision, a stutter in her rhythm.

He noticed it with every exchange. Her strikes landed harder than anything he had ever felt, but they were almost... disjointed. Disoriented. It was as though something was holding her back—not physically, but somewhere deeper.

1 minute 47 seconds.

She lunged at him, her red eyes burning with frustration, her blows carving through the air like scythes. John twisted his torso, narrowly dodging a strike aimed at his ribs, using the momentum to step into her guard. His fist lashed out, but her block came up faster. The impact of their limbs colliding sent a jarring shockwave through his body, the bones in his forearm screaming under the force of her resistance.

Her crimson gaze locked onto him, a flicker of something—uncertainty?—glinting behind her otherwise unshakable confidence. “Why?” she asked, her voice colder than the snow surrounding them. “Why keep fighting? You’ve already lost.”

John’s lips twisted into a defiant grin, even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “You think this is losing?” he rasped. “It’s not over yet.”

1 minute 52 seconds.

He surged forward again, his body screaming in protest as he pushed Ruinous Gambit to its limits. Each step was agony, his muscles tearing under the strain, but he forced himself onward. His mind raced, analyzing her attacks, the subtle hesitation in her strikes, the way she almost seemed... distracted. She should have been winning—crushing him effortlessly—but something was clearly wrong.

Modernia’s movements faltered, her strikes coming faster but less precise. Her red eyes narrowed as though searching for an answer to her own failing efficiency.

“1 minute 57 seconds,” John muttered under his breath. His vision blurred slightly, but he steadied himself, planting his feet in the snow. He couldn’t afford a misstep now. This was his last chance.

He focused his cursed energy into his fist, feeling the raw power coalesce as he prepared a final strike. The heat around him intensified, steam rising from the melting snow beneath his feet. He launched himself forward, his punch aimed directly at her head, but then—slip.

His footing faltered, his weight shifting too far forward. His fist veered slightly off course, heading straight into her prepared block. He cursed internally, knowing this would be the end.

But just as their limbs were about to collide, a massive surge of cursed energy erupted in the distance, its pressure like a tidal wave crashing through the battlefield.

Modernia’s head snapped toward the source, her movements stuttering as the overwhelming energy distracted her for a crucial instant. John, however, didn’t hesitate. He tightened his core, realigned his strike, and his fist connected with her jaw.

The impact unleashed every ounce of cursed energy he had left. The force of the blow sent Modernia hurtling through the air, her body carving a deep trench into the snow as she crashed far into the distance.

John staggered, his vision swimming, the edges of his consciousness flickering like a dying flame. He collapsed onto his knees, his overheated body melting the snow beneath him. Steam rose in a thick cloud, shrouding him as his strength drained away.

He glanced at his trembling hands, barely able to form a fist. 4 seconds left, he thought, his lips curling into a bitter, rasping laugh. The sound was hoarse, filled with pain but also defiance, echoing faintly in the cold, quiet expanse around him.

As John fell to his knees, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down like an anchor, his gaze shifted to the battlefield ahead. His vision, blurred and wavering, sharpened for just a moment—and what he saw made him freeze.

Rapi.

Her hair, once a muted brownish-blonde, now glowed with an intense, fiery red, cascading around her like a living flame. The transformation was striking, and as she moved, her every step exuded an unyielding, almost divine power. Her form was a blur of speed and precision, each strike landing with an impact that shook the ground. Nihilister, the towering, mechanical monstrosity, was being driven back

John’s chest tightened as he watched. In the chaos and violence, there was something hauntingly beautiful about her overwhelming strength. The way the crimson energy enveloped her, the way her every strike seemed to carry the weight of her determination—it was mesmerizing.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he realized he couldn’t look away. Even battered and bruised, the sight of her was captivating, her fiery presence cutting through the despair of the battlefield like a beacon. For a moment, amidst the destruction, John felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite place—admiration, perhaps, or maybe something deeper.

"Rapi..." he muttered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fight, his words lost in the howling wind and the echoes of their clash.

-

A few minutes earlier

Anis winced as Nihilister’s monstrous form loomed closer, her vents hissing as the heat grew unbearable. Flames burst from Nihilister’s clawed hands, surging toward the two battered Nikkes. Anis gritted her teeth, throwing herself over Neon to shield her, her armor blackening under the relentless wave of fire. The air burned, searing her lungs with every breath.

“I… I’m scared, Anis,” Neon whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t… I can’t—”

“Don’t you dare,” Anis snapped, her voice trembling but fierce. She tightened her grip on Neon, steadying her own shaking frame. “We’re not done yet. Got it?”

Nihilister’s mocking laughter cut through the chaos like a blade. “How quaint,” she sneered, her molten eyes glowing with malicious glee. “Do you really think you can stop me? You’re nothing but broken toys.”

Anis staggered to her feet, planting herself between Neon and the advancing terror. Neon tried to steady her shotgun with trembling hands, but Nihilister’s looming form stole every ounce of courage she had left. The dragon-headed monstrosity raised a glowing claw, poised for a fatal strike.

Then the air shifted.

An oppressive energy washed over the battlefield, freezing Nihilister in her tracks. The snow trembled, the tension in the air suffocating as a crimson light began to crackle in the distance. Anis and Neon turned their heads in unison, their wide eyes locking onto Rapi as she stepped forward.

The battered Nikke was a different figure now. Her every movement was deliberate, her presence commanding. Crimson streaks of energy pulsed through the snow, radiating from her like the embers of a dying star reigniting.

Rapi’s voice cut through the heavy air like a gunshot: “Inputting liberation code.” Her tone was calm, almost detached, as if the words themselves were a weapon. Her grip on her rifle tightened as she continued, each syllable laced with unyielding resolve. “Operating level increasing to limit of sub-generator. Secret body activate.”

The transformation was instantaneous. Crimson energy surged across Rapi’s frame, illuminating her armor with an otherworldly glow. Her dull brownish-blonde hair ignited into a fiery red, cascading like a blazing banner down her back. Her posture straightened, her movements smooth and calculated as the ground seemed to bend beneath her presence.

Anis and Neon froze, awe and disbelief etched into their faces. This wasn’t just their teammate; this was something beyond them, something invincible. For the first time, the oppressive despair lifted, replaced by a flicker of hope.

Rapi’s gaze turned toward them, her fiery hair swirling in the icy wind. “Stay back,” she ordered, her voice steady, almost mechanical. “I’ll deal with her.”

Nihilister’s grin widened, her clawed feet crunching into the snow as she advanced. “Finally,” she purred, molten energy swirling around her. “Something interesting.”

Rapi discarded her rifle, letting it fall to the ground without a second glance. Her fists and feet were now her weapons, stronger than any steel. She dashed toward Nihilister, the air rippling in her wake as she closed the distance in an instant.

Her opening strike was devastating: a spinning hook kick that slammed into Nihilister’s torso, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Before Nihilister could recover, Rapi followed with a lightning-fast sidekick to the head, the impact staggering the monstrous Nikke. Her strikes flowed seamlessly—each blow a precise and calculated dismantling of her enemy. A jumping roundhouse cracked Nihilister’s shoulder, and a barrage of low kicks targeted her legs, forcing her balance to waver.

Nihilister roared in frustration, her claws slashing wildly through the air. But Rapi moved like a phantom, evading each strike with fluidity and grace. She slipped inside Nihilister’s guard, delivering a spinning back kick to her chest that sent her skidding across the battlefield.

“You think this will be enough?” Nihilister snarled, her molten eyes blazing. “I’ll grind you into the ground!”

Rapi didn’t respond. Her only reply was a leaping axe kick that came down with the force of a hammer, shattering the armor on Nihilister’s arm. The monstrous Nikke howled in pain, her molten claws lashing out in retaliation. Rapi ducked low, countering with a swift push kick that struck Nihilister squarely in the abdomen, forcing her back.

The tide of battle seemed to shift, but inside, Rapi was faltering. Her movements grew faster, more ferocious, but her thoughts blurred. Red Hood’s presence loomed in her mind, her identity fading with every blow she delivered. The power flowing through her was intoxicating—overwhelming—but it wasn’t hers. It belonged to Red Hood.

This is what’s best, she thought, her vision darkening. Red Hood can protect them. She’s what they need. I’m just a placeholder.

Nihilister charged, her claws glowing with molten energy as she aimed a killing blow at Rapi’s chest. Rapi countered with a spinning crescent kick, deflecting the strike. But her body faltered. Her strength remained, but her will was slipping. I’ll give it all up, she resolved. For them. For him.

In the depths of her consciousness, Rapi found herself in a shadowed void. Red Hood stood before her, sharp and imposing, her fiery presence a reflection of the power Rapi now wielded.

“You’re hesitating,” Red Hood said, her voice edged with disdain. “You want me to take over. Why?”

Rapi lowered her gaze, her voice soft but filled with resignation. “Because I’m not enough. I’m just a copy—a flawed imitation. You’re what they need, not me.”

“And you think giving up will protect them?” Red Hood’s tone was sharp but not unkind. She stepped closer, her gaze unyielding. “You think they need me more than they need you?”

Rapi hesitated. “They deserve better.”

Red Hood scoffed. “You don’t understand, do you? You’re not protecting them by throwing yourself away. You’re abandoning them.”

Another voice joined the fray—quieter, yet undeniably Rapi’s own. “Why do you want this?” it asked, a whisper that cut through the void. “What are you really fighting for?”

The realization struck like a blow. Her deepest fears, her doubts, were not just hers—they were echoes of Red Hood’s legacy and her own buried desires. “I want to protect them,” Rapi admitted, her voice trembling. “Not because it’s right. Because I can’t lose them. I can’t lose him.”

Red Hood’s gaze softened, and she placed a hand on Rapi’s shoulder. “Then fight for that. Fight as yourself.”

With a surge of resolve, Rapi shoved the doubt away, reclaiming her will. The void shattered, and her eyes snapped open just as Nihilister lunged at her.

Her body moved with renewed purpose. She pivoted sharply, delivering a flawless turning kick that struck Nihilister’s side with a thunderous crack. The force of the blow fractured the monstrous Nikke’s armor, sending her hurtling through the air.

Nihilister crashed into the snow, her monstrous form dissolving as she tumbled. When she rose again, she was in her humanoid state—battered, her molten eyes burning with fury but dimmer than before.

Rapi stood tall, her fiery hair billowing in the cold wind, her chest heaving but her stance unyielding. The battlefield fell silent, the snow swirling in the aftermath of her decisive blow. She was triumphant.

But the triumph was short-lived.

Nihilister groaned, her twisted, molten frame trembling as she clawed at the snow, forcing herself upright. Her fiery eyes seared with unrestrained fury, the heat around her intensifying until the air itself shimmered. “You… dare… humiliate me?” she hissed, her voice venomous and raw.

Rapi took a shaky step back, her body teetering on the edge of collapse. The crimson blaze of her hair faded, retreating to its original blonde as Red Hood’s power left her. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her every muscle screaming in protest. “Stay down,” she commanded, though her voice was faint, lacking the steel of before.

But Nihilister didn’t listen. Her molten claws dug into the ground, her snarl reverberating across the battlefield as she prepared to lunge.

Then, a figure emerged from the mist.

Modernia stepped into view, her tall, imposing frame cutting through the haze with unnerving precision. Her movements were deliberate, mechanical, but there was an irregularity to her steps—a hesitation, a stagger that betrayed the damage she’d sustained. Wisps of smoke curled from her cracked systems, and her crimson eye glinted through the shattered visor, locked onto Rapi with a chilling focus.

“Enough,” Modernia said, her tone calm but layered with sharp irritation. She cast a disapproving glance at Nihilister, who froze mid-motion. “You’re in no condition to continue. Neither am I. The sorcerer and this Nikke have damaged us far beyond expectations.”

Nihilister snarled, her claws carving into the snow as molten energy bled from her wounds. “Damaged? I’m not done yet! I’ll tear her apart!”

Modernia ignored the outburst, her gaze shifting to Rapi. Her expression remained unreadable, though there was a spark of recognition in her piercing eye. “A Grimm’s model,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Intriguing… and problematic.”

Rapi’s shoulders stiffened, her instincts flaring as she steadied her stance. She had no rifle to raise—only her fists, bloodied and trembling from the battle. She said nothing, her ragged breathing the only sign of her exhaustion.

Modernia stepped closer to Nihilister, her voice sharpening. “Stand down. We’re leaving. Continuing this is pointless. My systems are compromised. Dragging this out will only worsen things.”

“I don’t care!” Nihilister roared, shrugging off Modernia’s hand with a violent swipe. Her claws flared as her molten body erupted in flames, her voice rising in a guttural scream. “I’ll kill her! I’ll burn her until there’s nothing left!”

With blinding speed, Nihilister lunged at Rapi, her claws blazing as they cut through the air. Rapi barely had time to react, raising her arms in defense as the force of the blow sent shockwaves through the battlefield.

Though Red Hood’s power was gone, the damage Rapi had inflicted earlier left Nihilister weakened. Her strikes were wild, unrefined—still monstrous in their strength, but slower, less precise. Every motion bled molten energy from her damaged frame, her fury driving her beyond reason.

Rapi gritted her teeth, her legs quaking beneath her as she fought to keep up. She deflected Nihilister’s frenzied swipes, countering with sharp, calculated kicks aimed at her exposed joints. A low kick struck Nihilister’s damaged knee, forcing her to stumble. Rapi pressed the advantage, delivering a spinning roundhouse to Nihilister’s side that sent the fiery Nikke staggering back.

“You’re resilient,” Nihilister spat, her molten eyes blazing with hatred. “But it won’t save you.”

In the distance, Anis and Neon watched, their battered forms slumped against a mound of snow. Anis’s face was pale, her hand clutching her side as she squinted toward a figure on the horizon. “Is that… John?” she muttered, her voice faint.

Neon followed her gaze, her trembling hands gripping Anis’s arm for balance. Her eyes widened as she spotted him. “It is… Master! He’s on his knees… he’s not moving!”

Anis’s jaw tightened, and she forced herself upright despite the searing pain in her limbs. “We can’t let him stay there. Rapi’s running on fumes.” She turned to Neon, gripping her shoulder. “Come on. We have to get him up.”

Neon hesitated, her battered body screaming in protest, but she nodded. “Right… right. Let’s go.”

Together, the two Nikkes staggered through the snow, their breaths ragged and shallow as they pushed toward their commander. Behind them, the echoes of Rapi’s strikes and Nihilister’s roars reverberated across the battlefield, a reminder that the fight was far from over.

-

A dull pounding echoed in John’s skull, like a distant drumbeat muffled by layers of fog. His body was heavy, every limb weighed down by searing aches and raw, burning exhaustion. Someone was shaking him—vigorously, almost desperately. He struggled to pull his thoughts together, fragments of memory flickering like dying embers.

Where am I? His mind clawed at fleeting images—the heat of cursed energy roaring through him, the clash with Nihilister, the imposing presence of Modernia. It felt like chasing shadows, the answers slipping further away with each attempt to grasp them.

“Master!” Neon’s voice broke through the haze, sharp with urgency. Her face hovered inches from his, her expression a mixture of panic and determination. Beside her, Anis worked methodically, her hands steady as she applied pressure to a wound on his side. Her usual bravado was absent, replaced by a grim focus.

John blinked, trying to speak, but his throat was parched, his voice refusing to obey. Instead, he pushed himself upright, his vision swimming as the world around him snapped into focus. Neon’s frantic words finally pierced the fog.

“Rapi… she’s still fighting!” Neon’s tone trembled, but her desperation was edged with hope. “She’s—she’s holding them off, but she’s barely holding on!”

“Idiot, stop moving!” Anis snapped, though her tone softened as she saw him struggle to rise. Relief flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by frustration. “You’re no good to anyone like this. Just—stay put.”

John ignored them. His muscles screamed in protest as he forced himself to his feet, every motion a monumental effort. Pain coursed through his body, but he shoved it aside. He had to see. He had to know.

His gaze turned toward the battlefield, and the scene before him crystallized.

Rapi stood alone, her body battered but unyielding. She moved with an almost mechanical precision, her fists and legs striking Nihilister with desperate force. Flames erupted around her as Nihilister retaliated, yet Rapi refused to falter. Her blonde hair, no longer glowing crimson, clung to her face, damp with sweat and snow.

John’s breath hitched. The sight of her defiance stirred something deep within him—admiration, guilt, and a gnawing sense of failure. She shouldn’t be standing there alone. He clenched his fists weakly. I shouldn’t have left this to her. Not alone.

But his attention shifted, drawn to a second figure. Modernia.

The heretic stood a short distance away, her coat billowing in the icy wind. Her movements were deliberate, almost surgical, her crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath the shattered visor. Smoke curled from her damaged systems, but her posture remained eerily composed.

John squinted, his brow furrowing. There was something about her—the coat, the way she moved, the cadence of her voice when she had spoken earlier. Familiarity gnawed at him like a blade, sharp and insistent.

Why does she feel familiar?

Modernia’s gaze flicked toward him, her crimson eyes locking onto his with unsettling clarity. For a moment, the chaos seemed to fall away, and John felt a chill run down his spine. Her stance, her presence—there was an echo in it, a whisper of something he couldn’t place.

“Master, stop!” Neon’s voice broke the spell as she grabbed his arm, her grip trembling but firm. “You can’t go out there! You’ll get yourself killed!”

Anis joined her, her voice sharp with exasperation. “You’re in no condition to fight, dammit! Let us—let her handle it for now!”

But John barely heard them. His focus was locked on Modernia, the puzzle pieces in his mind hovering just out of reach. Each step toward her felt like a step closer to an answer he didn’t yet understand.

And then, the pieces fell into place.

The shattered visor. The faint contours of her face. Her ark commander coat. The resonance of her cursed energy. Recognition struck him like a physical blow, his breath catching in his throat.

It’s her.

“Marian,” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips as if it had been waiting there all along. The weight of the realization crushed him, but he forced himself to speak louder, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Marian!”

Modernia’s crimson eyes snapped to him. Her towering, mechanical frame stilled, the deadly precision of her movements faltering as her gaze fixed on his. Her arm, raised for a devastating strike, froze mid-motion. For a moment, her face was unreadable—cold, calculating—but then, like a crack in steel, something softer, almost fragile, flickered across her expression.

“Marian!” John shouted again, his voice breaking as he staggered forward, each step a battle against the searing pain in his ribs and legs.

Rapi, battered but resolute, stood firm amidst the chaos. She was unarmed, her discarded rifle lying somewhere in the snow, but her sharp eyes never left Modernia. Her fists clenched tightly, and every instinct screamed for her to act. “John, get back!” she barked, her voice cutting through the tension. “It’s not safe!”

Modernia’s lips parted, her head tilting slightly as if grappling with the sound of her name. The battlefield seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with anticipation as that single word hung like a fragile thread between them.

From the side, Nihilister shattered the silence with a feral roar—a molten, savage sound that rippled across the snow-covered plain. Her massive frame surged forward, her claws gleaming with fiery energy. She barreled past Modernia, her searing rage fixed on John and Rapi.

Rapi reacted instantly. She lunged into Nihilister’s path, driving a powerful side kick into her molten leg. The impact made Nihilister stagger, but her fiery claws lashed out, forcing Rapi to pivot and duck with sharp, practiced precision. Flames erupted from Nihilister’s vents, their heat blistering the air and casting jagged shadows across the battlefield.

“Marian,” John called again, his voice resolute as he stumbled forward despite the agony in his side.

Modernia flinched, her fingers twitching at her sides. Her red eye wavered, darting as though fighting an unseen force. Then, like a dam breaking, she fell to her knees. Her imposing frame seemed to shrink as trembling hands clutched her head. “Marian...” she whispered, her voice barely audible, fragile and filled with confusion. “That’s... me? Marian...”

John was almost there, his hand outstretched, when a sudden force struck him like a freight train. Nihilister’s molten claws slammed into his side, sending him sprawling into the snow. Pain erupted through his body, stealing his breath and blurring his vision.

“You’ll regret this!” Nihilister snarled, towering over him as her clawed foot raised to crush him.

“Not today!” Rapi’s voice rang out as she surged forward. She ducked beneath Nihilister’s strike, spinning low before driving a powerful roundhouse kick into Nihilister’s exposed joint. The impact cracked the molten armor, forcing Nihilister to roar in pain and stagger backward.

Rapi darted to John’s side, pulling him to his feet with a strength that belied her battered frame. Her grip was firm, her voice sharp. “John, we have to move!” she hissed, her breath ragged but resolute.

John’s gaze remained locked on Modernia. She knelt in the snow, her shoulders trembling as she clung to her own confusion. Her lips moved silently, repeating the name that had shaken her foundation.

“Marian,” she whispered again, her voice cracking. Her once-imposing presence seemed to collapse under the weight of the name, as though it carried the full force of her lost humanity.

John shook his head, his voice steady despite the pain coursing through him. “No. I’m not leaving her… Thats Marian”

Rapi glanced at him, her expression hard but conflicted. She looked back at Modernia, then at Nihilister, who was regrouping for another strike. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice low but sharp.

“I’m sure,” John said, his voice carrying a conviction that left no room for doubt. He squared his stance beside her, his fists trembling but ready. “I have to be a part of this.”

Rapi sighed, “Then let’s make it count,” she said, her voice steady as they faced down the storm together. Modernia sat just feet away, a broken soldier lost in her own memories, as the battle raged around her.

John surged forward alongside Rapi, their steps synchronized as they closed the distance to Nihilister. The snow and ash churned beneath their boots, and in his mind, John’s thoughts raced, pulling him away from the moment and into the depths of his own guilt.

I’m sorry, Marian, he thought, his chest tightening with the weight of his confession. This isn’t just about you. It’s about me. My need to prove something—to prove I’m more than just a tool. That I can still be a hero. That I can save someone I failed. His fists clenched tighter, a bitter taste rising in his throat. I wish this was pure, altruistic. But it’s not. It’s selfish. And you deserve better than that.

Beside him, Rapi moved with the same resolve, though her thoughts carried a different burden. Red Hood... I’m sorry, she thought, her gaze unwavering as her rifle gleamed in her hands. I tried to carry your legacy, to honor what you stood for. But I’ve failed. I wasn’t strong enough to protect everyone, to live up to what you wanted me to be, to move past my own selfish desire.

Her eyes darted briefly to John, then forward again. I’ve found them—a team I care for, friends who matter to me, and even a commander I’m proud to follow. She bit her lip, her emotions sharpening her focus. I’m selfish, Red Hood. I want to live. Even if it means I’ve failed the legacy you left me... I still want to survive.

The air shifted around them. As the two rushed toward Nihilister, Rapi’s hair suddenly began to bleed crimson again, the color spreading like ink across her strands. John’s senses screamed as he felt an overwhelming surge of cursed energy explode from her presence—so sharp and intense that it mirrored the burst he’d felt earlier that had distracted Modernia.

He glanced at her, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as the sheer force of her energy nearly staggered him. This is the same energy.

John and Rapi closed the gap, their thoughts silent now as they faced Nihilister together. Nihilister’s mocking laughter echoed through the snow-covered battlefield as she charged back at them, her dragon-like form exuding sheer destructive power. Her claws tore through the icy ground as she roared, “How pathetic! Two fools charging to their deaths. Let’s see how far your resolve gets you when I grind you into the ice!”

John and Rapi didn’t falter, their steps in perfect tandem. Each movement carried the weight of unspoken resolve, their breaths synchronized, dissolving the chaos of the battlefield into singular focus. The clash ahead loomed, but neither hesitated. Then, just as the gap between them and Nihilister narrowed, a glint of light caught John’s eye—a pinpoint reflection slicing through the swirling frost like a silent signal.

The sun gleamed off the distant scope of a sniper rifle. John barely had time to process the sight before a blinding golden beam cut through the sky with a deafening crack, illuminating the battlefield with celestial brilliance. The energy-laden shot slammed into Nihilister’s chest, its force so precise and overwhelming that it stopped her mid-charge. Her roar of fury and pain echoed as she staggered, thrown violently into the path of John and Rapi’s impending attack.

The two pulled back instinctively, their movements perfectly aligned. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments—a silent understanding that this was it—and they surged forward again, their combined determination boiling over into action. As Nihilister reeled, her mechanical form exposed and vulnerable, they unleashed a dual uppercut, their fists blazing with the full force of their cursed energy.

Time seemed to warp around them, reality bending under the immense power they summoned. The air rippled with a raw, primal force as their fists connected in unison, their combined strength igniting a phenomenon that transcended the ordinary.

The Black Flash roared into existence, an otherworldly explosion of cursed energy that tore through the battlefield. The very fabric of existence seemed to tremble as their wills collided with Nihilister’s unyielding form. The cursed energy burned impossibly black, streaked with veins of searing crimson and radiant gold, like the collision of dying stars igniting the heavens. The impact sent shockwaves that shattered ice, snow, and air, radiating outward in a perfect, deafening sphere of destruction.

Nihilister’s massive frame was hurled into the distance, crashing with earth-shattering force into the frozen ground. A deep crater formed where she landed, the battlefield scarred by the sheer might of their attack.

John’s arm quivered violently, his knuckles raw and searing with pain. He staggered back, his chest heaving with the effort of simply remaining upright. Beside him, Rapi stood tall, her crimson hair crackling faintly with residual energy, her own fist smoking from the intensity of the strike.

For a moment, the battlefield was utterly still, the echoes of their combined fury hanging in the air like an unanswered prayer. The weight of the moment pressed down, as though the universe itself had paused to bear witness to their triumph.

But the silence didn’t last.

A soft, persistent sound broke the stillness—Modernia, kneeling in the snow, her broken visor exposing a face that was eerily familiar. Her lips moved almost mechanically as she muttered a single word, over and over again: “Marian.”

The ground began to tremble faintly beneath their feet, the vibrations growing stronger with each whispered repetition. Black light started to radiate from Modernia’s form, faint at first, then intensifying until the battlefield itself seemed to pulse with its ominous glow. The light crawled across her armor, her shattered frame, like a living thing, growing brighter and more unstable with each passing second.

“Marian...” The name fell from her lips again, but this time there was something different—something human. Her crimson eyes flickered, losing their cold luster. Her gaze slowly rose, locking onto John. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she stared at him, recognition dawning in her expression.

“Commander?” Her voice was faint, trembling, yet filled with a fragile hope that shattered the cold detachment she had worn.

John’s breath caught in his chest. The word hit him like a physical blow, unraveling his composure. Before he could take a step toward her, the black light around her erupted in a violent explosion, the force throwing him backward like a ragdoll. He hit the snow hard, the searing heat of the blast melting the ice around him as his vision swam.

The last thing he saw before darkness consumed him was Marian’s teary gaze, her lips forming a word he couldn’t quite hear as his consciousness slipped away.

Chapter Text

8 years earlier…

The cold stone of the Gojo clan barracks pressed against Anāman’s back, grounding him in the stillness of the hall. The flickering flames along the walls cast erratic shadows, their restless dance mimicking the churn of his thoughts. Power was everything here—a fact driven into him since the day he was brought in at seven. Outsiders like him weren’t people. They were potential resources to be shaped or discarded. Tools, not heirs.

The name Anāman felt as foreign as the life he was thrust into. He couldn’t remember anything before stepping through the estate gates, holding the hand of someone whose face was already fading in his mind. Had the clan stolen his past, or was there simply nothing worth remembering? The void left in its wake gnawed at him, a silent question he wasn’t allowed to ask.

A group of trainees passed by, their uniforms crisp, their heads bowed low. The true heirs among them moved differently, with an effortless arrogance that set them apart. Their techniques were extensions of their identity, inherited through centuries of lineage. Elders praised them as the clan’s legacy. Anāman envied their certainty, their place, even as he despised their cruelty. They belonged, and he did not.

A sharp crack echoed down the hall—someone had failed a cursed energy exercise, and the reprimands followed quickly. The Gojo clan demanded precision and ruthlessness, but the price was steep. He’d seen it too many times: children crumbling under impossible expectations, their names forgotten as quickly as their failures. Others fought desperately, chasing the dangling carrot of belonging, never realizing how far the clan kept it out of reach.

He flexed his fingers, scarred and calloused from training. A faint glow of cursed energy flickered along his palm, warm against the cold air. It was the only thing here that felt like his. In the brief moments he wielded it, the world bent to him—not to the clan’s rules, not to their elders. Power, he realized, wasn’t just strength. It was control. Over others, over fate. Over himself.

But that control was fleeting. His steps, his choices—every piece of his life was dictated by the elders. They called it discipline, but he knew it for what it was: a leash. And yet, in the back of his mind, he nurtured a quiet rebellion. One day, he vowed, this power would belong to him. Not to the clan. Never to the clan.

A door slammed down the hall, pulling him from his thoughts. Shiguro, his sensei, stepped into view, his sharp eyes scanning the trainees as if searching for his next target. Anāman tensed reflexively. The man’s presence was suffocating, a reminder of the line between failure and survival. Shiguro’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before moving on.

Anāman let out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax. His scars ached faintly as he clenched his fists, old wounds biting into his palms. The flames on the walls flickered again, their light casting restless shadows over his face. If cursed energy was a weapon, he would wield it—but on his terms. One day, he would prove he was more than their tool. One day, he would carve his name into the world, not as Anāman the outsider, but as something more.

-

The midday sun bore down on the training grounds, turning the dirt beneath Anāman’s feet into a scorched, uneven battlefield. He stood in a shallow trench, his arms trembling as he balanced a weighted staff across his shoulders. Sweat soaked his uniform, dripping into his eyes, but he didn’t dare falter. Shiguro, his sensei, watched from a shaded perch, his sharp, hawk-like gaze fixed on him with an air of disdain. The man’s presence was oppressive, each word delivered with the precision of a blade.

“Lower your stance, outsider,” Shiguro barked, his voice slicing through the air. “Unless, of course, that’s the best a stray can manage?”

The word “outsider” hit like a punch to the gut, but Anāman didn’t react. He’d heard it too many times, always laced with the venomous reminder that he didn’t belong. Instead, he bent his knees further, forcing his legs to hold steady under the staff’s unyielding weight. The burn in his thighs threatened to buckle him, but he refused to give Shiguro the satisfaction.

“Pathetic,” Shiguro sneered, stepping forward just enough for the sunlight to illuminate his sharp features. “The Gojo clan is wasting its resources on you. They could have polished a true heir, but instead, they dragged in... this.” He waved a hand dismissively at Anāman, his lips curling in disgust. “A gamble. A project.”

Anāman bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, using the pain to steady himself. His cursed energy hummed faintly at the edge of his senses, begging to be used, but he suppressed it. Shiguro’s punishments for relying on cursed energy were always worse than the strain of physical exertion.

“You think this is hard?” Shiguro continued, circling him like a predator. “Wait until you’re facing a cursed spirit that won’t care how much you’re hurting. If you crumble under this, you’ll be dead in seconds.”

The words stung, but not as much as the truth behind them. Anāman’s grip on the staff tightened, his knuckles whitening. Around him, other trainees collapsed under their own impossible tasks. Some struggled to stabilize cursed energy fields while enduring strikes from Shiguro’s assistants; others were sparring with dummies rigged to retaliate with bursts of cursed energy. Each failure was met with scathing reprimands or harsh corrections. Anāman had endured it all, and yet, the weight of Shiguro’s disdain was heavier than the staff on his shoulders.

His vision blurred as the seconds dragged on, but he forced himself to focus. The ache in his legs, the strain in his back, the sting of Shiguro’s words—they all blended into a singular, oppressive force. You don’t belong. You’ll never be enough. The thought clawed at him, but he pushed it down, letting the anger simmer beneath his exhaustion.

“Enough.” Shiguro’s voice snapped like a whip. “Drop the staff.”

Anāman obeyed, the staff falling into the dirt with a dull thud. His body screamed for relief, but he forced himself to stand tall, his muscles trembling under the effort. Around him, the other trainees collapsed in exhaustion, their failure a stark contrast to his quiet resolve.

Shiguro descended from his perch, his boots crunching against the dirt as he approached. He stopped in front of Anāman, his gaze raking over him like a predator sizing up wounded prey. “You lasted longer than the others,” he said flatly. “But not long enough. You think that’s impressive? You think that will keep you alive?”

“No, sensei,” Anāman replied, his voice hoarse but steady.

“Then prove it next time.” Shiguro leaned in, his face inches from Anāman’s. “Or don’t bother coming back. The clan doesn’t need deadweight.”

Anāman held his ground, meeting Shiguro’s gaze with silent defiance. If Shiguro noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he straightened and turned toward the other trainees, ready to deliver more of his cutting critiques.

The sharp crunch of boots on dirt drew everyone’s attention. Takumi emerged onto the training grounds, his measured stride and calm demeanor a stark contrast to Shiguro’s tension-filled presence. He carried himself with quiet authority, but his expression was neutral, almost unreadable.

“Shiguro,” Takumi said, his tone clipped but formal. His gaze flicked briefly to Anāman before settling on the sensei. “I need a word.”

Shiguro’s eyes narrowed, displeasure flickering across his face. “I’m in the middle of training. This had better be important.”

“It is,” Takumi replied, his voice firm. He glanced at Anāman again, his expression softening just enough to be noticeable. “Anāman has been reassigned. Effective immediately, he’ll be training under me. We leave for the Outer Rim tomorrow.”

Anāman’s head snapped up, surprise flashing across his face. The other trainees exchanged glances, some whispering quietly. Shiguro’s jaw tightened, his glare shifting between Takumi and Anāman.

“He’s not ready,” Shiguro said bluntly. “You’re taking an unfinished tool out of the forge. And let’s not pretend this isn’t about claiming credit for his progress. All the work, the investment I’ve made—you’ll swoop in and reap the benefits?”

Takumi’s expression didn’t waver. “This isn’t about credit, Shiguro. It’s about potential. And Anāman has more of it than you realize.”

“Potential?” Shiguro scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “A stray like him doesn’t have potential. He has desperation. That’s what you’re mistaking for talent.”

Takumi’s gaze hardened, his voice lowering to a dangerous calm. “I don’t mistake anything, Shiguro. Anāman’s progress speaks for itself. If you couldn’t see that, perhaps the issue lies with the teacher, not the student.”

The jab landed, and Shiguro’s face darkened with fury. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he turned back to Anāman, his tone icy. “You’ve been handed an opportunity, boy. Don’t waste it.”

Anāman nodded, the weight of the exchange settling over him like a second staff on his shoulders. Takumi gestured for him to follow, and Anāman fell into step behind him, leaving the training grounds and Shiguro’s venomous gaze behind.

Later that day, Anāman adjusted the strap of his equipment pack, his muscles still sore from the morning’s training session. The bitter taste of exertion lingered on his tongue as he stepped into the briefing room, a small, dimly lit chamber with faded paper scrolls lining the walls. Two other sorcerers sat waiting, their expressions a mixture of boredom and quiet disdain as they glanced up at him. He didn’t recognize either of them, but that wasn’t unusual. Outsiders like himself rarely mingled with the full-blooded members of the clan unless it was for work.

Anāman’s eyes immediately darted to the older man standing at the head of the table. Takumi. The name was unfamiliar, but something about his presence was disarming. He was tall but not imposing, his robes unadorned, lacking the clan's usual ostentation. His face bore subtle lines of weariness, but his gaze was sharp, piercing. Takumi met Anāman’s eyes and gave a small nod, a gesture that seemed almost... considerate.

"Anāman, Take a seat." Takumi’s voice was measured, lacking the condescension Anāman expected.

Anāman hesitated but complied, sliding into a chair at the far end of the table. He kept his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, every movement calculated to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. His stomach churned, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if this was his first assignment, but something about the setup felt heavier, more deliberate.

Takumi placed a scroll on the table and unrolled it with a practiced flick of his wrist. A faded map of the Outer Rim came into view, dotted with annotations in an ancient script.

“We’re heading here,” Takumi began, pointing to a cluster of jagged markings that represented a distant, desolate region. “Our mission is to retrieve a cursed artifact—a pre-ark relic believed to enhance cursed energy reserves and development. It’s considered extremely valuable and it needs to be collected subtly, without the other clans finding out, which is why this task has been assigned to us.”

Anāman nodded silently, his jaw tightening. Fantastic relics, Outer Rim missions—this was leagues beyond the low-risk assignments he’d handled before. Was this why he’d been called in?

Takumi continued, addressing the two other sorcerers. “Our team is small, but that’s deliberate. Larger groups draw attention in areas like this. Tenkai and Haruna will handle the primary reconnaissance. Anāman and I will focus on extraction.”

At the mention of his name, Anāman glanced up sharply. Takumi’s tone was calm, but his words carried an air of finality. There was no room for debate, no questioning why someone as junior as himself had been included in such a high-stakes mission.

“Wait,” Anāman finally spoke, his voice breaking the silence. “Why me? I’m only a Grade 2. Shouldn’t someone more experienced be handling this?”

The scarred man, Tenkai, chuckled quietly, his gaze flicking toward Anāman with thinly veiled amusement. “Good question, kid. What makes you so special?”

“Potential,” Takumi answered before Anāman could react, his tone cutting through the room like a blade. “Anāman has the potential to reach Grade 1 in a few years, with the right guidance. I specifically requested him for this mission to start that process.”

Anāman’s throat tightened. The words hung in the air, both flattering and suffocating. Potential. He’d heard that word before, from countless others in the clan, always tied to expectations he never asked for. But hearing it from Takumi felt... different. There was no sneer, no veiled threat of failure. Just a matter-of-fact declaration that unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain.

“You requested me?” Anāman asked, his voice softer now, more cautious.

Takumi nodded, his gaze steady. “I’ve reviewed your file. Your physical ability, your efficiency in low-risk missions—it’s clear you’ve got talent. Talent that shouldn’t be wasted.”

The words should have bolstered him, but instead, they ignited a strange irritation deep in his chest. He couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was the way Takumi spoke to him, as if they had some shared history Anāman couldn’t remember. Or maybe it was the sheer weight of those expectations, dragging him down like a stone.

“I don’t need special treatment,” Anāman muttered, his hands tightening into fists beneath the table.

“This isn’t special treatment,” Takumi replied, his voice calm but firm. “It’s responsibility. You’ve been given an opportunity. Make the most of it.”

The room fell silent, the tension crackling like static electricity. The other sorcerers exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable, before Tenkai leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, this should be interesting.”

Takumi ignored the remark, rolling up the map and tucking it under his arm. “We leave at first light. Prepare your gear and rest while you can.”

As the others rose to leave, Anāman stayed seated, his gaze fixed on the table. His thoughts churned, a chaotic mix of apprehension and resentment. He wanted to feel grateful, but all he felt was... off-balance. Takumi had praised him, chosen him, but why? What did the man see that Anāman couldn’t? And why did it bother him so much?

“Anāman,” Takumi said, his voice pulling him from his thoughts.

Takumi hesitated, his hand resting on the edge of the table. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with his words, an unusual vulnerability flickering across his face. “Do you remember anything from before you joined the clan?”

The question caught Anāman off guard, and he frowned. “No,” he said cautiously. “Why?”

Takumi exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Just wondering. It’s... unusual, that’s all.”

Anāman’s frown deepened. “What’s unusual?”

Takumi shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Nothing. Forget it.” He straightened, his tone regaining its usual firmness. “Get some rest. We leave at first light.”

Anāman lingered for a moment, his confusion and irritation swirling together into a knot in his chest. He wanted to press Takumi, to demand answers, but he didn’t know the right questions to ask. With a quiet huff, he turned and left the room, the weight of Takumi’s words following him like a shadow.

-

Takumi walked down the narrow hallway, the faint echo of his footsteps mixing with the creak of wooden floorboards. Tenkai followed, his hands casually clasped behind his back, his demeanor deceptively relaxed. The tension between them, however, hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall.

“You’ve taken an interesting approach with that boy,” Tenkai said, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth, laced with a subtle edge. “Promising, sure, but still just a Grade 2. Makes you wonder why you’d assign him to a mission like this.”

Takumi didn’t break his stride, keeping his gaze forward. “He’s got potential. It’s a simple decision.”

“Potential,” Tenkai repeated, his tone half-amused. “That word again. Funny how often it’s used to justify throwing someone into the deep end.” He glanced at Takumi, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But that’s not all there is to it, is there?”

Takumi slowed his pace, exhaling through his nose. “If you have something to say, Tenkai, just say it.”

Tenkai chuckled softly. “You obviously care about the boy for whatever reason, but we both know as an outsider his life is always at risk.”

Takumi’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Anāman will be fine. He’s tougher than he looks.”

“Maybe,” Tenkai replied, his tone turning almost conversational. “But you know as well as I do that ‘fine’ isn’t enough in this clan. He’ll need more than talent to survive. Connections. Alliances. Support from the right people.”

“And that’s where you come in, I suppose?” Takumi said, stopping at a small window overlooking the courtyard. The moonlight filtered through the branches of an ancient tree, casting intricate shadows on the floor. “Spit it out, Tenkai. What do you want?”

Tenkai stopped a few steps behind him, his smile fading as his expression turned calculating. “One of the elder seats is open, as you’re well aware. I intend to make a play for it.”

Takumi let out a dry laugh. “And you think I can help with that? I burned through what little political capital I had years ago.”

“True,” Tenkai said, his tone sharpening. “But the people you worked with back then still hold sway. They remember you, even if your influence has waned. A few introductions, a well-placed word here or there—that’s all I’m asking.”

“And why would I do that?” Takumi turned to face him, his eyes cold. “What’s in it for me?”

Tenkai’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve got a guilty conscience, Takumi. You were part of the vote to bring in outside blood—children like Anāman. You didn’t want it to turn out the way it did, but here we are. A broken system, a fractured clan, and a generation of tools instead of people. I know that guilt eats at you. This... this could be a way to balance the scales.”

Takumi’s expression darkened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “And you? Is this about morality for you? Some grand ideal?”

Tenkai snorted. “Hardly. I need approval from a few key figures, and some of them owe you favors from back in the day. You’re the least costly method for me to get what I need. Morality has nothing to do with it.”

Takumi shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve always been practical, I’ll give you that.”

“Practicality keeps you alive in this clan,” Tenkai said with a shrug. “And it keeps the people you care about alive, too.”

Takumi’s gaze flicked toward the courtyard, his eyes settling on the shadows dancing across the ground. For a moment, he said nothing, the weight of Tenkai’s words pressing down on him. Then he turned back, his voice low and measured. “I’ll think about it. But don’t mistake this for anything more than what it is.”

Tenkai gave a slight bow, his smile returning. “Of course. Just think about it, Takumi. That’s all I ask.” With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

-

The morning sun hung low, casting a pale orange glow over the clan compound. The cool air carried the faint scent of dew, a fleeting contrast to the rigid order of the courtyard. Anāman walked alongside Takumi, his uniform simple yet well-fitted, his strides measured as they approached the gate where their escort waited. Around them, the muted activity of clan members preparing for the day was efficient, almost mechanical.

As they neared the main entrance, a procession caught Anāman’s eye. A line of children, no older than seven, moved in eerie synchronization, their faces blank, their eyes glassy. They walked as if on strings, devoid of curiosity or fear. The sight stopped Anāman mid-step, his gaze lingering on the unnatural uniformity. One child, pale and dark-haired, turned slightly, his vacant eyes locking with Anāman’s for a fleeting moment. A chill ran through him, sharp and visceral, but he quickly masked it, forcing his legs to move.

“Outsiders,” Takumi said, his tone quiet, almost resigned. “They’ll go through the rites soon.”

The weight in Takumi’s voice made Anāman glance at him, but he said nothing. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his expression carefully neutral, though a flicker of unease tightened his chest. It wasn’t fear—it was sharper, harder to place, an unnamed bitterness that settled in his stomach.

“They’ll adapt,” Takumi added, his voice softer now. “Some faster than others. But they’ll adapt.”

“Of course,” Anāman said flatly, keeping his tone detached. He walked with deliberate precision, suppressing the turmoil that churned beneath his exterior. Yet the image of those children lingered, their blank stares haunting the edges of his mind.

Takumi studied him, his gaze lingering as if searching for a crack in Anāman’s composure. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but pointed. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you.”

Anāman’s jaw tightened. “I’m not pretending.”

A quiet sigh escaped Takumi. “When I look at them, I see what we’ve built. The decisions we’ve made.” He paused, his tone hardening ever so slightly. “Decisions I’ve made.”

The words carried a faint weight, and for a moment, Anāman’s facade wavered. His brow furrowed, a flicker of something—anger, perhaps—crossing his face. “I wasn’t there for those decisions. They’re not my concern.”

“No, they’re not,” Takumi replied, his voice edged with bitterness. “But you’re living with the consequences, whether you admit it or not.”

The statement cut deeper than Anāman expected, striking at a frustration he hadn’t fully acknowledged. His lips pressed into a thin line, his silence thick with unspoken resentment. Takumi glanced at him again but didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the path ahead.

By the time they reached the gate, the murmurs of the compound had faded. Their escort—a small group of sorcerers clad in muted robes—stood waiting, their faces sharp and impassive.

As Anāman prepared to step through the gate, he cast a glance over his shoulder. The children were gone, their presence erased as though they’d never existed. Yet the unease remained, clawing faintly at the edges of his thoughts. He shoved it down, locking it away behind a practiced detachment.

Whatever he felt didn’t matter. There was a mission ahead, and that was all that mattered now.

-

The transition from the Ark to the Outer Rim was stark, like crossing a line between civilization and chaos. Anāman followed Takumi through the desolate expanse, the rigid structures of the Ark left far behind. The Outer Rim felt like a different world—its air heavy with dust and smoke, its landscape punctuated by industrial ruins, makeshift shelters, and wild, untamed terrain made of trash. The few people they passed eyed them warily, suspicion etched deep into their faces.

They reached the outskirts of a devastated village just as the pale light of morning broke through the haze. Tenkai and Haruna, the other sorcerers assigned to their mission, stood waiting by the village entrance, their expressions grim. Tenkai waved them over with a curt motion, while Haruna kept her focus on a map in her hands. Takumi exchanged a brief, silent nod with them before turning to Anāman.

“Listen carefully,” Takumi said, his voice low but firm. He glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “This place operates on its own set of rules. Outsiders are not welcome here, and the clan’s name means nothing. If you show any sign of cursed energy, it’ll be a death sentence—not for us but for anyone who knows we’re here.”

Anāman nodded stiffly, though his mind was already churning. He hadn’t expected the tension in Takumi’s tone, nor the weight of his words. “Understood.”

Takumi’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he continued. “We’ll question the villagers one at a time. Keep your distance and don’t involve yourself in their lives. We’re here to gather information, nothing more. These people have been through enough, and we can’t afford to make their situation worse.”

Tenkai, leaning casually against a crumbled wall, smirked faintly. “You make it sound like we’re the villains here, Takumi.”

Takumi ignored him, keeping his focus on Anāman. “No sorcery. No interference where not required. These are the rules, and I expect you to follow them.”

Anāman bristled at the implied lack of trust, his jaw tightening. “I don’t need a lecture,” he muttered, his voice sharp with irritation.

Takumi’s expression softened, though the weight of his gaze didn’t lessen. “You’re young,” he said quietly. “It’s easy to want to help, especially when you see people suffering. But out here, good intentions can get you—and them—killed.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Anāman looked away, unsure why they unsettled him so much. He was used to detachment. It was practically a survival skill in the clan. Yet Takumi’s insistence on rules and restraint gnawed at him, stirring an irritation he couldn’t quite place.

“We reconned the area earlier,” Haruna said, her voice breaking the silence as she approached with the map. “It’s bad. Burned-out homes, many slaughtered, and hardly any people left. Most of the villagers fled, but we found a few survivors hiding in one of the basements.”

“Any signs of the artifact?” Takumi asked.

Haruna shook her head. “Nothing yet. Only traces.”

Takumi sighed and gestured toward the village. “We’ll start with the survivors. Remember, one at a time. Keep it discreet.”

The group entered the village cautiously, their movements deliberate as they navigated the charred remnants of homes and shattered lives. Anāman trailed behind Takumi, his senses on high alert. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional crackle of ash underfoot.

When they reached what remained of the village center, a small group of survivors emerged from the shadows of a half-collapsed building. They were gaunt and hollow-eyed, their clothes hanging in rags. Takumi motioned for Tenkai and Haruna to stay back, then approached the group slowly, his hands visible and unthreatening.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked, his tone calm but authoritative.

A woman stepped forward hesitantly, her trembling hands clutching the edge of a tattered shawl. Her eyes darted nervously between the sorcerers, lingering on Anāman for a moment before settling on Takumi. “I suppose... that would be me,” she said, her voice thin and shaky.

“Let’s talk,” Takumi said, gesturing toward a nearby structure. “Alone.”

The woman hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. Takumi cast a glance at Anāman, his expression unreadable. “Wait here,” he instructed, before guiding the woman away.

As Takumi and the survivor disappeared into the shadows, Anāman shifted uncomfortably. His gaze wandered over the remaining villagers—two children clutching each other tightly and an elderly man staring blankly into the distance. Their stoic acceptance of their suffering unsettled him more than any display of fear or anger would have. It was as if they’d resigned themselves to the cruelty of their world.

Tenkai sauntered over, his usual smirk in place. “Not much for conversation, are they?” he remarked, glancing at the villagers.

“They’ve been through hell,” Haruna replied curtly, her tone leaving no room for flippancy.

Anāman remained silent, his thoughts a jumble. The stoic, robotic demeanor of the survivors reminded him too much of the new outsider they’d seen being brought into the clan that morning—eyes glossy, emotions buried under layers of obedience. He clenched his fists, feeling an unease he couldn’t quite name.

When Takumi returned, his expression was grave. “They’ve seen enough. We won’t press them further.”

“Anything useful?” Haruna asked.

Takumi hesitated, his gaze flicking to Anāman briefly before he answered. “Experiments. Seems like a rogue sorcerer working on something. The survivors didn’t understand much, but it’s enough to confirm we’re in the right place.”

“Experiments?” Anāman echoed, his voice quiet but sharp.

Takumi nodded grimly. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. The world out here... it doesn’t have rules like the clan. Power is everything, and some people will go to any lengths to get it.”

Anāman’s stomach tightened. He wanted to ask more, to press for details, but the look on Takumi’s face stopped him. Instead, he swallowed his questions and fell into step behind the group as they moved deeper into the ruins.

His boots crunched softly against the scorched dirt as the group moved through the skeletal remains of the village. Takumi walked ahead, his presence uncharacteristically muted, while Tenkai and Haruna kept their distance, scanning the ruins with careful, practiced eyes. The air felt heavy, thick with the lingering weight of suffering, and Anāman found himself stepping slower, his gaze drawn to every detail—the collapsed walls, charred remnants of furniture, and the faint, acrid smell of ash.

It was then he heard it—a faint, muffled sound beneath a pile of debris. He froze, his cursed energy instinctively rippling in response. A soft whimper followed, almost swallowed by the oppressive silence. He hesitated, glancing toward the others. Takumi had stopped, looking over the husk of a burned-out building, seemingly oblivious.

Anāman took a cautious step toward the sound, his senses sharpening. As he neared the ruins of what might have once been a home, the faint noise grew clearer. His brow furrowed as he knelt, brushing away loose dirt and splinters of wood. Beneath the wreckage, hidden in a pocket of collapsed beams and plaster, he saw a pair of wide, frightened eyes staring back at him.

A child.

The boy looked no older than seven or eight, his face smeared with dirt and tear-streaked. His thin arms clutched his knees tightly, his body trembling as he tried to make himself invisible. Anāman’s initial reaction was purely practical. The mission came first, and Takumi’s words from earlier echoed in his mind: don’t involve yourself in their lives.

But as the boy’s terrified gaze met his, something shifted in Anāman. A deep, gnawing unease rose within him, mingling with a faint, bitter familiarity he couldn’t place. He tried to swallow it, to push it away, but the boy’s trembling figure held him rooted.

“Stay quiet,” Anāman muttered softly, barely audible. He reached for the rubble, his cursed energy pooling in his arms as he tested the weight of the beams pinning the entrance shut. No normal human would have any hope of lifting the weight, most likely requiring heavy machinery. He lifted one of the beams, widening the gap for the boy.

The boy flinched at the motion, pressing himself further into the narrow space. Anāman paused, his expression tightening as he realized the child wouldn’t come out willingly. He let out a quiet sigh, then focused his cursed energy into his hands. With careful precision, he began shifting the debris aside and breaking them where needed, making the entrance wider without disturbing the fragile space inside.

“Anāman,” Takumi’s voice called sharply from behind. He tensed, half-expecting a reprimand, but Takumi’s tone carried a note of curiosity. “What are you doing?”

Anāman didn’t look back. “There’s a survivor,” he replied tersely, focusing on clearing the path. A particularly stubborn beam refused to budge, and with a subtle pulse of cursed energy, he snapped it in two.

Takumi approached, his footsteps slowing as he caught sight of the boy. His gaze flicked between Anāman and the child, his expression unreadable. “This is a risk,” he said, his voice even. “You’re breaking the rules. You're exposing what we are. Our power. Our existence.”

“I know,” Anāman said flatly, his tone clipped. He didn’t stop, his hands working with quiet efficiency. As the last piece of debris fell away, he crouched low, extending a hand toward the boy. The child hesitated, his small frame still trembling, but after a moment, he reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against Anāman’s palm.

With a firm but gentle grip, Anāman pulled the boy free, lifting him into his arms with ease. The child clung to him tightly, burying his face against his chest, and for a moment, Anāman stood there, unsure of what to do next. The weight of the boy’s small, fragile body felt strangely grounding.

Takumi watched silently, his gaze heavy with something Anāman couldn’t quite place. When Anāman began walking back toward the main group, Takumi fell into step beside him. The older sorcerer’s voice was low, almost contemplative. “You know what the clan would say about this.”

Anāman didn’t respond immediately. His focus remained on the boy, whose trembling had begun to subside. Finally, he spoke, his tone neutral. “I’m not worried about what the clan thinks.”

Takumi’s lips twitched into a faint, fleeting smile. “A dangerous act of rebellion,” he said softly. There was no chastisement in his words, only a quiet approval that unsettled Anāman more than any criticism would have.

“It’s not rebellion,” Anāman said, his voice sharper than he intended. He shifted the boy’s weight in his arms, glancing briefly at Takumi. “It’s... nothing.”

Takumi hummed thoughtfully, his expression unreadable once more. “If you say so.”

As they reached the group, Haruna and Tenkai turned to stare, their expressions a mixture of confusion and surprise. Anāman ignored them, setting the boy down gently near the other survivors. The child’s wide eyes lingered on him for a moment before he scurried toward a woman who sat hunched against a wall, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Ma!” the boy cried out, his voice breaking as he ran into her open arms. The woman’s face twisted with disbelief, then overwhelming relief as she pulled him close, her fingers weaving through his tangled hair as she sobbed softly.

Anāman stood frozen, watching the reunion unfold. For a fleeting moment, a strange warmth spread through his chest, a sense of satisfaction that felt alien yet undeniably good. He had made a choice, exerted control over the situation, and the result was this—the tangible relief on the mother’s face, the boy’s trembling frame wrapped securely in her arms.

But then the warmth soured, turning into something bitter that clawed at the edges of his mind. He didn’t understand it. The sight of their embrace should have filled him with satisfaction, but instead, it left an ache he couldn’t place. His gaze lingered on the boy and his mother for a moment longer, before he turned sharply on his heel, striding away without a word.

Takumi followed him, his steps deliberate but slow. He didn’t speak until they were out of earshot of the group. “You felt it, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

Anāman didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He kept walking, refusing to meet Takumi’s gaze.

Takumi let the silence linger, his tone softening as he continued. “It’s unsettling, isn’t it? Seeing something you’ve never had.”

Anāman’s steps faltered, but only for a heartbeat. He shook his head, his voice cold. “It’s nothing.”

Anāman quickened his pace, leaving Takumi behind as the bitter taste in his chest lingered. He didn’t want to think about the boy or the mother, or why the sight of them had unsettled him so deeply. He had done what needed to be done, and that was all that mattered.

But no matter how hard he tried, the image of their embrace stayed with him, a quiet shadow in the back of his mind.

-

The tent was heavy with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the faint crackle of the radio. The dim lantern light flickered, casting restless shadows over the fabric walls. Anāman sat cross-legged on the floor, meditating and focusing on his cursed energy. Takumi, hunched over a low table, mapped points of interest relayed through the radio by Tenkai and Haruna, his hand moving with practiced precision over the worn parchment.

The night had stretched thin, and yet Anāman’s thoughts refused to settle. His eyes occasionally flicked to the older sorcerer, noting the quiet concentration on his face, the lines of exhaustion etched deeply around his eyes. There was something about Takumi’s presence that unsettled him. He exuded authority, yes, but it felt... different. Detached. Like a man who stood apart even when surrounded by his own.

The radio crackled to life again, Haruna’s voice cutting through the static with a clipped report. Takumi’s pen moved without hesitation, marking a new coordinate with steady precision. Anāman watched the ink blot spread and fade into the map’s fibers, his mind drifting back to the day’s events—the boy, the mother’s tearful embrace, and the hollow pang that had followed.

Power without choice. The words whispered through his thoughts, sharp and unrelenting. He glanced at his calloused hands, his fingers worn from years of wielding blades, the veins mapping their own web of control and consequence. What did strength mean when it wasn’t his own? Could it even be called strength if it only served others’ ends?

“You’re being very quiet,” Takumi said suddenly, breaking the silence. He didn’t look up from his map, his voice steady but carrying an edge of curiosity.

Anāman shrugged, keeping his tone measured. “Not much to say.”

Takumi hummed in response, the faintest note of amusement in his throat. “Thinking about today?”

Anāman stilled. He considered brushing the question off, but something in Takumi’s voice pulled at him. “The boy,” he said after a pause. “He had nothing. No power, no control. And yet, in the end, he got what he needed.”

Takumi’s pen paused mid-stroke. His eyes flicked up, studying the younger sorcerer. “And you envy him for that?”

Anāman’s hands tightened into a fist. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the frustration in his voice barely masked. “It doesn’t make sense. He was helpless, but things worked out. Meanwhile, I—” He cut himself off, the words catching in his throat.

Takumi leaned back slightly, setting the pen down. The lantern light caught the edge of his face, revealing an expression neither harsh nor soft, but something between. “You’re wrestling with control,” he said quietly. “With what it means to have strength, but not the ability to choose how it’s used.”

Anāman frowned, his gaze dropping to his lap. “What’s the point of strength if it’s just a leash?” he muttered. “If it’s nothing more than a tool for someone else’s will?”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the hum of the radio and the faint rustle of the map under Takumi’s hand. Finally, Takumi exhaled, a sound steeped in a quiet weariness. “I used to think the same way,” he said, his voice low but steady. “That strength was freedom. That if I became powerful enough, I could shape my own life, bend the world to my will.”

Anāman looked up, his expression skeptical. “And?”

Takumi’s lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. “And I was wrong. Strength doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t fix what’s broken.”

There was a weight in his tone that Anāman couldn’t ignore, a depth that pulled at the edges of his curiosity. “What are you talking about?” he asked, though part of him wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Takumi’s gaze grew distant, his fingers tracing the edge of the map absently. “My son,” he said finally. “He was born... fragile. A defect in his genes. The elders called it a ‘price’—a consequence of our purity. Generations of inbreeding to preserve the bloodline’s strength.” His voice grew tighter, the words coming slower. “We tried everything. Every technique, every remedy. Every medicine. But nothing worked. And when he... when he died, my wife—” He stopped, his composure faltering before he forced himself to continue. “She blamed me. But mostly herself.”

“I couldn’t stop it,” Takumi continued, his voice quieter now. “I couldn’t protect him, or her. But I swore I’d do something. I thought... if we brought in outsiders, new blood, maybe no one else would have to go through that. Maybe the clan could change.”

Anāman’s breath caught, his fingers tightening around the blade. “Outsiders,” he repeated, the word carrying an unspoken accusation.

“Yes,” Takumi said, meeting his gaze. “You’re here because of me.”

The admission sent a sharp pang through Anāman’s chest. He wanted to be angry, to lash out, but all he felt was a hollow ache. “You said you wanted to stop something like your son from happening again,” he said slowly, his voice edged with bitterness. “But all you did was trade one kind of suffering for another.”

Takumi didn’t flinch, though his expression darkened with guilt. “I know. And I’ve carried that with me every day since. But I still believe—” He paused, his gaze steady. “I believe you can be more than what they want you to be. You have the potential to break the cycle.”

Anāman scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not,” Takumi admitted. “But I know what this clan will do to you if you let them. I know what they’ll take.”

Anāman’s gaze dropped again, the blade in his lap reflecting the dim light. “You keep talking about choice,” he muttered. “Like it’s something I actually have.”

Takumi leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. “Choice isn’t always obvious,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just a moment—a decision to act, even when it’s against the rules. Like today.”

Anāman’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Takumi’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Of course not,” he said lightly, though his approval was unmistakable.

The radio crackled, breaking the moment. Takumi returned to his map, his focus shifting back to the task at hand. But Anāman couldn’t shake the words, the weight of the conversation lingering long after the tent had fallen silent again. As the night stretched on, the bitterness he’d felt toward Takumi began to fade, replaced by something he couldn’t quite name. Perhaps it was respect. Perhaps it was something more.

-

Several days later…

The barren landscape stretched under a pale, oppressive sky, jagged stone and cracked earth leading to the stark outline of the facility. Rusted steel and crumbling concrete betrayed years of decay, while faint pulses of cursed energy rippled through its walls—a dangerous rhythm that seemed almost alive.

Takumi, Tenkai, and Anāman stood on a rocky ridge overlooking the site. Haruna was stationed further uphill, her sharp gaze scanning the horizon as her cursed energy flickered subtly. The Outer Rim’s silence pressed in around them, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind.

“The artifact is in the central chamber,” Takumi said, his tone clipped with urgency. He gestured toward a partially collapsed dome at the facility’s heart. “The sorcerer inside seems to be working alone, but those reinforced seals suggest outside help. We tread carefully.”

“The outer defenses are silent now, but I’d bet the interior won’t be so cooperative,” Tenkai added, his eyes narrowing as he studied the structure. “Nothing this quiet comes easy.”

Takumi turned toward Haruna, who stood alert and ready. “Perimeter duty. Signal us at the first sign of trouble.”

“Understood,” Haruna replied briskly, her tone sharp and professional. She shot a fleeting glance at Anāman. “And the barrier?”

“I’ve got it,” Anāman replied curtly. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his hands against the dirt, his cursed energy rippling outward. A shimmering barrier began to take form, stabilizing into an almost imperceptible dome. As he worked, he muttered, “Emerge from darkness blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.”

Satisfied, Anāman glanced up. Takumi and Tenkai were already descending the ridge, their figures blending into the desolation as they approached the crumbling facility. Its scars were clearer up close—veins of cracks spread across the walls, and the rusted steel door bore deep pockmarks of corrosion. Yet the seals carved into its surface still pulsed faintly, resisting the decay.

Tenkai stepped forward, placing a hand on the door. His cursed energy flared as the seals splintered and dissolved with a faint shimmer of light. “We’re in,” he said simply. Without hesitation, he and Takumi slipped inside, the heavy door groaning shut behind them.

Anāman remained cross-legged at his post, his focus split between the hum of the barrier and the oppressive energy seeping from the facility. His eyes darted to Haruna’s patrol, her figure a steady flicker of movement tracing the ridges. Left behind again, he thought bitterly. Essential but distant, watching from the sidelines. He shook off the frustration, forcing his attention back to the task.

Minutes blurred into an hour. The cursed energy grew heavier, its pulse gnawing at his focus. Haruna’s figure had vanished from the ridges—a disruption in her steady rhythm. His frown deepened as unease began to bloom in his chest. The wind had stilled, and the air carried an unnatural weight.

He reached out with his cursed energy, sensing faint disturbances—irregular vibrations in the earth. His eyes scanned the area, landing on a patch of disturbed dirt. Drag marks crisscrossed the ground, faint but deliberate, leading toward a thorny bush at the base of the ridge. A ripped chunk of fabric was caught on its branches, fluttering weakly in the still air.

Haruna. His pulse quickened, his throat tightening. She wouldn’t leave without signaling. His hand clenched into a fist as he called out softly, “Haruna?” The sound was swallowed by the unnatural quiet.

The silence pressed against him, thick and suffocating. Something had gone wrong.

Forcing himself to focus, Anāman reinforced the barrier, tightening its weave to contain the cursed energy within the facility. The adjustments required precision, but his hands were steady, even as unease gnawed at the edges of his concentration. Once satisfied, he quickly rose, brushing the dust from his knees.

His gaze shifted to the steel door of the facility, its edges slightly ajar. Shadows pooled in the entrance, and an unnatural stillness emanated from within, darker and heavier than before. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. The door groaned as he pushed it open and stepped into the unknown.

The steel door creaked open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Anāman stepped inside, the oppressive air thick with the acrid tang of burnt metal and flesh. His cursed energy flickered involuntarily, a reaction to the stifling atmosphere. He advanced cautiously, each step echoing faintly in the silence.

Turning a corner, he froze.

A villager’s body hung suspended from the wall, fused grotesquely with jagged white metal. Their face was twisted in an eternal scream, eyes wide and lifeless, as if their final moments had been captured and preserved. Spindly metallic tendrils extended from their limbs, anchoring them to the wall like some cruel, mechanical display. A cube sat embedded in their chest, its crimson grooves glowing faintly, pulsating like a heartbeat. The fading cursed energy radiating from it was suffocating.

Anāman’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. The precision of the horror was almost worse than the act itself—it was deliberate, methodical. This wasn’t chaos; it was calculated experimentation.

He forced himself forward, each step revealing more atrocities. Corpses lined the corridor, their forms twisted into monstrous hybrids of flesh and metal. Some still pulsed faintly with cursed energy from the cubes embedded in their chest, as if their suffering lingered beyond death. The deeper he ventured, the more he felt a rhythmic hum grow, resonating with the horrors around it.

And then he saw Tenkai.

The sorcerer’s body lay crumpled near a collapsed wall, his chest torn open in jagged slashes. His face was locked in defiance, even in death. Anāman’s breath caught. The sight of the once-formidable sorcerer reduced to this twisted heap sent a cold spike of fear through him.

A sudden clash of cursed energy snapped him out of his thoughts. The sound reverberated down the corridor, pulling him toward a massive chamber at the facility's core.

Takumi stood locked in battle with the rogue sorcerer, his spectral chains darting through the air with calculated precision. The rogue sorcerer countered with erratic, deadly movements, his flying saw blade shimmering with cursed energy as it carved unpredictable arcs. Each of Takumi’s attacks was met with deft deflections, the rogue’s skill and wild energy keeping him on the defensive.

Takumi’s movements were controlled but strained, sweat glistening on his brow. His chains split into multiple segments, circling the sorcerer in an intricate dance of containment, but the rogue laughed, his eyes burning an unnatural red. “Persistent, aren’t you?” he rasped, deflecting another chain with a flick of his wrist. “But this ends with you.”

The saw blade lunged toward Takumi, who dodged narrowly, his chains lashing out in retaliation. The strain was evident in his every motion. For all his precision, the rogue’s chaotic style was pushing him to his limits.

Anāman watched, frozen, as his cursed energy flared faintly around his hands. He could feel the cursed energy in the facility intensify, pulsating in rhythm with the rogue sorcerer’s attacks.

And then in the back of his mind, he felt the barrier he had created violently break.

A metallic screech made him spin, his cursed energy flaring reflexively. A shikigami lunged toward him, a grotesque amalgamation of sinew and white metal. Its birdlike head glowed with sickly yellow eyes, unblinking and mechanical, while elongated claws raked the air with unsettling precision.

The creature’s attacks were relentless, its speed overwhelming. Anāman ducked and rolled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Each dodge felt like a near-death experience, his cursed energy flaring desperately to shield him. He struck back, but his attacks were sluggish against the shikigami’s fluid movements. A swipe of its claws tore through his sleeve, slashing deep into his arm.

Pain flared, but he forced himself to stay focused. His technique, Ruinous Gambit, amplified his reflexes but carried a slight delay as he activated it—a flaw the shikigami exploited mercilessly. He cursed under his breath, frustration mounting as he narrowly avoided another swipe. The creature was unrelenting, and with each exchange, his energy waned.

Haruna. This thing must have taken her out, and if it could deal with her, I’m outmatched, he thought bitterly.

Ducking into a side room, he slammed the door shut and hastily formed a barrier. For a moment, he allowed himself to hope. Then the shikigami struck. Its claws tore through the barrier like paper, shattering it in an instant.

Anāman stumbled back, panic and self-recrimination swirling in his mind. If I don’t act now, I’ll die anyway. But if I move... maybe Takumi has a chance.

The shikigami lunged again, and Anāman rolled to the side, barely avoiding its claws. Gritting his teeth, he bolted for the main chamber. The creature followed, its grinding metallic joints an ever-present threat behind him.

Bursting into the chamber, he saw Takumi struggling to maintain control. The rogue sorcerer’s saw blade danced chaotically, forcing him to retreat again and again. Takumi’s spectral chains lashed out, wrapping around the rogue’s leg, but they faltered under the relentless assault.

Takumi glanced at Anāman, his eyes widening in surprise before narrowing with understanding. With a sharp motion, he redirected his chains, creating a momentary opening. Anāman hesitated for only a heartbeat before sprinting forward.

The rogue sorcerer turned, his expression twisting into surprise and rage. “You dare—”

Anāman didn’t let him finish. Summoning every ounce of cursed energy he had, the flames of Ruinous Gambit erupted around his fist. The delay was barely noticeable in his adrenaline-fueled charge. His fist connected with the rogue’s chest, a burst of cursed energy exploding outward.

The sorcerer’s red eyes dimmed as his body crumpled to the ground. The shikigami screeched, its form flickering and distorting before it dissolved into black smoke. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, leaving the chamber silent except for the faint hum of residual energy.

Anāman collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving. His arm throbbed with pain, and his energy was spent, but they had won. Takumi approached, his chains retracting as he surveyed the scene.

“You took a risk,” Takumi said quietly, his voice carrying a mixture of approval and concern. “But you gave me the opening I needed.”

Anāman nodded, his breath ragged. “I couldn’t just watch.”

Takumi’s lips quirked into a faint smile.

Anāman’s gaze remained fixed on the sorcerer’s body, his mind replaying the events in a disjointed loop. He felt a faint, bitter satisfaction at their victory, tempered by the weight of the destruction around them. Finally, he looked up at Takumi, his voice low but steady. “I’ll make sure I’m better prepared next time.”

Takumi studied him for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, his tone softening. Together, they turned to the artifact at the centre of the facility.

The artifact was unsettling, to say the least. It was a Cube suspended in the air, an unsettling presence that seemed to defy the natural order of the room. Slightly above a jagged pedestal of white metal, it hovered effortlessly, its edges glowing with faint blue lines that pulsed rhythmically. The cube’s surface was smooth, with angular grooves etched into its dark frame, giving it an intricate and machine-like appearance. At its core, two circular energy nodes glowed with an eerie, shifting light, casting faint shadows across the walls.

Anāman approached cautiously, his gaze locked on the artifact. The air around it rippled subtly, a distortion that felt like a constant, oppressive hum pressing against his mind. “What... is this?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Takumi, a few paces behind, studied the artifact with a grim expression. “I’m not 100% sure,” he admitted. “But I was told it's a tool, a weapon designed to break someone’s mind. It enhances cursed energy reserves and the physical capabilities of its target, but in the process it destroys parts of the brain.” His usual composure was strained, his unease obvious in the faint tension at the corners of his mouth.

Anāman’s cursed energy flickered instinctively, reacting to the oppressive aura radiating from the cube. The blue flames of Ruinous Gambit danced faintly around his fists, but he hesitated, feeling the artifact’s energy clawing at the edges of his consciousness. The closer he drew, the heavier the air seemed, as though it was actively resisting him. “It’s not just cursed energy,” Anāman murmured. “It’s... something else.”

Takumi nodded slightly, his eyes fixed on the artifact. “The energy feels alive. Sentient, almost. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. We can’t leave it here.”

A faint, distorted hum emanated from the artifact, like a low, incomprehensible whisper brushing against his thoughts. Anāman shook his head, forcing the sensation away. “If the clan gets their hands on this...” He let the thought trail off, his fists clenching as frustration and revulsion churned within him.

“You know what they’ll do,” Takumi said quietly, his tone carrying an edge of warning. “This isn’t something they’d just study. They’d use it. On outsiders, on people like you”

Anāman’s breath hitched as the implications sank in. He could already imagine the Cube in the hands of the clan—reshaping sorcerers into something unrecognizable, into tools stripped of their humanity. His chest tightened as his thoughts spiraled, a surge of determination rising to meet the dread. “Then we destroy it,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm within him.

Takumi smiled, then nodded. “It won’t be easy, but I’ll handle the fallout.”

Anāman glanced at him, surprised by the quiet resolve in Takumi’s voice. “Why are you doing this?” he asked cautiously.

Takumi met his gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I was planning to destroy it from the start, when I was handed the mission,” He sighed, his brow furrowing. “I already messed up once. Never again”

Anāman turned back to the Cube, his cursed energy flaring as he summoned Ruinous Gambit to its fullest extent. The blue flames roared around his fists, the artifact’s oppressive aura pushing back with each step he took toward it. With a sharp exhale, he raised his hand and struck.

The impact was explosive, a deafening crack splitting the air as the Cube shattered into shards of light. The oppressive energy dissipated instantly, leaving the chamber eerily still. Anāman lowered his hand, his breaths heavy and uneven, his eyes fixed on the empty pedestal.

For the first time in what felt like years, he felt a flicker of control—a choice made entirely by him. A step toward reclaiming his agency.

Takumi placed a hand on his shoulder. “That was the right call,” he said softly. “But it’s just the first step.”

Anāman nodded, his gaze lingering on the faint traces of energy fading into the air. “If it means no one else has to be a tool, it’s worth it.”

As they turned to leave the chamber, the shattered remains of the Cube lay behind them

-

4 years later…

The courtyard was quiet except for the occasional murmur of distant voices. Anāman stood beside Takumi, the older sorcerer speaking in his measured tone about the specifics of their next mission. Anāman listened, his posture relaxed but his mind alert, letting the words flow over him. He respected Takumi—more than most, anyway—but his thoughts wandered.

The sharp crunch of deliberate footsteps pulled Anāman’s attention, his gaze shifting toward the approaching figure. His stomach tightened instinctively as he recognized the severe expression and stiff gait of Shiguro, his former sensei. Memories of brutal training sessions, biting criticisms, and the faint, ever-present air of disdain resurfaced unbidden.

Shiguro’s dark eyes swept over them, his lips curling into a sneer as he stopped a few paces away. “Still wasting your time on this stray, Takumi? A pity to see your skills squandered like this. There are real members of the clan who deserve that time. Not some… outsider.”

Anāman tensed, his shoulders stiffening. The familiar knot of unease that Shiguro always brought with him tightened in his chest, but he masked it, keeping his expression neutral. Still, he couldn’t stop his jaw from tightening.

Takumi remained calm, though his tone carried a sharper edge as he replied. “Funny, considering he was under your instruction before I took him in. And from what I’ve seen, he’s made more progress since.”

Shiguro’s sneer deepened, his gaze snapping to Anāman. “Is that so?” His tone was low, dangerous, each word laced with venom. “Perhaps your progress has given you ideas above your station, boy. A reminder might do you well.”

Anāman’s stomach churned, the weight of past intimidation pressing against him like a hand around his throat. For a moment, he felt it—the instinct to lower his gaze, to avoid the confrontation entirely. But then the knot of fear twisted, hardening into something colder. He lifted his chin slightly, his voice steady but razor-sharp. “Station? That’s rich, coming from someone who couldn’t even do his own job right.”

Shiguro’s face darkened, his jaw clenching tightly as fury flashed in his eyes. His voice dropped lower, each word laced with menace. “You’d better remember who you’re speaking to. Insolence has its price.”

Anāman’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “Oh, just fuck off you stupid prick.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Shiguro froze, momentarily thrown by the audacity of the response. His face reddened, his fists clenching at his sides, but he didn’t immediately lash out. Perhaps it was Takumi’s presence or the sheer unexpectedness of Anāman’s defiance.

Takumi, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward slightly, placing a firm but nonchalant hand on Anāman’s shoulder. “Perhaps, you should take up your concerns with someone who shares them.”

Shiguro glared at them both, his anger barely contained. With a final venomous glance at Anāman, he turned sharply and stormed off, his robes billowing behind him.

As the tension in the courtyard eased, Anāman let out a slow, controlled breath. He caught Takumi’s gaze, the older man’s expression calm but faintly amused. “You handled that better than I expected,” Takumi said quietly, his tone carrying the faintest hint of approval.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Anāman muttered, his voice low. His irritation lingered, though not at Takumi. He glanced down, his fingers brushing absently against the hilt of the blade at his side.

“Still,” Takumi added, his voice softening, “standing your ground is no small thing. Especially with someone like him.”

Anāman didn’t reply, his thoughts swirling with a mix of satisfaction and unease. As Takumi turned to leave, Anāman’s gaze lingered on the spot where Shiguro had stood, the ghost of his past fading but not entirely gone.

Anāman stood alone in the courtyard, the tension of the confrontation with Shiguro still thrumming faintly in his veins. The wind tugged at the hem of his robe, carrying with it the muted sounds of the bustling compound. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, his thoughts tumbling over the interaction. Fear had been there—he couldn’t deny it—but it hadn’t won.

Still, the bitterness lingered. His defiance had felt good in the moment, a small assertion of control in a life where he often felt like a puppet on strings. But now, the thrill of standing his ground was already giving way to a gnawing unease. What had it changed, really? Shiguro would still look at him with disdain, and the clan would still see him as an outsider.

He kicked a small pebble across the stone courtyard, watching as it skittered and came to a stop. A familiar emptiness crept in—the same hollow feeling he’d wrestled with for years. Being strong enough to push back wasn’t enough. Not really.

From the shadows of the courtyard, two figures watched him. Anāman didn’t notice them at first, too lost in his thoughts. Jun shifted nervously, his gaze darting between his sister and Anāman. Mei rolled her eyes and gave him another nudge. “Go on, Jun. You wanted to do this," she whispered, a smirk on her face, though her own hesitation was evident.

With a gulp, Jun stepped forward, his voice coming out a bit too soft. "Uh, hey, Your Anāman right?…”

Chapter Text

Neon – “Is she stronger than you, Master?”

John – “Hm... Good question. If Modernia were to fully utilize her power, it might be a little tough.”

Neon – “But would you lose?”

John – “Nah, I'd win.”

Chapter Text

The battlefield stretched before John, a wasteland of ruin and despair. Smoke coiled into the dim, ash-choked sky, obscuring the horizon in a haze of gray. The ground beneath his feet was blackened and cracked, scorched by fire and fury, with faint embers flickering in defiance of the snow all around them. The air thrummed with the oppressive hum of cursed energy, a low, residual vibration left in the wake of the explosion.

John staggered forward, a figure barely held together by sheer will and the lingering effects of the Black Flash. The moment of perfect cursed energy synchronization had faded, leaving behind a fragile, flickering echo of its potency. It coursed through his shattered body, the only force keeping him upright. Blood trailed in uneven streaks down his arms and face, his cursed energy sputtering like a dying flame. Each step jarred his battered frame, threatening to pull him under.

Ahead, Marian’s motionless form lay amidst the charred wreckage. She was a distant silhouette, barely discernible through the haze, but she was his anchor. His vision blurred and refocused with every agonized step, his mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The world around him wavered like a mirage, the ground shifting beneath his feet as though it too were trying to drag him down.

His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, each one searing his lungs. His legs dragged as if weighted with lead, his knees trembling under the strain. Every nerve screamed at him to stop, but the faint echo of cursed energy left by the Black Flash pushed him onward. Without it, he knew he would already be on the ground, swallowed by the void of unconsciousness.

Then, he felt it—a hand on his shoulder.

He turned sharply, expecting to see one of his comrades. Instead, he found himself staring into Echo’s cold, lifeless eyes. Her face was pale and distorted, her features twisted in mockery. Standing beside her was Cinder, her smile a gash across her face. The air around them warped, their bodies flickering like images on a fractured screen.

"Do you really think this makes you a hero, John?" Echo’s voice was soft, almost tender, but her words were razors. "Saving one person doesn’t erase the bodies piling at your feet."

The battlefield melted away. He was no longer standing in smoke and fire but drowning in icy water. The current dragged at his limbs, dark and suffocating. Corpses drifted around him, their faces frozen in silent screams. A young girl’s face emerged from the depths, her eyes locking onto his. Blood seeped into the water around her, staining the void. Her features blurred, her face morphing into Marian’s.

"You couldn’t save her," Cinder hissed, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "Just like you couldn’t save any of them."

The corpses’ hollow eyes turned toward him, their mouths opening in unison. Their voices echoed through the water, a chilling chorus of condemnation.

“You let us die.” “Your strength wasn’t enough.” “Hero? You’re a tool, nothing more.”

He tried to scream, but the water pressed into his lungs, stealing his breath. His vision flickered, the faces of the dead overlapping like a fevered dream. Echo’s hand tightened on his shoulder, her nails digging into his flesh as if to pin him in place.

“You thought power would give you control,” she whispered, her face inches from his. “But what did it change? You were powerless then, and you’re powerless now.”

The dark water surged, pulling him deeper. The young girl’s face reappeared, now fully Marian’s. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Her expression was empty, accusing. His heart clenched as her image shattered into shards of light, scattering like broken glass.

Cinder leaned closer, his smile widening grotesquely. "The clan was right about you. A tool. A weapon. That’s all you’ll ever be."

"No," John rasped, his voice trembling but defiant. "I’m—"

“What?” Echo cut in, her voice laced with venom. "A savior? A protector? What kind of protector lets people die?"

The corpses surged around him, their hands reaching out, cold and clammy against his skin. The girl’s voice rose above the din, clear and piercing.

“You’ll never save anyone.”

John’s chest burned as he tried to break free, his cursed energy flickering weakly. The water grew colder, sharper, biting into his skin. His vision swam, and he began to sink, his strength ebbing away.

Through the chaos, a faint sound broke through—soft, gentle, and undeniably real. A voice, warm and familiar, cut through the cold.

"Commander!"

The hand on his shoulder loosened, the corpses dissolving into the dark water. He turned his head toward the voice, his breath hitching.

"COMMANDER!"

The icy water began to fade, replaced by the scorched battlefield. Echo and Cinder’s mocking forms flickered and dissolved into smoke. The hand on his shoulder vanished, leaving him kneeling in the ash. Marian’s figure lay ahead, her presence pulling him back to reality.

He dragged himself forward, his body screaming in protest. The shadows at the edges of his vision darkened, and he collapsed beside her, his bloodied hand brushing hers before the world went black.

-

The world came back to John in fragments: the muffled rustle of movement, the faint scent of antiseptic, and the dull ache coursing through his body. He blinked against the dim light, his vision struggling to make sense of the room around him. Each breath felt heavy, and every small shift of his muscles sent a ripple of protest through his battered body, his skin pulling tight against bandages that seemed to cover every inch of him.

The first thing his gaze settled on was Marian. She lay on a bed nearby, her form still and fragile, her chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms. Soft light played over her pale face, giving her an almost ethereal stillness that tightened something deep in John’s chest.

There were no monitors beeping, no wires humming. Just the sound of his own labored breathing filling the quiet space between them. She seemed peaceful, unnaturally so, and it filled John with equal parts relief and unease. A flicker of memory—of explosions, of screams, of her face frozen in anguish—flashed through his mind, making his pulse spike.

“Hey, he’s awake!” Neon’s bright voice shattered the silence, her energy a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. She bounced toward him, a mix of excitement and relief on her face. “Took you long enough! We were starting to think you were out for good.”

John groaned and shifted slightly, every muscle screaming in protest. “I feel like hammered shit,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and dry. He attempted to sit up but immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot through his ribs.

“Don’t push yourself,” Rapi said, stepping closer. Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed concern. “You’re in terrible shape, please rest commander.”

Anis smirked from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Yeah, no kidding. Between the fight and the explosion, it’s a miracle you’re still breathing. Guess you’re tougher than you look.”

John gave a faint, dry chuckle. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

As John adjusted his position slightly, a sharp pang lanced through his ribs, forcing him to stifle a wince. His gaze shifted, landing on three unfamiliar figures standing apart from the Counters. They carried themselves with quiet authority, their presence commanding even in silence. Their watchful eyes assessed him, their expressions guarded yet intense.

“Who…?” John began, his throat dry and voice raspy. “Who are they?”

Rapi, standing near his bedside, straightened her posture. Her tone was composed, formal. “Pioneer Squad. Snow White found us after the explosion and brought us to their meeting point. They’ve been aiding us since.”

The woman closest to him stepped forward, her white cloak brushing against her armor as she moved. Her sharp gaze met his, white hair framing a face hardened by countless battles. “I am Snow White,” she said simply, her voice steady and deliberate. “I found you and your team amidst the wreckage. I was the one who shot Nihilister during your battle against her.”

The second figure stepped forward, a nun with warm, kind eyes that softened her otherwise commanding presence. Her voice was gentle, almost soothing, as she clasped her hands together. “I’m Rapunzel. It’s good to meet you, Commander,” she said, offering a small smile. “Your team has spoken highly of you.”

The final figure leaned casually against the doorframe, her long, gray hair cascading over her shoulders. A faint smirk played on her lips as she addressed him. “Mine name is Scarlet,” she said, her voice laced with an antiquated cadence. “Thou dost carry the air of one who hath danced with death and yet returned. ‘Tis not a common feat.”

John let her words hang in the air as his attention flickered back to Marian, lying motionless on the nearby bed. Her stillness was unnerving, her pale face illuminated by the faint glow of golden strands of Rapunzel’s hair coiled around her. The strands shimmered faintly, radiating a strange, almost protective energy that set John on edge.

“She’s going to be okay, right?” John asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with unspoken worry.

Snow White’s expression darkened slightly, her eyes shifting toward Marian. “She’s stable,” she said after a moment. “For now. But unresponsive.”

John clenched his fists. The heavy weight in the room seemed to press down on him as he tried to process her words. “Why… why did you save her?” he asked, his tone laced with tension. “You didn’t have to bring her back.”

Snow White’s gaze remained steady, her expression unreadable. “I’ll be honest,” she began, her voice low but firm. “I hesitated. She’s… by many standards, a heretic. What she became, what she represents—it goes against everything we fight for. I questioned whether saving her was the right choice.”

John’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white against the bedsheets. “Then why did you?”

Snow White’s gaze softened slightly, her composure cracking just enough to reveal a glimmer of vulnerability. “Because someone made the case for her,” she admitted, her eyes flicking toward Anis, who leaned against the far wall with a casual smirk. “Your friend here is surprisingly persuasive when it comes to matters like this.”

Anis shrugged, her smirk growing wider. “What can I say? I have a way with words.” She paused, then added with a playful tone, “And people tend to realize I’m right.”

Snow White glanced briefly at Neon, who hovered near the edge of the room. “And your team. They vouched for her in ways that mattered.”

Neon raised her hands defensively, her wide-eyed expression a mix of nervousness and sincerity. “Hey, I barely know her. But I trust Rapi and Anis, you as well master. If they believe she’s worth saving, then so do I.”

Snow White nodded, her attention returning to John. “And, above all, you. I saw how you fought for her, risked everything to protect her. Someone willing to do that…” She trailed off, searching his expression. “Maybe she’s not as far gone as I thought. Or maybe she can be brought back.”

John exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping as he let the tension drain from his body. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “For giving her a chance.”

Snow White inclined her head. “Let’s hope it wasn’t misplaced.”

The silence that followed was heavy, stretching long enough for John to shift uncomfortably in his bed. Pain flared in his ribs, forcing him to stifle a groan. He pressed a hand against his side, his breath coming shallow and uneven.

“You shouldn’t move yet,” Rapunzel said gently, stepping closer to check his bandages. The faint shimmer of her hair caught the light, an ethereal glow that seemed oddly alive. “Your body’s been through enough.”

John chuckled softly, though it was strained. “Seems I’m always the one flirting with death,” he muttered, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. “Not exactly the kind of habit I wanted to pick up.”

Neon, standing nearby, hesitated before stepping closer, concern flickering in her bright eyes. “Master…” she started, her tone uncharacteristically subdued. “Rapi also—”

“Neon.” Rapi’s voice cut through the room like a blade, firm and decisive. She stepped forward, her expression unreadable, and placed a hand on Neon’s shoulder. Her gaze shifted momentarily to John before returning to Neon. “Not now.”

Neon blinked, her lips parting to say more, but the quiet intensity in Rapi’s eyes stopped her. Reluctantly, she nodded, stepping back, her usual energy subdued.

Rapi turned to John, her expression softening slightly. “You need to rest,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a weight that wasn’t lost on him. “There’s no point in pushing yourself. I’ll get some water.”

John tried to read her face, his brows furrowing, but she didn’t linger. Without another word, Rapi turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The quiet returned, broken only by the shuffling of feet. John exhaled slowly, his hand dropping back to his side. “Something tells me I’m missing more than I realize,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anis, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, glanced at him. “You are,” she admitted, her usual casual demeanor absent. “But you’ve done enough for now. Just focus on resting.”

Scarlet, standing near Snow White, tilted her head slightly, her voice calm but thoughtful. “Thou hast endured much, yet the trials thou takest upon thyself seem endless. Rest is a necessity, not a weakness.”

John closed his eyes briefly, absorbing their words. “Rest,” he muttered, a faint trace of weariness in his tone. His thoughts churned, weighed down by the heaviness of the moment. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his voice barely audible. “I just hope what I’ve done so far is enough.”

The quiet returned, heavy with unspoken words and emotions. Each person in the room seemed lost in their own thoughts, the tension lingering as they waited for what came next.

-

The soft sound of water dripping into the cup echoed gently in the quiet room. Rapi stood at the large dispenser, her reflection faintly visible in the metallic surface as she filled her cup. Her hand trembled slightly, but she quickly steadied it, her focus fixed on the task at hand.

“You shouldn’t even be on your feet,” a calm yet firm voice came from behind. Rapi didn’t need to look to know it was Snow White.

“I’m fine,” Rapi replied, her voice even but guarded. She glanced over her shoulder as Snow White approached, the faint light catching the pristine white of her cloak.

“I doubt that.” Snow White’s gaze swept over Rapi, sharp yet laced with subtle concern. “When I found you, you were overheating to the brink of total system failure. You would have sustained brain damage if I hadn’t intervened.”

Rapi stiffened but remained silent, her grip tightening around the cup.

Snow White continued, her tone quieter but insistent. “Your core generated so much heat I had to submerge you in ice just to stabilize you. And when I carried you…” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “You were far heavier than a Nikke with a single core should be.”

Rapi’s hand faltered for a fraction of a second before she carefully set the cup down. “What are you implying?”

Snow White crossed her arms, her expression steady and unreadable. “I’m not implying. I’m saying you have two cores. That isn’t normal, Rapi. Someone designed you that way—for a purpose.”

Rapi’s silence was deafening. Her gaze dropped for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usual composure before she straightened. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Snow White pressed, stepping closer. “And I think it connects to something else. Tell me, Rapi. Do you know Red Hood?”

Rapi’s shoulders went rigid, her eyes snapping to Snow White. She hesitated, the weight of the question hanging heavy in the air. Finally, her voice came, softer and tinged with something fragile. “She was… my mentor. My friend.”

Snow White’s usually stoic expression shifted, her features momentarily betraying a flicker of something akin to grief. She opened her mouth to ask another question but hesitated, her gaze faltering.

The tension was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Rapunzel entered the room, her serene demeanor weighed down by a somber air. She glanced between Rapi and Snow White, her soft voice breaking the silence. “Red Hood… She was part of Goddess Squad. With me, Snow White, and Scarlet.”

Snow White’s head snapped up, her sharp gaze narrowing. “I remember. Even through the mind switches, I remember her. She was… unforgettable.”

Rapunzel’s expression softened as she stepped closer to Rapi. “She wasn’t just a squadmate. She was our friend. Her presence shaped all of us in ways that never really faded.”

Rapi’s gaze dropped again, her hands tightening into fists. “I wouldn’t be here without her,” she admitted, her voice almost a whisper.

Rapunzel’s faint smile carried warmth and understanding. “And she would be glad to see that her spirit endures.”

Rapi blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Rapunzel stepped closer, gently placing a hand on Rapi’s shoulder. Her voice was calm yet resolute. “From what little I’ve seen, even in the short time we’ve been together, I can tell she would be proud of you. You’ve taken the power and the lessons she gave you, not to serve yourself, but to protect those you care about. That’s who she was—someone who fought for others. You’re doing the same.”

Rapi’s brow furrowed, her confusion clear. “But I’m not her. I don’t even know if I’m doing things the way she would have wanted.”

Rapunzel shook her head gently. “It’s not about copying her. It’s about embodying the ideals she stood for. You’re honoring her by living those values in your own way. And I believe she’d be happy knowing that.”

Rapi stood still, the weight of their words settling over her. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though her expression remained contemplative.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

Rapunzel offered a kind smile, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “Let’s go back. There’s still a lot ahead of us.”

-

The room was quiet, bathed in the faint glow of lanterns casting elongated shadows against the stone walls. The air was heavy with the faint scent of herbs and smoke from a small brazier near the corner, its wisps curling lazily upward. Marian lay motionless, her still form wrapped in light blankets, while faint golden strands of Rapunzel's hair glimmered faintly, spiraling like a protective cocoon around her. The effect was almost otherworldly, as though the air itself vibrated faintly in their presence.

John lingered near the doorway, his hand brushing the rough stone frame as he hesitated. The surreal sight of Marian—her chest rising and falling so faintly it was barely noticeable—held him in place for a moment. Then his gaze shifted to Rapunzel, standing quietly beside the bed, her hands gently resting over the strands of hair that seemed to pulse softly, as if alive. Her serene demeanor, framed by the ethereal glow of her golden locks, only added to the strange sanctity of the scene.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Rapunzel, can I, uh… examine you?”

Rapunzel turned abruptly, her calm expression breaking into startled surprise. Her wide eyes blinked at him, her cheeks beginning to glow faintly with color. “E-Examine me?” she stammered, clutching a strand of her hair instinctively as though shielding herself. “Commander, I… I didn’t know you were so forward.”

“What?” John’s eyebrows shot up, thoroughly caught off guard. “No! Not like that!” His hands flew up defensively, and he took a step back. “I meant your hair. The strands you’re using to keep Marian in stasis—they’re not… ordinary. I’d like to take a closer look, that’s all.”

“Oh!” Rapunzel’s blush deepened, and she quickly turned her face away, fidgeting with a loose strand of hair as if to hide her embarrassment. “I-I see. My mistake.” She let out a soft, nervous laugh, brushing the hair back over her shoulder. “Of course, go ahead.”

John stepped closer, cautiously navigating the tight space between the bed and the wall. His boots scuffed faintly against the worn floor as he stopped just beside her. “Thanks. This might feel a little strange,” he said, his tone more careful now.

Rapunzel nodded, tilting her head slightly to offer him better access. John gently lifted one of the golden strands, his fingers brushing against its warm, silky texture. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. Despite its delicate appearance, it carried a faint pulse, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

“This is… different,” John murmured, his brow furrowing as he focused. Activating Ruinous Gambit, cursed energy flared in his eyes, sharpening his vision. Under his enhanced perception, the strands shimmered, their fibers revealing intricate, flowing patterns that spiraled down their length. The runes, faint but deliberate, seemed etched into the very essence of the hair, glowing faintly with energy. They pulsed in unison, almost as though they were alive.

“Runes,” John said aloud, his voice tinged with surprise. “Latin, maybe? No… not quite. I can’t read them.”

Rapunzel tilted her head curiously, her embarrassment giving way to genuine intrigue. “Runes? Truly?” She reached up to touch her own hair, but her expression remained puzzled. “I’ve never noticed anything like that before.”

“You wouldn’t,” John replied, his voice distracted as he examined another strand. “You wouldn’t see it unless you examined it using a microscope, or can enhance your vision. These runes… they’re not normal. This isn’t something I’d expect from engineering. Were you ever… a sorcerer?”

Rapunzel blinked at him, startled by the question. “A sorcerer? No. Not as far as I know.” Her gaze dropped briefly to Marian’s still form, then back to John. “This power… these strands… they only manifested after I became a Nikke. Whatever I am now, it’s tied to that.”

John let the strand fall gently, his frown deepening as he pieced together his observations. “Runes in your hair, cursed energy manipulation… This doesn’t feel like standard tech. It feels like something else entirely.” He crossed his arms, his tone growing more thoughtful. “Do you know much about the process that made you a Nikke?”

Rapunzel hesitated, her serene demeanor faltering slightly. “Not much. I only remember fragments from before… and even less about how I was created. My expertise is limited. What little I know, I learned from others who’ve… speculated.”

“Speculated?” John asked, his voice low, almost as though he were speaking to himself.

“Yes,” Rapunzel replied softly, her voice steady but introspective. “We’ve all wondered about what’s been done to us. But some answers feel… unreachable.”

John’s fingers brushed the edge of his belt absentmindedly as he stepped back, his gaze lingering on the faint glow of her hair. “Whatever this is… whatever was done to you, it’s more than engineering. There’s something deeper going on here.”

-

The cozy corner of the Pioneer lounge hummed with activity, but one conversation stood out like a beacon. Neon sat forward in her chair, brimming with her usual enthusiasm, while Rapunzel clutched a teacup so tightly it was a wonder it hadn’t shattered. Anis leaned against the wall nearby, her drink in hand, watching the interaction unfold with mounting disbelief.

“So, Rapunzel,” Neon began, her voice bright and eager. “What’s your preference? Big and powerful or smaller and faster?”

Rapunzel froze, her face instantly turning crimson. She blinked rapidly, her grip on her teacup tightening as she stammered, “P-pardon me?”

“You know,” Neon said, waving her hands animatedly. “Do you like something with a lot of heft? Or maybe you prefer something light and quick? Personally, I think it depends on the situation, but I always lean toward something that hits hard.”

Rapunzel nearly dropped her teacup. “I... um... I suppose it d-depends on the moment?” she murmured, her voice quaking.

Anis raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her drink as she watched in quiet astonishment. “No way this is happening,” she muttered under her breath, her tone low enough not to interrupt.

“Exactly!” Neon exclaimed, clearly oblivious to Rapunzel’s increasing discomfort. “Like, when you’re in the thick of it, you need something that feels right, you know? Something solid, reliable. It’s all about finding what works for you.”

Rapunzel’s blush deepened as she adjusted her seat, her hands trembling slightly. “I... I suppose that makes sense. Experimentation is... important,” she squeaked out.

Anis looked like she was witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion. She glanced at her drink, then back at the two, shaking her head in silent disbelief.

“And don’t even get me started on maintenance!” Neon continued, her eyes sparkling. “If you don’t take proper care of it, it’s going to jam up or stop working when you need it most. That’s just basic stuff!”

Rapunzel blinked rapidly, her earlier embarrassment giving way to a spark of understanding—or so she thought. “Y-you’re absolutely right!” she said, her voice rising in fervor. “Maintenance is critical! Neglecting it could lead to... disastrous consequences.”

Neon beamed. “Exactly! I knew you’d get it! You’ve gotta keep everything in top shape, whether it’s for the long haul or just a quick, intense burst of action.”

Rapunzel nodded vigorously now, her blush still there but her enthusiasm rising to match Neon’s. “Yes, yes! You need to be prepared for anything, no matter how unexpected! That level of care shows dedication and respect!”

Anis stood silently, her jaw slightly slack as she watched the two women grow increasingly animated. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered, taking another sip. “They’re actually feeding off each other.”

Neon leaned in conspiratorially. “So, tell me—what’s your favorite? Come on, you’ve got to have a preference.”

Rapunzel hesitated for just a moment before she straightened her back and set her teacup down with a newfound determination. “I... I must admit, I admire something with true strength. Something that leaves a lasting impression every time it’s used!”

Neon grinned, slapping her knee. “That’s what I’m talking about! Big, powerful, and unforgettable!”

Rapunzel nodded, her hands clenched into fists of conviction. “Indeed! And it must be handled with precision, with care, to ensure its full potential is unleashed!”

Anis slowly set her drink down on a nearby table, turning toward the door with a resigned sigh. “I’ve seen enough. I’m out.”

Neither Neon nor Rapunzel noticed as she left the room. They were too deep into their fervent discussion, their voices rising in agreement as they continued to praise their shared dedication—each for very, very different reasons.

-

The flicker of candlelight danced along the bottles in the small alcove John had stumbled upon. A stash of spirits, neatly arranged and unmarked, caught his eye immediately. He reached for one, uncorking it with a soft pop, and gave it an experimental sniff. His brow furrowed slightly at the distinct aroma of sake.

“Ah, thou hast discovered mine humble collection,” came Scarlet’s voice, smooth and playful. She leaned casually against the doorway, her crimson hair cascading over her shoulders as she watched him. “Doth it not captivate thine curiosity?”

John glanced at the bottle in his hand, then back at Scarlet, raising an eyebrow. “It’s... interesting,” he said diplomatically, tilting the bottle slightly to examine the liquid inside. “You made all this?”

“Indeed,” Scarlet said, stepping into the room with an air of pride. “Every step, from fermenting to bottling, was executed by mine own hand. A noble craft, steeped in tradition.”

John gave the sake another cautious sniff before taking a small sip. His expression remained neutral for a moment before he swallowed, his brow furrowing slightly. “It’s… unique,” he offered, careful with his words.

Scarlet’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “A fine way to avoid insult, though I sense thy tongue holds back. Speak freely, Commander. Dost thou find it unworthy?”

John hesitated before setting the bottle down gently. “It’s not bad, just... not my thing. I guess I’m used to something a bit different.”

Scarlet tilted her head, intrigued. “Pray, what dost thou consider a fine drink, then?”

John shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “Honestly? I prefer something straightforward. A good whiskey or even a strong vodka—something that doesn’t try to impress, just gets the job done.”

Scarlet raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Thou wouldst champion such crude spirits over the elegance of mine sake? Truly, thy tastes are most peculiar.”

“It’s not about being crude,” John replied with a faint smile. “It’s about simplicity. Something that doesn’t overcomplicate what it is—a drink that’s honest.”

Scarlet regarded him for a moment, her expression softening as a small chuckle escaped her lips. “Honesty, thou dost say. Perhaps thou art not entirely misguided. Yet, I stand by mine craft. There is beauty in tradition, even if it is not to thy liking.”

John nodded, his tone turning thoughtful. “I get that. And honestly, the fact that you’re doing this at all—brewing in the middle of all this chaos? That’s impressive.”

Scarlet’s eyes glimmered with a mix of pride and warmth. “It is a respite amidst the storm, a means to preserve something of the world that was. A quiet rebellion against despair.”

John gave her a small, sincere smile. “I can respect that.”

Scarlet inclined her head slightly, a playful spark returning to her eyes. “Respect is welcome, yet I shall not be satisfied until thou dost sing praises of mine sake. Mark my words, John—I shall craft a brew so fine that even thy steadfast tastes shall falter.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll look forward to it, Scarlet. But I make no promises.”

Scarlet’s laughter was light and genuine, filling the room with a rare moment of levity. “We shall see, Commander. We shall see.”

-

The soft murmur of voices faded into silence as the sun began to set, leaving the room steeped in a heavy stillness. The faint scent of smoke and antiseptic clung to the air, a constant reminder of the chaos that had brought them here. John remained near the edge of the room, leaning heavily against a table, his body a tapestry of exhaustion and pain. Every movement, no matter how small, was a reminder of his battered condition, yet he refused to succumb to the weight pressing down on him.

Across the room, Marian lay still on the bed, her fragile form wrapped in light blankets. Rapunzel’s golden strands spiraled around her, shimmering faintly like an otherworldly cocoon. The gentle pulse of the strands was mesmerizing, as though they carried a life force of their own, and the soft glow bathed Marian in a light that seemed almost sacred. For a moment, John simply stared, the quiet rhythm of her shallow breathing the only sign that she was still with them.

The quiet sound of deliberate footsteps drew his attention. Snow White approached, her presence commanding despite the understated elegance of her movements. Her white cloak caught the faint light, casting sharp angles and shadows across the room as she came to a stop a few paces from him.

“John,” she said, her voice steady and low, each syllable precise, almost surgical. It was the kind of voice that immediately cut through the fog of exhaustion clouding his thoughts. Her sharp gaze darted briefly to the others, ensuring their distance before her attention settled entirely on him. “I need a word. Privately.”

He straightened, suppressing a grimace as the motion sent a ripple of pain through his ribs. He gave a brief nod and followed her toward a quieter corner of the room, his boots barely making a sound against the worn floor. Snow White turned to face him, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. The sharpness of her gaze left little room for ambiguity; she was weighing him, judging every detail.

She didn’t waste time. “I need to ask you something,” she began, her tone direct but measured. “Are you absolutely certain about Marian? That she’s not a heretic?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. John met her eyes without flinching, though the weight of her words coiled tightly in his chest. He let out a slow breath, steadying himself before responding. “I’m sure,” he said firmly, his voice carrying the quiet steel of conviction. “And even if she is... I’ll bring her back.”

Snow White’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in her eyes—a faint glimmer of something unreadable, perhaps respect or perhaps the shadow of doubt. She studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them. Finally, she reached into her cloak and withdrew a sleek pistol. Its design was elegant yet practical, the faint gleam of its surface catching the dim light. She held it out to him, her hand steady, her movements deliberate.

“This,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less commanding, “is loaded with Vapus. A single round. It’s designed to fight heretics. But there’s only one shot.”

John stared at the weapon, the weight of her words sinking in even before he reached for it. When his fingers closed around the pistol, it felt heavier than it should, a physical representation of a choice he didn’t want to consider. He turned it over in his hands, the craftsmanship precise and efficient, but the purpose behind it cold and absolute.

“I’m not the best with gunpowder weapons,” he said after a moment, his voice low but resolute. He extended the pistol back toward her.

Snow White’s hand moved to intercept his, gently but firmly pushing the weapon back toward him. Her sharp gaze softened just slightly, her tone carrying a quiet intensity. “Keep it,” she said. “Especially if you’re going to wake her. You need to be prepared for anything.”

John hesitated, his grip tightening around the pistol as her words lingered in the air. His thoughts churned, flashes of Marian’s descent and death playing on an endless loop in his mind. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded, slipping the weapon into his holster.

“If it comes to that,” he said, his voice quieter but carrying a distinct edge, “I’ll stop her.

Snow White’s gaze lingered, her sharp features softening ever so slightly, as if the unyielding steel of her demeanor allowed for a moment of humanity. Approval flickered in her eyes—a brief but unmistakable acknowledgment of his resolve. “Good,” she said simply, her voice carrying a warmth so faint it was almost imperceptible. “I hope you’re right.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her movements deliberate and composed, her white cloak sweeping softly behind her like a whisper of winter wind. Her departure left a hollow stillness in the room, one that wrapped around John like a shroud.

John swallowed, his hand running through his disheveled hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. His eyes flicked toward Rapunzel, who stood quietly near the doorway, her posture calm but her expression weighed down by unspoken emotions. Her hands rested lightly against the edges of her white robe, fingers fidgeting with the fabric.

“Rapunzel,” he called softly, his voice steady but tinged with weariness. “When the time comes… when I’m sure… will you remove the barrier?”

She turned to him fully, her golden strands catching the faint light as her gaze met his. Her usual serenity was intact, but there was a shadow of hesitation in her eyes—a weight she carried silently. “If you’re certain, I will,” she replied, her voice almost a whisper, as if the stillness of the room demanded reverence. “But you must be ready, John. Whatever happens.”

John nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll be ready,” he said, his tone firm, though the faint tremor in his hand betrayed the inner storm he fought to suppress.

His steps grew slower as he reached the chair beside Marian’s bed, lowering himself into it with a sharp exhale. His body sagged into the seat, exhaustion washing over him in waves. Despite his weariness, his movements remained careful as he reached out, his hand finding hers. Her skin was cool beneath his fingers, her delicate frame almost unnaturally still.

The pistol at his side felt impossibly heavy, its weight a stark reminder of the choice he might have to make. The sleek metal dug into his side, a cold, unyielding presence that matched the storm brewing in his heart. He glanced at it briefly, the threat of the Vapus round within like a cruel taunt, before turning his attention back to Marian.

Chapter Text

The room was dim, lit only by the weak, flickering glow of a desk lamp that cast erratic shadows across the walls. The air was still, save for the quiet scratch of pen on paper, an erratic rhythm broken by the occasional frustrated sigh. John sat hunched over a small desk, his shoulders tense and his gaze locked onto the chaotic mess sprawled before him. Papers littered the surface, covered in messy scribbles, diagrams, and fragmented equations.

A table dominated his latest sheet of paper, its columns labeled in uneven, jagged handwriting.

- Reverse Cursed Technique
- Domain Expansion
- Anti-Barrier Techniques
- Barrier Techniques
- Mystery Power Against Mahito

The "Anti-Barrier Techniques" column was a labyrinth of scrawled notes and crossed-out ideas. Arrows connected phrases like “energy inversion” and “impact displacement” to complex diagrams of overlapping circles and runes. Tiny question marks littered the margins, and a particularly vehement “NOT VIABLE” slashed across one corner. Equations spilled out of their designated spaces, as though even the structure of the table couldn’t contain the storm of thoughts in his mind. His pen hesitated over a line reading "Reflective overlay: requires stabilizing?" before scratching it out with a sharp jerk of his wrist.

His focus wavered. He shifted in his chair, glancing toward the far corner of the room. Marian’s motionless form lay on the bed, wrapped in the faint golden glow of Rapunzel’s protective strands. The light shimmered softly, rhythmic and steady, as if it were breathing with her. For a moment, John’s pen stilled, the sight of her cutting through the haze of his thoughts. A pang of guilt struck him. He turned back to his work.

His hand moved again, scribbling furiously. He forced himself to dive deeper into the theories, dragging his focus to the "Mystery Power Against Mahito" column. The words were sparse here—haphazard phrases and fragmented ideas with no real substance. “Unstable soul construct?” stared back at him, its vague nature mocking him. He added, “Memory imprint displacement? Shikigami? Curse?” with question marks and immediately shook his head. It was a dead end.

The pen paused, hovering over the paper, as his thoughts unraveled. He tapped the edge of the desk with his other hand, a nervous rhythm that betrayed his growing frustration. The problem wasn’t the theories. It wasn’t the notes or the techniques or the endless calculations that danced on the edge of reason. The problem was him.

He was avoiding it.

The realization hit him like a weight. He wasn’t here to solve shit. Not tonight. His mind had twisted itself into knots, building a fortress of equations and strategies to keep him from confronting the truth. Marian. She was right there, just a few steps away. The task he couldn’t bring himself to face.

John leaned back in his chair, the pen dropping from his hand onto the desk with a muted clatter. He rubbed his face, his palms dragging down over his tired eyes. “Coward,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible in the stillness. He stared at the table in front of him, its chaotic scrawl a mirror of his internal turmoil. The anti-barrier techniques—dense, overthought, and full of dead ends—were just another excuse to delay.

His gaze shifted to the corner of the desk where the Vapus pistol sat. Snow White’s parting words echoed in his mind. “You need to be prepared for anything.” The cold metal gleamed faintly under the lamplight, its presence a constant reminder of the decision he would have to make. He hated it. Hated the weight of it, the purpose behind it. The doubt it placed in him.

His eyes drifted back to Marian. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, steady movements, her face serene but pale. The faint glow of Rapunzel’s strands seemed brighter now, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness gnawing at his chest. For all the theories and plans scrawled across his papers, nothing could prepare him for what lay ahead. What if she woke up and wasn’t herself? What if he couldn’t save her?

John exhaled slowly, his hand brushing through his disheveled hair. The silence of the room pressed in around him, amplifying the sound of his uneven breaths. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the desk and burying his face in his hands. His mind screamed for action, for some solution that didn’t exist on these pages, but his body refused to move. The weight of his avoidance was suffocating, and for the first time in a long time, John felt completely powerless again.

A knocking at the door sent a sudden jolt through him. The knock at the door was soft but insistent, breaking through the oppressive silence. John’s eyes flicked toward it, his thoughts momentarily interrupted. He didn’t respond immediately, but the door cracked open anyway, and Anis’s familiar voice followed.

“Commander,” she called out, her tone light but tinged with curiosity. “You alive in there?”

John rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Barely,” he muttered, his voice thick with fatigue.

Anis stepped in, hands on her hips as she took in the room. “Wow, gloomy much?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow. “You planning some kind of world-ending ritual in here?”

John gave a half-hearted snort. “Something like that.”

She wandered closer, her gaze flicking to the papers scattered across the desk. “So… what’s all this?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the mess. “Looks like the Ark’s most disorganized science fair.”

“It’s…” John hesitated, glancing down at his work. “A lot of things.”

Anis leaned in, squinting at the dense scrawl. “Okay, first off, what’s with all the arrows and circles? Are you solving a murder mystery or trying to summon something?”

John sighed, pushing the chair back slightly to give her space. “It’s a mix of scientific principles and sorcery,” he explained. “At most, you might understand a third of it—the parts that follow normal science. The rest is… complicated sorcery.”

She picked up a page, tilting it in an attempt to make sense of the messy diagrams. “What the hell is this one? ‘Cafe Barrier’? That sounds... oddly cozy for whatever madness this is.”

John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “It’s an application of a barrier technique called Kūsei Kekkai,” he said, his tone shifting into a more focused rhythm. “It’s a type of barrier that’s almost entirely vacant inside its boundary. The edges are made of hexagonal panels, and someone skilled in barrier techniques can alter them freely.”

Anis blinked, clearly lost but trying to follow. “Okay, and… why a cafe?”

“I liked the atmosphere of a cafe I used to visit,” John said, a faint trace of nostalgia creeping into his voice. “I thought it might help me develop a Domain Expansion—something calm, familiar. The idea was to create a barrier that mimicked that space, a place where I could refine my control and practice visualization.”

“Domain Expansion?” Anis tilted her head, her confusion deepening. “Sounds fancy, but you’ve officially lost me.”

John tapped his pen on the desk, trying to explain without overwhelming her. “A Domain Expansion is… the pinnacle of cursed technique mastery. It’s like creating your own space, where your rules and powers are absolute. But it’s not just about making the space—it has to be imbued with your technique, your will. The problem wasn’t the barrier itself; it was the technique. By the time I managed to make it look vaguely like a cafe, I realized I’d been focusing on the wrong thing.”

Anis set the page down and crossed her arms. “So, let me get this straight. You spent all this time building a magical coffee shop… and then figured out it wasn’t what you needed?”

“Pretty much,” John admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

She let out a low whistle. “Man, you sorcerers are weird.”

John shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not wrong.”

Anis studied him for a moment, her usual snark softening. “You sure you’re okay?”

John hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of a notebook. “Just trying to stay busy,” he said finally.

“That’s one way to put it,” she said, gesturing to the scattered notes. “You know none of this is going to fix whatever’s eating at you, right?”

He didn’t answer, his silence stretching between them. Anis let out a long breath, pushing herself off the desk. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I know what’s going on in your head, but maybe step away from the chaos for a bit. All this…”—she waved at the papers—“it’s not going anywhere.”

John nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the desk. After a moment, he looked up at her. “You want to see it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“See what?” she said, frowning.

“The cafe barrier,” he said, standing and stretching. His joints popped audibly, and he winced. “I can show you outside. It’s not much, but... it works. And I could use the distraction.”

Anis blinked, caught off guard by the offer, but then she smirked. “Alright, why not? If nothing else, I could use a laugh.”

John grabbed his jacket, grateful for the excuse to leave the papers behind. “You might be surprised,” he said, a faint spark of energy returning to his voice. “Let’s go.”

Anis followed him out, shaking her head but smiling faintly. “This I’ve got to see.”

-

The snow fell in gentle flakes, settling on the ground in an unbroken white blanket contrasting the dark night. Anis stood shivering, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she shot a glare at John, who seemed entirely unaffected by the cold. He stood a few feet away, his hands clasped together as he chanted something under his breath, his voice low and rhythmic.

“Commander,” Anis grumbled, her teeth chattering. “if I turn into an ice cube before you’re done, I’m haunting you.”

John didn’t respond, his focus entirely on his hands. A faint glow began to emanate from between his fingers, and the snow around him swirled gently, as though caught in an invisible breeze. The air grew heavier, almost charged, as the faint outline of a dome began to take shape above them.

Hexagons—pale and shimmering—appeared at the top of the dome, their edges faintly glowing as they slowly tessellated downward. The pattern spread until the structure reached the ground, the structure standing proud in front of them. The dome seemed to hum faintly, its surface vibrating as the hexagons shimmered, then became translucent. A door-shaped outline formed near the front of the dome, the edges glowing softly before fading into solidity.

John straightened, letting out a quiet breath. “There,” he said, his voice steady. He walked over to the door and opened it, stepping inside without another word. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he disappeared from view.

Anis blinked, her breath fogging in the cold air as she stared at the seemingly empty space inside the translucent dome. “What the hell…” She stepped closer, raising a hand to knock on one of the hexagons, but John’s voice rang out before she could touch it.

“Don’t hit the barrier,” he called from inside, his voice muffled but clear. “It’s still a bit unstable. Just get in before you freeze.”

Anis huffed, but curiosity got the better of her. She reached for the door and pushed it open. Stepping inside, she was immediately enveloped in warmth. The icy chill melted away, replaced by the inviting scent of coffee and the quiet hum of soft jazz music. Her boots clicked against a polished wood floor, and as she glanced around, her breath caught.

It was a café.

The interior was cozy and warm, with walls lined with wooden shelves holding jars, mugs, and books. The light was soft, golden, and inviting, casting a gentle glow over plush armchairs and small, round tables. In one corner, a fireplace flickered, its flames dancing lazily. John was already seated in one of the chairs, a steaming cup of coffee resting on the table in front of him alongside a slice of apple pie.

“Well?” he asked, gesturing to the chair opposite him. “Not bad, right?”

Anis blinked, momentarily stunned, before shaking her head and stepping further in. “You’re kidding me,” she muttered, sliding into the chair across from him. “It’s like walking into a whole other world.”

John leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea.”

Anis glanced around again, her eyes narrowing as she took in the details. Something was off. The shelves, the books, even the flickering flames in the fireplace—they all seemed slightly blurred, as though she were looking at them through frosted glass. The edges of the room wavered faintly, refusing to come into sharp focus.

Her gaze fell on a cup of coffee sitting in front of her. It looked perfect—dark, steaming, with a delicate swirl of foam on top. She picked it up cautiously and brought it to her lips, taking a sip. For a moment, she expected the warmth to flood her senses, the bitter richness of coffee to coat her tongue.

But there was nothing. No warmth, no taste. It was like drinking air.

She frowned, setting the cup back down. “I can see it, but… I can’t feel it. Or taste it.”

John nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s just a projection,” he said. “The barrier creates the space, but it’s not real. Not entirely. I can control some of it—the temperature, the light—but the details… they’re hard to pin down. They don’t hold up under close inspection.”

Anis glanced around again, her eyes landing on a patron seated at another table. She hadn’t noticed them before, but now she realized why. Their features were indistinct, their movements slow and mechanical, like a puppet on invisible strings. She turned back to John, her brow furrowed.

“Why a café?” she asked finally, her voice quieter now.

John shrugged, looking down at his coffee. “It was… familiar. Back then, I thought if I could recreate something calm, something I cared about, it might help me figure out how to control a Domain Expansion. But…” He gestured vaguely at the room. “Turns out the problem wasn’t the space. It was me.”

Anis leaned back, crossing her arms. “Well, I’ll give you this much—it’s impressive. Weird, but impressive.”

John chuckled softly. “I’ll take that.”

The café was warm and quiet, the faint hum of jazz blending seamlessly with the gentle crackle of the projected fireplace. Anis sat across from John, the blurred edges of the room flickering faintly as if to remind them that none of this was real. For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence settling over them like a thick blanket.

John stared into his coffee, his hands loosely wrapped around the cup, though he didn’t drink. His gaze was distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Across from him, Anis leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed. She watched him for a moment, her usual smirk absent, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

Eventually, she broke the silence. “You know,” she said, her tone lighter than her expression, “most Commanders would’ve just given up on Marian.”

John looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Yeah,” Anis said, her voice dipping into something more serious. “I know. That’s why you’re different.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the cup in his hands. Anis let out a soft sigh, tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair. “You treat us like we’re human, Commander. Not tools. Not weapons. Like we actually matter.” Her voice carried a faint edge of bitterness, but her words were genuine. “Do you know how rare that is?”

John glanced at her, his eyes shadowed but steady. “I don’t see how anyone could treat you like anything less.”

Anis snorted softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “You’d be surprised. Most of us have had a front-row seat to how expendable we really are. Missions get impossible, Commanders get desperate, and Nikkes get sacrificed. It’s a cycle.” She paused, leaning forward slightly. “And you’re the exception, not the rule. I lost hope, becoming content in just surviving until another day.”

John didn’t argue. The weight behind her words was enough.

Anis shifted, her gaze flicking to the edges of the room before settling back on him. “But Marian…” She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “Seeing her come back from being a heretic? That’s… something I didn’t think was possible. Not in a million years.”

John’s grip on his cup tightened slightly. “It’s not guaranteed,” he said, his voice low. “We don’t know what’s going to happen when she wakes up.”

“No, we don’t,” Anis said, meeting his gaze. “But the fact that she’s even here, that you fought to bring her back… it’s more than anyone else would’ve done. It gives me hope. And trust me, Commander, that’s not something I’ve had a lot of lately.”

John’s expression softened, though the weight in his eyes didn’t lift. “Hope,” he repeated, almost to himself. “You really think this can change things?”

Anis shrugged, leaning back again. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s something. And for us, sometimes ‘something’ is all we’ve got.” She paused, her voice growing quieter. “You make it easier to believe in that, you know? That maybe we’re more than just disposable soldiers.”

John didn’t answer right away, the words settling over him like an uncomfortable truth. Finally, he nodded, his voice steady but subdued. “You are.”

Anis gave him a small, lopsided smile, the faintest trace of her usual sarcasm creeping back in. “Careful, Commander. If you keep saying stuff like that, I might start to think you care.”

John chuckled softly, though it lacked real humor. “Guess I’ll just have to live with that.”

They fell into silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging between them. But this time, it felt less oppressive, the warmth of the café barrier wrapping around them like a fragile shield against the cold reality outside.

After a while, John shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. “We should head back,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Maintaining this space is taking a bit more concentration and energy than I really want to spend right now.”

Anis raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re saying this fancy magic coffee shop of yours is hard to keep running? I’m shocked.”

John shot her a dry look as he stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension that had crept in. “Let’s just go before it collapses and you end up stuck in a snowstorm.”

Anis grinned faintly, pushing herself up from her chair. “You’re really selling me on this sorcery stuff, Commander.”

Together, they walked toward the translucent door, the warm glow of the café fading behind them as the cool, muted light of the barrier’s edges came into view. John reached for the door handle and pulled it open, stepping through without hesitation. Anis followed closely, but the moment they stepped outside, they both collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Oof!” Anis stumbled back, rubbing her nose. “What the—”

“Ah, there you are!” Rapunzel’s calm, melodic voice rang out, cutting through the momentary confusion. She stood just outside the barrier, her golden hair glinting faintly in the snowlight. She looked at them with an expression that was equal parts relief and amusement. “I was coming to check on you both.”

John blinked, steadying himself. “You okay, Rapunzel?” he asked, glancing at her with mild concern.

“I’m fine,” she said, a small smile gracing her lips. “Though it seems I should be asking you that. You’ve been out here for quite some time.”

Anis crossed her arms, smirking. “Commander here was giving me the grand tour of his magical coffee shop.”

Rapunzel tilted her head, her smile widening slightly as she looked at John. “A café shop? How interesting. I didn’t expect such a… personal touch.”

John shrugged, glancing at the translucent dome behind him as the hexagons began to shimmer and fade. “It’s just something I was working on. A distraction more than anything.”

Rapunzel’s gaze softened. “Distractions have their value, too. But you shouldn’t overexert yourself, John. You’ll need your strength.”

He nodded, though his expression remained guarded. “I know.”

Anis rolled her eyes, brushing snow off her shoulders. “Alright, can we move this back inside before I lose feeling in my legs? This whole moment is great and all, but I’d rather not freeze to death while we’re at it.”

Rapunzel chuckled softly, stepping aside to let them pass. “Of course. Let’s go.”

The warmth of the shelter was a welcome reprieve from the biting cold outside. Anis immediately veered toward her backpack, muttering something about needing a drink. She unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out a can of soda. Her hand barely made it halfway to her mouth before Neon appeared, a blur of energy.

“Anis!” Neon’s voice rang out as she snatched the soda with a practiced swipe. “Thanks for the refreshment!”

“Hey!” Anis yelled, her outrage muffled by the fizzing sound of Neon popping the can open. “That’s mine, you little thief!”

Neon took a long, exaggerated sip, her grin wide and unapologetic. “Ahh, nothing like a cold soda after a snowy adventure. Thanks for sharing, Anis!”

John watched the interaction with a faint smirk before turning back to Rapunzel, who stood nearby with her hands lightly clasped in front of her. She seemed thoughtful, her gaze lingering on the door they’d just come through.

“That barrier of yours,” she began, her voice soft but curious. “It reminded me of something.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “My hair. I’ve used it to create spaces like that before—not as structured or intricate, but… areas where humans and Nikkes can feel at peace. Even if only briefly.”

John tilted his head, intrigued. “Your hair? How does that work?”

Rapunzel’s smile widened slightly, and she ran a hand through her long, golden locks, the strands shimmering faintly under the light. “It has… unique properties. It can disrupt the sensors of Raptures in the vicinity, making it easier to sneak past them without engaging in combat. I’ve used it to protect the graves I dig for my sisters.”

She paused, her gaze growing distant. “The graves need to be safe—undisturbed. My hair can keep Raptures away for a time, warding off desecration. In higher concentrations…” She hesitated, then looked back at him. “It can even disable Raptures outright.”

John’s expression turned thoughtful, his mind racing. The way she described it—it wasn’t just a weapon or a tool. It was something deeper, almost like a natural extension of barrier techniques. His thoughts drifted to the files Takumi had found on Project Genesis, the experiments to fuse cursed energy with synthetic constructs. He didn’t voice the connection, but the possibility gnawed at the edges of his mind.

As he stared at Rapunzel, his thoughts spiraling into theories and questions, she shifted under his gaze, her cheeks suddenly pink. She clasped her hands tighter, looking away with a nervous laugh. “C-commander! If you keep looking at me like that, I might think you have… impure intentions!”

John blinked, her words pulling him abruptly out of his thoughts. “What?” His brow furrowed, his confusion genuine. “No, I wasn’t—”

Rapunzel pressed a hand to her cheek, her blush deepening as her imagination clearly took hold. “A-And here I thought you were such a stoic and proper Commander. To think you’d be so forward…”

“I wasn’t—I’m not—” John stammered, his ears burning as he ran a hand through his hair. “I was just thinking about… Never mind.” He shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth explaining.

Rapunzel peeked at him through her fingers, clearly suppressing a mischievous smile. “I-I forgive you, of course. But you should consider saying a prayer for those impure thoughts, Commander.”

John groaned, rubbing his temples

As Anis disappeared down the corridor, muttering something about soda thieves and freezing to death, the room grew quiet once more. The warmth of the shelter felt almost stifling after the crisp cold outside. John leaned against the wall, his thoughts pulling him back toward the chaos he had temporarily left behind.

The floor creaked softly, and Rapunzel stepped next to him. She glanced at the room Marian was in, lying still in the cocoon of her shimmering hair, before turning her attention to John.

“You carry a heavy burden, Commander,” she began, her voice soft and steady, yet carrying a depth that caught him off guard. “But you are not alone.”

John looked at her, surprised for a moment, before offering a tired smile. “Anis just said something similar,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You both have more faith in me than I do.”

Rapunzel stepped closer, her golden strands shimmering faintly as they caught the light. “It’s not blind faith, John. It’s belief in what we see.”

Her words hung in the air, and John raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What do you see?”

She studied him for a moment, her expression warm yet thoughtful. “You remind me of someone,” she said finally, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Someone who once stood where you stand now. The man who led us during the First Rapture Invasion. The first Commander of the Goddess Squad.”

John straightened slightly, the weight of her words settling over him. “The Legendary Commander?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Rapunzel nodded, her gaze growing distant as memories surfaced. “He was a beacon of hope,” she said, her voice carrying a reverent quality. “A man who saw us not as tools, not as weapons, but as people. When no one else believed in us, he did. He treated us as equals, as human. Just as you do.”

Her words struck something deep within John, a mixture of humility and unease. “I’m not sure I deserve that comparison. From what I read that man was a true hero, one who saved the lives of many” he admitted, his voice low. “I’m just doing what I can.”

“That’s what makes the resemblance all the more striking,” Rapunzel replied, her smile softening. “He wasn’t perfect either, but he gave everything he had to protect us, to fight for a future we couldn’t imagine for ourselves. When I look at you, I see echoes of him—his determination, his compassion. And it gives me hope, John. Not just for me or Marian, but for all of my sisters.”

Her gaze flickered away towards the room Marian was in, and her voice trembled slightly as she continued. “I’ve seen what corruption does to us. The horrors it brings. It twists us into something unrecognizable, strips away everything we are until there’s nothing left but pain and destruction.” She paused, her golden strands shifting slightly as if responding to her emotions. “If Marian is freed… it will be more than just redemption. It will be proof. Proof that even in the darkest times, we can be saved.”

John followed her gaze to the Marian room. The weight of the task before him pressed harder against his chest, but there was something in Rapunzel’s words—something in her quiet conviction—that steadied him.

“You really think that’s possible?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Rapunzel turned back to him, her eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve. “I have to believe it is. Not just for her, but for all of us. If we lose hope, then what are we fighting for?”

John exhaled slowly, her words sinking deep into the cracks of his doubt. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint hum of the shelter’s heater and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Finally, John nodded, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a little lighter.

“Thank you, Rapunzel,” he said, his voice steady. “I needed that.”

She smiled, her golden strands catching the light like threads of sunlight. “Any time, Commander. Remember, you are not alone in this.”

-

The next morning came quickly, and John found himself once again standing besides Marian. The room felt suffocatingly still, every sound muted except for the soft hum of Rapunzel’s golden strands shimmering as they began to retract. John stood at Marian’s side, his breath heavy and uneven. The faint glow of Rapunzel’s hair cast ethereal shadows across the walls, making the room feel otherworldly. The air was thick with tension, and the weight of what was about to happen pressed down on everyone present.

Behind him, the others were gathered in a loose semi-circle, their postures tense and expressions grave. Anis leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly as though bracing herself. Neon stood next to her, shifting nervously from foot to foot, her hands wringing the hem of her jacket. Even Scarlet, who leaned casually on the edge of a table, seemed subdued, her gaze fixed on the figure lying on the bed.

Rapi stood closest to John, her stoic mask firmly in place, but her eyes betrayed a deep unease. Snow White and Rapunzel stood near the head of the bed, their presence calm yet solemn. Snow White’s hand rested lightly on her rifle, and Scarlet’s gaze flickered toward her from time to time, as if silently acknowledging the precaution.

“Are you ready?” Rapunzel’s voice broke the silence, soft but resolute. Her golden strands shimmered as they continued to coil back into her hands, inch by inch.

John didn’t respond immediately. His hand drifted to the pistol at his side—the one Snow White had given him. The cold metal pressed into his palm, grounding him in its unyielding reality. He could feel the weight of it, not just the physical heft, but the symbolic burden it carried. The thought of using it made his stomach churn, but he couldn’t afford to falter.

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders squaring as he nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He turned to face the others, his eyes scanning their faces. “If something goes wrong…” His voice faltered for a moment, but he forced himself to continue. “If she turns back into Modernia, I need you all to be ready. I can’t do this alone.”

Anis pushed off the wall, her arms still crossed but her voice steady. “You’ve got us, Commander. You always do. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Neon nodded, her usual cheer replaced by a subdued intensity. “Yeah. We’re ready. Let’s bring her back.”

Rapi stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. “We are behind you Commander, every step of the way.”

Snow White gave a faint nod, her hand tightening on her rifle. “Whatever happens, we will face it together.”

Rapunzel moved to the side of the bed, her hair beginning to shimmer brighter as it retracted further. The strands coiled like golden threads being woven back into her hands, revealing Marian’s pale, motionless form beneath. Her stillness was haunting, her skin ashen against the soft glow of the room.

The tension in the room ratcheted higher with every second. John’s fingers tightened around the pistol’s grip, his knuckles whitening as the weapon rested at his side. His breathing grew shallower, his chest rising and falling as if the act itself required conscious effort.

As the last strand of Rapunzel’s hair withdrew, the glow faded. For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of their collective breathing.

Then, Marian’s eyelids fluttered.

It was subtle at first, a faint, almost imperceptible movement. Her fingers twitched slightly, the barest indication of life returning to her body. John’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. He raised the pistol slightly, the weight of his resolve settling over him.

Her eyes opened.

They were glassy and unfocused, her gaze wandering as though searching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. Her lips parted, a shallow breath escaping. John’s entire body tensed, his finger brushing the pistol’s trigger guard.

And then her eyes locked onto his.

“Commander?” Her voice was soft, weak, and uncertain, but it was unmistakably her. The single word pierced through the suffocating tension like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

John exhaled sharply, lowering the pistol as relief washed over him in a tidal wave. His shoulders sagged, and his grip on the weapon slackened. “Marian,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “It’s me. You’re safe now.”

Confusion flickered across her face, but recognition soon followed. Her eyes filled with tears, and her body trembled as soft sobs began to wrack her frame. “Commander…” Her voice broke, the tears falling freely now. “I’m so sorry…”

John stepped closer. “Marian, it’s okay. You’re back now.”

She shook her head, her sobs growing louder. “No… it was horrible.” Her hands clutched at the blanket covering her, her knuckles white as she spoke. “I could see everything I was doing. Everything I… everything it made me do. But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t fight it.” Her voice cracked, the weight of her trauma spilling out in broken words. “It wasn’t me, but it was me. I was trapped—twisted. And I hurt so many…”

John stepped closer, his heart aching at the raw anguish in her voice. He knelt beside her bed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out. Gently, he placed his arms around her, pulling her into a careful embrace. Her sobs spilled into his shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of his jacket.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “It’s over now. You’re safe, Marian. You’re alright.”

For a moment, her sobs stuttered, her grip on the blanket loosening as she clung to him instead. Her hands fisted in his jacket, holding on as though he were the only solid thing in a world still spinning out of control. “I thought I’d never come back,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the room. “I thought I’d be trapped in that… nightmare forever.”

John tightened his hold, his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head. “You came back,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s all that matters now. You’re here, and you’re not alone.”

Behind them, the room was silent save for the soft sound of Marian’s crying. The others stood quietly, their earlier tension shifting into something heavier but less urgent. Rapi’s hands rested at her sides, her fingers curling slightly as she watched, her face betraying a flicker of empathy. Anis leaned against the wall, her usual sharp remarks replaced by a rare, somber stillness. Neon sniffled softly, brushing at her eyes underneath her glasses with the back of her hand, while Snow White and Scarlet exchanged quiet glances, their expressions grave but calm.

Rapunzel stepped forward and embraced Marian as well, “You’ve been through so much,” she said gently. “But you endured. That strength brought you back.”

Marian’s sobs slowed, though her tears still fell. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at John, her face streaked with emotion. “I hurt so many people,” she said, her voice trembling. “How can I… how can I ever make up for that?”

John met her gaze, his own eyes heavy with the weight of what he had to say. “You weren’t in control,” he said carefully. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Marian. What matters now is what you do going forward. You have a chance to heal. To make things right.”

She nodded slowly, her tears still falling, but her breathing began to even out. “Thank you, Commander,” she whispered. “For not giving up on me.”

-

The air in the room had shifted. Though the tension from earlier lingered in faint echoes, there was a renewed sense of purpose among them. Marian rested, her fragile smile a sign of progress, though the tear-streaked evidence of her trauma remained. The group began to move with quiet efficiency, readying themselves for what came next.

John stood near the center of the room, Rapi at his side, as the members of the Pioneer Squad gathered close. Snow White and Rapunzel exchanged a quiet look, while Scarlet leaned against the doorway with.

John cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “I can’t thank you enough,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sincerity. “For everything you’ve done for Marian. For us. Without you, we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

Rapunzel offered a warm smile, her golden strands glinting faintly as they shifted around her. “There’s no need to thank us, Commander. This is what we’re here for—to protect and support our sisters. And you’ve done the same. You’re a rare kind of leader.”

Snow White nodded, her expression calm but resolute. “We’re glad we could help. But the road ahead won’t be easy, for Marian or for you.”

John inclined his head in agreement. “We’ll take it one step at a time. For now, we need to head back to the Ark. There’s a lot to sort out, and Marian needs time to heal.”

Rapi stepped forward, her gaze briefly meeting Rapunzel’s and Snow White’s. “Thank you,” she said, her voice firm but carrying a hint of vulnerability. “For what you told me earlier. About my friend and mentor… . It means more than I can say.”

Rapunzel reached out, her hand brushing Rapi’s arm in a gentle gesture of support. “Her spirit lives on in you, Rapi. She would be proud of you. Never forget that.”

Snow White’s sharp gaze softened slightly, her voice quieter now. “If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to find us.”

John glanced between the Pioneer Squad and the rest of his team, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re always welcome at the outpost. If you need a place to rest or regroup, consider it open to you.”

Scarlet smirked faintly from her position by the door. “Thy hospitality is noted, Commander. Perhaps we shall take thee up on it.”

John nodded before turning to Snow White. His hand went to his holster, unstrapping the Vapus loaded pistol and holding it out to her. “Here,” he said, his tone serious. “I appreciate you trusting me with this, but it’s yours.”

Snow White looked at the weapon for a moment before folding her arms across her chest. “Keep it,” she said, her voice as sharp as ever. “I have no doubt you’ll make better use of it than I would. And something tells me you’ll need it.”

John hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly, but he relented, securing the pistol back in its holster. “Alright,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the gravity of their parting hanging in the air. Rapunzel stepped forward, her gaze lingering on Marian. “Take care of her,” she said softly, her golden hair trailing behind her like threads of sunlight. “And take care of yourselves.”

John nodded. “We will. And the same goes for you.”

With that, the Counters and the Pioneers exchanged final nods. As John and his team turned to leave, the weight of the journey ahead loomed large, but so did the faint, flickering light of hope.

Chapter Text

The journey back to the Ark had been grueling, the team trudging through the relentless blizzard for days as snow and wind battered them from all sides. Progress had been slow, their visibility reduced to mere feet in the whiteout conditions. It was only recently that the storm had died down, leaving the world around them in an eerie, quiet stillness

The wind had finally calmed, the blizzards now a faint memory in the night. Snow lay thick on the ground, glinting under the pale light of portable lamps scattered around the camp. The team was gathered near the central heater, their faces weary from the relentless cold and exertion of the journey.

John crouched nearby, his hands wrapped around his comms device, fiddling with the settings as he muttered under his breath. The handheld unit flickered occasionally, struggling to establish a stable connection.

“You know,” John said, glancing back at Rapi, “we’re only a couple of days from the Ark. I don’t see why this can’t wait until we get there.”

Rapi crossed her arms, her expression calm but firm. “Protocol says otherwise, Commander. We’re required to report in regularly during missions, especially since we haven't been able to establish contact for almost a week, and especially with something this significant.”

John let out a soft huff of frustration, shaking his head. “It’s not like Central Command is sitting there, biting their nails waiting for us to call in. They’ll get the report when we arrive.”

“Commander,” Rapi replied evenly, “we need to establish contact. Delaying now will just cause more questions later.”

John sighed, leaning back on his heels as he adjusted the comms device again. “Fine. But if this thing doesn’t connect in the next five minutes, we’re moving on.”

As if on cue, the screen flickered to life, and Shifty’s familiar face appeared, her expression sharp and focused.

“Commander,” she began, her tone clipped, though a flicker of relief passed over her features. “You’ve been out of contact for days. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Blizzards,” John said simply, brushing snow off his gloves. “And Alva particle concentrations were too high for a stable line.”

Shifty nodded briskly, her gaze scanning the background before settling on him. “Fair enough. Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

“Likewise,” John replied, his tone neutral.

Rapi stepped closer, standing at his side as Shifty’s attention shifted slightly. “We’re transmitting the latest report now,” Rapi said. “It should provide a detailed account of our situation.”

Shifty’s eyes flicked to a secondary screen off-camera. Her brows furrowed slightly as she skimmed through the contents, before rising as high as they could as her lips parted in faint disbelief. “Commander,” she said slowly, “am I reading this correctly? You engaged two heretics and won?”

John nodded, his expression unchanging. “That’s right.”

“And you encountered Pilgrims?” Shifty continued, her tone tinged with amazement now. “That’s… practically unheard of,” Shifty leaned back slightly, her gaze flickering between them. “I’m reviewing the combat data and video logs now. You’re telling me this was all part of one operation?”

John folded his arms, his tone a touch dismissive. “It’s in the report. I wouldn’t waste your time if it wasn’t.”

The holographic image of Shifty shifted as she pulled up additional files. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched the combat footage, the faint hum of her console audible through the line. “This is… its all so… I don’t know how to describe this” She paused, her voice softening. “And the Pilgrims intervened?”

“Just the one at the time of the fight,” John said simply. “The situation called for cooperation.”

Shifty’s eyes lingered on the screen for a moment before looking back at John and Rapi. Her voice dropped slightly, her incredulity giving way to quiet awe. “But this last part of the report… you’re saying you found Marian as a heretic and brought her back from corruption?”

For the first time, a flicker of emotion crossed John’s face. “Yes,” he said after a brief pause, his tone softer now. “We did.”

Shifty blinked, leaning closer to the screen as if to confirm she’d heard him correctly. “You brought her back? That’s… I don’t even know what to say. Corruption isn’t supposed to be reversible.”

Rapi’s voice softened slightly. “It's not something we fully understand. But we can confirm that it happened.”

Shifty sat back in her chair, visibly processing the enormity of what she’d just heard. Her fingers tapped idly against the edge of her console. “This is going to cause waves, Commander. Central Command is going to want every detail, and they won’t be patient about it.”

John’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Understood. We’ll provide all necessary information upon our return. Over and out.”

The faint hum of the wind returned as the duo fell into silence after the call ended. The pale glow of the portable lamps cast long shadows across the landscape as John put away from the comms device. His shoulders sagged slightly, exhaustion evident in his posture. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension building there, but the ache in his body was far more than physical.

Rapi stood close by, her arms crossed as she watched him carefully. “That went as well as could be expected,” she said quietly.

John gave a short nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Shifty’s right. This isn’t going to go over smoothly with Central Command.”

“We'll manage, Commander,” Rapi replied, her tone pragmatic but carrying an undercurrent of concern.

John let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Sure.”

Rapi didn’t reply, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned, heading back toward the others. John followed, his steps slower, more deliberate, the weight of the binding vow he’d used during his fight with Modernia still dragging on him like invisible chains.

As they approached the center of the camp, the faint sounds of a heated argument drifted through the cold air.

“I’m telling you, I get the last chocolate bar!” Anis’s voice rang out, filled with indignation.

“No way!” Neon shot back, her hands on her hips. “You traded me the fruit bars yesterday. That means the chocolate’s mine!”

“That’s not how trades work!” Anis said, pointing an accusing finger. “I was doing you a favor because you’re obsessed with that citrus splendamin!”

The two Nikkes stood over their ration packs, glaring at each other as if the fate of the world hung on who got the last snack. John couldn’t help but shake his head, the faintest smile tugging at his lips despite his weariness.

“Settle it with a coin toss,” Rapi interjected as she approached, her tone deadpan.

Anis turned to her with wide eyes. “What? And let luck decide my chocolate destiny? No way.”

“It’s called fairness,” Neon shot back, sticking out her tongue. “You should try it sometime.”

Rapi sighed, shaking her head as she took a seat by the central heater. John trailed behind her, his movements slower, more deliberate. He lowered himself onto a crate with a groan, the sound escaping him before he could stop it.

Rapi’s head snapped toward him. “Commander?”

“I’m fine,” John said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “Just... still feeling the aftereffects.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t press him, instead sitting nearby and keeping a watchful eye.

Marian sat apart from the group, wrapped in a blanket and staring at the ground. Her hands gripped the fabric tightly, her knuckles white against the dark material. She hadn’t spoken much since she woke up—since her recovery. Her face was pale, her eyes distant, as though she were still trapped in the memories of what she had done as Modernia.

John’s gaze drifted to her, his own guilt weighing heavy in his chest. “Marian,” he said gently, his voice cutting through the noise of Anis and Neon’s squabble.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before flickering away. “Commander,” she replied softly, her voice trembling slightly.

“You’re doing fine,” John said, his tone steady but kind. “Take it one step at a time.”

Marian nodded, but her grip on the blanket didn’t loosen. “It’s... hard to forget,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “What I did... what it made me do...”

“You don’t have to face it alone,” Rapi said, her voice calm but firm. “We’re here for you.”

Marian gave a small, hesitant nod, her gaze dropping again.

The atmosphere shifted as Anis plopped down next to the heater with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, Neon. You win. Enjoy your chocolate,” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Neon grinned triumphantly. “I knew you’d see reason!”

“Reason, my ass,” Anis muttered, shooting her a glare.

The faint tension lifted as the group settled into their makeshift camp. Despite the biting cold and the lingering weight of their mission, there was a sense of fragile camaraderie, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of their journey.

John leaned back slightly, wincing as the ache in his body flared again. He pressed a hand to his side, where the strain of his binding vow lingered like a ghost on his body. For a moment, he let his eyes drift closed, the murmur of his team around him a small comfort against the storm still brewing in his mind.

-

The artificial cherry blossom garden sprawled before Jun like a strange, distorted dream. The petals fluttered lazily in the simulated breeze, their soft pink glow casting an otherworldly hue across the metal-and-glass surroundings of the Ark. Streams trickled through the garden, their gentle bubbling the only sound breaking the heavy silence. It was beautiful, serene—but Jun felt nothing but unease. It was a lie, an imitation meant to evoke life where none could truly exist.

And standing beneath the largest tree, framed by a cascade of false blossoms, was a man wearing Yuta Okkotsu’s face.

Jun approached slowly, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. His sharp eyes took in every detail—the pristine robes, the calm expression, the unsettling way the man stood as though he belonged here. Yuta Okkotsu had died over a century ago. Everyone knew that. And yet, here he was.

“You’re late,” the man said, his voice smooth, almost pleasant. He turned, his sharp features catching the faint light of the garden. His eyes gleamed with something old, something knowing. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

Jun stopped a few paces away, his posture stiff, his expression cold. “You’re not Yuta,” he said flatly. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re wearing his face.”

The man tilted his head, smiling faintly. “Is that so? Or perhaps I’m simply more resourceful than you think.”

Jun’s hand tightened on his blade. “You have one chance to explain yourself. Why did you call me here?”

The man took a step closer, his movements unhurried, deliberate. “Because I see potential in you,” he said, his tone conversational. “You’ve been gathering support, haven’t you? Building something... ambitious.”

Jun said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t spoken of his efforts to anyone outside his growing faction. The man continued as though he hadn’t noticed the tension in the air.

“Your vision is compelling,” he said, gesturing to the garden around them. “A world where sorcerers guide humanity, protect it from itself. No more chaos. No more weakness. A world where tragedies like your sister’s death could never happen again.”

The words struck like a blade. Jun’s grip tightened further, his breath slowing as his mind flashed to Mei—her smile, her bravery, the way she had thrown herself into the fray to save him during the ambush. Her sacrifice haunted him, fueling the fire that now burned in his chest.

“Don’t speak about things you don’t understand,” Jun said, his voice low and dangerous.

The man smiled again, faint but knowing. “Oh, but I do understand, Jun. I understand the rage that drives you. The need to create a world where strength and order prevail. That’s why I’m here—to help you.”

Jun scoffed, his skepticism cutting through the heavy air. “Help me? And what do you want in return?”

The man’s smile didn’t falter. He gestured to the petals falling around them, his tone measured, almost soothing. “The pillars beneath Nuovo Impianto,” he said. “You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? Cursed structures, pulsing with energy. They hold special-grade curses unlike any the world has seen in centuries.”

Jun’s brow furrowed, his distrust growing. “What about them?”

“When the time comes,” the man said, his voice dropping slightly, “you will ensure that the sorcerers guarding those pillars are... removed. Whether through persuasion or elimination, that is up to you.”

“And why would I do that?” Jun asked, his voice sharp.

“To draw out Mahito,” the man replied simply. “He will come to claim those pillars. And when he does, I will handle the rest.”

Jun’s eyes narrowed further. “You expect me to trust you? To deliver a monster like Mahito to someone who won’t even tell me his name?”

The man’s expression remained calm, his gaze unwavering. “Trust is irrelevant, Jun. This is about opportunity. You want power, control—what I offer will give you the leverage you need to achieve your vision.”

Jun stepped closer, his hand on his blade. “If I even consider this, it’s because I’ll do whatever it takes to fulfill my goals. But if you cross me...”

The man tilted his head, his faint smile returning. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As he turned to leave, the light shifted, catching the faint line running across the top of his forehead. A stitching scar, subtle but unmistakable, marred the otherwise perfect recreation of Yuta Okkotsu’s face. Jun froze, his unease deepening as the man disappeared into the shadows of the garden.

-

The surface was a desolate graveyard of steel and ash, stretching endlessly beneath a choking gray sky. Rusted remnants of buildings jutted out from the barren landscape, their skeletal frames barely holding together against the relentless winds. The air was dry and cold, biting at the edges of anything exposed. Johan moved silently, his cybernetic enhancements whirring softly with each calculated step. Harran stood a few paces behind, her mechanical crows circling above like ghostly sentinels, their eyes scanning the ruins for signs of life—or death.

The tension between them was palpable, a quiet unease that seemed to echo the emptiness of their surroundings. Johan’s sharp gaze darted across the horizon, searching for any trace of Nihilister. She was close—he could feel it. Somewhere within these ruins, the monstrous heretic was licking her wounds, vulnerable for the first time.

Harran, however, seemed far less concerned. She twirled her scythe lazily, the blade catching faint glints of the muted light. A faint smile played on her lips, though her eyes carried a sharpness that betrayed her nonchalance.

“I find it hard to believe,” she began, her voice lilting with amusement, “that Nihilister could be brought low by a squad from the Ark. Their technology is at least fifty years behind Eden’s, thanks to Cecil.” She cast a glance toward Johan, her smirk widening slightly. “Do you really think they managed it?”

Johan’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as his fist clenched at his side. The faint hum of his augmentations grew louder for a moment before he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to relax. “It’s not about their technology,” he replied, his tone clipped, as if the words themselves irritated him. “The sorcerers... they’ve decided to show themselves again.”

At that, Harran’s smile deepened, her eyes narrowing with an almost predatory gleam. “Sorcerers, you say?” she mused, the words laced with a strange mix of amusement and nostalgia. “How delightful. It’s been ages since I’ve had the pleasure of encountering my kind.”

Johan stopped walking, turning to face her fully. His expression was hard, unyielding. “This isn’t a game, Harran,” he said firmly. “Their presence complicates things. You know what they’re capable of.”

Harran tilted her head, a faint laugh escaping her lips. “Oh, I know exactly what they’re capable of,” she replied, twirling her scythe once more. “But complications... they make life interesting, don’t you think?”

Johan’s glare could have frozen the wind itself, but Harran simply smiled, unbothered. He turned back toward the horizon, his voice lower now, almost to himself. “If they’re stepping out of the shadows again, it means that we have to be extra vigilant.”

Reaching up to his wrist, Johan activated his communicator. The soft glow of the device cut through the gloom, and Cecil’s calm, measured voice crackled through the static.

“Cecil,” Johan said, his tone sharp, “are the new augmentations ready? Will they be enough to handle a Grade 1 sorcerer?”

There was a pause, the faint sound of keystrokes in the background. “The enhancements should give you no problems, Johan,” Cecil replied, her voice confident but clinical. “The modifications were designed with that level of threat in mind. I trust they’ll prove sufficient.”

Johan’s lips pressed into a thin line as he deactivated the communicator. His mind churned with possibilities, the weight of what was to come pressing heavily on him.

“I trust Cecil’s work, of course,” Harran said casually, watching him carefully. “But tell me, Johan, how will you fare if this becomes something... bigger?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His hand rested on the hilt of his pistol, his knuckles white against the steel. “Stick to the mission,” he said finally, his voice steady but cold. “We find Nihilister before she has a chance to recover, then we deal with whatever comes out of the Ark”

Harran sighed dramatically, though the glint in her eye remained. “As you wish, Commander,” she said with mock reverence. “But I do hope we encounter one of these precious sorcerers along the way. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a decent challenge.”

Johan didn’t respond, his focus already back on the search. The skeletal ruins stretched out before them, and somewhere within that labyrinth of decay, Nihilister was waiting. Whether the sorcerers were involved or not, Johan knew one thing for certain: the world was shifting, the pieces moving on a board far larger than he could see at that moment in time. But he would meet it head-on, no matter what came next.

With Harran’s crows circling above and the silence of the wasteland pressing in around them, the two moved deeper into the ruins, their purpose unshaken even as the air grew heavier with the promise of conflict.

-

The air near the Ark elevator was dense with tension, the quiet hum of machinery underscoring the faint murmurs of Nikkes stationed at strategic points around the fortified perimeter. Portable lights pierced through the snowy haze, their harsh beams casting long shadows across the snow-covered ground. The gleaming armor of the guards reflected the artificial light, giving the scene an almost surreal glow.

At the center of the operation stood a figure exuding quiet authority, though her posture carried a subtle rigidity, betraying a trace of unease beneath her composed exterior. Her hands rested on her hips, and her sharp gaze scanned the approaching group with measured focus. Flanking her were the members of the Absolute squad—Emma, Eunhwa, and Vesti. Nearby, the Missilis Military Research team moved with mechanical efficiency, their equipment humming faintly as they prepared for their analysis.

The Counters approached steadily, led by John, who seemed entirely unfazed by the heavy security presence. His stride was relaxed, his eyes scanning the scene with an air of casual amusement rather than caution. Behind him, Marian moved hesitantly, her head bowed slightly as if bracing herself for the scrutiny that awaited her. Anis, on the other hand, took in the scene with her usual irreverence.

“Well, don’t we feel welcome,” she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is practically a parade.”

Rapi, walking alongside her, elbowed her lightly. “Focus, Anis.”

As they came to a stop a few feet from the center of the gathering, the female commander stepped forward. Her polished boots crunched against the snow with deliberate precision, her movements poised but betraying the faintest hint of hesitation as she adjusted her posture. Her voice was steady, carrying a formal tone as she addressed the group.

“Commander Smith,” she said, her words careful but warm. “Welcome back. It’s an honor to meet you in person.”

John raised an eyebrow, his posture loose and relaxed as he stepped forward to meet her gaze. “That’s me,” he said, his tone light. “And you are?”

Her pose straightened slightly, her formal demeanor holding firm. “Commander Hana Shireikan,” she replied, her voice clear. “I’ve been assigned by Andersen to assist in your return to the Ark—and to oversee the necessary assessments.”

John blinked at her name, a grin breaking across his face as he tilted his head slightly. “Shireikan, huh? Interesting surname.”

Hana’s brow furrowed faintly. “I beg your pardon?”

“It means ‘Commander’ in Japanese,” John explained, chuckling softly. “So, you’re... Commander Commander?”

Hana blinked, clearly unprepared for the observation, before a small, genuine laugh escaped her. “I suppose it does. Perhaps I should start introducing myself that way—double the authority.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” John quipped, his grin widening.

Hana gave a slight shake of her head, her tone softening just a fraction. “And here I thought you’d be more... conventional, given the situation.”

John spread his arms in mock innocence. “I don’t believe I’ve done anything unconventional or out of the ordinary… Yet.”

Hana’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes carried a glimmer of unease beneath her composed exterior. “Touché, Commander.”

Before the exchange could continue, Eunhwa stepped forward from the Absolute squad. Her sharp gaze cut through the lightheartedness like a blade, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“Still alive, dumbass?” she said flatly, her tone devoid of pleasantries.

John winced theatrically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Takes a lot to kill me, Eunhwa.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let’s hope you’re not planning to pull anything as reckless as last time.”

“I do feel I’m overdue another session on the surgery table,” John replied, his grin widening slightly.

Eunhwa’s eyes flicked briefly to Rapi, narrowing for a fraction of a second before she turned away, muttering something under her breath. The tension between the two was palpable, lingering in the air like an unspoken challenge. Rapi, standing silently beside John, remained composed, though her sharp gaze followed Eunhwa with quiet intensity and sadness.

Hana glanced between them, clearly noting the tension but choosing not to address it directly. Instead, she shifted the focus. “The M.M.R. team needs to begin their analysis,” she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “We’ll hold here until the initial scans are complete. Afterward, we’ll discuss next steps.”

Marian flinched slightly as the researchers approached, her hands tightening around the hem of her jacket. John placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his voice soft. “It’s okay, Marian. They’re just running some scans. We’re here if they try anything dodgy.”

Marian nodded faintly but kept her gaze downcast, her shoulders tense as the researchers began their work. Hana watched her carefully, her formal demeanor softening as she addressed her.

“Marian,” she said gently, “I know this must be overwhelming. But don't worry. Your well-being is our priority.”

Marian glanced up briefly, her eyes clouded with uncertainty, but she nodded again, her posture relaxing slightly under the combined reassurances.

The faint crackle of John’s comm device broke the stillness as it vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen, seeing Andersen’s name flash across it. With a small sigh, he tapped to accept the call and raised it to his ear.

“Andersen,” John greeted, his tone calm but carrying a note of curiosity. “You called at just the right time. We’ve got quite the welcoming committee.”

Andersen’s voice came through crisp and steady, tinged with his usual composed authority. “Commander Smith, I’ve been briefed on your arrival. I trust you’ve met Commander Shireikan and her team?”

John’s gaze flicked toward Hana, who was overseeing the M.M.R. team’s work. She turned slightly, catching his eye with a raised eyebrow, as though sensing she was the topic of conversation. “Yeah,” John replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We’ve met.”

“Good,” Andersen said, his tone brisk. “Commander Shireikan is there under my directive. Her orders are to ensure your team’s safe passage and to facilitate Marian’s evaluation before entry into the Ark. The leadership has taken a keen interest in the details surrounding her recovery.”

John’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of the Ark’s leadership. “I’m guessing ‘keen interest’ is code for a full-blown interrogation.”

“There are questions that need answering,” Andersen replied evenly. “Marian’s return has disrupted a lot of preconceived notions within Central Command. Some are calling it a miracle, others... a threat. You’ll need to be prepared to explain everything.”

John sighed, glancing back at Marian, who stood quietly while the M.M.R. team ran additional scans. “She’s been through enough already,” he said, his voice dropping. “I’m not throwing her to the wolves.”

“That’s why Shireikan is there,” Andersen said. “She’s green, but she’s competent. More importantly, she’s trustworthy, enough so that I am considering bringing her into the fold. Her job is to ensure this process remains smooth—and that you and your team aren’t subjected to unnecessary scrutiny.”

John’s eyes flicked back to Hana, her commanding presence juxtaposed by the subtle tension in her shoulders. She was holding her own, but he could tell she was measuring every word, every step. “Trustworthy, huh?” he said, his tone lightening slightly. “Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“You’ll see,” Andersen replied. He paused slightly, before speaking with a rare note of reassurance. “For now, focus on keeping your team together and ensuring Marian gets through this. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Understood,” John said, his voice firm. “Anything else I should know?”

Andersen hesitated briefly before speaking. “Central Command’s interest isn’t limited to Marian. Your mission raised questions about your methods, particularly given the gaps in the combat footage you submitted.”

John’s jaw tightened, his mind flicking to the carefully edited footage that omitted any traces of his sorcery or Rapi’s unique abilities. “We’ve already explained the damage to our equipment,” he said evenly.

“I’m aware,” Andersen replied. “But some will look for cracks, John. Keep your guard up.”

John exhaled slowly, nodding to himself. “Noted. We’ll keep it clean.”

“Good,” Andersen said, his tone sharpening back to its usual commanding edge. “I’ll be in touch once you’re inside the Ark. Until then, follow Shireikan’s lead.”

With that, the call ended, the faint crackle of static disappearing as John lowered the comm device. He rolled his shoulders, his gaze shifting back to Hana, who had returned to supervising the M.M.R. team.

Rapi stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. “What did Andersen say?”

“He vouched for Shireikan,” John replied, slipping the comm device into his pocket. “Said she’s here to make sure this doesn’t turn into a mess.”

Chapter Text

The elevator hummed steadily as it descended, the faint vibration reverberating through the confined space. The sterile glow of the overhead lights reflected off the metal walls, casting soft shadows on the faces of those within. On one side, Hana stood with the M.M.R. team, her posture formal as she reviewed the data on her pad. Occasionally, her eyes flicked toward Marian, a subtle tension in her stance betraying her otherwise composed demeanor.

Opposite them stood the Counters. Rapi leaned against the railing beside Neon and Anis, while Marian stood slightly apart, her gaze fixed on the floor. Neon and Anis whispered to each other, their usual bickering reduced to hushed tones as the weight of the situation hung over the group.

In the center of the elevator, John stood by the railing, staring out at the glowing expanse of the Ark below. His expression was distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

From the far side, the Absolute squad observed silently. Emma’s warm expression was the first to break the stillness. Her hands clasped together as she stepped closer, her soft, soothing voice cutting through the hum of the elevator. “Rapi,” she began, her tone carrying the affection of a kind older sister. “It’s been so long.”

Rapi turned toward her, her stoic expression softening as she met Emma’s gaze. “Emma,” she said quietly. “It’s good to see you again.”

Emma smiled warmly, her eyes glistening with emotion. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and pulled Rapi into a firm hug. “I missed you,” she said softly, her voice muffled against Rapi’s shoulder. “You could have at least said goodbye before leaving.”

Rapi froze briefly, then returned the embrace with a faint sigh. “I know,” she admitted. “I should have. I’m sorry, Emma.”

Pulling back slightly, Emma rested her hands on Rapi’s shoulders, studying her face with a gentle smile. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice steady. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. But...” Her smile turned wistful. “You seem different. Lighter. Like you’ve finally found something you were looking for.”

Rapi tilted her head, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “Different? I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Emma chuckled softly. “Well, maybe you don’t see it, but I do. And if you haven’t found it yet, I think you’re close.”

Rapi hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Maybe,” she murmured. “I’m... working on it.”

Emma’s smile brightened. “That’s good enough for me.”

Beside Emma, Vesti stepped forward, her demeanor faltering as she studied Rapi. “How are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Are you okay?”

Rapi nodded, her expression steady but her tone soft. “I’m fine, Vesti. It’s been... a lot, but I’m managing.”

Vesti’s eyes shimmered, and she bit her lip as she tried to hold back tears. “Good,” she said, her voice wavering. “I was so worried about you. We all were.” She sniffled audibly, raising a hand to her face. “Damn it, I told myself I wouldn’t cry.”

Rapi gave her a faint smile, her voice holding a rare warmth. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Vesti let out a shaky laugh, wiping her eyes. “Neither have you. You still look as cool as ever.”

Rapi’s gaze flicked between Emma and Vesti, her expression softening further. “It’s good to see you both again.”

The brief moment of reunion was broken by a sharp voice from the corner. “Can you keep it down?” Eunhwa snapped, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned against the elevator wall. “Some of us are trying to focus.”

Emma shot her a glance, her smile dimming slightly, but said nothing. Vesti hesitated, then stepped back toward Emma, her cheerful energy subdued.

Rapi turned to Eunhwa, her voice calm but firm. “It’s good to see you too, Eunhwa.”

Eunhwa’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Is it?” she asked coldly. “Because it doesn’t seem like you cared much about us when you left without a word.”

Rapi’s expression didn’t falter. “You’re right,” she said simply. “I should have said something. I made a mistake.”

Eunhwa scoffed, her gaze flicking to the floor. “Mistake’s an understatement.”

The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, before Emma stepped forward slightly, her tone soft but firm. “Eunhwa,” she said gently. “She’s here now. Isn’t that enough?”

Eunhwa didn’t respond, her silence speaking volumes as she stared at the elevator floor.

Rapi glanced at Emma, offering a small, grateful nod. Despite the warmth of her reunion with Emma and Vesti, the lingering tension with Eunhwa left an unresolved weight between them.

The elevator slowed, the hum of machinery softening to a low whine as it approached its destination. The glow of the Ark’s outpost lights spilled through the cracks in the doors, illuminating the group inside. As the elevator came to a stop with a faint hiss, the heavy doors slid open, revealing the bustling interior of the outpost—a stark contrast to the cold, sterile confines of the elevator.

John straightened, the contemplative look on his face easing slightly as the sight of the outpost’s activity grounded him. He turned toward the others, gesturing for the Counters to move. “Alright,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been during the ride down. “Let’s get moving.”

Rapi gave him a small nod, gently guiding Marian forward while Neon and Anis followed, their banter already resuming in low tones. Marian’s steps were hesitant, but she moved with them, staying close to Rapi’s side.

As John prepared to step out behind them, Hana’s voice cut through the low hum of the outpost’s activity.

“Commander Smith,” she called, her tone formal but tinged with hesitation. “Andersen has requested to see you immediately.”

John paused mid-step, one hand still resting on the railing. He turned back toward Hana, his brow furrowing slightly. “Immediately?” he echoed, his tone carrying a hint of incredulity. “We just got here.”

Hana shifted her weight slightly, her posture still straight but betraying a trace of unease. “He was clear in his instructions,” she said. “He wants a debrief and to discuss next steps regarding Marian.”

John let out a small sigh, his hand running through his hair as he glanced toward the Counters, who were already stepping into the outpost. For a moment, he seemed torn, his gaze flicking between Hana and his team.

Neon, catching the exchange, glanced back and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, Boss? You coming?”

John hesitated for a beat before shaking his head lightly. “Looks like I’ve got an appointment,” he said, his voice carrying a faint edge of frustration. “Andersen wants to see me right away.”

Anis groaned dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Of course he does. Can’t even let you catch your breath, huh?”

“Seems like it,” John replied with a wry smirk. He glanced at Rapi, who had paused with Marian near the entrance, her gaze steady as she waited for him to decide.

John sighed, rolling his shoulders before offering them a small smile. “You all head home. Get settled. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Rapi nodded, her tone calm but carrying a note of understanding. “We’ll wait for you.”

John chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I won't be too long. I’ll Grab some drinks and snacks—we’ll celebrate when I’m done.”

Anis perked up at that, her earlier dramatics forgotten. “Now that I can get behind. Don’t keep us waiting too long, Boss.”

Neon grinned, nudging Anis. “You just want an excuse to pig out.”

“Hey, a celebration needs proper supplies,” Anis shot back with a grin.

John waved them off, his smirk lingering as he watched them move further into the outpost. Marian glanced back briefly, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before she turned and followed Rapi.

Once the Counters were out of sight, John exhaled, turning back to Hana. “Alright, Commander Commander,” he said, his tone light but resigned. “Lead the way.”

-

The door to Deputy Chief and Commander Andersen’s office slid open with a hiss. Shelves lined the walls, neatly filled with files and datapads, and a single large desk dominated the center, illuminated by a cold, white light. Andersen stood behind it, his sharp, calculating eyes already fixed on John as he entered.

Hana followed close behind, her posture stiff, her expression carefully neutral. She came to a stop just inside the doorway, saluting crisply. “Deputy Chief and Commander Andersen,” she announced formally. “I’ve brought Commander Smith as requested.”

Andersen nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, Commander Shireikan. That will be all. And... good work today.”

Hana hesitated briefly before nodding. “Yes, sir.” Her eyes flicked to John, lingering for a moment as if she wanted to say something, but she turned and exited without another word.

The door slid shut behind her, and the silence that followed was heavy. John, hands tucked into his pockets, took a few steps forward and surveyed the room. He didn’t sit, instead leaning casually against the edge of the desk, his eyes meeting Andersen’s.

“You’re not wasting any time, are you?” John remarked, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of wariness. “We barely got off the elevator.”

Andersen’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tone measured as he replied. “Time isn’t a luxury we can afford right now, John. Not with everything that’s happened.”

John nodded slowly, straightening and crossing his arms. “Let me guess. The heretics, the Pilgrims, and—” his voice lowered slightly, almost conspiratorial—“Marian.”

Andersen’s expression didn’t change, but his tone sharpened. “You’ve made waves. Fighting two heretics and somehow surviving is one thing. Bringing back a corrupted Nikke and restoring her to humanity is another.”

John gave a faint shrug. “We did what needed to be done. I assume you’re not here to congratulate me.”

Andersen leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Do you understand what kind of attention this brings? This isn’t something we can sweep under the rug. People will ask questions. They’ll dig. The central government won’t let this stay quiet for long.”

John’s expression darkened, and he let out a soft sigh. “And when they dig, they’ll find things that shouldn’t be found. Isn’t that right?”

Andersen didn’t respond immediately. He studied John for a moment, his gaze steady. “You’ve worked hard to keep your origins out of the spotlight,” he said finally. “If this gets out, that effort will be for nothing.”

“I know,” John said quietly. He stepped back, pacing slowly across the room. “The government loves a good story, though, don’t they? The heroic commander, the loyal squad, the miraculous recovery of a corrupted heretic. They’ll spin it however they want.”

“And they’ll spin you,” Andersen added pointedly. “Into every headline, every broadcast. And sooner or later, someone will ask the wrong questions. Questions about you. About your past. About... them.”

John stopped pacing, his shoulders stiffening. He didn’t turn, his voice low. “The Jujutsu Society won’t tolerate attention. They’ve already made it clear what happens to people who stray too far from their shadows.”

Andersen sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Exactly. The central government doesn’t understand what they’d be dealing with. To them, you’re a tool—a convenient symbol. They don’t care about the risks they’d be inviting.”

John turned, his expression guarded. “So what’s your plan? Keep me hidden forever? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“For now, I’ve kept the story contained,” Andersen said, his tone deliberate. “The official reports are classified. The leadership hasn’t pushed too hard yet, but that won’t last. Eventually, someone will leak it, or the central government will decide it’s too good a story to let slip through their fingers.”

John let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “They’ll use me until it blows up in their faces.”

Andersen’s gaze didn’t waver. “We need to control the narrative before they do.”

John crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “I already have an idea on how. Give the glory to someone else. Commander Shireikan’s photogenic, and already has Absolute backing her. She’d be perfect for the propaganda machine.”

Andersen’s brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” John pressed, his tone sharper now. “You and I both know how tightly the ark controls the media. I’ve lost count of the number of supposed gas pipe explosions whenever exorcizing a curse drags too much attention.”

Andersen’s expression darkened slightly. “Giving her credit might deflect attention temporarily, but it won’t erase the questions surrounding your involvement. People in Central aren’t stupid. They’ll keep digging.”

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Great.”

“For now, the priority is keeping you and the Counters out of the spotlight entirely,” Andersen said firmly. “If they can’t find you, they can’t use you.”

John gave a faint, humorless laugh. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want me noticed, you sure keep giving me the biggest problems to fix.”

Andersen allowed a rare flicker of amusement to cross his face. “And yet, you always manage to fix them.”

John exhaled slowly, his gaze steady as he met Andersen’s eyes. “ I’ll lay low. But if this thing blows up, don’t expect me to play along. I’m not some pawn for their games.”

“Understood,” Andersen replied evenly. “We’ll handle it before it comes to that.”

John straightened, his casual demeanor slipping back into place. “Good. Because I’m already overdue for a drink with my team.”

Andersen nodded, his voice softening slightly. “Go. But stay sharp, John. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

John hadn’t fully turned to leave the office when Andersen’s voice stopped him mid-step.

“There’s one more thing, John,” Andersen said, his tone heavier than before.

John turned back, his casual demeanor replaced by quiet attentiveness. “Let me guess,” he said dryly. “It’s about Marian.”

Andersen nodded, standing and stepping around his desk to lean against its edge, his hands resting on its surface. “You’re right. While the story of her recovery is miraculous—and useful for morale—it’s also dangerous.”

John crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. “Dangerous how?”

“Marian’s condition isn’t just a medical anomaly,” Andersen replied, his voice measured. “She’s a fusion of Rapture and Ark technology. Something no one’s seen before, and something a lot of people want to get their hands on.”

John’s expression darkened. “How bad is it?”

Andersen’s gaze hardened, his tone taking on a sharper edge. “It’s bad. The people interested in her aren’t subordinates I can order around or bureaucrats I can ignore. They’re people at my rank—or higher.”

John let out a slow breath, his arms dropping to his sides as he paced the room. “So, what? Everyone wants to dismantle her and see what makes her tick?”

“That’s the mild version,” Andersen said grimly. “There’s no shortage of speculation about what her existence could mean. Is she a weapon? A tool to reverse-engineer Rapture technology? Or worse, proof that corruption can be weaponized and controlled?”

John stopped, turning to face Andersen fully. “And you? What’s your stance on all this?”

Andersen’s jaw tightened. “My options are limited. I can’t directly block anyone at my level from pursuing her, and I don’t have the authority to protect her outright. All I can do is advise you to stay vigilant. Keep her close, and don’t let her out of your sight unless absolutely necessary.”

John ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “Not exactly a plan, is it?”

“It’s the best I can offer,” Andersen said, his voice firm. “For now.”

The silence between them hung heavy for a moment before Andersen continued. “There’s one request I need to mention. Ingrid, the CEO of Elysion, has asked to examine Marian.”

John’s frown deepened. “Marian is an Elysion Nikke,” he said slowly. “So, I guess it makes sense she’d be interested. Can you vouch for her?”

“I can,” Andersen replied with a nod. “Ingrid’s intentions are usually transparent. She’s loyal to Ark and humanity as a whole. But not everyone around her shares that perspective. If you agree, tread carefully.”

John leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “You’re awfully involved in this for someone with limited options,” he said, his tone probing. “Most people in your position would be scrambling to take her apart for the ‘betterment of humanity.’ But you’re helping. Why?”

Andersen’s gaze drifted past John, his eyes distant as though he were looking far beyond the walls of his office. He remained silent for a moment, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter but laced with a solemn gravity. “Because I owe them.”

John tilted his head slightly. “Them?”

“The Nikkes,” Andersen said, his gaze still distant. “All the ones who lost their lives defending humanity. They were built to fight for us, to die for us. And too many of them never got a choice in the matter.”

His hands tightened on the edge of the desk as his voice grew steadier. “Marian’s recovery might not mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a small consolation. A way to say that not every Nikke has to be reduced to a tool or a weapon.”

John studied him, his usual smirk absent as he nodded slowly. “That’s fair,” he said quietly. “And... thanks. For trying.”

Andersen’s eyes refocused on John, his expression firm but not unkind. “Don’t thank me yet. Keeping her safe is going to be a battle all its own. And if you’re not careful, it won’t just be her they come after.”

John straightened, his usual casual demeanor slipping back into place as he gestured toward the door. “Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me, then.”

“Good,” Andersen said, his voice carrying a note of finality. “Stay sharp, John. And don’t let your guard down—not for a second. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m late for a meeting.”

John left Andersen’s office and walked briskly through the sterile corridors of the Central Government office building, the faint echo of his boots the only sound accompanying him. As he approached a turn, his comm device buzzed. He pulled it out and glanced at the display. Shifty’s name flashed across the screen. He pressed to answer and brought the device to his ear.

“Shifty,” he greeted casually. “What’s up?”

“Commander,” Shifty replied, her tone efficient but tinged with a hint of curiosity. “I’ve just been informed that Deputy Chief Burningum has requested your presence. Apparently, it’s a matter he wants to discuss personally.”

John’s brow furrowed slightly, though his voice remained light. “That fat prick Burningum, huh? Fancy that. Any idea what it’s about?”

“No specifics,” Shifty replied. “The message was brief and formal. Just a request for you to meet with him as soon as possible.”

John let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, if it’s a request and not an order, then I’ve got time.”

“Commander...” Shifty’s voice carried a note of warning, though it stopped short of being scolding. “You should still—”

“I’ll get to it, don’t worry,” John interrupted, his tone breezy. “But not right away. There’s something else I need to handle first.”

“What could possibly take precedence over a Deputy Chief’s request?” Shifty asked, a faint edge of exasperation creeping into her voice.

“Shopping,” John said simply, his grin audible in his tone.

“Shopping,” Shifty repeated flatly, clearly unimpressed.

“Shopping,” John confirmed, turning down another corridor with a faint whistle. “I promised the team drinks and snacks to celebrate. Can’t let them down, can I?”

Shifty sighed audibly. “Commander, you do realize this could be important.”

John nodded to himself as he reached the corridor leading to the exit. “And it probably is,” he admitted. “But since it’s not urgent, I figure I can afford to be a little late. Besides, we’ve all had a long day. I could use the break.”

Shifty was silent for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Just... don’t take too long.”

“Noted,” John replied cheerfully. “I’ll make it quick.”

He ended the call and slipped the comm device back into his pocket. Stepping through the exit, he was greeted by the faint hum of activity outside the Ark’s administrative buildings. He adjusted his jacket slightly, a small grin tugging at his lips as he headed toward the bustling market area.

-

Deputy Chief Burningum stood in his dimly lit office, his fingers twitching slightly as he stacked the last of the neatly organized files on his desk. The glow of the Ark’s lights outside illuminated the room, casting long shadows on the walls. His expression was taut with irritation, his lips pressed into a thin line. He adjusted his collar with a quick, jittery movement before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Late,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with both nervousness and annoyance.

The door slid open abruptly, and John sauntered in, the quiet hum of the corridor spilling briefly into the room before the door hissed shut again. He was laden with bags, the faint clink of bottles audible as he set them down on a chair. One of the bags contained apple pies, and John was already eating from one of the open boxes, a fork in hand.

“Evening, Deputy Chief,” John greeted casually, his tone light as he took another bite. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Burningum blinked, his irritation flaring briefly before he schooled his expression into something resembling calm. “Commander S-Smith,” he stuttered, his voice tight. “You were supposed to be here h-hours ago.”

John gave him a wide grin, setting the half-eaten pie down on the desk without asking. “I got caught up,” he said breezily, gesturing to the bags. “Team needed supplies. Drinks, snacks, and, of course, pie. You want one?”

Burningum’s eye twitched slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he adjusted his glasses again and took a measured breath. “W-we have serious matters to discuss, Commander. This isn’t a s-social visit.”

John shrugged, leaning casually against the edge of the desk. “I figured as much,” he said, gesturing for Burningum to continue. “So, what’s so urgent?”

Burningum hesitated, his fingers drumming nervously on the desk before he waved a hand, activating the holographic display. Rotating images of Marian appeared above the desk, showing her pre- and post-recovery states. Burningum’s hands stilled, his expression tightening as he spoke.

“It’s about M-Marian,” he began, his voice shaky but growing steadier as he went on. “She is... unique. An unp-p-precedented fusion of Rapture and Ark technology.”

John’s easygoing expression faded slightly, his gaze sharpening as he watched the images. “Go on.”

Burningum cleared his throat, his gaze darting to the holograms. “If w-we could study her systems, d-dissect the mechanisms behind her recovery, we could advance the Ark’s technology by fifty—n-no, maybe a hundred years. The benefits to humanity would be... incalculable.”

John straightened, crossing his arms as his voice hardened. “And what happens to Marian during this little scientific breakthrough of yours?”

Burningum faltered slightly, his nervous fingers twitching again, but he pushed through. “I-it’s not about what happens to her. It’s about what she represents. S-s-sacrifices must be made for the g-greater good, Commander. Surely, you can see that.”

John’s jaw tightened, and he took a deliberate step closer, his voice lowering. “She’s not a sacrifice. She’s a person. A Nikke who’s already been through hell. You think it’s okay to turn her into a science experiment?”

Burningum adjusted his glasses again, his movements jerky but his tone firmer now. “I-I’m not unsympathetic, Commander. But this isn’t about emotions. It’s about s-survival. Humanity is fighting a losing battle, and if M-Marian’s existence can help us win—”

John cut him off, his tone icy. “At what cost? You strip her apart for your data, and then what? You justify turning every Nikke into a tool. That’s not survival. That’s cruelty.”

Burningum flinched at the sharpness of John’s words but held his ground, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. “T-this isn’t about cruelty, Commander. It’s about practicality. If we d-don’t adapt, we won’t survive.”

John stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get where you’re coming from,” he said quietly. “But Marian isn’t just a pile of tech. She’s my responsibility, and I’m not handing her over.”

Burningum’s gaze flicked to the hologram, then back to John. “You’re making a m-m-mistake,” he said, his voice quivering but firm. “Others won’t be as willing to negotiate. They’ll t-take her by force if they have to.”

John leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Let them try.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the two men locked in a silent standoff. Finally, Burningum sighed, his hands relaxing slightly as he deactivated the hologram. “Very well, Commander,” he said, his tone resigned but still carrying a hint of his earlier resolve. “But don’t expect this to end here. People less accommodating than me will come for her. Be ready.”

John straightened, his usual smirk returning as he grabbed the half-eaten pie from the desk. “Always am,” he said lightly, turning toward the door. “Good chat, Deputy Chief. You should try the pie—it’s pretty good.”

Burningum said nothing as the door slid shut behind John, his gaze lingering on the empty space where the Commander had stood. With a heavy sigh, he adjusted his collar once more, his hands twitching as he turned back to his desk.

-

John leaned against the wall of the elevator, the faint hum of its ascent the only sound in the enclosed space. He took another slow bite of the apple pie, chewing thoughtfully. The taste was familiar—warm cinnamon and soft, flaky crust—but there was something missing. It wasn’t as sweet as he remembered, and the flavor seemed muted, almost hollow. He stared at the half-eaten pie in his hand, brow furrowing slightly.

“Did they change the recipe?” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the low whir of the elevator. “Or is it just me?”

He sighed, shaking his head as he took another bite. The sweetness he was searching for still eluded him, but he chewed and swallowed regardless. The elevator slowed, the hum softening as it neared its destination. With a faint hiss, the doors slid open, revealing the lively bustle of the outpost.

Stepping out, John adjusted his jacket and pocketed the remainder of the pie, his boots clicking softly against the floor. The outpost was alive with movement. Nikkes moved about in groups, their laughter and chatter filling the air with a vibrant energy. Some carried supplies, others leaned against walls, sharing stories and smiles.

John’s gaze swept over the scene, taking in the familiar sight of camaraderie. Despite everything, there was still a sense of normalcy here—a fleeting but welcome reprieve from the weight of the larger conflicts they faced.

A few Nikkes nodded in acknowledgment as he passed, and he returned their greetings with a faint smile and a casual wave. He kept his pace steady, weaving through the small clusters of activity as he made his way toward the outpost’s command room.

As he approached, the hum of conversation faded slightly, replaced by the quiet efficiency of the command center’s operations. The doors ahead slid open as he neared and John stepped inside, his demeanor shifting slightly as he straightened his posture. His earlier musings about apple pie were pushed to the back of his mind, replaced by the quiet resolve that always accompanied his return to the heart of the outpost. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the room for any immediate signs of trouble, before making his way toward the commander’s office.

The soft murmur of voices accompanied him as he moved through the command center, but his thoughts were already shifting toward the next challenge. Whatever awaited him here, he knew it would be one more step in the delicate dance of survival, strategy, and secrecy. And while the sweetness of the pie still lingered faintly on his tongue, it was the bitterness of reality that pressed most heavily on his mind.

John pushed open the door to the commander’s room, stepping inside with a faint smirk already forming on his face. The scene before him was as lively as he’d expected—Neon and Anis sprawled out on the couch, their limbs in a tangled mess as they watched a comedy show on the wall-mounted TV. Neon’s laughter was loud and uninhibited, while Anis alternated between giggling and teasing her companion.

On a chair a short distance away, Marian sat alone, her posture stiff as she watched the screen. Her hands rested in her lap, and while her eyes were on the TV, her expression was distant, as though her mind was somewhere else entirely.

John let the door close behind him with a soft click, the sound drawing Neon’s attention. She twisted around on the couch, her face lighting up when she saw him.

“Commander!” Neon called out, waving energetically. “You’re back!”

“About time!” Anis added, her grin wide as she sat up. “We were starting to think you got lost.”

John held up the bags he was carrying, the bottles clinking together audibly. “Just picking up the essentials,” he said, his tone casual as he walked further into the room. “Snacks, drinks, and enough apple pies to keep you all quiet.”

That earned a cheer from Neon, who scrambled to her feet and darted toward him. Anis followed close behind, her hands already outstretched as she reached for one of the bags.

John pulled it back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Patience, Neon, Anis,” he teased. “We’re doing this properly.”

As he set the bags down on the central table, the door to one of the closets creaked open, and Rapi stepped out. Her expression was as composed as ever, though her eyes softened slightly when she saw him.

“You’re late,” Rapi said, her tone even but carrying a faint trace of amusement.

“Fashionably,” John replied with a grin. “Had to make sure I got the good stuff.”

Marian looked up from her chair as the others began to gather around the table, her gaze lingering on the bags. John caught her glance and smiled warmly. “Come on, Marian,” he said, waving her over. “You’re part of this too.”

She hesitated for a moment before standing, her steps slow as she joined the group. Neon had already started sorting through the bags, pulling out drinks and snacks with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Chips, candy, soda—ooh, vodka!” Anis exclaimed, holding up a bottle triumphantly.

John took the bottle from her hand, his grin widening. “Hold on to that thought,” he said. “Let’s make this a celebration.”

He handed out the snacks and drinks, ensuring everyone had something in hand before distributing the apple pies. The room filled with chatter and laughter as Neon and Anis clinked their glasses together, toasting loudly to their success. Even Rapi allowed herself a small sip of her drink, her usual stoicism giving way to a subtle smile.

Marian sat quietly among them, holding a slice of apple pie but not eating. She glanced around at the others, her expression softening slightly, though her attempts to join in felt muted. Her laugh was quiet, and she often fell silent, her gaze drifting back to her pie.

He grabbed a napkin from the table and held it up with both hands. “Alright,” he said loudly, his voice cutting through the chatter and drawing everyone’s attention. “Time for a little show.”

The others turned toward him, curiosity lighting up their faces. “What’s he up to now?” Neon whispered to Anis, who shrugged but leaned forward with interest.

John held up the napkin dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, observe,” he said, his voice mock-serious. “A simple napkin. Nothing special about it.” He waved it around, flipping it in his hands to show both sides.

“Commander,” Anis drawled, her eyebrow arching, “if you’re about to fold that into a swan or something, I’m gonna be real disappointed.”

“Shh,” Neon hissed. “Let him cook!”

John smirked and crumpled the napkin into a ball, holding it tightly in one hand. “Now, watch closely. No blinking.” He waved his other hand over the balled-up napkin, murmuring something under his breath as he slowly opened his hand—revealing that the napkin had vanished entirely.

Neon’s jaw dropped. “What?!” she exclaimed, standing up in shock. “Where did it go?”

Anis squinted at his hands. “Okay, good sleight of hand, but come on, Commander. Where’s the payoff?”

“Patience,” John said, his grin widening. He stood up and reached toward Rapi, who was sitting quietly with her arms crossed. She gave him a skeptical look as he reached toward her pocket.

“Don’t even think about—” she started, but John pulled his hand back, holding the same crumpled napkin between his fingers.

“Ta-da!” he said, bowing theatrically as he presented it to the group.

Neon clapped excitedly. “How did you do that?!”

“Seriously,” Anis added, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure it out. “When did you even get near her pocket?”

Rapi raised an eyebrow, taking the napkin from him with a faint smirk. “Impressive,” she said, her voice neutral but carrying a note of amusement. “Though I’m still debating if I should call this magic or pickpocketing.”

“Call it whatever you want,” John replied with a wink, sitting back down. “But you have to admit, it was good.”

Even Marian managed a small smile, her quiet laugh escaping as she shook her head. “That was... impressive,” she said softly.

“Only the best for my team,” John said, his grin widening as he leaned back. “Now, let’s get back to celebrating. Marian, this includes you. We’ve got plenty of pie.”

-

Back in Andersen’s office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Andersen sat calmly behind his desk, his fingers interlaced in front of him. Across from him, Commander Hana Shireikan sat upright, her posture stiff and her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. Beside her, Eunhwa leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and her expression dark with barely concealed anger.

“The decision has been made,” Andersen said evenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “The mission report will be updated to include Absolute as co-participants in the operation alongside the Counters.”

Hana blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Co-participants?” she repeated slowly, disbelief lacing her tone. “But Absolute wasn’t there. Commander Smith and the Counters handled that mission alone. How can we—”

“—be credited for something we didn’t do?” Eunhwa snapped, her sharp voice cutting across Hana’s. Her arms uncrossed as she leaned forward, her glare piercing. “This isn’t just dishonest—it’s an insult to everything Absolute has worked towards.”

Andersen leaned back slightly, folding his hands in front of him. “This isn’t about honesty or who was present,” he said, his tone even but firm. “It’s about ensuring that the success of this mission is framed in a way that benefits the Ark as a whole.”

Hana frowned deeply, her grip on the table tightening. “And how does giving us credit benefit the Ark?”

Andersen gestured toward the hologram. “This mission isn’t just a tactical victory. It’s a political opportunity. The central government has taken an interest in the defeat of two heretics and the recovery of Marian. They want a face for this success—one that represents strength, cooperation, and stability.”

Hana’s expression darkened. “Why not give the Counters the credit they deserve? They’re the ones who earned it.”

“Because the Counters—and Commander Smith—cannot afford the scrutiny that comes with it,” Andersen replied, his tone clipped. “Smith himself requested this adjustment.”

Both Hana and Eunhwa froze, their eyes snapping to Andersen.

“What?” Hana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Andersen nodded, his gaze steady. “It was Smith’s idea. He came to me directly, asking to share the credit with Absolute.”

Eunhwa’s scowl deepened, and she leaned forward, her hands slamming onto the table. “You’re telling me he wanted this? That he thought this was a good idea? Why the hell would he do that?”

Andersen’s voice softened slightly, though his expression remained firm. “Because he understands the political landscape better than most. If the Counters take sole credit, it puts them—and Smith himself—under a microscope. Questions would be asked about his methods, his leadership, and most importantly, his past. He wanted to avoid that, and he trusted Absolute to carry the spotlight.”

Hana’s lips parted slightly, her expression a mix of surprise and realization. “He did this... to protect his team?”

“Yes,” Andersen confirmed. “And to ensure the narrative remains controlled. By sharing the credit, the story focuses on teamwork and unity, while avoiding unnecessary scrutiny on Smith and the Counters.”

Eunhwa let out a sharp breath, her fists clenching. “That’s a load of crap. If he wants to hide, fine, but don’t drag us into it. We didn’t fight those heretics, and I’m not about to play along like we did.”

Andersen’s gaze shifted to her, his tone firm. “This isn’t about hiding, Eunhwa. It’s about protecting the people who fought that battle—and protecting the Ark from the fallout of questions we’re not ready to answer.”

Hana glanced at Eunhwa, then back at Andersen. “But it’s still not fair,” she said quietly. “The Counters did the work. They made the sacrifices.”

“And that will be acknowledged,” Andersen said. “This isn’t about taking full credit. It’s about sharing it. Both squads will be recognized, but Absolute will take a more prominent role in the narrative. It’s a compromise.”

Eunhwa pushed back from the table, standing abruptly. “It’s a damn insult, that’s what it is. You can do what you want, but don’t expect me to like it.” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and marched toward the door, her boots echoing sharply against the floor. She paused briefly at the threshold, her hand gripping the frame tightly, before muttering, “Absolute doesn’t need someone else’s achievements to prove its worth, especially not hers!”

Hana watched her go, her expression conflicted. She turned back to Andersen, her voice hesitant. “She’s not wrong. It feels... wrong to take any credit for this. But if John wanted this—”

“—His situation is complicated,” Andersen said, cutting her off gently. “He knows Absolute is capable of handling this responsibility without letting it spiral out of control.”

Hana was silent for a long moment, her hands tightening into fists on the table. Finally, she sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Alright,” she said quietly. “If this is what he wanted, I’ll support it. But I don’t have to like it.”

Andersen nodded, his tone softening. “Thank you, Commander. Your cooperation means a great deal, both to me and to Smith.”

Hana stood, her expression still conflicted. “Just make sure the Counters get the credit they deserve. They earned this more than anyone.”

“They will,” Andersen assured her.

Hana studied him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. She turned and made her way to the door, the sound of her boots softer than Eunhwa’s sharp departure. As the door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, the room fell into a quiet stillness.

On Andersen’s desk, the cover of a dossier remained open—a summary of Commander Hana Shireikan’s operational history. The text detailed her service record:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Commander: Hana Shireikan
Assigned Unit: Absolute
Blood Type: [REDACTED]
Current Rank: Commander
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Operational History:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Operation Fall: Assigned to Commander Silver Gun – Status: REDACTED
Reassigned to Commander John Smith – Rationale: Internal Directive

Operation Spearhead: Assigned 0F-R1 – Primary Objective Secured – No Casualties Reported

Operation Shieldwall: Assigned 4T-9U – Commanded Forces to Secure Perimeter – Status: Successful – No Casualties Reported

Operation Knockbolt: Assigned Absolute – Secured Heavy Mineral Deposit – Perimeter Successfully Secured – No Casualties Reported

Operation Dawnfire: Assigned Absolute – Priority Assets Retrieved – Heavy Enemy Resistance Overcome – No Casualties Reported – Commendation Recommended: Denied

Operation Snowfall: Assigned Absolute – Joint Operation with Counters – Link Established with Northern Research Base – Encountered Two Heretics and Defeated Them – Retrieved Former Heretic Marian – No Casualties Reported – Commendation Recommended: TBD

Chapter Text

The world around John was a warped, hellish reflection of reality. The sky above churned with oppressive black clouds, streaked with crimson light that pulsed like a heartbeat. The ground beneath him was jagged and fractured, as though it had been shattered by unimaginable force. Scattered across the landscape were the frozen forms of the Counters—Rapi, Anis, and Neon—distorted into grotesque statues.

Each figure bore the horrifying marks of Mahito’s Idle Transfiguration, their bodies warped into impossible shapes that defied nature. Rapi’s arms twisted into jagged, spear-like appendages, her face locked in a scream of anguish. Anis’s torso spiraled grotesquely, her limbs stretched and splintered as though made of brittle glass. Neon’s form was hunched, her head sunk into her chest, with one of her eyes bulging unnaturally.

Standing amidst them was Mahito, his patchwork face splitting into a sadistic grin as he inspected his handiwork. His fingers glided along Rapi’s frozen form, her statue trembling as if her soul were still alive within it.

“Humans and Nikkes,” Mahito mused, his voice like silk laced with poison. “Such fragile souls. So easy to mold, to break.”

John tried to move, to scream, to fight back—but his body refused to respond. His legs felt as if they were anchored to the ground, his arms heavy and lifeless. He was a helpless spectator, forced to watch the nightmare unfold.

“John…” The faint voice made him turn sharply, his heart lurching as he saw them.

Cinder and Echo stood nearby, their figures shadowed and indistinct, their eyes glowing faintly like dying embers. The two Nikkes he had failed to save. Their voices were cold and sharp, filled with mockery that cut deeper than any blade.

“You couldn’t save us,” Cinder whispered, her tone filled with venom.

“And you won’t save them either,” Echo added, her voice overlapping with Cinder’s like a haunting harmony. “That’s all you are, isn’t it? A tool that breaks when it’s needed most.”

Mahito laughed, the sound a chilling mix of delight and cruelty. “They’re not wrong, you know,” he said, stepping toward Neon’s distorted form. “You like to think you’re a hero, but deep down, you know the truth. You destroy more than you save.”

John’s chest heaved as he fought against the paralysis, his voice barely escaping his throat. “No… I won’t let this happen.”

Mahito tilted his head, his grin widening. “Won’t let it happen? It already has.”

With a flick of Mahito’s fingers, Rapi’s warped body cracked and splintered, pieces of her crumbling away like shattered stone. The cacophony of her breaking echoed in John’s ears, drowning out his desperate scream.

The mocking voices of Cinder and Echo grew louder, a cruel symphony of guilt. The twisted statues of the Counters loomed closer, as if closing in on him. Their frozen expressions of pain burned into his mind, a vivid reminder of everything he feared he would lose.

John jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The darkness of his quarters surrounded him, but the oppressive weight of the nightmare lingered. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to steady the pounding in his chest. The faces of his team, twisted and broken, still lingered in his mind’s eye.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hands trembling as he reached for his comm device on the bedside table. His fingers hovered over the screen before he typed out a quick message to Takumi

He hit send and stared at the glowing screen, his chest still tight as he fought to push the nightmare to the back of his mind. The fear, the guilt—it all felt too real, too heavy to face.

Not again.

-

The Ark’s cold, early morning streets stretched endlessly ahead as Takumi Gojo, tall and lean with his signature gray hair slightly disheveled, adjusted the collar of his coat. His pulled his phone from his pocket, the faint light from the screen casting a glow as he re-read the message from John:

“Outpost. Elevator. We need to talk.”

John’s message was brief but direct, as always. Takumi slipped the phone back into his pocket, a faint frown tugging at his lips. Something about this felt wrong. John rarely reached out unless something was pressing, and the unspoken urgency in the text lingered in Takumi’s mind. He quickened his pace, heading toward the outpost elevator.

As he approached, Takumi slowed, his eyes narrowing slightly. A faint ripple of energy brushed against his senses—a detection barrier, subtle but unmistakable. He paused, his sharp gaze tracing the space around the elevator.

“John,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low, “what are you playing at?”

The barrier was expertly crafted, woven with care and precision. It wasn’t intrusive, but its presence was almost imperceptible—a net designed to catch the faintest disturbances. Takumi recognized the craftsmanship immediately; it had John’s touch all over it.

“Why would he bother with this here?” Takumi wondered aloud, his frown deepening. He considered the possibilities and sighed, stepping into the elevator. “It’s probably tied to his latest mess.”

The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, the elevator humming as it began its ascent. But before the first floor passed, the doors abruptly opened again. Three men stepped in, their military-grade uniforms and weapons marking them as professionals. Their movements were controlled, their gazes cold as they sized up Takumi.

One of them gestured sharply. “Against the wall. Now.”

Takumi’s face betrayed no emotion. His hands remained at his sides as he slowly turned to face the speaker. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” the man snapped. “Hands where we can see them. Move.”

Takumi’s eyes swept over the group, his expression calm but calculating. He made no effort to move, his voice quiet and measured. “None of you are official Ark military personnel, are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the leader replied, stepping closer, pointing his rifle at Takumi’s head. “You’ll do as you’re told, or this gets ugly.”

Takumi didn’t answer. His posture remained relaxed, his hands still at his sides. The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the view as the tension in the enclosed space rose.

-

John leaned against the wall near the elevator, arms crossed, his slouched posture betraying his exhaustion. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, a testament to nights without rest. He tapped the railing absently, his focus fixed on the glowing elevator numbers ticking upward.

The elevator chimed softly, the doors sliding open.

John raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. Three mercenaries were slumped unconscious on the floor of the elevator, their weapons scattered haphazardly around them. Takumi stepped over one of them with deliberate calm, adjusting his coat as though he’d merely brushed off some dust.

“Care to explain this?” John asked, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor as he gestured to the mercenaries.

Takumi’s sharp gaze flicked to John, his brow furrowing slightly. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

John let out a tired chuckle, pushing off the wall. “Welcome to the party,” he said lightly. “You should’ve RSVP’d.”

Takumi stepped out of the elevator, his attention lingering briefly on John’s face. “You look like hell,” he said bluntly. “When was the last time you slept?”

John shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Sleep’s overrated. I hear it’s bad for sanity.”

Takumi’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a joke, John.”

“Who’s joking?” John countered, spreading his arms slightly. “You’re looking at the result of hard work and caffeine dependency.”

Takumi crossed his arms, his voice hardening. “What’s going on?”

John’s smirk faded, and he let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. “For the past few days, groups like this have been trying to infiltrate the outpost. Mercs, bounty hunters—take your pick. Their target’s Marian.”

Takumi’s jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing, letting John continue.

“Since Nikkes can’t harm humans, dealing with these guys falls on me. I’ve been using detection barriers to track them and taking them out before they get too far.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Takumi asked, his voice sharp.

John shook his head. “What would be the point? If the others knew, it’d just make things worse. They’re not able to handle this, and I’m not about to let them get tangled up in it.”

“So instead, you’ve been running yourself into the ground,” Takumi said flatly. “How many days has this been going on?”

John hesitated for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. “Three. Four, maybe?” He shrugged. “Honestly, time’s a blur.”

Takumi’s frown deepened. “Andersen doesn’t know about this either?”

John gave him a dry smirk, though it lacked his usual energy. “Oh, he knows. He’s been helping as much as he can, keeping things quiet and clearing what little red tape he’s allowed to. But even Andersen’s reach has limits. The situation’s... tricky.”

“Tricky,” Takumi repeated, his voice heavy with skepticism. “That’s your word for this?”

John rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “It’s accurate.”

Takumi studied him for a moment, noting the exhaustion etched into his features and the faint slump in his usually confident posture. He opened his mouth to say something more but stopped when John leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting toward the sky.

John leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “And it’s not just the mercs keeping me up,” he muttered. “The outpost expansion’s brought in some... interesting characters. Enough to make me want to start smoking again.”

Takumi, in the middle of lifting one of the unconscious mercenaries, froze. His sharp gaze snapped to John. “Start what again?”

John stiffened slightly, realizing his slip. “Uh... nothing.”

Takumi stood up straight, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “John,” he said, his tone carrying the unmistakable weight of disappointment. “Smoking?”

John let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, it’s not what you think. I used to smoke a little... back when I was assigned to the Outer Rim. It was a thing. Everyone was doing it.”

Takumi’s brow furrowed further. “And you thought that was a good idea?”

“I quit!” John said quickly, his ears reddening. “Turns out nicotine and I don’t mix. Made me jittery as hell. It was awful.”

Takumi let out a slow sigh, his disappointment palpable. “Let me get this straight. You were out there, surrounded by death and chaos, and you thought, ‘Hey, you know what I need? Something to add to the stress.’”

John winced, his embarrassment growing. “It was a dumb phase, okay? I gave it up years ago.”

“And now you’re thinking about picking it up again?” Takumi asked, his tone sharper.

“I didn’t say I was going to,” John said defensively. “I just... thought about it. For a second.”

Takumi shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Smoking’s bad, I’m an idiot. Can we move on now and deal with these idiots?”

Takumi’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. “For now. But if I catch you lighting up, you’re getting the full lecture.”

“Noted,” John muttered, grabbing one of the mercenaries. “Remind me to never share anything with you again.”

The two worked in silence, dragging the unconscious mercenaries to a discreet corner near a service hatch. Takumi’s movements were precise and efficient, his expression cool and unreadable, while John’s exhaustion showed in his slower pace and the occasional frustrated sigh.

Once the last of the mercs was stacked neatly out of sight, John pulled out his comms device. He quickly dialed in a report to the ACPU.

“Patrol team en route,” came the clipped response from the other end.

John stuffed the device into his pocket and turned to Takumi. “We’re done. Let’s go.”

Takumi raised an eyebrow. “You’re not waiting for them?”

John shot him a dry look. “Do I look like I’ve got the energy for handover paperwork? I’m sure the ACPU have got it handled.”

Takumi didn’t press, simply falling into step beside John as they walked down the dimly lit corridor. After a few moments of quiet, he cast a sidelong glance at John. “You mentioned ‘interesting characters’ earlier. Care to elaborate?”

John let out a long, weary sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ll meet them soon enough. Let’s just say... they’ve been keeping me sharp.”

Takumi raised an eyebrow. “Sharp how?”

John opened his mouth to answer, but his sharp gaze caught something glinting on the floor ahead. His hand shot out, gripping Takumi’s arm. “Wait—stop!”

But Takumi had already stepped forward, his boot landing squarely on the hidden mechanism. A soft click echoed through the corridor.

Both men froze as a small sphere launched into the air with a faint hiss. Takumi’s spectral chains lashed out instinctively, attempting to wrap around the device. The orb burst before the chains could fully enclose it, releasing a cloud of fine white powder. Flour billowed everywhere, coating them both in a pale haze.

Takumi coughed, swiping at his face as he glared at the remains of the device. “What in the world—?”

“Gotcha!” A cheerful voice rang out, followed by muffled laughter.

Two Nikkes stepped out from behind a nearby stack of crates. The first, with silver hair and an impossibly smug grin, gave a mock salute. “Old timer, you’re slipping,” Belorta quipped, her voice dripping with playful mockery.

Behind her, Mica peered out nervously, her hands fidgeting. “I told you this was too much,” she whispered, glancing anxiously at Takumi.

John groaned, brushing flour from his jacket. “Belorta. Mica. Should’ve known.”

“Old timer!” Belorta said brightly, her grin widening. “Just testing your reflexes. Gotta make sure you’re still sharp, you know.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Belorta, one of these days...”

Mica shuffled forward hesitantly, her voice soft. “We didn’t mean to scare you... um, really.” She glanced at Takumi, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty. “Who’s, uh, your friend?”

Belorta elbowed her, grinning. “Oh, that guy’s a super old timer. Probably even rustier than John.”

Takumi’s eyes narrowed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned his gaze to Belorta. “Belorta, was it? If this is how you introduce yourselves, I’m impressed you’re still standing.”

Belorta’s grin faltered for a second before returning full force. “We like to keep things exciting around here. Keeps the Commander young.”

John muttered something unintelligible under his breath, wiping flour from his hair. “She’s been doubling my blood pressure since she got here.”

Belorta threw him a mock offended look. “Come on, you know you love it. Admit it, we’ve been keeping your sixth sense sharp.”

Through gritted teeth, John muttered, “It has been improving my sense for traps, but that’s the only compliment you’re getting.”

Takumi let out a low chuckle. “I can see why you’re stressed. But you’ve got to admit, this kind of chaos has its charm.”

John shot him a look as the Carronades disappeared down the corridor, still giggling. Takumi brushed flour off his coat. “I’m surprised you haven’t sent them packing yet.”

John sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve thought about it. But they're practically kids. And, annoying as they are, they’ve kept me on my toes.”

Takumi clapped him on the shoulder, his expression softening. “Good to know you haven’t completely lost your patience.”

“Patience? I’m running on fumes,” John replied, rubbing his temple. “Let’s get out of here before something else explodes.”

-

The dim lighting of John’s commander room cast long shadows across the walls, the only sound the faint hum of the outpost’s systems. Takumi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on John, who stood by his desk, visibly exhausted. His face was pale, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed just how little rest he’d been getting.

John let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. “Even the little sleep I’ve been managing to get has been... less than restful.” He hesitated before continuing, his voice quieter. “Nightmares. Mahito.”

Takumi’s expression darkened. “I figured as much,” he said softly. “What kind of nightmares?”

John’s hands clenched slightly at his sides. “The kind where I watch everyone I care about get turned into... things. The Counters, the team, all twisted into something they’re not. And I can’t stop it.” He exhaled, forcing himself to meet Takumi’s gaze. “It’s not going to stop until I do something about it.”

Takumi frowned but didn’t interrupt, waiting for John to elaborate.

“I’ve been thinking,” John continued, leaning against the desk. “We can’t keep dancing around this. If Mahito’s out there, he’s not going to stop. We have to be proactive. I want to train the Counters in rudimentary sorcery techniques—just enough for them to survive in a worst-case scenario while I’m away.”

Takumi sat forward slightly, his brow furrowing. “Sorcery techniques? John, I’ve only met the Counters briefly, but from what I saw, none of them had enough cursed energy to suggest any sorcerer potential.”

John nodded, acknowledging the point. “You’re right. Outside of combat, they don’t show much. But I’ve noticed something during missions: when they’re in the thick of a fight, it’s like their cursed energy spikes. It’s not consistent, but it’s there. It reminds me of how some humans can sense cursed energy when they’re on the verge of death.”

Takumi’s frown deepened. “That’s... unusual, but not impossible. And your plan is to train them to draw out that energy intentionally?”

John straightened, his determination clear despite the weariness in his posture. “If we can. Worst-case scenario, we arm them with cursed tools to even the playing field.”

At that, Takumi raised an eyebrow. “Cursed tools?” He shook his head, sitting back. “That’s not going to be as simple as you think. If they need cursed tools, we’ll have to make them ourselves.”

John blinked, surprised. “Make them? The Jujutsu Society’s always been lax when it comes to cursed tools. There’s usually a surplus.”

Takumi let out a bitter laugh. “Not anymore. Over the past year, there’s been a massive spike in stolen or undocumented sales of cursed tools. Entire family caches have gone missing, and what’s left is being hoarded. The big families aren’t taking any chances now.”

John’s brow furrowed. “What’s driving that? I mean, cursed tools aren’t exactly the hottest commodity.”

Takumi’s expression darkened. “No one knows for sure, but it’s bad enough that the families have cracked down on distribution. If we want cursed tools, we’ll have to forge them ourselves—or barter directly, and that’s not a road we want to go down.”

John rubbed his jaw, processing the new information. “Great,” he muttered. “One more thing to add to the list.”

Takumi studied him for a moment before his tone softened. “John, I can’t let you do this.”

John’s gaze snapped to him, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do what?”

“Fight Mahito,” Takumi said firmly, leaning forward. “You’re not in the right state of mind for this. He’s already in your head, and going after him will only make things worse.”

Takumi leaned forward, his sharp gaze locking onto John. “Do you remember what happened the last time you fought Mahito?” His voice was measured but carried an undeniable edge. “You barely walked away. If that fight had gone on for another second, you’d be dead. And that’s not hyperbole, John.”

John’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately.

“I know,” John said finally, his tone low. “I remember.”

“Good,” Takumi said sharply. “Because let me remind you of something else—you haven’t been able to replicate whatever it was you pulled off in that fight. You landed a few hits that dealt proper damage to his soul, and you have no idea how or why it worked.”

John exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t just a few hits or some weird technique. It was something deeper. A phenomenon. But yeah, I haven’t figured out how to replicate it.”

“And until you do,” Takumi continued, leaning back slightly, “you’re a liability in that fight. Without that technique, you can’t touch him.”

Takumi continued, his voice firm but tinged with concern. “Out of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s managed to unlock reversed cursed technique. That alone puts me in a better position against Mahito. And neither of us has a domain, which means we’re fighting him on his terms from the start. The only reason I even stand a chance is because my spectral chains have minor effects on the soul.”

John’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not planning on going after him now,” he said firmly. “But we can work on that. We can figure out how to deal soul damage while we’re training the Counters.”

Takumi studied him carefully, his expression unreadable. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? Even if I say no, you’ll go after him.”

John’s gaze didn’t waver. “I have to. You know I do.”

Takumi let out a long breath, rubbing his temple. “You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” John replied, his tone dry.

Takumi sat in silence for a moment before leaning forward again. “Alright. Two weeks. If, in two weeks, we can figure out a reliable way for you to deal soul damage, I’ll go with you. But if we can’t, we drop this. Agreed?”

John extended his hand, his expression resolute. “Agreed.”

-

The soft hum of the outpost's systems filled the room as Marian stirred, the faint, artificial morning light seeping through the blinds. For a moment, she lay still, staring at the ceiling. Waking up in her own mind still felt surreal, as though Modernia’s chains might snap back into place the second she let her guard down.

Slowly, she sat up, her movements deliberate. Each motion was a test—a reassurance that she was still herself. Her legs brushed against the sleek armor she wore, its unfamiliar texture sending a faint shiver through her. She stood, her gaze drifting toward the mirror on the far side of the room. She paused, steeling herself, before taking slow steps forward.

When her reflection came into view, she froze. Her crimson eyes stared back, faintly glowing, an unearthly reminder of the monster she had been. Her hand rose instinctively to her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. The red eyes unsettled her; they seemed to accuse her silently, contrasting painfully with the gentle blue she remembered from before the corruption.

Her gaze dropped to her armor—dark, segmented plates with vibrant orange highlights. It was powerful, functional, but utterly foreign. Every strap she fastened felt like a binding chain, a reminder of what she had been forced to become. Her old uniform was gone, destroyed during her transformation, and now she had no choice but to wear this.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. You don’t have time for this, she told herself, dragging her gaze from the mirror. You’re here now. That’s all that matters. Yet no matter how much she rationalized it, the armor clung to her psyche like a second skin. She wasn’t Modernia anymore—but she wasn’t the Marian she once was, either.

A sharp beep broke the silence, pulling her attention to the comm device on her bedside table. She grabbed it, flipping the screen on to see a message from John.

"Team meeting later today. Special training. Be ready. Coordinates to follow."

Her fingers tightened around the device. Training. The word filled her with a strange mix of dread and resolve. Training meant battle preparation—danger. She couldn’t afford to falter, not after everything her team had done to save her.

“You’re not Modernia anymore,” she whispered aloud. “You’ve been given another chance. Don’t waste it.”

She tightened the straps of her armor, each movement more purposeful than the last. Despite her distaste for it, she couldn’t deny its functionality. It was a tool—just as she had been. But now, it would serve her, not the other way around.

Before leaving, she glanced at the mirror one last time. Her red eyes glinted, fierce and unsettling. They were a reminder of her past, yes, but also of her survival. The woman staring back wasn’t who she had been, but she was still standing. She was still fighting.

“Second chances don’t come often,” she murmured. “I won’t waste mine.”
Marian stepped out into the pavement of the outpost, the hum of activity rising around her. Nikkes moved in small groups, their conversations a blend of camaraderie and tension. She kept her head down, focusing on the path ahead. But as she passed, she felt their gazes—curious, cautious, and in some cases, cold.

“She came back from it,” one Nikke whispered near a storage bay. Her voice carried a mix of awe and disbelief. “Corruption’s supposed to be the end. But Marian... maybe there’s hope after all.”

Marian’s pace faltered. Hope. The word felt heavy, almost suffocating. Could she truly be a symbol of something so fragile?

Another voice reached her farther down, this one trembling with regret. “I had to do it. My squadmate turned right in front of me. If I’d been faster, smarter... maybe I could’ve saved her.” The voice cracked. “She showed it isn’t permanent. Maybe they wouldn’t have—”

The guilt in those words mirrored her own, sharp and cutting. Marian quickened her pace, her boots striking the floor harder as she fought to keep her composure.

Near the training ground, another voice froze her in place. “She’s walking around like she belongs here,” a Nikke muttered, her tone biting. “You know UH-G137? My friend’s squad? They went missing in the north—where she was. Coincidence?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“She’s a ticking time bomb,” the first continued. “The second she steps out of line, I’ll finish the job myself.”

Marian’s breath hitched. Their anger, their distrust—it wasn’t hers to carry. Straightening her back, she pushed forward. She couldn’t erase what she had done, but she could decide who she would become. And she wasn’t about to let them—or herself—forget it.

-

The training ground was a patch of uneven dirt and gravel just beyond the outpost, hastily repurposed for its new role. Rusted shipping containers formed a crude perimeter, their metal sides marked with dents and peeling paint. A few makeshift targets stood crookedly at one end, their surfaces riddled with scorch marks and bullet holes. Overhead, a tarp swayed gently in the artificial breeze generated by the outpost’s ventilation systems, offering scant protection from the harsh light that illuminated the area.

Takumi stood at the center of the space, his sharp eyes scanning the group before him. Rapi, Anis, Neon, and Marian stood in a loose semi-circle, their postures ranging from tense to curious. Nearby, John leaned against one of the containers, his arms crossed and his usual confidence dampened by fatigue.

Takumi cleared his throat, drawing the group’s attention. “Alright,” he began, his voice steady but edged with a note of caution. “What we’re doing here isn’t conventional. Sorcery isn’t something you can pick up like a new combat technique or a fancy gadget. It’s rooted in cursed energy—a force tied to negative emotions like fear, anger, and regret. Most people don’t have enough cursed energy to use it effectively. And from what I’ve seen so far... you’re in that category.”

Anis raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “So, what you’re saying is, we’re hopeless?”

“Not hopeless,” Takumi replied, his tone flat. “Just unlikely.”

Rapi’s arms remained crossed as she nodded slightly. “We’ve heard about sorcery before. The Commander gave us a summary—enough to know it’s not common.”

Neon tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “But Commander Smith uses it, right? And he’s human. If he can do it, why can’t we?”

Takumi glanced at John, raising an eyebrow as if silently asking, Really? John smirked and shrugged, clearly unbothered.

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Takumi said, his expression darkening with thought. “Under normal circumstances, cursed energy levels are fixed. What you’re born with is what you get—no exceptions. But John says he’s noticed something unusual about you.”

“Unusual how?” Rapi asked, her voice steady.

John stepped forward, his hands resting on his hips. “Your cursed energy spikes during combat. When the pressure’s on, it’s like a switch flips. It’s not consistent, and it’s not something I’ve seen in humans.”

“Great,” Anis said, throwing up her hands. “So we’re freaks. Good to know.”

“Not freaks,” John said, his tone calm but firm. “An anomaly. One I think we can use.”

Takumi crossed his arms, skepticism plain on his face. “Even if that’s true, spikes alone won’t cut it. Cursed energy needs to be controlled, refined. If they can’t sustain it, it’s useless.”

“That’s why we’re training,” John countered, his voice carrying a note of impatience. “If we can stabilize those spikes or teach them to control it, we might have something.”

“And if we can’t?” Takumi asked, though the answer was already clear.

John sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Plan B is cursed tools. But with everything going on—”

Takumi finished the thought, his tone dark. “With the families cracking down, tools aren’t a reliable option.”

“Exactly,” John said. “So we start here. It’s not perfect, but it’s all we’ve got.”

Takumi exhaled, his skepticism softening into reluctant acceptance. “Alright. Let’s see what they can do. But I wouldn’t expect miracles.”

He turned back to the group, his sharp gaze sweeping over them. “We’re starting with something simple. Sorcery isn’t about brute force—it’s about control. Close your eyes. Focus inward. Fear, anger, regret—these are the fuels of cursed energy. Let go of everything else and try to feel it.”

The Nikkes exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from skeptical to uncertain. Anis let out a loud sigh but complied, sitting cross-legged on the uneven ground. Neon mirrored her with an excited grin, while Rapi’s posture remained rigid as she closed her eyes. Marian hesitated but followed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

As the training began in earnest, the makeshift training ground became a quiet, focused space. The Nikkes worked to sense the faint, elusive flicker of cursed energy within themselves. Nearby, Takumi observed with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, his sharp eyes watching for any sign of progress. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The training continued under the pale light filtering through the makeshift tarp, the air filled with the occasional shuffle of movement and the low murmur of Takumi’s instructions. Despite their focus, progress was painfully slow. Takumi moved among the Counters, his sharp gaze scanning for any sign of cursed energy.

“Focus,” Takumi said for the third time, his tone calm but firm. “You’re looking for something that feels... foreign. Different from your usual sensations. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

“I’ve been focusing so hard my brain’s about to implode,” Anis muttered, her eyes squeezed shut. “And I still feel nothing.”

Neon let out a groan, tilting her head back. “Same. I don’t think this cursed energy stuff is for me.”

Rapi remained silent, her posture rigid as she concentrated, but the faint furrow of her brow betrayed her frustration.

John, standing a short distance away with Marian, folded his arms and watched them, his own expression a mix of exhaustion and contemplation. He could sense Marian’s cursed energy fluctuating, but she struggled to sustain it. Every time she got close, her focus would falter, and the faint spark would vanish.

Marian wiped sweat from her brow, her red eyes narrowing in frustration. “I don’t get it,” she said softly. “I can feel something, but it’s like... it slips away the moment I try to grab it.”

“It’s not easy,” John said, his tone patient. “It’s like flexing a muscle you didn’t know you had.”

Sighing, Takumi called for a short break, stepping back and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Alright, take five,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation. “Grab some water and reset. We’ll try again.”

The Nikkes didn’t need to be told twice. They moved toward the water bottles lined up on a nearby crate, their faces a mixture of relief and weariness. Marian lingered for a moment before following them, her steps slow and deliberate.

Takumi approached John, wiping a faint sheen of sweat from his brow. “Are you absolutely sure you felt their cursed energy fluctuate? Because from where I’m standing, it’s a dead end. I haven’t sensed anything remotely usable. Apart from Marian, Anis is the only one who posses levels slightly above what's normal for a civilian”

John leaned back against a rusted shipping container, his arms crossed. “I’m sure,” he said, though his tone carried a hint of weariness. “During combat, it’s there. It spikes. It’s subtle, but I can feel it.”

Takumi frowned. “John, let’s not kid ourselves—your ability to sense cursed energy is decent at best. If it’s as faint as you’re saying, it might just be background noise.”

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. This isn’t noise. It’s real, and I think the only way to bring it out is in the heat of combat.”

Takumi tilted his head, skeptical. “You’re suggesting a spar?”

John straightened, his posture firm. “Not just a spar. A proper fight. They need pressure—real pressure. If combat is what triggers the spikes, then combat is how we’ll draw it out.”

Takumi crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “It’s risky. If you’re wrong, you’ll just be pushing them for no reason.”

Pushing off the container, John turned to the group. “Alright, change of plans. We’re going to try something different. Anis.”

Anis, mid-sip from her water bottle, looked up with a start. “Uh... yeah, Commander?”

“You’re sparring with me,” John said simply, motioning her to step forward.

Anis blinked, lowering her bottle as a nervous chuckle escaped her. “Wait, what? Me? Why not Neon? She’s the one always bouncing around.”

“Hey!” Neon interjected, clearly offended. “I’m just energetic, thank you very much.”

John ignored her, keeping his gaze on Anis. “Takumi says you’ve got the most potential. If anyone’s going to break through, it’s you.”

Anis shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Rapi and Neon for support. “I mean... sure. But it’s just a spar, right? You’re not going full Commander-mode on me, are you?”

John’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “We’ll see.”

Anis let out a sigh, her posture loosening slightly as she stepped into the makeshift ring. “Alright, fine. Let’s do this. Just promise you won’t go too hard on me. I still need my face intact for—”

“It’s not just a spar,” John interrupted, his tone turning cold. “We’re fighting like it’s life or death.”

Anis froze mid-step, her eyes widening. “Wait, what?”

The other Nikkes exchanged alarmed glances. Neon’s usual grin faltered. “Uh, Commander... you’re joking, right?”

Rapi’s gaze narrowed as she studied him, her voice calm but edged with concern. “Commander, what exactly do you mean by ‘life or death’?”

John crossed his arms, his expression unyielding. “Cursed energy only surfaces under extreme pressure. That means fear, desperation, survival instincts. If we’re going to trigger it, I have to make Anis believe she’s in real danger.”

Anis’s face paled as she took a step back. “Wait, hold on! Real danger? You’re the Commander! You can’t actually—”

“As long as your head stays intact,” John said matter-of-factly, “you’ll be fine. And if not, we can bring you back.”

The air grew heavy with his words, the weight of the situation sinking in. Neon’s jaw dropped. “You’re... not serious, are you?”

John’s gaze didn’t waver. “Completely serious. Out there, curses aren’t going to hold back. If you don’t learn to fight under pressure, you’re dead. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Anis turned to Takumi, her voice tinged with panic. “You’re just going to let this happen? Aren’t you supposed to be the reasonable one?”

Takumi, who had been watching quietly, shrugged. “He’s not wrong. Fear and desperation can trigger cursed energy. But this is risky, even for you.”

“That’s not helping!” Anis snapped, her voice cracking slightly.

Rapi folded her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on John. “Commander, this is... extreme. Are you sure this is necessary?”

John glanced at her, his tone softening slightly. “Rapi, you’ve seen what’s out there. Curses don’t give second chances. If Anis can’t handle this here, she won’t survive out there.”

Rapi hesitated, her expression conflicted. Finally, she gave a small nod. “Fine. But don’t overdo it.”

Anis groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Great. Guess I’m just signing up to be a punching bag now.”

Neon piped up, her grin returning nervously. “You’ve got this, Anis! Think of it like an action movie! You’re the scrappy underdog about to unlock your hidden powers!”

“Scrappy underdog?” Anis muttered, rolling her shoulders as she reluctantly stepped into the ring. “I’m more like the sacrificial lamb.”

John smirked faintly, settling into a loose stance. “Come on, Anis. Show me what you’ve got.”

Anis hesitated for a moment longer, her fists clenching at her sides. “Fine,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

-

The makeshift training ground buzzed with tension as John and Anis squared off. The weight of John’s earlier words—"as long as your head stays intact"—hung in the air, an unspoken reminder of what was at stake. Anis stood across from him, her posture stiff and uncertain, her eyes darting to her teammates for reassurance.

“Commander,” she began nervously, her voice cracking. “You’re not really going to—”

“Begin,” Takumi interrupted sharply.

Before the word had fully left his mouth, John moved. He surged forward like a predator, closing the distance between them in an instant. Anis barely had time to register the blur of his movement before his boot connected with her stomach. The force of the kick was punishing, sending her flying backward. She landed hard on the uneven ground, skidding to a stop as the breath was knocked from her lungs.

She gasped, clutching her abdomen as she tried to push herself upright. Her head jerked up just in time to see John already looming over her, his boot descending toward her face. A bolt of panic shot through her, and she rolled to the side with a desperate grunt. The stomp hit the ground next to her with enough force to send a small cloud of dust into the air.

From the sidelines, the others watched in stunned silence. Neon’s eyes were wide, her hands clutching the edge of a crate. “He’s... serious,” she whispered.

Takumi remained quiet, his gaze narrowing as he studied John’s movements. Marian shifted uncomfortably, her red eyes flicking between the two figures in the ring. Rapi’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze fixed on every detail of the fight.

Anis staggered to her feet, her breathing labored as she wiped dirt from her face. Her glare locked onto John, frustration flickering in her eyes. She barely had time to reorient herself before John was on her again, his fist flying toward her face. She raised her arms instinctively, catching the blow on her forearms, but the force still sent her stumbling back.

She tried to counter with a wild swing, but John sidestepped effortlessly, his body moving with a fluidity that made her look clumsy by comparison. His knee shot up toward her midsection, but instead of driving it into her solar plexus, he shifted at the last moment, letting it glance off her side with enough force to send her reeling but not enough to incapacitate.

The strikes came faster now, each one precise and punishing. A kick aimed at her head arced downward at the last second, slamming into her shoulder instead. A jab that should have knocked her flat stopped just short, the air pressure alone enough to ruffle her hair. But not all his hits were softened—some landed squarely, leaving her gasping and stumbling to keep her footing.

From the sidelines, Neon winced with every impact. “What is he doing? He’s going to kill her!”

Takumi finally spoke, his tone calm but firm. “No, he’s not.”

Neon spun toward him, incredulous. “How can you say that? Did you see that kick?”

Takumi’s sharp eyes never left the fight. “He’s holding back. Look closely.”

Rapi, who had been silent until now, nodded slowly. “He’s right. If the Commander weren’t holding back, Anis wouldn’t still be standing. He’s not targeting weak points—joints, the throat, anything that would incapacitate her completely. He’s... pushing her.”

Neon’s gaze snapped back to the sparring pair. “Testing her? By turning her into a punching bag?”

Marian watched quietly, her red eyes narrowing. “Rapi’s right,” she said softly. “It’s brutal but it’s controlled.”

Anis groaned, clutching her stomach as she forced herself upright. Her legs trembled, and her glare wavered, but she didn’t back down. “You’re really not playing, huh?” she muttered through gritted teeth.

John tilted his head slightly, his posture relaxed but his presence intimidating. The message was clear: Get up, or stay down.

Anis wiped sweat from her brow, her jaw tightening. “Fine,” she growled, her voice low. “But don’t think I’m done yet.”

Anis let out a frustrated growl, throwing a series of wild punches. John deflected each one with ease, his movements calm and deliberate. He slipped inside her guard and swept her legs out from under her with a low kick. She hit the ground hard, groaning as she tried to scramble away.

“Think,” John said, his tone calm but firm. “You’re letting your emotions take over. Use them, but don’t let them control you. Find your focus.”

Anis groaned, rubbing her shoulder as she got back to her feet. This time, her movements were slower, more measured. She took a step back, her breathing steadying as she studied him.

Anis dodged another kick aimed at her midsection, barely managing to sidestep before countering with a swift jab. “Nice try,” John said, catching her fist with a deft block. Before she could react, he swept her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling to the ground once more.

Anis groaned, rolling to her knees as she spat dirt from her mouth. “You’ve got a funny definition of sparring, Commander,” she muttered, pushing herself upright.

John smirked, his stance relaxed but ready. “Sparring’s about learning. You’re learning, aren’t you?”

Before she could recover, John stepped behind her and locked his arms around her neck in a triangle choke, his legs wrapping tightly around her torso. Anis gasped, clawing at his forearm as the hold tightened. She struggled as much as she could, but John’s grip was like iron.

Anis’s struggles began to weaken. Her vision blurred as the lack of oxygen started to take its toll, and her movements became sluggish. John adjusted his hold slightly, preparing to release her before she passed out completely.

Then it happened.

Anis let out a guttural yell, her body surging with a strength that defied her earlier exhaustion. Her fingers clamped around John’s leg with a grip that nearly unbalanced him. Before he could react, she twisted violently, breaking his hold and forcing him to release her. She scrambled to her feet, panting heavily, her chest heaving as she glared at him with wild eyes.

From the sidelines, Neon gasped, practically jumping to her feet. “Did she just—?”

“She did,” Takumi said, his voice low but edged with interest. “Her cursed energy spiked. Brief, but it was there.”

Anis stood, fists clenched and trembling as she stared at John. Despite the sweat dripping down her face, her expression was alight with a new energy. Her earlier exhaustion seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced with a burning determination.

John straightened, brushing dirt off his shirt as he watched her. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “There it is.”

Anis blinked, her breath slowing as realization dawned on her. “That... that was cursed energy?”

John nodded, but his expression remained measured. “It was. And you used it without thinking.”

From the sidelines, Neon clapped her hands together, beaming. “That was awesome, Anis! You looked like a total badass out there!”

Anis staggered slightly, the adrenaline fading and the full weight of her exertion hitting her. “Yeah, well... next time, maybe he could try not choking me half to death.”

John chuckled softly, his smirk returning. “If I didn’t push you, you wouldn’t have gotten there. You’ll thank me later.”

Takumi stepped closer, his expression thoughtful, his sharp gaze assessing Anis like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. “Interesting,” he murmured. “The spike was brief, but the intensity was higher than expected. If we can figure out how to replicate that consistently...”

Anis gave him a weak thumbs-up before collapsing onto the ground, groaning as she lay flat on her back. “Fantastic. Can we call it a day now? I’ve earned a nap. And snacks. Lots of snacks.”

John crouched beside her, handing her a water bottle. “No naps yet. We’ve got more work to do.”

Anis groaned dramatically, though the faint smirk on her lips betrayed her pride. “You’re relentless, Commander.”

“Guilty,” John replied, standing and turning back to the group.

As John stepped away, Takumi knelt beside Anis, his sharp eyes narrowing as though studying a complex diagram. “What you experienced, Anis, wasn’t just raw emotion. It was instinct paired with energy, a surge responding to your desperation. In certain ancient traditions, this would be seen as a manifestation of internal power—like chi, flowing through the body and ignited by intense focus and emotion.”

Anis groaned, lifting her head slightly to glare at him. “Great. I’m a living firework. Can someone light me up again without the choking part?”

Takumi ignored her sarcasm, rising to his feet. “This energy, or flow, isn’t constant. It relies on the connection between your physical and mental states. Balance is critical—too much strain, and the flow fractures. Too little effort, and it remains dormant.”

Nearby, John motioned for Anis to stand. “Enough theory, Takumi. She’ll learn it by doing.”

“Oh, joy,” Anis muttered, dragging herself upright with the enthusiasm of someone facing a firing squad. “Let me guess, more grapples?”

John’s smirk was answer enough. Within moments, Anis found herself twisted into another awkward hold, her arms pinned tightly behind her back.

“You’re holding back your strength,” Takumi observed calmly, pacing around them. “That’s why the energy won’t surface. When the mind fears, the body hesitates. When the body hesitates, the flow stops.”

Anis winced, twisting against John’s grip. “You know what’d help? Not being turned into a pretzel.”

John tightened his hold slightly, his voice low. “Focus. Where did you feel it last time?”

“My chest,” she gasped, her breathing labored. “But I can’t feel it now. I’m too busy dying.”

Takumi frowned, his head tilting slightly as though trying to reconcile her words. “The chest? That’s... unexpected. The stomach is traditionally considered the source of power and balance. Energy radiates outward from there, not upward. If yours is different...” He trailed off, lost in thought.

Anis let her head flop back to the ground as John released his hold, throwing her hands up. “Great. I’m broken. I can’t even have my energy in the right spot.”

Takumi stood, brushing off his hands as he began pacing. “It’s not a matter of being broken. Perhaps it’s tied to your construction as a Nikke. If the flow is altered by your physiology, it could explain why traditional methods aren’t working.”

“Cool,” Anis said, dragging herself to her feet. “So, what now? You fold me into another pretzel and hope for the best?”

John smirked faintly. “That’s the plan.”

Before she could protest, John locked her into another grapple, pinning her arms behind her back with ease. Anis groaned, squirming as she tried to gain leverage.

“Stop flailing,” John said sharply. “Breathe. Deep into your stomach, not your chest.”

Takumi circled them, his tone calm. “Energy responds to control. Without focus, it dissipates. Find your center. Feel it gather in your stomach.”

Anis gritted her teeth, trying to steady her breath, but the frustration bubbling under the surface refused to subside. “I’m trying, but all I feel is dirt in my face and regret.”

“Then you’re not trying hard enough,” John said, tightening his hold slightly before releasing her.

Anis stumbled forward, catching herself on her knees. She sat back, glaring up at the two men. “Nothing. It’s gone.”

Takumi nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Because it wasn’t real focus. You relied on instinct earlier, not intent. Without understanding, you won’t find it again.”

John crossed his arms, his smirk fading. “Then we keep working until she does.”

Anis groaned loudly, flopping onto her back. “You’re both insane.”

Takumi glanced at John. “She’s not wrong.”

John shrugged, already motioning for her to get up. “No naps. We’re not done.”

-

Several hours passed, and despite the initial success they were not able to get Anis or any of the others to draw on their cursed energy. The makeshift training ground was thick with tension, the sunless artificial light casting long shadows over the scattered group of exhausted Nikkes. Marian sat hunched on a crate, her red eyes narrowed in frustration as faint flickers of cursed energy danced at her fingertips, only to vanish before she could grasp them. Anis lay sprawled on the ground, her breathing heavy, while Neon sat cross-legged beside her, trying to cheer her up with a stream of lighthearted chatter. Rapi leaned silently against a container, her arms crossed, her gaze distant.

Takumi paced near the edge of the training area, his sharp eyes flicking between the Nikkes as if their lack of progress might suddenly make sense. “This defies every principle of cursed energy I’ve ever studied,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “Capacity doesn’t behave like this. It’s supposed to be fixed. What you’re born with is what you have. This behavior... it’s unnatural. If it were innate, they’d be able to access it now. This kind of instinctive surge shouldn’t require life-or-death circumstances.”

John sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “And yet, here we are. Anis couldn’t pull it out until she thought I was about to kill her.”

“That makes it a survival mechanism,” Takumi said grimly. “Pure reflex. You can’t build a reliable technique on something so volatile, and now that they know you won't actually try to kill them we won't be able to reliably draw it out.”

Takumi’s voice lowered, his tone careful. “Do you think this has anything to do with Project Genesis?”

John stiffened, his jaw clenching. “Most likely. Whatever Genesis was, it’s left its fingerprints on everything.”

Takumi crossed his arms, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. “It would explain a lot. But without proof, it’s just conjecture.”

John’s frustration boiled over, his voice hard. “Why is it always secrets, Takumi? Always half-truths and whispers while the rest of us are left to clean up the mess? These girls deserve answers. We deserve answers.”

Takumi turned to him, his voice calm but firm. “And you know the Society and the Ark’s system as well as I do. They don’t share information unless it serves their interests. Genesis is a buried relic for a reason.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” John shot back, his hands clenching into fists. “Whatever Genesis was, it’s tied to this. I can feel it.”

Takumi exhaled heavily, his sharp gaze softening slightly as he glanced at Anis. She was still lying on the ground, her arms spread wide as she groaned dramatically while Neon babbled encouragingly beside her. “Maybe. But we can’t act on guesses. For now, we know one thing for sure: their cursed energy spikes under stress. If we can figure out why, we might be able to help them control it.”

John’s gaze shifted to Marian, who was staring at her hands with an intensity that bordered on desperation. Faint sparks of cursed energy flickered and faded, her determination etched in every line of her face. “They’re trying,” he said quietly. “More than I can say for the people keeping all the answers hidden.”

Takumi nodded slowly. “That’s something to work with. For now.”

Chapter Text

The stagnant air of the abandoned sewer hung thick, each step Mahito took echoing faintly against the damp, grimy walls. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, each drop punctuating the oppressive silence. It wasn’t much of a distraction from the thoughts swirling in his mind.

“Yuji Itadori,” he murmured, the name curling off his tongue with a mix of disdain and fascination. The memory of their final battle lingered vividly. He could still feel the relentless force of Yuji’s will, the unyielding fury in every strike. It wasn’t just the physical pain that stayed with him—it was the unfamiliar sensation that had crept into his core during that fight.

Fear.

He had felt it, sharp and undeniable. Fear wasn’t foreign to curses; they were born of humanity’s fears, after all. But for him to feel it, to be reduced to that state by a human, was almost incomprehensible. And then there was Kenjaku. Mahito’s smirk faltered as he recalled the moment he was absorbed, stripped of his will and turned into nothing more than a tool. That helplessness had cut deeper than any physical wound, yet it had also sharpened his understanding of himself. Even a curse was not immune to weakness.

Mahito paused by a shallow, murky pool of water. His distorted reflection shimmered on the surface, and he studied it with idle curiosity, as if searching for answers in the fractured image. Slowly, his fingers traced the air, as though reaching for his fleeting likeness.

“What am I?” he mused softly. “What is my true nature?”

His mind turned to Jogo, Dagon, and Hanami. For a moment, his smirk softened, his gaze distant. He had walked with them, fought beside them, shared a vision of a world where curses could thrive unbound by human hypocrisy. They weren’t just allies; they were reflections of the same truth he embodied.

“I want them back,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought settled in his mind with a clarity that felt almost instinctive. Jogo’s fiery resolve, Dagon’s quiet strength, Hanami’s steadfast determination—without them, something felt incomplete.

Why did he want their return so badly? As a curse, wasn’t he supposed to thrive in solitude, in chaos and destruction? Yet, the idea of their rebirth felt right. It didn’t weaken him or contradict his nature—it clarified it.

Mahito’s grin sharpened, his confidence growing as he pieced it together. “It’s not a contradiction,” he said, the words firm. “It’s who I am.”

Curses reflected humanity’s ugliest truths—fear, malice, desire. Just as humans sought connection and validation, perhaps curses did too. Wanting his comrades beside him wasn’t weakness. It was a fundamental part of his being, an extension of the chaos and unity curses represented. To see them reborn, to stand together again, wasn’t just a wish. It was the essence of his existence.

“If it feels right,” he murmured, “it must be true.”

Straightening, Mahito slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze shifting toward the darkened corridor ahead. The sewer seemed to darken further around him, the flickering lights casting his figure in distorted shadows. He began walking, his voice carrying faintly as he vanished into the gloom.

“I’ll see you again soon,” he said, an ominous promise lingering in the air. “This time, we’ll finish what we started.”

His laughter echoed softly, fading into the distance. Whatever lay ahead, Mahito would embrace it without hesitation. Not as a man, not as a monster, but as a curse—pure, unrelenting, and utterly true to himself.

-

The outpost was silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery. John woke abruptly, a sharp prickle running down his spine. Something was off. The unease settled in his chest like a weight. He sat up, his senses on high alert. The barrier at the elevator—breached. He could feel it.

Rubbing his eyes, John swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the cold floor. The attacks were becoming more frequent, more calculated. Each new group adapted, forcing him to anticipate and counter their every move. He rose quietly, pulling on his boots with practiced efficiency, and stepped out of his quarters.

The dim glow of monitors in the command center cast flickering shadows across the walls. John moved soundlessly, his gaze sweeping over the room. Unseen behind him, a pair of red eyes glinted faintly in the darkness. They didn’t blink, the concern within them almost tangible, but their owner stayed silent, watching as John slipped into the night.

Outside, the air was crisp, the artificial lights casting fractured beams across the empty streets. John’s steps were light, his instincts sharp as he made his way toward the elevator. Each intrusion had been more precise than the last, and tonight felt no different. His jaw tightened as he approached the looming structure.

The elevator platform groaned as it descended, the mechanical hum echoing in the stillness. John’s sharp gaze locked onto it, waiting for the platform to reach the top. The hiss of the stopping mechanism cut through the silence, and the doors slid open—revealing nothing but emptiness.

His unease deepened. The platform was devoid of occupants. His mind raced, piecing together the possibilities. The realization came swiftly. They got off mid-ascent.

Moving to the side of the elevator shaft, John leaned over the edge. Below him, the abyss stretched endlessly, the faint glow of emergency lights outlining the structure’s framework. He spotted a service hatch ajar several hundred meters down, the dents around its edges a clear sign of forced entry.

Without hesitation, John began to descend. His hands gripped the cold steel, his movements precise and deliberate as he scaled the wall. The occasional clang of shifting metal echoed around him, blending with the hum of the elevator’s inner workings. As he reached the hatch, he dropped onto a narrow ledge, crouching to peer inside.

A spiraling metal staircase led downward into a maintenance pathway. Faint scuff marks on the floor confirmed his suspicion—someone had passed through here recently. He moved carefully, his gaze lifting toward the darkness beyond the hatch.

Through the dim glow of emergency lighting, he spotted movement in the distance. Headlamps flickered faintly as a group of figures—both human and Nikke soldiers—scaled the cliffside beside the elevator shaft. Their climbing gear glinted in the light, their movements precise and coordinated. Each soldier covered an angle, their ascent methodical.

John crouched in the shadows, his sharp eyes tracking their progress. These weren’t amateurs. Their discipline and synchronization spoke of careful planning, their equipment designed for the exact scenario they were executing.

He glanced downward, the abyss below a stark reminder of the stakes. Shaking off the vertigo, he focused upward again. The climb would be grueling, but it was familiar terrain for him.

With a steadying breath, John began to move again, his fingers finding purchase on the rough surface of the wall.

-

The group of human and Nikke soldiers continued their ascent, their movements methodical and efficient. At the head of the line, a mass-produced Nikke served as the anchor, her mechanical arms easily driving pitons into the rock and securing the climbing ropes for the others to follow. The others moved in a synchronized rhythm, pulling themselves upward, their gear clinking faintly against the rock.

Then the line jerked taut.

The Nikke leading the group froze, her head snapping downward as the tension in the rope reverberated through her system. The radio on her shoulder crackled as she called into it, her voice clipped and professional. “Unit two, report. What happened?”

Her radio crackled again, but no response came. Instead, the line shuddered violently once more, the vibration rattling through the group. Another figure fell, their muffled scream fading as they disappeared into the void. The Nikke’s hands tightened on her tools, her voice rising with urgency. “Unit four, respond!”

The line shook again. The Nikke’s optics darted toward the reflection in the climbing hook she was holding. At first, all she saw was the faint glint of her team’s scattered lights against the rock. Then something else appeared. A shadow. A figure, moving closer.

The hook’s reflection distorted as the figure drew near, its outline sharp and fast. The Nikke’s brain struggled to process what she was seeing. Her head began to turn, her voice faltering as she started to call out.

Before she could finish, her head slammed into the rock wall with a sickening crunch.

The force of the impact echoed faintly in the void, her body jerking violently before going limp. Her hand loosened its grip on the climbing hook, which clattered against the rock as she hung limp from her harness.

John gripped the last soldier’s harness with one hand, their limp bodies swaying against the rock face as he hauled them upward. His other hand clung to a jagged metal edge of the elevator shaft, his fingers aching from the strain. The added weight of the unconscious group tested even his well-honed strength, his muscles burning with the effort. Every movement had to be calculated; the smallest mistake would send them all plummeting into the endless void below.

The climb stretched on, the rhythmic clang of his boots against the structure’s framework the only sound accompanying his ragged breaths. At one point, his grip faltered. His foot slipped on a slick patch of metal, sending his body jolting downward. He caught himself at the last second, his heart pounding as the edge of the ledge dug into his fingers and cut his skin. Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself and resumed the climb, the cold wind biting at his skin.

After what felt like an eternity, the top of the outpost’s elevator shaft came into view. With a final, determined heave, he pulled himself and the captured group over the edge, collapsing onto the solid ground. The cold metal floor pressed against his back as he lay there for a moment, catching his breath. The faint hum of the outpost’s systems surrounded him, a reminder that he had made it.

He pushed himself upright, his shoulders heaving as he took in the dimly lit space. The soldiers were limp, their climbing gear tangled together like a lifeless cluster of marionettes. Reaching for the rope he’d brought along, he prepared to secure them before calling for backup.

Then he felt it.

A presence.

His instincts flared, sharp and immediate. He whirled around, his body tensed, ready for an attack. His sharp gaze scanned the area, his heart still pounding from the climb.

There, in the shadows, stood a figure.

For a moment, his mind raced with possibilities, adrenaline surging. But as the figure stepped into the dim light, his tension eased slightly. It was Marian.

Her red eyes glinted faintly, their expression soft yet concerned as she approached. She paused a few steps away, her gaze shifting between him and the unconscious group. “You’re hurt,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

John exhaled slowly, his heart beginning to slow as he let the rope fall loosely from his hand. “It’s nothing,” he replied, brushing off her concern with a weary wave. “Just a few scrapes.”

Marian’s gaze lingered on him, her brows furrowed slightly. She didn’t press him, but her presence alone carried an unspoken weight. For a moment, the tension in the air eased, though the exhaustion in John’s posture remained evident.

“Why are you out here?” he asked, his voice softening slightly.

Marian hesitated, her crimson eyes flicking briefly to the unconscious group sprawled nearby. The shadows under John’s eyes were hard to ignore, and his movements carried the weight of someone running on fumes. “You’re exhausted,” she said finally, her voice tinged with guilt. “It’s because of them, isn’t it? These groups keep coming... because of me.”

John frowned but didn’t immediately reply, turning to inspect the climbing gear strewn around the unconscious soldiers. Marian continued, her voice low and hesitant. “My body... it’s a fusion of Nikke and Rapture tech. It’s why they’re here, isn’t it? They’re trying to secure me. I’m the reason you’re dealing with this.”

“You don’t know that,” John said, his tone dismissive. He crouched to untangle a length of rope, deliberately avoiding her gaze. “They could be here for anything.”

“They’re here for me,” Marian insisted, her hands clenching at her sides. “And because of that, you’re barely sleeping, barely holding it together. You’re trying to keep us all safe, and I’m just—”

“Stop.” John’s voice cut through the still air, sharper than he intended. He turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable but firm. “Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

Marian flinched slightly but didn’t look away. “You’re running yourself ragged, John. If they want me so badly... maybe I should let them take me. If it means—”

“Absolutely not,” John interrupted, his voice hardening. He stepped closer, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “You don’t solve problems by giving up. And you’re not a burden, Marian. Not to me, not to the counters. Got it?”

Her lips parted slightly, as if to argue, but his unwavering expression silenced her. The conviction in his tone left no room for doubt, and she finally nodded, though her shoulders remained tense.

John exhaled, his voice softening again. “Look, we’ll deal with this. I promise to handle this mess.”

Marian nodded again, slower this time. “What’s the plan?”

“First, we secure these guys,” John said, motioning to the unconscious group. He crouched and began tying them together with the climbing rope. Marian joined him, her movements methodical as she mirrored his knots.

As John crouched to tie the group of intruders together, his thoughts churned with a relentless intensity. His hands worked on autopilot, the motions of knotting the climbing rope ingrained from years of practice. Internally, however, a storm raged.

The name Mahito loomed large in his mind, like an ember that refused to be snuffed out. The memories of their fight resurfaced unbidden—the twisted grin, the grotesque transfigurations, and the sheer malice that defined the curse. Mahito was still out there, free to wreak havoc. The thought made John’s jaw tighten. Every instinct screamed at him to go after the curse, to finish what had been started. It wasn’t just anger—it was a need. Mahito had gotten under his skin, a reminder of all he’d failed to protect.

But then there was the outpost.

John’s sharp gaze flicked briefly to Marian, who worked silently beside him, her movements efficient but tense. These intrusions were a direct threat, not just to her but to the entire team. The mercenaries and Nikkes coming for Marian weren’t amateurs. Each group had been more skilled than the last, and it was only a matter of time before one of them breached his defenses. If he left now to pursue Mahito, he’d be abandoning the outpost to an inevitable attack.

His fists clenched as the weight of the decision bore down on him. Hunting Mahito meant leaving the outpost vulnerable. Staying meant giving Mahito more time to grow stronger, to plan his next move. The balance of priorities felt impossible to reconcile.

He glanced at Marian again, her crimson eyes downcast, her expression a mix of guilt and resolve. For a moment, the weight in his chest grew heavier. She had come so far, endured so much, and now she carried the burden of being a target. She was trying, but he could see the cracks in her confidence, the unspoken fear that she might not deserve the chance she’d been given.

His decision crystallized.

With the group secured, John pulled out his comm device and dialed the ACPU team. “We’ve got another group,” he said into the receiver. “They’re tied up at the elevator. Send a team to collect them.”

“Understood,” came the curt reply. “ETA fifteen minutes.”

John slid the device back into his pocket, exhaling deeply as he straightened. The ache in his muscles reminded him of the long night, but his decision brought a clarity that cut through his fatigue. “In the morning,” he began, glancing at Marian, “I’m calling a team meeting. We need a plan to stop these intrusions before they escalate any further.”

Marian hesitated, her brows furrowed with concern. “Alright,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but determined. “I’ll be there.”

John managed a faint smile, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the weight of his thoughts. “Get some rest,” he said. “It’s going to be a long day.”

As Marian gave a small nod and turned back toward the outpost, John lingered for a moment, his gaze following her retreating figure. His choice was made. The outpost came first. The counters came first. Whatever revenge he wanted, whatever fear of Mahito lingered, it would have to wait. For now, his priority was ensuring the safety of the people who had chosen to stand beside him.

-

The morning light filtered weakly through the outpost’s reinforced windows, casting a soft glow over the makeshift command room. Around the table, the members of the Counters were gathered, each occupying their usual spots with varying levels of energy and engagement.

Neon sat with a firearms magazine sprawled across the table, her finger trailing reverently over a glossy image of an assault rifle. “Oh, yeah,” she muttered under her breath, her cheeks faintly flushed. “Look at that barrel... long and sleek. Bet it’s got serious firepower. Bet it’s got real penetration.”

Anis, slumped forward with her cheek pressed against the table, groaned. “Neon, for the love of all that’s holy, can you stop? It’s too early for whatever weird relationship you’ve got with firepower.”

“It’s never too early for firepower,” Neon shot back, her tone dreamy as she turned another page. “And this baby here? Oh, she’s got a drum mag. Absolute beast.”

Anis groaned louder, dragging her fingers down her face. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

Across the table, Rapi sat upright, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Alert and composed, her sharp eyes flicked briefly between the magazine, Anis, and Neon before settling on Marian. Unlike the usual banter, Marian’s shoulders were hunched, her gaze downcast, and the guilt on her face was palpable.

John entered the room, holding a massive mug of black coffee in one hand. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the dark circles under his eyes told a story of too many sleepless nights. He paused briefly, taking in the scene.

Neon glanced up briefly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she spotted him. “Master, ever thought about a rifle with a longer barrel? You could boost your range—oh, or maybe something with explosive rounds?”

John stared at her blankly, raising the mug to his lips. “No.”

Neon pouted but returned to her magazine. “Fine, fine. Just saying, firepower never hurt anyone.”

“Except everyone you’ve ever aimed at,” Anis muttered.

John’s gaze shifted to Marian, who hadn’t looked up once since he entered. He set his coffee down, leaning forward slightly. “Marian,” he said, his tone softer now, “you okay?”

She hesitated, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. “I’m fine, Commander,” she said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction.

John sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I figure now’s a good time to bring everyone up to speed,” he began. “For a while now, teams of mercenaries and rogue Nikkes have been trying to infiltrate the outpost. Most of them seem to be after Marian, trying to capture her and take her back to the Ark—probably for her... unique condition.”

The silence deepened. Neon’s eyebrows shot up, and Anis straightened in her seat. Even Rapi’s calm expression shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“And you didn’t tell us because...?” Anis asked, her voice sharp.

“Because I’ve been handling it,” John replied, raising a hand to preempt further protest. “The barriers I set up and the chokepoint at the elevator kept them from getting close. You were never in danger.”

“That’s not the point,” Rapi said, her tone firm. “If something went wrong—”

“I know,” John interrupted, his voice edged with fatigue. “That’s why I’m telling you now. They’re getting smarter, more organized. It’s only a matter of time before they try something more dangerous.”

A tense silence settled over the table.

“We need a way to stop them,” John continued. “As long as they think Marian is an asset worth capturing, they won’t stop coming.”

“They won’t stop unless they get what they want,” Rapi said, her tone measured but sharp. “And we both know they won’t give up.”

“That’s why we need leverage,” John said, his voice hardening. “Something to make Marian less of a priority.”

Anis leaned back, crossing her arms. “Leverage like what?”

“Nihilister,” John said simply.

The room grew still again. Marian froze, her hands gripping the table tighter. Neon and Anis exchanged uneasy glances, while Rapi’s sharp eyes locked onto John.

“You’re serious,” Rapi said. “You want us to go after another heretic?”

“Yes,” John replied. “If we capture Nihilister and hand her over to the Ark, it shifts their focus. They’ll have a heretic to study, and Marian will no longer be their priority.”

Marian’s eyes widened slightly, her guilt deepening. “You want to... hand her over?” she said softly. “To the same people who sent those teams here?”

John’s gaze softened as he looked at her. “Do you think there is a chance she could be freed from corruption like you were?”

“...No,” Marian said hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, “she’s not like me. She embraced the corruption. She’s dangerous.”

“Then this is our best option,” John said firmly. “If we capture her, it changes everything.”

The room sat in heavy silence until Anis broke it with a low whistle. “Hell of a plan. It’ll make for one hell of a trip.”

Rapi’s expression remained serious, her sharp eyes locked on John. “If this is the plan, it has to be airtight.”

John nodded, his voice steady. “Agreed. I’ll talk to Andersen, get his approval, and figure out the logistics.”

As the others began gathering their things, John slipped out of the room, his mind already spinning with strategies and contingencies. The hum of the outpost’s systems filled the quiet hallway as his thoughts churned. He was so deep in thought he didn’t notice the sound of footsteps behind him until a voice called out.

“Commander.”

John stopped, his shoulders tensing instinctively. He turned to see Rapi standing in the hallway, her posture straight and steady. Her sharp gaze met his, unwavering.

He raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

Rapi stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. “You made a promise to me, John.”

“Rapi...” he began, but her voice cut through his hesitation.

“You said you wouldn’t do this again,” she continued, her tone even but laced with frustration. “That you wouldn’t take on things that affect all of us by yourself. And yet here you are, making decisions on your own.”

John’s gaze flicked to Marian, who lingered behind Rapi, her expression shadowed with guilt. The parallel between them was unmistakable. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I should’ve handled this differently.”

Rapi didn’t let up. “You didn’t just ‘handle it differently.’ You ignored us, John. We’re a team. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

“I know,” John said, his voice heavier now. “I thought I was protecting you—protecting all of you—but I see now it wasn’t the right call. I’m sorry.”

Rapi’s expression softened slightly, though her voice remained steady. “We’re not asking for perfection, Commander. We’re asking for trust. That’s how this works.”

Marian stepped forward hesitantly, her voice quiet but steady. “You don’t have to carry it all, Commander. None of us want you to.”

John looked at her, her words settling in a place he rarely let anyone reach. For a moment, the weight of his decisions felt like it might crush him, but the sincerity in her voice and the determination in Rapi’s gaze steadied him. He nodded slowly, a faint, tired smile creeping across his face.

“Alright,” he said, his voice firmer. “No more solo acts. We handle this together. All of it.”

Rapi gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing. “Good. Because whether you like it or not, we’re with you.”

Marian’s expression lightened, just slightly, and she gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Commander.”

Straightening his posture, John let out a long breath. The exhaustion was still there, but something else settled into place—resolve. “Let’s figure this out,” he said. “Together.”

Rapi stepped aside, giving him room to continue down the hall. “Go talk to Andersen. We’ll be ready.”

-

Andersen’s office was bathed in the cold glow of monitors, the soft hum of machinery filling the otherwise silent space. John sat across from the Deputy Chief, his fingers wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee, though he hadn’t taken a sip. His expression was resolute, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the toll of sleepless nights and constant battles.

“We go after Nihilister,” John began, his voice steady despite the tension hanging in the room. “We take her down, bring her in—dead or alive. She’s a bigger target than Marian, and a bigger prize. If we hand her over, it should be enough to shift their focus. Burningum and the rest will have what they want.”

Andersen leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze never leaving John. “You’re sure you can handle her?”

John nodded without hesitation. “We’ve faced her before. I know what we’re up against, and with Marian on the team now, we’ve got an edge. Nihilister might be tough, but she’s not invincible.”

“Bold words,” Andersen remarked, his tone measured. “But are you sure this will be enough? You know how insatiable the Ark’s leadership can be.”

“It has to be,” John replied firmly. “It’s the best bargaining chip we have right now. Otherwise...”

He hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening as he stared down at his untouched coffee. “Otherwise, I’d have to consider more drastic options.”

Andersen’s brow furrowed slightly, his calm demeanor hardening. “Drastic options?”

John glanced up, his smirk faint but devoid of humor. “Let’s just say a few deputy chiefs wouldn’t be causing problems if they weren’t breathing. Not that I’m planning anything, but the thought has crossed my mind.”

Andersen’s eyes narrowed, his tone taking on a colder edge. “You’re treading dangerous ground, John. Burningum may be an obstacle, but he’s not your enemy. He’s doing what he believes is best for humanity and the Ark. That doesn’t justify violence.”

“I know,” John replied, leaning back in his chair. “It’s just frustration talking. I’m not going to do anything stupid, Andersen. I understand the stakes.”

“Do you?” Andersen pressed, his voice calm but firm. “Because the moment you cross that line, you make yourself a threat—not just to Burningum, but to the entire structure keeping this place together. I won’t protect you if you go rogue.”

John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. The politics, the delicate balance—I know how it all works. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“No one does,” Andersen said, his tone softening slightly. “But liking it isn’t the point. It’s about the greater good. And right now, we all have a part to play.”

John nodded slowly, his frustration simmering but contained. “I just want to keep my team safe. If that means going after Nihilister and giving the Ark what they want, so be it.”

Andersen studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze searching for any trace of recklessness in John’s resolve. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Nihilister might be a solution, but it’s not without its risks. She’s unpredictable, dangerous, and capturing her would put your team in the crosshairs.”

John met his gaze evenly. “We’ve handled worse.”

“Maybe,” Andersen said, his tone thoughtful. “But there might be a less risky option available. One that doesn’t involve throwing yourselves headfirst into a fight with another heretic.”

John’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering in his expression. “What are you suggesting?”

Andersen leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze steady on John. “The Counters aren’t the first team from the Ark to encounter and defeat a heretic,” he began, his tone measured. “There are records—classified ones—of other squads that engaged heretics under specific circumstances.”

John tilted his head slightly, intrigued but skeptical. “And you’re only telling me this now, why?”

“It’s not information I can freely disclose,” Andersen replied. “And to be frank, I’m not sure how much of it is relevant yet. But before I say more, there’s someone we need to speak with. Someone who has deeper insights into this kind of situation.”

“Who?” John asked, crossing his arms.

“Ingrid,” Andersen said simply. “Elysion’s CEO.”

John frowned, the tension in his shoulders returning. “I haven’t had a chance to meet with her yet. Been a little busy dealing with mercenaries and the occasional attempted kidnapping.”

Andersen’s lips quirked faintly, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Understandable. But Ingrid has a vested interest in Marian. She’s an Elysion Nikke, after all. If anyone has resources or insights into how we deal with this situation, it’s her.”

John’s frown deepened. “You’re suggesting we let her examine Marian?”

“I am,” Andersen said, his tone firm. “Ingrid wouldn’t do anything to harm one of her Nikkes unnecessarily. If nothing else, she might be able to provide answers—or leverage—that could help us manage this situation without the risks associated with going after Nihilister.”

John’s jaw tightened, his mind racing through the implications. “I’m not thrilled about this. Marian’s been through enough already.”

“And I understand your hesitation,” Andersen said evenly. “But this isn’t a decision you have to make for her. Let her decide if she’s willing to meet Ingrid. If she consents, I think it’s worth exploring.”

After a moment’s pause, John nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But Marian has the final say. If she’s not comfortable with it, it’s off the table.”

“Agreed,” Andersen replied, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll arrange the meeting with Ingrid. Let’s aim for later today. Marian can undergo her examination, and you and the Counters can discuss the broader situation with her.”

John pushed himself to his feet, his weariness still evident but his resolve steady. “Alright. Text me the time and place. I’ll let Marian and the team know.”

-

In the corridor, John pulled out his comm device and began typing. First, a message to Marian:

“Need to talk. Andersen suggested we meet with Ingrid. She wants to examine you, but it’s your call. Meeting’s later today. Let me know.”

He sent it before composing another message to the Counters:

“Team meeting with Elysion CEO later today. Be ready to head out. Details coming soon.”

-

The meeting room at Elysion’s headquarters was stark and minimalist. John sat at the table, flanked by Rapi, Anis, and Neon, all of whom appeared tense but focused. Andersen sat at the far end of the table, his calm demeanor a quiet counterbalance to Ingrid’s commanding presence as she took her seat opposite John.

The air was heavy as Ingrid leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning the group. “Commander Smith,” she began, her tone icy but measured. “Why should I lend my resources to this? What guarantees do I have that assisting you will yield results worth my investment?”

John leaned back slightly, his expression neutral but firm. “Because my team has done more in the past few months than most do in years,” he said plainly. “We’ve fought off two heretics, recovered Marian from corruption, and secured critical data from missions that would’ve killed anyone else. If you’re worried about results, you’ll get them.”

Ingrid’s gaze didn’t waver, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Words mean little without substance, Commander. Your track record is commendable, but why should I trust you with Marian’s safety or my resources?”

John met her stare head-on. “Because I’m offering you more than just promises. Whatever findings we recover on this mission—whatever insights we gain—they’ll go directly to you. If it helps ensure Marian’s safety, I’ll make sure you’re the first to benefit.”

Ingrid tilted her head slightly, studying him. “An interesting proposition. Though I must admit, it’s not entirely about results, is it? You’re the Ark’s only active Grade 1 sorcerer on the surface, aren’t you?”

The room fell silent.

Rapi’s eyes widened imperceptibly, while Anis leaned forward, blinking in disbelief. Neon, for once, was utterly speechless, her gaze darting between Ingrid and John. Andersen remained impassive, though there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his expression.

John, to his credit, managed to keep his face neutral. After a beat, he let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “You know, it’s amazing how everyone seems to know my little secret these days. Did Andersen brief you? Or was it just good guesswork?”

Ingrid’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s just say I make it a point to know who I’m dealing with.”

John shrugged, his tone light but calculated. “Fair enough. And I’m guessing that’s part of why you’re even considering this.”

“You’d be correct,” Ingrid said smoothly. “A sorcerer of your caliber provides a tactical advantage that most teams could only dream of. It makes you uniquely qualified for this operation, despite the risks.”

Her gaze turned to the others. “The last team to defeat a heretic on record was a joint operation between Absolute and Matis. Their success, however, came at a significant cost. Accessing their mission records or even the site itself—Area H—has been tightly restricted.”

John’s expression remained unreadable, though his interest was clearly piqued. “You’re suggesting a joint mission?”

Ingrid nodded, her tone brisk. “I’m authorizing you and your team to collaborate with Absolute. You’ll visit Area H, investigate the events that transpired there, and retrieve any relevant data. Whatever you find may provide answers to your current situation with Marian.”

Andersen shifted slightly, his calm voice interjecting. “Commander, Area H isn’t just off-limits for standard teams. It’s dangerous, not only due to residual Rapture activity but also due to environmental factors that could overwhelm even Nikkes. Your constitution as a sorcerer may give you an edge, but don’t underestimate the risks.”

“I don’t,” John said, his tone serious. “If it gets us closer to a solution, we’ll handle it.”

Ingrid tapped her fingers lightly on the table, her gaze steady. “Then it’s settled. Absolute and Counters will operate jointly under your command for this mission. Resources from Elysion will be allocated as necessary. I expect results, Commander.”

John gave a curt nod. “You’ll have them.”

Ingrid’s eyes flicked to Andersen, then back to John. “I’ll inform Absolute of the mission parameters and set the timeline. Prepare your team.”

As the meeting concluded and the group began to rise, Ingrid’s comm device chimed softly. She glanced at the message on her screen, her sharp eyes scanning the details. Her expression tightened briefly before she turned to John.

“The examinations on Marian are complete,” she said, her tone clipped but calm. “Commander, I’d like you to accompany me to the M.M.R. facility. You’ll want to hear this.”

John hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to Andersen, who gave a subtle nod of approval. “Lead the way,” John said simply, following Ingrid as she strode out of the room.

-

The M.M.R. facility hummed with activity as researchers moved between terminals, their expressions focused and intent. The sterile, metallic interior seemed to amplify every sound—the soft hum of machinery, the faint clicks of keyboards, and the occasional murmur of conversation. Ingrid led John through a series of security checkpoints, her presence alone ensuring their swift passage.

At the heart of the facility, they entered a spacious lab where two researchers stood waiting. Mana, with her meticulous appearance and piercing gaze, greeted them with a slight nod. Beside her, Ether exuded a tired calm, her hands clasped behind her back as she observed their approach.

“CEO Ingrid,” Mana began, her voice brisk but respectful. “Commander Smith. We’ve completed the examinations.”

“Let’s hear it,” Ingrid said, her tone leaving no room for delay.

Mana adjusted her tablet, her sharp eyes flicking to the screen as she began. “The fluid analysis revealed nothing extraordinary. Marian’s circulatory system functions similarly to any other Nikke’s. The composition of her 'blood' is consistent with what we’d expect—standard synthesized fluids designed to replicate human blood.”

John raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the catch?”

Ether stepped forward, her calm voice picking up where Mana left off. “It’s the skin samples where things get... interesting.”

Mana tapped her tablet, displaying a magnified image of Marian’s skin. “Marian’s skin is a hybrid composition of Nikke and Rapture materials. The two elements complement each other, compensating for the weaknesses of the other. This combination creates an almost seamless defense—flexible, durable, and remarkably resilient.”

Ether added, “More fascinating is how it functions under stress. Her tissues respond to electrical stimulus, allowing her to harden her skin at will while maintaining flexibility and full range of motion. However, this hardening only activates when she’s consciously aware of a threat. It’s an advanced form of reactive defense.”

Mana glanced at Ingrid, her tone gaining an edge of excitement. “If this technology could be replicated, the Ark’s technological base could advance nearly a century. Marian’s design is, in essence, a nigh-perfect synthesis.”

John frowned, his mind racing. “You’re saying she was designed like this intentionally?”

“That’s the conclusion,” Mana said. “All evidence suggests Marian wasn’t just modified into this hybrid state. She was created as one from the beginning. Almost like Nikke and Rapture-”

Before Mana could continue, Ingrid raised a hand, silencing her. The researchers froze under Ingrid’s cold, piercing stare.

“That’s enough,” Ingrid said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. She turned to Mana and Ether, her voice steady but commanding. “Effective immediately, all records and results from this examination are to be erased. No backups, no summaries—nothing. And no one is to speak a word of this to anyone.”

Mana blinked, clearly taken aback. “But—”

“No,” Ingrid interrupted, her tone growing icier. “This information poses a danger far greater than its potential benefit. If it were to reach the wrong hands, the consequences for the Ark would be catastrophic.”

Ether inclined her head slightly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “Understood. The data will be erased immediately.”

Ingrid turned to John, her sharp gaze locking onto his. “Commander, return to the outpost. This matter is closed. There will be no further experiments or examinations on Marian. She is to be left as she is.”

John opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, recognizing the finality in her tone. His poker face slipped slightly, his mind racing with the implications of what he’d just learned. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

Ingrid’s gaze lingered for a moment, as if gauging his resolve, before she turned back to Mana and Ether. “Make sure this is handled.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun cast long shadows over the makeshift training ground, the air crisp with the distant hum of activity. The scattered shipping containers and hastily placed barriers provided just enough room for two warriors to move freely.

John and Rapi stood opposite each other, tension thick in the air. He rolled his shoulders, muscles coiled like a spring, while Rapi remained as composed as ever, her stance firm, unshaken.

Then, John moved.

A blur of motion. He vanished from sight for a fraction of a second—then reappeared at Rapi’s side, launching a sharp strike at her ribs. She reacted instantly, blocking with fluid precision, absorbing the force without shifting her stance.

John didn’t slow. He twisted on his heel, disappearing from view again, only to reappear behind her with a downward chop aimed at the base of her neck. Rapi spun, intercepting the blow with a forearm block before countering with a precise elbow aimed at his ribs. He barely twisted away in time.

From the sidelines, Neon, Anis, and Marian watched, eyes locked on the battle.

“Master is fast,” Neon murmured, her voice laced with awe. “Like, really fast.”

Anis crossed her arms, scowling. “Yeah, no kidding. But Rapi isn’t exactly lagging behind.”

Marian observed quietly, her red eyes narrowing. “John has the advantage in travel speed, but Rapi matches him in reaction time. She’s not trying to outrun him—she’s just responding, letting him come to her.”

John darted forward again—then again—then again. A flash of movement, too fast for the eye to follow. He was circling her now, his speed so intense that afterimages flickered in the air like echoes of his movements.

Rapi remained eerily still, her eyes tracking his motions. Then, without warning, she struck.

A sharp kick, perfectly timed. John dodged at the last second, but the force of her strike cut through one of his afterimages, dispersing it like smoke.

Neon let out a low whistle. “Okay, that’s kinda badass.”

Anis, however, looked aggrieved. “Yeah, yeah, all that fancy footwork is nice and all, but why isn’t he twisting her into a pretzel like he did with me?”

Neon grinned. “Because you’re easy to suplex.”

Marian, trying and failing to suppress a small smile, added, “Commander said before that Rapi has experience with grappling. Since she has a lower center of gravity and weighs more than him, he’d be at a disadvantage in a clinch.”

Anis groaned, flopping back dramatically. “So that’s why I got wrecked. I was an easy throw.”

Neon patted her on the shoulder mockingly. “There, there. Some of us are just built to be airborne.”

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, John’s relentless speed pressed the attack. He appeared at Rapi’s left, his knee snapping forward—only for her to catch it mid-motion with a solid block. He spun away, pivoting into another strike from her blind spot, but her hand snapped up, stopping it inches from her face.

John grinned. Damn, she’s good.

Rapi countered, closing the distance between them. She aimed a precise strike at his ribs—John twisted away, but she was already moving, pressing forward with a calculated assault.

For every attack he launched, she had an answer.

Anis let out a dramatic sigh from the sidelines. “If they weren’t trying to murder each other, this would actually look kinda elegant.”

Neon smirked. “Yeah, like a really aggressive dance.”

Before Anis could retort, John lunged again—faster, sharper. He feinted left, only to disappear from Rapi’s vision entirely. A flicker of movement behind her. She reacted instantly, twisting to intercept, her forearm snapping up just in time to block a downward strike.

Their eyes locked.

Neither hesitated.

John pivoted, bringing his knee up for a sharp strike to her midsection, but Rapi caught his leg, twisting into a counterattack that forced him to disengage. He barely landed before she pressed forward, her palm slicing through the air toward his jaw. He ducked, feeling the force of it whistle past his ear, then responded with a sharp kick aimed at her ribs. Rapi turned with it, rolling with the momentum, stabilizing just before she sent a controlled strike toward his chest.

John exhaled sharply, tilting his head back just enough to dodge, before raising his hands.

“Alright,” he said, his breath steady despite the strain. “That’s enough.”

Rapi lowered her fists, her posture unwinding as she took a step back. A thin layer of sweat glistened on her skin, but her expression remained as unreadable as ever.

Anis groaned, flopping backward onto the crate she had been sitting on. “Aw, come on! You’re just stopping now? I wanted to see a winner.”

John exhaled, shaking the tension from his arms as he glanced at Anis with a smirk. “This isn't a show Anis, it's just a warm up spar. And anyway, I was obviously going to win”

Rapi wiped her brow with the back of her wrist before folding her arms. “You say that like you weren’t already losing momentum.”

John chuckled. “And yet, you still couldn’t hit me clean.”

Neon leaned over to Marian, whispering loudly, “That’s the closest thing to flirting I’ve ever heard from either of them.”

Marian, still watching John carefully, didn’t respond. Her expression remained thoughtful.

John grabbed a nearby towel, running it over his face as he let out a breath. “Alright, fun’s over. Let’s talk business.”

Rapi straightened slightly, Anis groaned again, and Neon finally shut her magazine.

“Our mission with Absolute is in two days,” John stated, tossing the towel aside. “Which means today’s the last day for any extra training or prep. Tomorrow, you’re all off-duty. Rest up.”

Anis perked up at that, her interest piqued. “Wait. You’re actually giving us a day off? What’s the catch?”

John smirked. “The catch is that if you don’t take it, you’re going into the field exhausted. And I don’t want anyone at half-capacity when we’re dealing with whatever’s in Area H.”

Neon tilted her head. “So we get to sleep in, eat whatever we want, and do absolutely nothing tomorrow?”

John nodded. “Exactly.”

Anis threw her hands in the air. “Best. Commander. Ever.”

Neon grinned. “Master, you’re spoiling us.”

John rolled his eyes. “I’m making sure you don’t collapse in the middle of a mission. But if you want to call it spoiling, fine.”

Marian, still quiet, finally spoke. “Do we have any information on what to expect when we get there?”

John glanced at Rapi before answering. “Not much. Absolute and Matis fought a heretic there before, and something about the area makes it highly restricted. Even Andersen said it was off-limits to most personnel. We’ll be walking into unknown territory. And unknown usually means trouble.”

Anis crossed her arms, her good mood slightly dampened. “Are we gonna be dealing with another heretic? Because I really don’t want a repeat of last time.”

John’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening for half a second before he forced himself to relax. “We don’t know yet. But that’s why we’re going in prepared.”

Rapi nodded. “We should load up extra gear. If Absolute already fought something there, we need to assume the worst.”

John nodded. “That’s the plan. So today, finish any training, maintenance, or preparations. Tomorrow, recharge. We deploy the day after.”

-

The dim glow of the outpost’s lights barely filtered through the reinforced windows of John’s quarters. The walls were silent, save for the faint hum of machinery running through the outpost’s infrastructure.

John lay on his cot, one arm draped over his forehead, staring at the ceiling. His muscles ached from training, but exhaustion alone wasn’t enough to pull him into sleep. His mind refused to quiet, running through the details of the upcoming mission, the past few weeks of constant intrusions, and the nagging sense that there was something—something—he wasn’t seeing yet.

He shifted onto his side, exhaling sharply.

This wasn’t working.

Rolling out of bed, he ran a towel over his damp hair, still slightly wet from the shower he’d taken earlier. He grabbed a loose t-shirt from the chair in the corner of the room and pulled it over his head before running a hand through his hair. Maybe a walk would help. It had been a long time since he had taken a moment just to move without a purpose—no missions, no fights, no strategy, just walking.

John stepped toward the door, but before he could open it, he caught something in his peripheral vision. A faint shift in the shadows near the window down the hall.

He turned his head slightly. Red eyes.

Marian stood near the window, arms folded, staring out at the dimly lit structures of the outpost beyond. The artificial lighting cast long, jagged shadows across the metal framework outside. She hadn't noticed him yet, or maybe she had and was simply lost in thought. There was something tense in her posture—not the rigid stance of a soldier on alert, but something subtler, something weighed down.

John hesitated, then stepped forward, making his presence known. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Marian turned slightly, blinking at him. She looked almost surprised before glancing away. “No.”

John leaned against the nearby wall, crossing his arms. He noticed the way her fingers lightly gripped the fabric of her sleeves, as if grounding herself.

She studied him for a moment before finally asking, “Are you heading out to deal with something?” Her voice was quiet, but laced with concern.

John shook his head. “No. Just going for a walk.”

Marian’s gaze lingered on him, skeptical. The intrusions on the outpost were still fresh in her mind, and she knew better than most how often John did handle things alone.

He sighed, sensing her doubt. “I mean it. Just a walk. You can come with me if you want.”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

They walked in silence at first. The hallways were empty this late at night, the usual distant chatter and movement of off-duty personnel replaced by a quiet hum of cooling systems and idle machinery. The occasional flicker of dim lighting overhead cast uneven shadows as they moved.

Eventually, they stepped outside. The air was crisp, the artificial lights stationed around the outpost creating scattered pools of illumination. The gravel beneath their boots crunched softly, the sound amplified by the stillness.

John exhaled slowly, taking in the quiet of the night. Marian walked beside him, her steps measured, arms loosely folded in front of her.

“You really can’t sleep?” she asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

John gave a tired smirk. “Haven’t been able to for a while.”

Marian nodded slightly, looking ahead. “Me neither.”

They continued their slow path through the outpost, passing by the scattered remnants of normalcy—makeshift shops, small communal spaces built up by Nikkes and personnel trying to carve out something resembling a life beyond war. Even at this hour, a few places remained dimly lit, signs flickering, their glow muted by the night.

John stopped in front of a particular building, its neon sign flickering weakly against the metal facade. The letters buzzed faintly, casting a dull glow onto the pathway below. The sound of low conversation drifted through the slightly ajar door.

It was a bar. One of the few places in the outpost where people could go to unwind.

Marian followed his gaze, then glanced at him. “You go here?”

John smirked. “Not often. I’d say I’m not much of a drinker, but sometimes it helps.”

Marian hesitated. “I’ve... never been.”

John raised an eyebrow, then turned fully toward her. “You want to change that?”

She looked at the entrance for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The warm, low hum of conversation filled the air as John and Marian stepped inside. The bar was a repurposed section of the outpost, its walls lined with scavenged materials and mismatched furniture. The lighting was dim, a soft amber glow from overhead fixtures casting long shadows across the floor. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of machine oil lingered in the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of off-duty Nikkes and personnel looking for a rare moment of peace.

John led them toward an empty table near the side of the room, far enough from the main crowd to avoid unnecessary attention but not tucked away like a pair of outcasts. Marian followed silently, her posture slightly guarded, but she didn’t waver.

“Grab a seat,” John said, gesturing to one of the chairs as he stretched his shoulders. “I’ll get us something.”

Marian nodded and sat, her red eyes flicking briefly across the room.

John made his way to the bar, where a stocky, battle-scarred Nikke stood cleaning a glass with the casual ease of someone who had seen it all. The bartender barely looked up as John approached.

“What’ll it be?”

“Two Bluemoon beers,” John replied, leaning slightly against the counter.

The bartender nodded, reaching for a pair of bottles. As John waited, he let his eyes drift across the room, taking in the atmosphere.

Some of the Nikkes in the bar barely acknowledged Marian’s presence. They were too busy drinking, playing card games, or nursing the exhaustion of another long day. Others, however, weren’t so indifferent. He caught a few wary glances being thrown Marian’s way—some subtle, others not so much. Conversations quieted as she passed, eyes lingering just a second too long before turning away.

It wasn’t outright hostility, but it was clear that, for some, the memory of what she had been—what she had done as Modernia—was still fresh.

At the same time, there were those who didn’t care. A few Nikkes treated her like just another patron, paying her no mind beyond the occasional glance. A pair of them were deep in conversation, sharing drinks as if nothing unusual had changed. Others laughed at some joke being passed around a table, their focus nowhere near her.

John let out a slow breath, grabbing the two bottles as the bartender slid them across the counter.

“Thanks,” he muttered, before turning back toward their table.

Marian sat still, her hands resting on the table, her gaze low but attentive. She had noticed. Of course, she had noticed.

John set the bottle down in front of her and took a seat across from her, twisting the cap off his own drink before leaning back in his chair.

“Some people still look at me like I’m a monster,” Marian murmured, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on the glass.

John took a slow sip of his beer, his expression unreadable. “And others don’t.”

Marian let out a quiet breath. “But enough of them do.”

John rolled the bottle in his hand. “It’ll take time.”

Marian gave a small, humorless chuckle.

The bar had settled into its usual late-night rhythm, the low murmur of conversations blending with the quiet clinking of glasses. The dim, amber glow from overhead fixtures cast long, flickering shadows against the walls, giving the place a muted, almost dreamlike quality.

John leaned back in his chair, bottle in hand, rolling the cool glass against his palm. Marian sat across from him, her drink barely touched, her gaze flickering between the scattered patrons. She was watching, observing—just as much an outsider in this space as she had been anywhere else since returning.

Then, movement outside the entrance caught John’s eye.

A woman, moving with a deliberate but weary pace, stepped past the table. Her sharp features and red uniform stood out even in the dim lighting, and despite the slight sluggishness in her step, she carried herself with precision. Dark circles clung beneath her eyes, betraying sleepless nights and the weight of responsibility that came with them. She had a glass of whiskey in her hand.

John recognized her, if only in passing. Yulha. Leader of Triangle.

His smirk was faint but unmistakable. “Well, now there’s a surprise.”

Marian, seated beside him, glanced up. “You know her?”

“Not personally,” John admitted, his gaze still fixed on Yulha. “But I know of her.”

As if sensing the attention, Yulha’s sharp gaze flicked toward him. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with the kind of ease that only came from experience, John leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying just enough to reach her.

“Let me guess,” he said smoothly. “You here because your boss sent you?”

Yulha met his gaze, unimpressed. “No.” A measured pause. “I’m off duty.”

John studied her for a second longer, then casually nodded toward an empty chair at their table. “Well, if you’re here to drink, might as well do it with good company. No point in being miserable alone.”

Yulha hesitated—just for a second. Then, with a quiet exhale, she pulled out the chair and sat down.

“I suppose I can spare a few minutes,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had been running on fumes far too long.

John smirked, taking a sip from his bottle. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She had hesitated before taking the seat, and now that she was here, that same hesitation remained—not in her body language (she was far too controlled for that) but in the way her fingers hovered just short of the glass rim, the way her tired eyes took in both John and Marian with careful assessment.

John, for his part, played it cool. He leaned back in his chair, rolling his beer bottle between his hands as if the whole situation was just another night at the bar. But there was a sharpness behind his relaxed posture. He was watching, waiting.

Marian, however, was different. She sat stiffly, her red eyes downcast but aware, her fingers wrapped tightly around her glass. She wasn’t stupid—she knew exactly what this looked like.

The leader of Triangle. The right hand of Commander Burningum.

One of the men trying to take her away.

Yulha finally picked up her drink, swirling it once before taking a slow sip. “Didn’t expect to find you here,” she muttered, her eyes flicking toward Marian.

Marian tensed. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

John’s smirk widened slightly. “Wow. The professionalism in this conversation is just astounding.”

Marian exhaled sharply but didn’t take the bait.

Yulha didn’t waver either. “I take it you know where I work,” she said, tone carefully neutral.

Marian’s grip on her glass tightened. “Yeah. I know.”

John watched them, letting the tension linger for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “So, how’s Burningum these days?”

Yulha sighed, rubbing her temple. “Frustrated.”

John grinned. “Good.”

Yulha shot him a flat look. “You enjoy pissing him off, don’t you?”

John took another sip of his beer, not even pretending otherwise. “Oh, immensely.”

Yulha exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “You’re a walking headache.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what I want to be for him,” John mused. “I think I’m growing on him.”

Marian, however, wasn’t in the mood for games. She leaned forward slightly. “What’s your squad going to do?”

Yulha turned to her, but her expression remained unreadable. “What do you think they’re going to do?”

Marian’s fingers clenched. “You’re here. That means they haven’t given up.”

Yulha didn’t confirm or deny it. She simply took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze unreadable. “You already knew that before inviting me to sit down.”

John smirked, shrugging. “Just being a gracious host.”

Yulha let out a quiet scoff. “That right?”

“Figured if you were here on business, I’d at least get a drink out of it before the headaches started.”

Marian flinched slightly at that, fingers twitching around the glass.

Yulha sighed, setting her whiskey down. “If I were here on business, you’d already know.”

The words sat heavy on the table.

John studied her, his gaze unreadable. “And if Burningum knew you were sitting here with us?”

Yulha tilted her head slightly. “I don’t answer to him for everything.”

John arched an eyebrow. “That so?”

Yulha swirled her glass again, watching the liquid shift. “I have my orders. But what I do off the clock is my own business.”

Marian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And what are your orders?”

Yulha glanced at her, then at John. “You already know I can’t answer that.”

John smirked, tilting his head. “So that’s a yes.”

Yulha exhaled, rubbing her temple. “I’m off duty, Smith.”

John leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table. “And yet, here you are. Drinking with the problem instead of doing something about it.”

Yulha’s eyes locked onto his.

Silence.

Then she sighed, lifting her glass to take another sip. “I’m not here for that.”

Marian’s fingers twitched. “…Then why are you here?”

Yulha hesitated—just for a second. Then, finally, she muttered, “Because I needed a drink.”

John smirked. “And no Triangle drinking buddies?”

Yulha gave him a tired look. “Believe it or not, people don’t like spending their downtime with their superior officer.”

John watched her for a moment before shifting the conversation again. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever formally been introduced to Triangle’s fearless leader.”

Yulha smirked slightly, lifting her glass. “And I don’t think I’ve ever formally introduced myself.”

John chuckled. “So mysterious. Real Ghost behavior.”

Yulha sighed. “Don’t call me that.”

John grinned. “Alright, Madam Yulha.”

Yulha rolled her eyes. “That’s worse.”

John swirled the beer in his bottle, watching her over the rim. “So, Yulha, what’s the Triangle Squad’s secret? High-intensity drills? Cutting-edge tactics? Or is it just raw talent?”

Yulha smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What, thinking of stealing some techniques for your own squad?”

John leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Can you blame me? I’ve got to keep up with all these impressive Nikkes running around.”

Yulha let out a quiet scoff. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, Smith.”

“Oh, I completely disagree,” he shot back, winking.

Marian, who had been silent for most of the exchange, let out a quiet sigh, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.

Yulha caught the shift, her sharp gaze flicking toward her. “Something on your mind?”

Marian hesitated.

John turned slightly, eyeing her. He could see the weight pressing down on her shoulders, the tension in the way she held herself.

Finally, she exhaled, her voice quiet but firm. “Why are they after me?”

Yulha didn’t answer right away. She took a slow sip of whiskey, gaze steady. “Because you’re an unknown—something that shouldn’t exist.”

Marian flinched slightly, but Yulha wasn’t finished.

“The Ark thrives on control,” Yulha continued. “Everything has its place. Nikkes follow orders. Raptures destroy. The lines are clear. And then you come along.”

Marian’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t ask to be this.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Yulha replied evenly. “What matters is that you are.”

John’s smirk had faded completely now. “And let me guess—people like Burningum don’t like uncertainty.”

Yulha’s expression remained neutral. “He believes he’s acting in the best interests of the Ark.”

Marian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “By trying to dissect me.”

Yulha didn’t confirm or deny it.

John clicked his tongue. “You know, for someone who doesn’t answer to him for everything, you sure sound like you’re justifying his actions.”

Yulha’s gaze flicked to him, something sharp behind her eyes. “I’m explaining them.”

John tilted his head. “And what do you think?”

Silence.

For a brief moment, something unreadable passed across Yulha’s face. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“My opinion doesn’t matter,” she said simply.

Marian let out a quiet breath. “It does to me.”

Yulha studied her for a moment, then exhaled softly. “I don’t think you’re a threat, if that’s what you’re asking.”

John hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “But you do think they’ll keep coming.”

Yulha nodded. “Yes.”

Marian lowered her gaze, fingers curling around her drink. “Then… what do I do?”

Yulha set her glass down with a quiet clink. “You survive.”

The weight of those words settled over the table.

John, watching Marian closely, finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well. That’s just incredibly reassuring.”

Yulha smirked faintly. “I don’t give reassurances. Just reality.”

Marian’s fingers twitched.

John tilted his head. “Then let’s talk reality. You’re Triangle. You’re his people. What’s stopping you from trying to take her yourself?”

Yulha’s smirk faded. “Off the clock, remember?”

John leaned in slightly. “So you’re saying if we weren’t drinking right now…”

Yulha’s expression didn’t change. “If we weren’t drinking, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

Marian stiffened slightly.

John exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn shame, then. I was starting to think we were bonding.”

Yulha huffed. “You think buying me a drink makes us friends?”

“Not friends,” John said, smirking again. “Just… friendly.”

Yulha chuckled dryly, shaking her head. “You’re relentless.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Marian finally spoke again, her voice quieter. “What would you do if you were me?”

Yulha’s gaze shifted to her, lingering for a moment before she responded. “I’d do whatever it takes to stay out of their hands.”

Marian inhaled slowly, looking down.

John took another sip of his beer, watching her. He could tell that answer wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling.

Then, John smirked again, breaking the tension. “Alright. That’s enough heavy talk for one night. How about another round?”

Yulha raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get me drunk for intel, Smith?”

John grinned. “Would it work?”

Yulha’s lips curled slightly. “No.”

John chuckled. “Damn. Worth a shot.”

Marian sighed, shaking her head. “You two…”

Yulha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

John winked. “Not if I see an opportunity.”

-

The outpost’s command center was usually a place of order—or at least functional chaos. This morning, however, it was something else entirely.

Rapi stood at the entrance, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene in front of her. Empty bottles, discarded glasses, and a few toppled chairs told the story of the previous night’s excess. But what caught her attention the most was the pile of two figures slumped over on the couch.

Marian and Yulha.

The former Heretic and the leader of Triangle were tangled together in what could barely be called a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Yulha’s arm was lazily draped over Marian’s shoulder, while Marian, still in her combat gear from yesterday, had one hand loosely clutching an empty bottle against her chest. Both of them were out cold.

Rapi sighed through her nose. What the hell happened last night?

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her attention away. Anis strolled in, yawning, her hair slightly disheveled from sleep. She paused just beside Rapi, rubbing her eyes before taking in the scene.

“…Okay, what the hell happened in here?” Anis muttered, voice thick with grogginess.

Rapi pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Anis snorted, glancing around at the mess. “Looks like someone threw a damn party and forgot to invite us.” Then, noticing the unconscious pair, she raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that Marian? And Yulha? Together?”

Rapi nodded. “Drunk.”

Anis let out a low whistle. “That’s gotta be a first.”

Before either of them could consider their next move, a new presence barreled into the room—Neon, brimming with far too much energy for the hour.

“Morning, everyone!” she chirped, hands on her hips.

Rapi and Anis winced at the sudden noise.

On the couch, Yulha and Marian let out pained groans, stirring slightly as Neon’s enthusiasm tore through their fragile states.

Neon, oblivious to their suffering, clapped her hands together. “Wow, you two look like hell! Did you have fun last night?”

Marian muttered something unintelligible, her red eyes barely cracking open before she winced and buried her face against the couch.

Yulha, on the other hand, barely moved. “Kill me,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from what was likely too much whiskey and not enough water.

Neon leaned in slightly, grinning. “That bad, huh?”

Marian groaned. “Loud…”

Neon pouted, then suddenly clapped her hands loudly. “Rise and shine!”

Both women recoiled at the sharp sound, Yulha flinching as if physically struck, while Marian groaned and buried her head deeper into the couch.

Anis laughed, leaning on the table. “Damn, Neon. Mercy, at least.”

Rapi, however, remained unimpressed. Her sharp eyes flicked toward the hallway leading toward the barracks. “Where’s the Commander?”

Marian and Yulha both stiffened slightly at the question, exchanging a brief glance before looking back at her.

“…I don’t know,” Marian admitted after a long pause.

Anis raised an eyebrow. “Wait, hold up. You don’t know? Didn’t you guys leave together?”

Yulha let out a tired sigh, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes before running a hand through her disheveled hair. “I… don’t remember.”

Rapi’s expression darkened slightly. “You don’t remember?”

Marian sat up slowly, gripping her head as she tried to gather her thoughts. “We drank. Talked. Then… I think he said something about getting some air?”

Neon blinked. “Wait. So he’s not in his room?”

Rapi shook her head. “I checked before coming here. His bed hasn’t been slept in.”

A brief silence settled over the group.

Anis groaned. “Oh, great. We lost the Commander.”

-

The training grounds were quiet. Too quiet.

No overturned training dummies. No fresh craters in the dirt. No suplexed equipment or broken targets. It was almost eerie how undisturbed everything was.

Anis kicked at the ground, sending a small puff of dust into the air. “Well, unless he learned how to fight without leaving a mess, I’d say he hasn’t been here.”

Neon crossed her arms, pouting. “Kinda weird not seeing something destroyed.”

Marian groaned, rubbing her temples. “Can we not be so loud?”

Anis smirked. “Aww, what’s wrong? Hangover hitting hard?”

Marian shot her a tired glare, voice flat. “What do you think?”

Yulha, slumped against a nearby bench, let out a slow, pained sigh. “Louder. Please. I love the sound of idiots in the morning.”

Anis grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Rapi, ignoring them, crouched near the sandpit where melee drills usually took place. She pressed her fingers lightly against the dirt, her sharp eyes scanning the area. After a moment, she stood. “No tracks. No movement. He hasn’t been here.”

Anis threw up her hands. “Alright, great! So we’re still wasting time.”

Neon wasn’t deterred. She perked up, clasping her hands together. “Oh no, no, no—this is a rescue mission! An operation! We have to find him before it’s too late!”

Yulha lifted her head just enough to glare at her. “Too late for what?”

Neon gasped dramatically. “What if he’s gone feral?”

Rapi exhaled through her nose, rubbing her temple. “He’s not a stray dog.”

Yulha groaned and leaned back on the bench. “Wake me up when you actually find him.”

Anis cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders. “Alright, next stop.”

Neon spun on her heel, pointing forward. “To the cafeteria!”

-

The cafeteria was a quiet mess of half-awake Nikkes nursing cups of coffee, some staring blankly at their breakfast like it had personally wronged them. The scent of reheated rations and stale caffeine filled the air, and the overhead lights buzzed faintly, adding to the sluggish atmosphere.

Behind the counter, a Nikke with dark circles under her eyes barely looked up from her station. She had the air of someone who had seen too much, yet also not enough to actually care.

Neon wasted no time, practically launching herself onto the counter. “Hey! Have you seen the Commander?”

The Nikke sighed, rubbing her temple. “Smith? Yeah, he’s usually in here for an apple pie at some point, but I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

Anis whistled. “So not even for his favorite sugar bomb? That’s actually concerning.”

Neon gasped. “What if he was kidnapped? What if he’s been taken hostage by enemy forces?”

The Nikke gave her a deadpan stare. “And the kidnappers are denying him apple pie? Harsh.”

Neon nodded seriously. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

Rapi sighed. “He wouldn’t just disappear. If he hasn’t been here, then he’s somewhere else.”

Yulha, dragging herself toward a chair, flopped down with an exhausted groan. “I don’t care where he is. I need coffee.”

Anis grinned. “You look like you need medical attention.”

Yulha, still facedown against the table, lifted a single hand and gave her the finger.

Neon pounded a fist on the counter. “Alright, then! Time for Plan C!”

Marian rubbed her temples. “Do I want to ask what Plan C is?”

Neon beamed. “To the next most obvious location—the hangar!”

Anis gave her a look. “You think he’s fixing something?”

Neon shook her head. “Nope! But if he was feral, he’d need shelter, right?”

Rapi groaned. “Neon, he’s not a stray dog.”

Neon gasped. “We don’t know that for sure!”

Rapi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s just check the hangar before this conversation gets any dumber.”

-

After scouring half the outpost with zero results, the group returned to the command center, frustration creeping into their expressions. What had started as a lighthearted search was quickly turning into genuine concern.

Rapi stood at the center of the room, her fingers hovering over her comm device, ready to call in the ACPU. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “If something did happen to him, we can’t waste any more time.”

Neon clutched her head dramatically. “Oh no, what if he really was kidnapped?! What if they brainwashed him?! What if—”

“Neon,” Rapi interrupted, voice firm. “Not helping.”

Anis crossed her arms. “Okay, but real talk, we haven’t seen him all morning. That’s weird even for him.”

Marian bit her lip, her fingers curling slightly. “I don’t like this,” she admitted. “What if—”

“Oi, what’s with all the noise?”

The voice wasn’t coming from inside the command center. It came from above.

The group froze.

Then, as one, they turned toward the ceiling.

John was casually peering down at them from the edge of the roof, arms resting lazily against the railing. His hair was slightly tousled, his shirt wrinkled, and his usual sharp eyes were still hazy with sleep.

Neon gasped. “He’s alive!”

Anis groaned. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Rapi’s brow twitched as she lowered her comm device. “Commander. Why are you on the roof?”

John yawned, stretching his arms before replying. “Told Marian and Yulha last night—I was gonna sleep up here. Weather was great. Figured I’d enjoy the open sky.”

Silence.

Then, Anis let out a slow, disbelieving laugh. “Oh my god. We’ve been running around like idiots, and you’ve been up there the whole time?”

John blinked. “…Yeah?”

Rapi exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment as if summoning patience from the depths of the universe. “You could have told us.”

John shrugged. “I did tell someone.”

All eyes immediately turned to Marian and Yulha.

Marian blinked, realization dawning. “Oh.”

Yulha, who had just slumped onto the nearest chair, sighed heavily. “You did say that. I just… forgot.”

Anis clutched her head. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe I wasted my energy worrying about you.”

Neon wiped a fake tear. “We went on a rescue mission for nothing.”

John smirked. “Appreciate the effort, though.”

Rapi sighed, rubbing her temple. “Just come down already.”

John chuckled, stretching lazily before heading for the access ladder. “Alright, alright. But next time? Maybe don’t assume I’ve been kidnapped first thing in the morning.”

Anis shook her head, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable.”

Neon wiped at her eyes dramatically. “Master, don’t scare us like that again! My heart can’t take it!”

John stepped down from the rooftop, stretching out his arms as he strolled into the kitchen where the rest of the team had gathered. The scent of coffee and reheated rations filled the air, a comfortable contrast to the early morning chaos of their search.

Neon was already seated at the table, happily stuffing her face with toast while flipping through yet another weapons magazine. Anis had slumped over her cup of coffee, barely functional as she stirred it absentmindedly. Marian, still slightly pale from last night’s drinking, sat quietly nursing a glass of water, and Rapi stood at the counter, meticulously pouring herself a fresh cup of black coffee.

John sauntered over to the coffee pot, grabbing a mug and pouring himself a generous amount. “So, lesson of the day: I can go missing for one morning without a full-scale search party, right?”

Anis, still half-asleep, lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “Shut up.”

Neon swallowed her toast dramatically. “Master, I was this close to declaring you dead and taking your room.”

John smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. “Wouldn’t have fit your aesthetic. Not enough posters of heavy artillery.”

Neon pouted. “I would’ve fixed that.”

Rapi set her coffee down with a small sigh. “We were actually concerned, Commander.”

John tilted his head, his smirk softening just slightly. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

Marian, who had been unusually quiet, glanced at him. “You really just wanted to sleep on the roof?”

John took another sip, his expression unreadable. “Something like that.”

The conversation drifted into the usual morning banter, but in the back of John’s mind, his thoughts drifted back to the real reason he had gone up there.

-

The night had been quiet, save for the distant hum of the outpost’s systems and the occasional rustling of the wind. John sat cross-legged atop the roof, a faint flicker of cursed energy illuminating his fingers as he laid out a small assortment of materials in front of him.

A complicated web of barriers had already been arranged across the outpost, but this was different. This was a tracker.

In the center of the barrier, a single strand of hair lay stretched across a talisman—long, silky, unmistakably belonging to Yulha.

John exhaled slowly, focusing his energy as he pressed his fingers to the paper. The seals hummed in response, the ink shifting ever so slightly as it connected to the wider system of barriers he had woven into the outpost.

This wasn’t just about defense anymore.

Burningum was careful. Too careful. The Deputy Chief wasn’t a fool—he understood the capabilities of sorcery, and he had ensured that whatever operations he was involved in were insulated against it. Tracking him directly was nearly impossible with the layers of countermeasures in place.

But Yulha?

She wasn’t as protected.

John had no illusions about her intelligence or instincts—she was a skilled operator, and she played her role well. But she wasn’t aware of sorcery. If she was moving through restricted areas or meeting with the wrong people, then John’s tracker, subtle as it was, could pick up the disturbances.

He traced a line of energy through the talisman, watching as the barrier flickered and expanded, stretching outward. There. Now, even the slightest movements within certain areas of the Ark could be mapped—locations that Yulha would unknowingly provide access to.

It wasn’t perfect. The distance made the signal weak, and it was possible that even this could be noticed if the wrong person looked hard enough.

But it was a start.

Sitting back, John rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion creeping in. His fingers tingled from the prolonged use of cursed energy, but he pushed the discomfort aside.

One step at a time.

Eventually, he allowed himself to lay back, staring up at the artificial sky above.

Chapter Text

The morning air at the outpost was crisp, a sharp contrast to the simmering tension between the assembled squads—Counters and Absolute. They stood in uneasy silence outside the elevator, the hum of machinery underscoring the palpable unease.

Rapi stood near the control panel, her neutral expression betraying a hint of impatience as her arms remained tightly crossed. Anis leaned casually against a railing, her fingers tapping out an idle rhythm on her hip. Neon sat perched on a crate, flipping through a weapons manual and muttering about potential firepower upgrades. Marian stood slightly apart, her hands clasped and posture rigid, her silence more pronounced than usual.

Opposite them, Absolute maintained their disciplined formation. Emma, the squad's nurturing presence, offered a warm smile in an attempt to diffuse the tension. Vesti fidgeted with her gloves, her eyes darting nervously between her comrades. Eunhwa, however, radiated palpable frustration.

"He's late. Again," Eunhwa snapped, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Rapi remained stoic, but Anis let out an exaggerated groan. "Of course he is. You know how it goes—he keeps us waiting, strolls in all smug, and bribes everyone with—"

"Apple pies," Neon interjected, suddenly alert. "Wait, are we talking apple pies?"

Eunhwa scoffed, her voice laced with irritation. "Are you all seriously fine with this? How has he not been discharged? A commander should set an example, not drag their feet and hand out pastries like we're on a field trip."

Emma's smile faltered slightly, and Vesti shrank back.

Neon shrugged. "I mean, the pies are really good."

Eunhwa exhaled sharply, as if restraining the urge to strangle someone. "Unbelievable. Absolute has to put up with this nonsense?"

Before anyone could respond, the distant thud of boots against the pavement reached them. A moment later, John strolled into view, unbothered and unhurried, carrying a familiar bag.

"Morning, everyone," he greeted, his tone light, seemingly oblivious to Eunhwa's piercing glare. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

Eunhwa took a step forward, her frustration evident. "Again, Commander? You think this is funny?"

Unfazed, John held up the bag and gave it a shake, the warm scent of fresh apple pies wafting through the air.

"I come bearing peace offerings," he said smoothly.

Neon was already beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. "Gimme."

John chuckled and handed her a pie, which she unwrapped with an eager squeal.

Anis rolled her eyes but extended her hand. "For someone this bad at being on time, you're shockingly good at bribery."

Emma accepted hers with a polite nod. "This is very kind of you, Commander."

Vesti hesitated, glancing at Emma before reaching out. "Thank you," she murmured.

Eunhwa stood firm, arms crossed, her scowl deepening. "You seriously think this excuses your behavior?"

John met her glare with his usual easy demeanor, extending a pie toward her. "I think it makes it slightly harder for you to stay mad at me."

For a moment, it seemed she wouldn't relent. Then, with an exasperated huff, she snatched the pie from his hand.

"I hate you," she muttered.

John smirked. "Love you too."

Eunhwa didn't take a bite, but she didn't throw it back at him either.

Marian, observing the exchange, slowly accepted a pie as well. She studied it for a moment before taking a tentative bite.

Rapi finally spoke, her voice even. "Commander, we should get moving."

John nodded, taking a bite of his own pie before stepping toward the elevator. "Right, right. Oh—Hana's not joining us, correct?"

Rapi shook her head. "She was reassigned to another squad. We'll be proceeding without her."

John exhaled, then shrugged as he entered the elevator with the others. "Shame. I liked her."

The elevator hummed steadily as it ascended toward the surface, the metallic vibrations filling the tense silence between the two squads. The air inside was thick with unspoken grievances, and though John’s lighthearted demeanor had softened the edges of the tension, the undercurrents of rivalry remained sharp and unresolved.

John leaned lazily against the side railing, arms crossed, his eyes watching the numbers climb on the display. His usual smirk was gone now, replaced by a rare moment of thoughtful focus. After a few beats, he tapped the comms device clipped to his collar.

“Shifty, you there?” he asked, his voice cutting through the stale air like a blade through cloth.

The comms crackled briefly before Shifty’s crisp, professional voice came through, clear and sharp.

“I read you, Commander. What’s the status of the teams?”

John glanced around the elevator, eyes briefly meeting Rapi’s steady gaze and Eunhwa’s cold glare before answering. “Tense, but no one’s shot each other yet. We’ll call that a win for now.”

Shifty didn’t bother to hide her exasperated sigh. “Understood. I’ll keep this brief. The mission parameters haven’t changed—your objective remains the same: investigate the center of Area H and secure any Heretic fragments left behind from the last engagement.”

Neon perked up from her seat on a nearby crate, fiddling with her rifle’s sight as she listened in. “Any updates on enemy activity around the crater?”

“Minimal movement so far,” Shifty replied. “Alva particle concentrations have dropped significantly. That means the site’s stable, and you shouldn’t need to initiate a purification sequence before entry. But don’t let your guard down—there are energy fluctuations around the perimeter, likely residual effects from the last battle.”

Eunhwa’s voice cut through the comms like ice. “What’s the travel time from our landing point?”

“You’re about a day and a half out if you keep a steady pace,” Shifty answered. “Expect rough terrain. The area’s still unstable, so avoid unnecessary detours.”

Rapi’s eyes didn’t leave her tablet as she spoke, her tone cool and efficient. “Any signs of Rapture activity nearby?”

There was a pause. “That’s the strange part. Satellite scans aren’t picking up any significant Rapture movement around the crater. Either they’re keeping their distance, or they’re waiting for something.”

Anis snorted from her place beside the railing, arms crossed casually. “Yeah, ‘waiting’ is just Rapture speak for ‘we’ll ambush you when it’s funniest.’”

The elevator shuddered slightly as it neared the top, the heavy doors preparing to open onto the harsh, wind-swept expanse of the surface.

John exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, teams—once we hit the ground, I want formation tight and comms clear. We’ve got a long walk ahead, so keep the chatter focused unless something important comes up.”

Eunhwa crossed her arms, glaring daggers at him. “Let’s just hope your idea of focus involves arriving on time for once.”

John offered her a lazy smirk in return. “Don’t worry, Captain Perfect—I’ll make sure the pies are warm next time too.”

Before Eunhwa could retort, the elevator doors slid open with a heavy groan, revealing the stark, pale expanse of the surface beyond. A cold wind swept in immediately, carrying the scent of rust and dust, the sky above cast in a perpetual gray gloom.

John stepped forward, boots crunching against the cracked earth as he took in the desolate ruins stretched across the horizon. The remnants of structures, skeletal and broken, loomed in the distance—silent witnesses to humanity’s defeat.

“Day and a half to the crater,” John muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s not make it any longer than it has to be.”

Eunhwa moved ahead of the teams, her posture stiff with authority. “Absolute, take point. Counters, follow in formation.”

John watched her for a beat, then turned back to his own squad. “You heard the lady—tight formation, eyes up. Let’s move.”

-

The cold wind swept over the barren surface, carrying the scent of rust and ash. The metal ruins of a world long lost cast jagged shadows across the cracked ground. Both squads—Counters and Absolute—moved cautiously through the wasteland, tension hanging heavier than the dust in the air.

Rapi led the Counters, her expression cool and focused, every step measured. Anis followed closely behind, her usual energy simmering just below the surface, ready to bubble over at the first opportunity. Neon trailed slightly behind, humming to herself as she adjusted the sights on her shotgun, while Marian kept to the back, her crimson eyes distant, as if seeing something far beyond the ruins ahead.

Absolute moved in a tighter formation. Emma walked at the center with her usual composed grace, keeping the squad’s spirits afloat with her calm demeanor. Vesti stuck close to her side, occasionally glancing at the other squad, her nervous energy making her fidget with the strap on her weapon. Eunhwa, at the front, marched with deliberate, stiff precision, her eyes forward and expression hard as steel.

The silence between the two squads finally shattered with Eunhwa’s voice, low and cutting.

“I still don’t understand why we’re wasting resources working with a third-rate squad,” she said without breaking stride, her words sharp enough to slice through steel.

Anis immediately perked up, flashing a toothy grin. “Third-rate, huh? That’s better than first or second. Three’s higher than one or two, after all.”

Neon, never one to miss the opportunity for chaos, chimed in, her voice syrupy sweet. “Yeah! Third place means we’re trendsetters. You’re just jealous.”

For the first time since they’d set foot on the surface, a small giggle escaped Vesti’s lips, an involuntary, almost startled reaction.

Eunhwa’s head snapped toward her, icy eyes narrowing. “Vesti.”

Vesti immediately straightened up, her face pale. “I—I’m sorry, Captain. Won’t happen again.”

Emma let out a soft sigh but said nothing, focusing instead on maintaining the fragile balance between civility and outright hostility.

John, walking somewhere between the two squads, decided to break the ice before things escalated. “So, about Site H. I’ve heard some stuff, but I never actually bothered reading the mission report. What really went down there?”

Eunhwa’s gaze hardened. “We fought a Heretic. Matis and Absolute nearly lost everything in that crater. During the peak of fighting lightning struck the heretic, giving us the victory”

Anis couldn’t resist. “Nearly, huh? Sounds like you needed some serious backup to make it out alive.”

“We didn’t need your sarcasm, Third-Rate,” Eunhwa snapped, venom dripping from her tone.

Anis’s smirk only widened. “Hey, at least we survived two Heretics at once. No backup, no fancy reinforcements. Just us and sheer determination. Sounds like we’re the real heroes here.”

Eunhwa’s lip curled in disdain. “Dumb luck. That’s all it was. Maybe if Marian hadn’t hesitated, you wouldn’t be here playing soldier.”

The playful spark in Anis’s eyes flickered, her grin turning sharp. “Luck, huh? Then what would you call surviving a Heretic because nature itself took pity on you? A lucky lightning bolt doesn’t exactly scream ‘elite squad’ to me.”

The jab landed harder than Anis probably intended, and Eunhwa’s eyes flashed dangerously. “At least we didn’t survive because of... pity.” She turned her gaze toward Rapi, who had been silent the whole time, her face an unreadable mask. “Tell me, was it mercy? Did Modernia let you live out of sentiment? How does it feel, knowing your old friend nearly stabbed you in the back?”

The group stopped in their tracks.

Marian’s eyes darkened, her hands curling into fists by her sides. Anis’s smirk vanished instantly, her voice low and tight. “You’re crossing a line, Eunhwa.”

Before Anis could say anything more, Rapi’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “That’s enough Eunhwa.”

Eunhwa turned, her expression contorting with unspoken frustration. “You don’t get to say my name, traitor!” Her voice echoed across the desolate plain, every syllable laced with raw anger.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Even John, who usually brushed off tension with humor, looked dead serious now. Neon’s cheerful expression faltered, and Vesti’s shoulders hunched under the weight of the outburst.

Eunhwa’s own breath came heavy and ragged, as if she’d finally realized how far she had gone. “...Damn.” She turned on her heel and stormed ahead, leaving the group behind.

The squads stood still for a long moment.

John broke the silence with a sigh. “Well... that went well.”

Anis shook her head slowly. “I swear, that woman’s got a fuse shorter than a shotgun barrel.”

Emma moved quietly to Vesti’s side, offering a reassuring touch to her shoulder. “She’s not angry at you,” Emma said softly. “She’s angry at herself. And Rapi.”

Marian, silent and distant as ever, finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Let’s just keep moving.”

Vesti, face slightly flushed, shuffled up to Anis.

“Um...” She cleared her throat, glancing nervously at the others before looking up at Anis. “Can you... teach me how to talk back like that?”

Anis blinked. “Wait. What?”

Vesti’s hands clenched at her sides. “Eunhwa’s always so... intense. I want to talk back properly. Like you did.”

A slow smirk crept onto Anis’s face. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re in for a hell of a lesson.”

-

The journey continued without further incident, but the atmosphere remained strained.

Marian, walking a few paces behind, kept mostly to herself, her mind turning over Eunhwa’s words from earlier.

"At least we didn’t survive because of... pity."

She had tried not to react to it, had forced herself to keep moving, to pretend it didn’t bother her.

But it did.

Even now, she could feel the weight of that accusation, pressing against her thoughts. And that terrified her.

John slowed his pace until he was walking beside her again.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he said casually. “What’s on your mind?”

Marian hesitated. “It’s nothing.”

John gave her a flat look. “Lies.”

She sighed, fingers clenching slightly at her sides. “…It’s just what Eunhwa said.”

John exhaled, half expecting that answer. “Yeah, figured.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then—

“I don’t remember what happened that day,” Marian admitted, voice quieter now. “I don’t know what I did. Or didn’t do.”

John scratched his jaw, thinking for a moment before speaking. “You were Modernia back then. Whatever choices were made—it wasn’t you.”

Marian didn’t respond right away.

“Maybe.”

John glanced at her. “Maybe?”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

He watched her for a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah. You are.”

The conversation drifted into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Marian still had questions, doubts that gnawed at her—but for now, she kept moving forward.

John, walking beside her, made sure she wasn’t walking alone.

-

After several hours of trekking, the group had made a small camp to eat and refresh before moving again. Everyone had split into groups, with Anis and Vesti moving to the edge of the camp. They crouched low and spoke conspiratorially, their voices low and hushed.

Anis leaned in close, her lips barely moving as she whispered something into Vesti’s ear. Whatever it was, it made Vesti’s entire face turn red.

The younger Nikke pulled back instantly, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief. “A-Anis! I can’t say that!”

Anis grinned, her expression the perfect mixture of mischief and amusement. “Sure, you can. You just gotta own it.”

Vesti looked like she was experiencing a full-blown existential crisis. “But—but that’s so—so mean!”

“That’s the point!” Anis shot back, clearly having the time of her life. “It’s gotta sting. That’s how you get someone like Eunhwa off your back. You think she pulls her punches when she talks to you?”

Vesti fidgeted, clearly unsure.

Anis let out an exaggerated sigh, draping an arm over Vesti’s shoulders in a mock display of guidance. “Look, kid. You wanna learn how to talk back, right?”

Vesti nodded hesitantly.

“Well, you can’t half-ass it. You gotta commit. Hit ‘em where it hurts.” Anis smirked, tapping a finger against her temple. “And trust me, this one? Guaranteed critical hit.”

Vesti swallowed hard, her hands clenching into tiny fists. She took a deep breath. Okay. Okay. She could do this.

And just like that, the perfect opportunity arrived.

Eunhwa approached the group, her expression as unreadable as ever. She stopped just short of them, cool and composed, arms folded neatly across her chest. “We’re moving in ten. Get your gear in order.”

Vesti froze.

Anis nudged her. “Now or never.”

Vesti’s heart was hammering. Her mouth felt dry. But she squared her shoulders, took a breath—

And, in a voice that only slightly wavered, she blurted out—

“Wh-why don’t you… join the itty-bitty titty committee!”

A dead silence fell over the camp.

Anis looked insanely proud.

Emma broke first, doubling over with unrestrained laughter, nearly dropping the mug she was holding.

John, who had been taking a casual sip from his canteen, made the terrible mistake of swallowing at the wrong time. He coughed violently, having almost choked to death.

Rapi visibly paused in the middle of checking her gear.

And then there was Eunhwa.

She stood completely still. No expression. No sharp retort. Nothing. Just a slow blink as she stared at Vesti like she was trying to process whether or not that had actually happened.

For a long, agonizing moment, it seemed like the world itself held its breath.

Then, in a voice that was dangerously even, Eunhwa finally spoke.

“…Get moving.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps just a little too stiff.

Vesti, who had been holding her breath the entire time, exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging. “I—I think I messed up.”

Anis clapped her on the back. “Kid, that was art.”

Vesti still looked uncertain, glancing at Anis for reassurance. “But—she didn’t even react—”

“Oh, she reacted.” Anis smirked, watching Eunhwa’s retreating form. “Trust me. She’s thinking about it.”

Eunhwa was thinking about it.

And the fact that she was thinking about it annoyed her even more.

She hadn’t meant to linger on it, truly. But as she stood just ahead of the group, waiting for the next move, she found herself turning to Emma.

“What do you think?” she asked, her voice quiet but sharp.

Emma, assuming this was about the mission, hummed thoughtfully. “About Counters? I’d say they’re a lot more capable than they get credit for. I mean, you saw them in action against—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Emma blinked, tilting her head. “Then…?”

Eunhwa hesitated. Then, after a beat, she muttered—

“…Do you think it’s true?”

There was a pause.

Emma frowned, confused. “Do I think what is true?”

Eunhwa’s jaw tightened slightly. “…What Vesti said.”

Emma stared at her for a solid three seconds.

Then her entire expression changed.

A slow, delighted smile spread across her lips.

“Ohhh,” Emma purred, stepping a little too close. “Is that what this is about?”

Eunhwa immediately regretted everything.

Emma leaned in, wiggling her fingers playfully. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I mean, ’ve never had any—I”

Eunhwa took a sharp step back. “Emma.”

Emma grinned wider.

“…personal experience with your body,” she finished with a dramatic pause.

Eunhwa visibly stiffened.

Emma laughed, reaching for her. “Maybe I should check—?”

Eunhwa darted away so fast it was almost comical.

“EMMA, NO.”

Emma’s laughter echoed behind her.

-

Later that night, they set up camp. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dust and old metal. Both squads had settled in, some checking their gear, others eating in silence, and a few already resting in preparation for the long day ahead.

John sat on a weathered crate a little apart from the others, comm device in hand, its dim glow casting a faint light over his face.

Shifty’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “Alva particle readings are stable, no environmental hazards. But there’s something else.”

John smirked, already knowing where this was going. “Let me guess, the lingering tension?”

“More than I expected,” she admitted. “Feels like half the squad is ready to start throwing punches.”

John sighed, flicking through the reports. “That’s what happens when you shove people with history together and expect them to play nice.”

Shifty hesitated before asking, “You know the story behind it?”

John didn’t look up. “Not really. Rapi and Absolute have something between them, but she’s never told me much.”

“And you’ve never asked?”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Not my style.”

Shifty made a thoughtful noise. “Still, you? Not curious?”

John finally glanced up, rolling his shoulders. “Look, I don’t pry. If Rapi wants me to know, she’ll tell me. If she doesn’t, then it’s not my place.” His gaze drifted toward the fire, where Rapi sat quietly, methodically checking her weapon, her expression unreadable.

Shifty exhaled. “Yeah… I get that. It’s not exactly right to talk about someone behind their back either.”

John tossed a small rock into the fire, watching the embers spark. “Exactly. Some things, people carry on their own until they decide to put them down. Pushing for answers just makes things worse.”

Silence stretched between them before Shifty finally said, “Fair enough.”

John scanned the camp. Eunhwa and Emma were off to the side, speaking in low voices. Vesti was poking at the ground with a stick, while Anis sat near her grenade launcher, downing a can of soda. Marian, hands clasped, stared into the distance, lost in thought.

Rapi remained focused on her weapon, but there was a weight to her movements, something heavier than just the mission.

John exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a hell of a day.”

Shifty let out a short chuckle. “Good luck.”

The line cut out, leaving John alone

Rapi sat slightly apart, hands resting on her knees, her expression unreadable. Eunhwa was on the opposite side of the camp, arms crossed, her usual air of quiet superiority edged with something sharper tonight.

Emma, ever the one to break tension before it could snap, spoke up.

“You really don’t have any plans to return to Absolute Rapi?”

The question was simple. The reaction was immediate.

Eunhwa’s head snapped toward Emma so fast it was a wonder she didn’t strain something. “Absolutely not.”

The words cut through the air like a whip.

Vesti, who had been poking at the ground indiscriminately, hesitated before looking up. There was a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe disappointment. “But wouldn’t it be better if we were back together again?”

Emma sighed, shaking her head. “Vesti…”

But Vesti wasn’t finished. She turned to Rapi, her brows furrowed, searching for an answer. “I just don’t get it. You belonged with us, Rapi. Why would you—”

“Why did you leave?”

Eunhwa’s voice cut through the air like steel against stone.

The question sat there, heavy, oppressive.

For the first time all night, Rapi finally looked up—straight at Eunhwa. Their gazes locked, an unspoken battle waged in the space between them.

The others fell silent.

Anis opened her mouth, perhaps to defuse the situation with her usual sarcasm, but one look at Rapi and Eunhwa’s faces shut her up.

A few beats of silence passed before Rapi spoke.

“I killed a human.”

The words were flat. No hesitation. No softness. Just a fact dropped like a grenade at their feet.

The moonlight flickered against Eunhwa’s sharp features, but she said nothing, waiting.

Rapi continued, her voice as steady as always.

“It was during a mission against five aerial Tyrants. I threw a grenade. I miscalculated.”

Emma exhaled through her nose, her expression softening as she watched Rapi closely.

But Rapi wasn’t done.

“They died instantly. But that’s not what bothered me.”

A pause. A breath.

“I felt… annoyed.”

The wind whistled and threw up dust, filling the silence left in the wake of her words.

“Not guilty. Not horrified. Annoyed. Because it meant I had to file a casualty report.”

Her fingers curled into loose fists on her knees. “That’s when I knew something was wrong with me.”

Anis shifted uncomfortably. Neon glanced between the others, her usual energy nowhere to be found. Marian stared off into the distance, her red eyes dark with something unreadable.

Eunhwa, though…

“So, what?” The words came out harsh, but they wavered slightly at the end. “You had an identity crisis and decided to just—leave?”

Rapi didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Eunhwa’s jaw clenched. “You didn’t even tell us.”

Rapi remained silent.

And that was what did it.

Eunhwa shot to her feet, hands curled into fists at her sides. “Do you have any idea what that did to us?!”

Everyone was watching now.

Vesti’s fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve. Emma’s lips parted slightly as if she wanted to intervene but didn’t know how. Anis muttered something under her breath, but even she stayed quiet.

Eunhwa’s voice wavered, her shoulders rising and falling as she struggled to keep control. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t explain. You just… disappeared. I didn’t even know you were gone until I read it on a slip of paper.”

Her breathing was uneven now, her usual mask of cold confidence cracking.

Rapi didn’t look away, but her voice softened, just slightly. “I wasn’t the same after that mission.”

Eunhwa let out a short, bitter laugh. “None of us were. But we didn’t leave each other behind.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Finally, Eunhwa exhaled sharply and turned away. “Whatever. It’s over now.”

She walked past the group, past everyone, retreating into the dark.

No one tried to stop her.

After a long, tense pause, Anis clicked her tongue. “Wow. That was brutal.”

Neon nodded slowly. “She was really mad, huh?”

John glanced at Rapi. “You alright?”

Rapi took a breath and stood. “We should get some rest.”

-

The night was still, save for the low hum of the decoys marking the edge of the camp. John moved through the wasteland with a practiced ease, his steps soundless over the uneven terrain. His barrier had been tripped—not violently, just enough to alert him that something was prowling at the edge of their perimeter.

Rapi and Eunhwa were already awake, their figures barely discernible in the dim light. They stood near the outskirts, weapons lowered but eyes sharp. They had sensed it too.

John approached, hands stuffed in his pockets. "I'll handle it."

Rapi gave him a sideways glance. "You're going alone?"

John nodded. "Three entities. Not moving like Raptures."

Eunhwa scoffed, crossing her arms. "And you are just going to waltz up to them?"

John smirked. "Like I said, I'll handle it."

Rapi exhaled sharply but didn't argue, and neither did Eunhwa, though her disapproval was practically radiating off of her. Still, they let him go.

John slipped through the shrubbery, keeping his approach silent. He tracked the movement with ease—whoever they were, they weren’t being particularly cautious.

He rounded a half-collapsed wall and found them.

Three figures stood near a rusted-out streetlight, their armor and weapons gleaming faintly in the moonlight. One of them, decked out in striking blue, white and gold, stood with a self-assured posture, her hands resting on a massive weapon that looked like it could level a building. Another, in a sleeker, more refined set of gear, was fiddling with a device, clearly frustrated by something. The third was the most relaxed, clad in red and leaning against a broken chunk of concrete with an amused smile, arms folded.

John didn’t hesitate.

He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the quiet. “So, do I just assume you’re friendly, or do I need to start asking difficult questions?”

The reaction was immediate.

The one in blue and gold whipped around, nearly taking out her own teammate with the sheer force of her turn. The one with the device yelped, fumbling with it. The third—who had clearly been waiting for some kind of dramatic reveal—let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Hah! We meet at last!” The golden-armored Nikke declared, pointing at him with all the flourish of a hero from an old comic book. “Commander John! I have read much about you!”

John blinked. "Great. And you are?"

The Nikke looked almost offended. "You do not know my name? The name of the mighty leader and hero of Matis?!"

Maxwell, the one still wrestling with the device, sighed heavily. “For the love of—Laplace, just introduce yourself like a normal person.”

Laplace ignored her. “I am Laplace, hero of Missilis, leader of Matis, and defender of justice!” She threw a fist into her palm. “And you, Commander John, are a legend in the making!”

John tilted his head, unimpressed. “I’d say you have me confused with someone else, but I get the feeling you just enjoy talking.”

“Correct!” she said proudly.

Maxwell gave John a once-over before shaking her head. “We were briefed about you. Syuen assigned us to aid your mission.”

John’s smirk faltered slightly. Of course. Syuen.

He exhaled. "By ‘aid,’ you mean spy and report back.”

Maxwell neither confirmed nor denied it. “We have our orders.”

The third Nikke—Drake—grinned, pushing herself off the concrete. "Man, they said you were sharp. I was hoping we’d at least get to play dumb for a little while.”

John ignored her, keeping his attention on Maxwell. “So why are you out here instead of already in camp?”

Laplace’s proud expression faltered for just a second, but Maxwell spoke first. “Emergency batteries ran dry mid-travel. We were coming off another mission before this one. No resupply.”

John let out a slow breath. "So, you're telling me that Syuen, in all her infinite wisdom, sent her top squad to ‘assist’ me, and you ran out of power in the middle of nowhere?"

Maxwell shrugged. “That about sums it up.”

John scrubbed a hand down his face. "Fantastic."

“I know!” Laplace beamed. “A true test of heroism!”

John stared at her for a long second, then turned back to Maxwell. “You’re serious? You were just... stuck out here?”

Drake nodded. “Yep. Just standing around, waiting for some Raptures to pass so we didn’t have to waste the little juice we had left.”

Laplace crossed her arms, suddenly looking serious. “But no matter! We are here now! And justice will prevail!”

Maxwell muttered something under her breath about ‘justice not fixing logistics,’ but she didn’t bother arguing.

Before John could say anything else, footsteps sounded from behind. Rapi and Eunhwa approached, their eyes flicking over Matis with obvious skepticism.

Laplace, however, grinned. “Looks like our team-up is official!”

Eunhwa folded her arms. “No one agreed to that.”

John rolled his shoulders. “Well, too bad. Because Syuen did.”

Maxwell smirked slightly. “Smart man.”

-

The tension in the camp was thick enough to cut with a knife. Absolute, Counters, and Matis stood in an uneasy triangle, none of them quite trusting the other. The flickering glow of the portable camp lights cast elongated shadows across the broken ruins, making the entire scene feel even more stifling.

The silence stretched on, until—

“Well,” Anis drawled, arms crossed, “this just keeps getting cozier, doesn’t it? What’s next? A damn parade?”

Maxwell, unfazed, leaned back against a supply crate with an easy smirk. “Not a bad idea. We could call it ‘The Unplanned Collaboration of Clashing Egos.’ Has a nice ring to it.”

Laplace, oblivious to the sarcasm, grinned and thumped her chest. “A coalition of heroes! A beacon of justice in the darkness!”

Drake, standing beside her, stretched her arms over her head. “Ain’t much of a coalition if nobody wants us here, though.”

Eunhwa scoffed, arms crossed tight against her chest. “No, really? What gave it away?”

Maxwell and Laplace, however, remained unfazed. Instead, they gave nods of gratitude, much to Eunhwa’s irritation.

“We do appreciate the emergency batteries,” Maxwell said smoothly. “Can’t exactly fight on an empty charge.”

Laplace nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed! Even the greatest heroes need their tools to be in top shape! You have our thanks!”

Eunhwa, unimpressed, fixed them with a sharp glare. “And whose fault is it that you needed them in the first place?”

Maxwell sighed, rubbing her temple. “Ours, obviously.”

“We got deployed straight from another mission,” Laplace explained, utterly unbothered by Eunhwa’s scolding. “No time to resupply. No breaks. Just mission after mission!”

Eunhwa’s irritation only grew. “Then maybe—just maybe—you should have resupplied before coming here. What were you thinking?”

“Not really our call,” Maxwell replied with a shrug. “Syuen wanted us here, and she wanted us here fast.”

“Plus, it’s all part of the hero’s journey,” Laplace added dramatically. “Overcoming adversity, facing impossible odds—”

“Being stranded in the middle of nowhere with a dead battery?” Anis cut in.

Laplace faltered for only a second before recovering. “—Yes! A true test of will!”

Drake, meanwhile, had turned her attention to the campfire. “So, what’s for dinner? You guys owe us a meal for all the trouble we went through.”

John let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You seriously think we’re feeding you?”

Drake grinned but quickly backpedaled, waving a hand dismissively. “Okay, okay, worth a shot.”

Eunhwa, however, wasn’t about to let them distract her. She leveled a cold glare at Maxwell. “Let’s cut through the nonsense. What’s Matis doing here? And don’t give me the ‘we’re here to help’ routine. We both know that’s a load of crap.”

Maxwell didn’t even attempt to deny it. “Fair enough.”

Eunhwa arched an eyebrow. “So?”

Maxwell exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders before answering. “Missilis Intelligence has been keeping tabs on Absolute. Syuen’s been monitoring your movements, tracking your deployments, cross-referencing them with the areas you’re sent to.”

Eunhwa’s expression darkened. “Of course she has.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out what you were after,” Maxwell continued. “Heretic fragments. And as soon as Syuen put the pieces together, she decided to send us in to ‘assist.’” She made air quotes with her fingers.

John folded his arms. “By ‘assist,’ you mean get to them first.”

Maxwell smirked. “You are sharp.”

Eunhwa clicked her tongue in disgust. “So you’re here to steal them.”

“‘Acquire them first’ sounds more diplomatic,” Maxwell corrected. “But yeah, pretty much.”

Laplace, seemingly unbothered by the animosity in the air, crossed her arms and nodded. “It’s only fair. The fragments belong in the hands of those who can utilize them best!”

“And by that, you mean Missilis,” Rapi stated flatly.

“Of course!” Laplace beamed, entirely missing the point.

Eunhwa was just about to start another round of verbal combat when, without a word, Laplace plopped herself down on the nearest patch of ground, arms behind her head.

Maxwell followed suit, lying back against a storage crate. Drake stretched, yawned, then flopped down beside them.

Anis blinked. “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Getting some sleep,” Maxwell replied lazily.

“We’ll start fresh in the morning!” Laplace declared.

Eunhwa bristled. “Excuse me—”

Maxwell, eyes closed, lifted a hand dismissively. “We’re part of the mission now, whether you like it or not. And we’re too damn tired to argue about it.”

Anis stared, dumbfounded. “So that’s it? You just bulldoze in here, take what you want, and then nap in the middle of camp?”

“Pretty much,” Drake said, already half-asleep.

Laplace yawned. “A hero must be well-rested for the battles ahead!”

John let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Well. This is gonna be a nightmare.”

Eunhwa pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have no idea.”

John made his way back toward the Counters’ section of the camp, keeping his pace steady, casual—normal. The last thing he needed was for Matis to get even the slightest inkling that he was up to something. He cast a glance over his shoulder; Laplace and the others were still sprawled out, completely at ease, acting like they owned the place.

He exhaled through his nose and stepped into the warm glow of the campfire where his squad was gathered. Anis was seated on an ammo crate, one leg lazily draped over the other as she twirled her hair around her finger. Neon sat cross-legged on the ground, carefully tuning her shotgun, while Rapi stood near a camplight, her arms folded, expression unreadable as ever. Marian was slightly off to the side lost in thought.

John exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “All right, listen up.”

Anis immediately perked up. “Ooh, serious commander voice? Are we about to get a speech? Do I need to salute or something?”

Neon smirked. “Master giving orders? I’m all ears.”

John gave them both a flat look before continuing. “You all already know this, but I need to make it crystal clear: Matis doesn’t know about me. About what I can do.”

The lightness in Anis’ expression faded. Rapi’s gaze flickered to him, sharp and attentive.

John crossed his arms. “Absolute knows. You guys know. But they don’t. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Neon tilted her head, lowering her rifle. “Do you think Syuen knows about cursed energy?”

John hesitated for a fraction of a second. “…Fifty-fifty. She’s one of the Big Three, and a bigwig in the Ark. If anyone’s got their hands on classified information, it’s her. But even if she does know about cursed energy, what she doesn’t know is that I can use it.”

Anis whistled. “Yeah, that’d be bad. Can you imagine Syuen’s reaction? ‘Oh wow, a walking, talking, fully functional superweapon! Time to shove him in a lab and poke him with sticks!’” She made an exaggerated motion like she was jabbing someone with a needle.

John gave her a deadpan look. “Very funny.”

“I’m just saying, she would do it.”

Rapi spoke up, her tone even. “So, you want us to keep it quiet.”

John nodded. “Exactly. I won’t be using my abilities unless it’s a dire situation. To Matis, I’m just your average, everyday, totally unremarkable human Commander.”

Neon giggled. “Master, I don’t think anyone has ever described you as unremarkable.”

Anis smirked. “Yeah, you do have a habit of attracting trouble.”

John rolled his eyes. “Glad to know where I stand.”

Rapi studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Understood. We won’t say anything.”

Neon saluted playfully. “Mum’s the word, Master.”

Anis huffed. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my lips sealed. But if things go south, I am throwing you at the enemy.”

John shot her an unimpressed look. “Appreciate the faith.”

Marian, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. “Are you sure this is a good idea? If something happens—”

“I’ll handle it,” John said firmly, cutting her off. His voice softened slightly. “I need you to trust me on this.”

Marian hesitated, then nodded slowly. “…Okay.”

John let out a small breath of relief. “Good. Then let’s get some rest. We’re moving out at first light.”

The lights flickered off as the squad settled down for the night. But even as John lay down, arms behind his head, staring up at the starless sky, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get much more complicated.

Chapter Text

The pale light of dawn crept across the shattered horizon, casting long shadows across the battered ruins that surrounded the makeshift camp. The biting cold of the early morning was offset by the low murmur of voices. Most of the squads were quietly preparing their gear for the day ahead.

Except for two voices, which weren’t quiet at all.

“For the last time, Drake, that’s not what ‘racist’ means!” Maxwell’s voice cut through the chill like a whip, strained with disbelief and frustration.

Drake, unfazed and ever confident, leaned lazily against a pile of gear with a smug grin. “Of course it is. Race car fans, right? Y’know, people who love racing cars. That’s why they’re called racists!”

Maxwell blinked. Twice. “No. No, that’s not even remotely close. That’s—where did you even hear something that—”

A low chuckle rumbled from a few feet away. John, leaning back casually against a half toppled steel beam, arms crossed, watched the chaos unfold with a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Drake jabbed a thumb in John’s direction, grinning. “Ask him! John told me that this morning! Said it’s what people who love race cars are called.”

Maxwell’s head snapped toward John, her expression darkening like a brewing storm. “You. You told her this?”

John’s smirk widened, his voice laced with unrepentant amusement. “Hey, she asked. I just gave her an answer. Technically true if you don’t think about it too hard.”

Maxwell’s hands twitched with restrained irritation. “Do you ever grow up?”

Drake scoffed, flipping a lock of her white hair out her face with dramatic flair. “A true villain is required to be villainous at all hours of the day, so they have to be grown as children need to be in bed by 9 at the latest!”

Maxwell’s mouth opened, then closed. She stared at Drake for a solid three seconds, hands twitching like she wanted to shake the nonsense right out of her.

“You’re not even a villain!” Maxwell finally snapped. “You’re just... weirdly obsessed with pretending to be one!” She pointed a finger accusingly. “And for the last time, race car enthusiasts are called ‘gearheads’ or ‘motorsport fans.’ Not racists!”

Anis strolled into earshot just in time to catch the end of the argument, hands on her hips and a devilish grin already forming on her lips. “Racists, huh? That’s gotta be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And I hang out with Neon.”

Neon, cleaning her shotgun nearby, looked up with a frown. “Hey! I resent that!”

John was nearly doubled over with suppressed laughter at this point. “You’re all gold this morning. Keep it up, and I might die of amusement before the mission even starts.”

The playful energy was infectious. Anis was snickering under her breath, Neon looked ready to egg Drake on even further, and even Rapi, who had been silently adjusting her gear, raised an eyebrow in mild disbelief.

But as the laughter subsided and the squads returned to their morning preparations, John’s gaze shifted.

Near the far edge of the camp, almost hidden in the shadow of a collapsed metal tower, Marian sat alone, her posture rigid and withdrawn. She wasn’t cleaning her gear or engaging in the banter like the others. Her crimson eyes were locked on something distant, somewhere far beyond the horizon, beyond the mission, beyond even the team gathered around her.

That same isolation again.

John’s smirk faded as he watched her for a long moment, his arms falling to his sides. She had been distant since they left the outpost, always walking at the back of the group, always sitting apart when they made camp. The weight of Eunhwa’s words from the night before seemed to linger over her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

Anis’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Yo, Commander, what’s the plan for the day?”

John blinked and forced his grin back into place. “First, we make sure Drake doesn’t accidentally cancel herself. Then we hit the road.”

The squad let out scattered chuckles, but John’s attention drifted back to Marian. As the others began packing up the camp, John made a mental note: Yeah, this needs to stop.

-

The cold wind swept mercilessly across the surface, carrying dust and the faint metallic tang of decay. The group moved with silent efficiency through the wreckage, boots crunching against the cracked ground, weapons held steady and eyes sharp.

Absolute led the formation, Eunhwa at the front with her usual military precision, her posture radiating authority. Emma followed close behind, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any potential threats, while Vesti kept her gaze lowered, focused entirely on the trail ahead.

Behind them, Counters guarded the rear with practiced ease. Rapi walked near the back, cool and composed as always, while Anis and Neon flanked her sides—Anis humming a tune under her breath, Neon occasionally adjusting the grip on her shotgun, her eyes flicking across the terrain with lazy vigilance.

Matis was deliberately split throughout the formation.

Laplace was trying to strike up conversations with both squads, oblivious to the simmering tension around her. Maxwell moved near Absolute’s flank, exchanging occasional quiet words with Emma while tinkering with a small device clipped to her belt. Drake, on the other hand, had somehow managed to wander toward the rear, trailing behind Anis with what she seemed to believe was an ominous villainous smirk, though it came off more like a mischievous child plotting a prank.

John, positioned near the center, surveyed the scene with a critical eye.

He still didn’t fully trust Matis. The split formation wasn’t just strategic; it was insurance. Keeping them scattered prevented any coordinated moves on their part, and it gave John control over every angle of the march.

But his focus wasn’t entirely on them.

His gaze flicked toward the back of the formation.

Marian.

She was trailing several paces behind the rest of Counters, her head bowed slightly, crimson eyes fixed on the ground. She was with the team in body but not in spirit. An isolated figure wrapped in silence.

John let out a slow breath, then drifted toward Rapi’s side. Without breaking stride, he tapped her shoulder lightly.

“I’m going to fall back for a bit,” he murmured low enough for only her to hear. “Watch the formation.”

Rapi’s eyes didn’t leave the horizon, but she gave a slight nod. “Understood.”

Without another word, John slowed his pace, letting the distance between himself and the others stretch until he was lock step Marian.

John cleared his throat. “So, uh… You planning on setting up a permanent spot back here, or what?”

Marian blinked, momentarily startled, and glanced over at him. “I didn’t realize I needed permission to walk where I wanted.”

John let out a short breath of a laugh. “Didn’t say that. Just… y’know, it’s starting to look like you're a teenager who is ashamed to be seen walking with their parents.”

Marian shook her head but didn’t stop walking. “I just don’t want to distract anyone.”

“Distract, huh?” John raised an eyebrow. “You’re about as distracting as a shadow, Marian.”

She kept her gaze forward.

The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. John stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

“You’re doing that thing again,” he said after a moment.

Marian frowned. “What thing?”

“Blaming yourself.”

Her shoulders tensed. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are.”

Another pause. Marian’s fingers flexed by her side.

John exhaled, trying for something lighter. “You know, you’re real bad at being subtle. Its not good to bottle things up.”

She let out a soft, humorless huff. “Says the guy who bottles everything up like it’s an Olympic sport.”

John smirked. “Takes one to know one, huh?”

Marian stopped walking for a second and looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time since they left camp. There wasn’t anger or frustration in her gaze, just a tired sort of exasperation.

“You’re a hypocrite, you know that?”

His grin widened. “Been called worse.”

For a beat, they walked in silence again, but the weight between them felt just a little lighter.

Then, after a pause, John’s voice softened. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Marian.”

Marian’s expression tightened. “I do, though. Don’t you get it? What happened—what I did—”

“What Modernia did,” John corrected, his tone firm but not harsh.

Marian shook her head, her voice lowering. “No, it was me too. Maybe I didn’t have control, but the choices, the hurt, it still came from me. From somewhere inside. I can’t just… pretend that part of me doesn’t exist.”

John was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “I’m not telling you to forget it. Hell, I wouldn’t expect you to forgive yourself overnight, either.” He shrugged, eyes locked ahead now. “I just think maybe it’s time you stop trying to punish yourself for surviving.”

Marian’s jaw tightened. “It’s not that easy.”

“Didn’t say it was,” John replied, his voice low. “But you’re here now. You chose to come back. That’s gotta mean something.”

For a second, Marian looked like she might respond, maybe even argue. But the words never came.

Instead, the ground beneath them rumbled.

The sound was faint at first, like distant thunder rolling across the broken landscape. But then the vibrations sharpened, turning into something mechanical. A low, droning hum filled the air, and every instinct in John’s body screamed at him.

“Get ready,” he muttered, his hand already reaching for his comms device.

Marian’s eyes snapped forward, her posture shifting into something instantly more focused. “Raptures.”

A flicker of movement in the distance caught John’s attention—metallic limbs skittering across the ruins, glinting in the gray light.

He tapped his comms immediately. “Counters, Absolute, Matis! we’ve got company. Rear flank.”

The static crackled briefly before Rapi’s voice came through, steady as ever. “Acknowledged. We’re moving to intercept.”

The rumble beneath the group intensified as the swarm of Raptures surged forward from the horizon with fast ground units leading the charge, their metallic limbs tearing through the cracked earth with brutal efficiency. Behind them, bulkier missile-launcher types lumbered forward, their arm-mounted racks glowing ominously as they prepped for bombardment. Intermittent flashes revealed the last threat: suicide drones, smaller, quicker forms, already beginning their arcing leaps toward the group.

John’s boots crunched against the uneven ground as he stepped back, his voice steady through the comms.

“Form defensive positions. Counters take the left flank, Absolute on the right, Matis hold the center! Prioritize ranged suppression for those bombers. Neon, Drake, keep those suicide units away from the core squad!”

“Understood!” Rapi’s calm voice crackled through, her tone sharp and professional as ever.

The squads snapped into action, moving like gears in a well-oiled machine.

Rapi was already moving forward, her assault rifle snapping up with practiced ease. Her shots were quick bursts, surgically precise, aiming for weak points in the advancing Raptures’ joints.

Anis was next to her, locking a fresh drum into her rotary grenade launcher with a smirk. “Let’s turn these junkers into scrap!” Her first burst fired, a volley of explosives tearing into a cluster of the mid-sized Raptures and blowing their legs apart in a shower of molten metal.

Besides them, Neon grinned wickedly, her shotgun pumping with a satisfying clack as she zeroed in on the nearest suicide unit.

“Master said no surprises today!” she shouted, firing point-blank into an oncoming drone. The explosion rattled the ground, but Neon was already spinning to deal with the next attacker.

Marian stood just behind them, her machine gun humming with a deadly rhythm as she laid down suppressive fire. The heavier Raptures, missile-launcher types, tried to push forward but were shredded under her relentless volleys

John watched from the rear, eyes sharp, reading the battlefield like a map of possibilities.

“Anis, redirect fire ten degrees left, the heavier bombers are grouping. Rapi, suppressing fire on their approach paths.”

“On it, Commander!” Rapi responded, adjusting her aim without hesitation.

Anis smirked, launching another grenade burst toward the indicated position. “You better be right, Boss!”

The explosions rippled through the Rapture line, forcing the missile units to scatter.

Meanwhile, Eunhwa was a pillar of precision, her sniper rifle resting steadily against her shoulder. Every squeeze of the trigger was followed by the sharp crack of a supersonic round. Each shot found its mark—a weak point on a heavy Rapture’s exposed power core, the delicate sensor array on a suicide unit’s head.

Her focus was absolute, her voice low through the comms. “Missile units neutralized in my sector.”

Emma, just behind her, spun up her minigun with a thunderous roar. “I’ll handle crowd control!” she shouted, her weapon a wall of lead and fury that shredded through the thinner armor of the advancing swarm.

Vesti stayed just behind Emma, her rocket launcher primed and ready. She fired off a high-explosive shell into a cluster of fast-moving ground units trying to flank the squad.

“Direct hit!” Vesti called out, though her voice wavered with anxiety. She steadied herself and prepared another round.

“Don’t hesitate,” Emma encouraged, her voice calm despite the chaos. “You’ve got this, Vesti. Stay close.”

At the core of the formation, Laplace was a blur of focused destruction. Her beam rifle hummed with raw power, firing precise, high-intensity shots across the battlefield.

“Fear not! Justice strikes true!” she declared dramatically, vaporizing a suicide unit mid-leap before shifting to cover the center-left approach.

Maxwell’s beam weapon carved through the oncoming missile-launcher units with clinical precision, cutting off their support fire before they could overwhelm Absolute’s position.

Drake, shotgun blazing, laughed with wild delight as she intercepted suicide drones trying to dive toward the core squad. “You fools thought you could out-villain me?!” she shouted, firing into another wave of attackers.

John’s voice came sharp through the comms. “Laplace, shift your focus and support Absolute’s right flank, they’re getting overrun! Maxwell, hold the center line steady.”

“As you command, mighty leader!” Laplace called out, already pivoting to unleash a searing beam into the mass of Raptures pressing Absolute.

Maxwell’s tone was drier, but equally professional. “Acknowledged, Commander. Holding position.”

John’s eyes swept the battlefield, catching every shift, every weakness in the Rapture formation. His orders came quick, cutting through the chaos with precision.

“Neon, rotate back. Focus on clearing any stragglers breaching the perimeter.”

“Yes, Master!” Neon replied enthusiastically, moving swiftly to the rear and gunning down the few Raptures trying to slip past the line.

“Anis, Marian, Rapi, angle your fire, we’ve got a new cluster coming in from the left ravine. I need suppressive fire now.”

“Thought you’d never ask!” Anis whooped, launching another volley of grenades directly into the ravine’s mouth.

Rapi’s and Marian’s stream of bullets cut down any units that survived the blast.

“Commander!” Eunhwa’s voice was sharp in the comms. “Another wave—suicide units, fast movers, approaching from the rear!”

John’s gaze snapped to the tactical map in his HUD. “Drake, Neon, intercept that rear flank now! Don’t let them breach the formation.”

Drake’s shotgun fired off with devastating effect. “You got it, Commander! Let’s ruin their day!”

Then, everything stopped.

A low mechanical growl reverberated through the ground. Emerging from the shadows of the ruins came a massive Rapture juggernaut, towering, heavily armored, with missile pods lining its back and twin drills for arms. It was the embodiment of destruction.

“New target inbound,” John barked, eyes narrowing. “Priority kill. Focus all fire on that juggernaut before it can launch a barrage.”

Rapi’s assault rifle lit up, bullets slamming into the exposed joints of the monster’s legs. “We’ll try to slow it down.”

Eunhwa’s sniper rounds followed suit, punching through gaps in its armor and damaging critical systems with pinpoint precision.

Laplace charged a full-power blast. “Justice BEAM!” The shot carved through one of the missile pods, sending a shower of molten metal into the air.

The juggernaut staggered but didn’t fall.

Its missile pods began to glow.

“Anis, Marian, disable those launchers NOW!” John’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Got it, boss!” Anis launched a full salvo of grenades at the glowing pods whilst Marian unleashed a stream of lead at any pods and missiles that managed to get through the onslaught.

The resulting explosion was deafening, the shockwave rattling through the formation.

The ground was littered with smoking wreckage and broken metal. The once-relentless swarm of Raptures now lay still, their mechanical bodies shattered by the coordinated firepower of the squads.

John’s voice came through the comms, steady but firm. “Status report. Now.”

Rapi’s voice was first. “Counters operational. Superficial injuries only.”

Eunhwa followed. “Absolute, no casualties. All clear.”

Maxwell chimed in last, her voice steady. “Matis holding. No losses.”

John let out a slow breath, his body relaxing just a fraction. “Good. Regroup, resupply, and check your gear. Seems like we made it through the worst of it.”

-

They weren’t through the worst of it.

The battlefield stretched around them, a wasteland of smoldering wreckage and shattered Raptures. Twisted metal limbs jutted out of the cracked earth like grotesque sculptures, their fractured optics flickering dimly in the gray light of the overcast sky. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning oil and scorched circuitry, a bitter perfume that clung to their lungs and lingered on their armor.

But the destruction wasn’t the worst part.

It was the relentlessness.

For what felt like an eternity—though it had only been hours—the squads had been under near-constant attack. Every skirmish blended into the next without pause for breath, like a storm of metal and fury that never ceased. Ground units swarmed in unpredictable patterns, their claws scraping against rusted debris as they closed in with feral precision. Suicide drones rained from the sky, diving toward the squads with horrifying speed, their detonations echoing like war drums across the ruins. And looming in the distance, missile-launching behemoths pounded the ground with crushing force, each salvo a deafening reminder of the enemy’s overwhelming numbers.

The squads fought with discipline and cohesion, a single well-oiled machine of survival instinct and brutal efficiency. Absolute’s precision strikes cut down the most dangerous threats before they could close the gap, while Matis’s ranged weapons carved through enemy formations from a distance with terrifying ease. Counters filled the gaps, with Anis’s explosives and Neon’s firepower wreaking havoc on tightly packed groups of Raptures, while Rapi’s steady, measured bursts from her assault rifle and Marian’s unrelenting machine gun fire kept their flanks from collapsing.

But even machines wear down.

Ammo reserves were running low with every trigger pull bringing them closer to empty magazines and dwindling supplies. Each movement felt heavier than the last, their energy sapped by exhaustion and mounting injuries. The constant adrenaline surge, once vital for their survival, was now becoming poison, burning through their focus and leaving frayed nerves in its place.

John’s voice cut through the oppressive haze of tension like a blade. “Shifty, come in.”

The comms crackled with static, followed by Shifty’s clipped, professional tone. “I read you, Commander. What’s your status?”

John’s jaw tightened as his eyes swept across the field of wreckage, taking in the scorched earth and battered squad members. “We’ve been under constant assault for hours. These attacks aren’t random. They’re coordinated, organized and relentless. Why weren’t we warned about this level of activity?”

A brief pause followed before Shifty responded. “Negative, Commander. Pre-deployment scans showed minimal Rapture presence in the area.”

John’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a low growl. “And now? Tell me you’re picking something up.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Still nothing,” Shifty said finally, the hesitation in her voice clear even through the comms. “Scans are reading clear across all spectrums. There’s no sign of any Rapture presence near your location.”

“That’s impossible,” John muttered under his breath. His eyes scanned the ruins ahead, every shadow and jagged piece of wreckage suddenly feeling like a threat waiting to emerge. They’re not just materializing out of thin air. Someone—or something—is directing this.

The squads pushed forward, the silence between attacks gnawing at their nerves more than the fighting ever had. The quiet was unnatural, a suffocating absence of sound that felt like it was waiting to snap back into chaos at any moment.

The barren landscape eventually led them to a crumbling ravine, an immense scar carved deep into the earth, its jagged edges stretching out in both directions like the gaping maw of a monster from an old legend. A rusted metal bridge spanned the chasm, its once-sturdy supports now sagging under decades of decay. The wind whispered through the hollow steel beams, carrying a haunting melody of creaks and groans that made the entire structure seem on the verge of collapse.

John stared at the bridge with a sinking feeling. “Shifty, what’s the status of this crossing?”

Her response came after a moment’s delay. “That bridge was constructed over twenty years ago. It wasn’t built for heavy loads. Given its current state, I wouldn’t risk sending all of you across at once.”

Anis stepped forward, eyeing the structure with open disdain. “So, you’re telling us this piece of junk is our only way across?”

“Afraid so,” Shifty confirmed. “You’ll need to cross in smaller groups. Ten Nikkes’ worth of weight will collapse it for sure.”

Maxwell's voice was sharp and immediate. “Absolute and Counters should cross first. We’re better equipped for ranged coverage if something goes wrong.”

Eunhwa’s gaze turned cold. “I don’t trust you at my back.”

Maxwell smirked, her expression cool and condescending. “How predictable. You think us being in front makes you safer?”

Anis snorted, arms crossed as she leaned casually against a chunk of rubble. “Oh, I’m sorry, are the corporate lapdogs upset we don’t trust them not to knife us while we’re busy?”

Before the argument could escalate, John’s voice cut through the tension like a razor. “Enough.”

The bickering stopped instantly.

“We’re splitting into mixed groups,” John ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Nobody crosses alone, and nobody is left to cover the rear without backup. I don’t care how much you trust—or don’t trust—each other. You’re going to watch each other’s backs, and you’re going to keep moving.”

Eunhwa’s jaw clenched, her expression like stone, but she didn’t argue. The logic was undeniable, even if it meant enduring the presence of allies she barely tolerated.

“We’re also running low on supplies,” John added, glancing at Neon as she methodically reloaded her shotgun with a mechanical calm that didn’t quite mask the fatigue in her eyes. “We’re burning through ammo faster than planned. If these ambushes keep up, we’re going to be running on fumes before we reach Area H.”

The first group moved carefully across: Eunhwa led, flanked by Rapi and Laplace, their weapons raised and eyes scanning the shadows. Their steps were measured, each one accompanied by the low groan of ancient steel under their weight. Every creak of the structure felt like a warning, but they made steady progress.

John lingered near the rear as the second group preparing to move—Maxwell, Vesti, and Neon was assembling. His eyes drifted toward Marian, who stood quietly near the edge of the ravine, her crimson eyes locked on the horizon as though she were anywhere but here.

Just as the third group started their journey, he decided it was now or never to speak with Marian.

“You’re doing that thing again,” John said, voice low but cutting through the wind nonetheless.

Marian’s eyes stayed locked on the squads ahead, before she exhaled through her nose. “Maybe I just prefer the quiet.”

They walked a little farther towards the bridge before Marian spoke again, softer this time. “You ever wonder if survival’s just inertia?”

John blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Inertia?”

“Things in motion stay in motion unless something stops them.” Her eyes were distant now, like she wasn’t really seeing the squads ahead. “Maybe that’s all we’re doing. Moving forward because it’s easier than stopping. Because stopping means dealing with… everything we’ve left behind.”

For a second, John didn’t answer. The wind bit at his skin as he thought.

“I don’t think it’s about inertia,” he said finally. “I think it’s like a river. You don’t fight the current, you learn to swim with it. Life doesn’t stop, but maybe it’s about figuring out how not to drown in it.”

Marian blinked, genuinely surprised by the thoughtfulness of the analogy. “That’s… surprisingly insightful.”

“I have my moments,” John replied with a smirk. “Besides, half of philosophy’s just fancy ways of saying ‘don’t die yet.’”

A beat of silence stretched between them, more comfortable than before.

“You’re not your past, Marian,” John said eventually, his voice softer, more serious. “What happened back then—what Modernia did—it doesn’t define who you are now.”

Marian’s eyes darkened, her steps slowing just a fraction. “Maybe not. But what if it’s just… part of me now? What if that’s all there is?”

John shook his head slowly. “Then maybe the trick isn’t to erase it. Maybe it’s about learning how to live with it. Without letting it pull you under.”

For a long time, Marian didn’t speak. But the tension in her shoulders eased just a little.

By the time they reached the other side of the bridge, she hadn’t solved the knot twisting in her chest, but for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was carrying it alone.

-

The tension in the air had settled like an oppressive fog as the squads regrouped on the other side of the bridge. Water bottles, rations and spare ammo was distributed across the groups as they prepared to continue moving.

The brief respite was broken by the sharp crackle of the comms.

“Matis, we’ve got a situation,” Shifty’s voice came through, tight with mounting frustration. “I’m getting repeated contact requests from Elysion HQ. They’re demanding an explanation for your involvement in this operation.”

Maxwell, who had been running diagnostics on her rifle’s energy core, straightened immediately. “Elysion? Already? That was fast.”

Laplace waved a hand dismissively. “We’re aiding the mission in the name of justice, obviously! Tell them that.”

There was a pause, then Shifty’s sigh came through with all the enthusiasm of a system error message. “They’re not accepting that as a valid response. Apparently, ‘We’re helping!’ doesn’t hold much water with Elysion brass.”

Laplace grinned, unfazed. “Practice makes perfect!”

Shifty’s groan of exasperation was practically audible through the comms. “I’m an operator, not an answering machine, Laplace. Maybe try giving me something they’ll actually believe.”

Before Maxwell could intervene with something resembling diplomacy, the comm line crackled ominously and a new voice cut through, sharp and authoritative.

“Excuse me.”

The chill that swept over the camp wasn’t from the wind.

Ingrid.

Not just her voice, but the woman herself had stepped into Shifty’s operator room, her imposing presence now physically occupying the space. The sheer audacity of her unannounced appearance left even Shifty visibly stunned as the Elysion CEO folded her arms and leveled a cold stare directly at the comm unit.

“You’ll forgive me for bypassing formal channels, but it seems Missilis doesn’t quite understand the definition of ‘cooperation.’” Ingrid’s voice was low and dark.

Maxwell stiffened, her composure wavering for the first time. “Director Ingrid, with all due respect—”

“Spare me the diplomacy, Maxwell.” Ingrid’s words were icy daggers. “I want to know why Matis is really here. Because from where I’m standing, this looks suspiciously like intentional sabotage—an attempt to secure the Heretic fragments for Missilis before Elysion can claim them.”

The accusation hung in the air like a loaded gun.

“That’s ridiculous,” Maxwell shot back, though her usual confidence was cracking under Ingrid’s glare. “Our orders were to assist the mission, nothing more.”

“Assist?” Ingrid’s lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. “Your squad has done nothing but delay operations and compromise our progress. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was your company’s first move in open hostilities.”

Before Maxwell could form a response, the comms crackled again, this time with the arrival of yet another voice, all syrupy arrogance and thinly veiled malice.

“Oh, Ingrid, still so paranoid after all these years?”

Syuen.

Her voice dripped into the conversation like oil on water, smooth and toxic all at once. “You always did assume the worst. Honestly, it’s exhausting.”

John, already halfway done unscrewing his canteen, stopped mid-motion. His expression twisted into a mix of disbelief. “Of course. Just what we needed.”

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, her tone razor-sharp. “Ah, the CEO of Missiles herself. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be far behind.”

The deliberate mispronunciation hit its mark—Syuen’s voice sharpened with immediate irritation. ““It’s Missilis, you frigid fossil!” Syuen’s voice cracked like a whip, her bratty irritation barely contained. “I’d expect someone of your stature to at least get the name right.”

“Oh, but you’re such a blast to work with,” Ingrid shot back, every syllable dripping with poison. “I figured ‘Missiles’ was more fitting, given how often your operations tend to explode in your face.”