A faint hum filled the air. The sound of damp metal, dripping water, and the constant static buzz of energy suppressors.
Sinon opened her eyes slowly. Her vision blurred at first — bars, a dim blue light, a narrow corridor ahead. It took her a moment to realize she was in a prison cell. The air felt thick, heavy… dead.
Her wrists were bound by shimmering cuffs that pulsed faintly with anti-Rim energy. Beside her, Samuel sat slumped against the wall, expression pale and drained.
Across from them, behind the opposite bars, sat Andreo and Michael, both awake — both equally restrained.
Andreo was the first to speak, his usual smirk already in place.
"Ah, looks like the sleeping princess is awake," he said, raising a hand lazily. "Welcome to the Regan special suite, Sinon. I'd offer a drink, but as you can see…" — he rattled his shackles — "…we're kind of dry on supplies."
Sinon rubbed her temple, trying to remember how she'd ended up here.
"...Where are we?" she asked, voice faint.
"The Regan's containment block," Michael replied, sighing. His tone was cold but calm. "Mark dragged us here after the collapse. We're not dead, but we might as well be."
Before Sinon could speak again, Mark walked past the cells — his coat tattered, his expression distant. He glanced at them once, then sat down just outside the bars, leaning against the wall like he didn't care whether they lived or died.
Andreo laughed under his breath.
"Hi there, Mark. You look miserable. Let me guess — they demoted you to prison guard duty?"
Mark didn't answer. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground.
Michael smirked slightly. "What's this, Mark? The so-called Death God of Regans sitting around like a lost rookie? Did they chain you too?"
A subtle tremor went through Mark's hand. He didn't look up. "You can't provoke me with that," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
"Not anymore?" Andreo leaned forward, his grin widening. "You used to be a rabid dog, remember? You'd cut anyone who looked at you wrong. What happened? Scared the higher Regans might notice you playing executioner again?"
Mark's jaw tensed. He exhaled through his nose. "No. But causing a scene would make things worse. I don't have authority here — not in this prison."
That made Sinon frown slightly. "So… even among the Regans, there's hierarchy?"
Mark's eyes flicked toward her. "Obviously. You think monsters like us live without chains?" He stood up, the chains on his cuffs rattling lightly. "Some of us were born strong. Others were built. The ones above decide who gets to live without fear."
Sinon met his gaze, defiant despite her weakness. "So you're just their tool then."
Mark's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, not quite anger. "You talk too much for someone behind bars. If I wanted, I could cut you down right here and blame it on an escape attempt." He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "And since this room doesn't even have a single camera anymore… who would stop me?"
A moment of silence followed — heavy, tense, suffocating.
Andreo leaned back against the wall, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Go ahead, then. But something tells me you won't. You've changed, Mark."
Mark turned away without a word. His voice came out low, tired. "You don't understand. You never did."
He sat again outside the cell door, head lowered. The light above him flickered, casting shadows across his face.
Michael chuckled under his breath. "Well, at least it's not boring in here."
---
POV: Alane
The air was cold. Sterile. Too quiet.
Alane limped into a vast chamber lined with glass capsules — hundreds of them. Each one housed something human-shaped, suspended in a faint blue liquid. Some were cracked. Some were empty.
He whistled softly. "So Fern was this deep in the rabbit hole, huh?"
He sat down on a metal crate, wincing as blood dripped from his back. His coat was torn, soaked crimson near his shoulder. He pressed a hand there and hissed.
"Damn it. Rim's nearly gone… twenty percent, maybe less."
The glow in his palm flickered weakly — faint, unstable.
He stared at it with irritation. "I'm rotting alive," he muttered. "If I can't recover Rim soon… I'm done."
Silence filled the chamber again. The capsules hissed occasionally, releasing small puffs of vapor.
After a few moments, Alane frowned. "…Weird. Not a single guard here." He stood slowly, scanning the shadows. "No patrols, no alarms. Either they're hunting someone else… or they already left."
He glanced toward a large steel door at the far end of the room, half-open. The faint sound of footsteps echoed beyond it — fading quickly.
Alane smirked faintly, though his eyes looked distant. "Guess everyone's got their own hell to crawl through today."
He sat again, resting his head against the wall, letting the hum of the capsules lull him into uneasy stillness.
---
POV: Alia, Sofia, and Carl
The corridors smelled of rust and chemicals.
Alia pressed her back against the wall, motioning for the others to stop. Sofia crouched behind her, steady. Carl was at the rear, carrying a stolen rifle from one of Fern's soldiers.
They moved like shadows — deliberate, soundless. Every step was calculated. Every breath controlled.
A fallen guard lay nearby, unconscious. Another slumped in the corner, tied with tubing ripped from medical machines.
Alia exhaled softly. "That's the last one on this floor," she whispered.
Sofia nodded, her voice low and cool. "Keep moving. The others will regroup soon."
They turned the corner and entered what looked like an old kitchen — rows of shattered counters, rusted utensils, and broken plates scattered across the floor.
Carl pointed toward the back. "There. The utility canal connects through the outer wall. It should lead us near the ventilation exit."
They stepped carefully across the debris, the flicker of emergency lights painting their faces in red and white intervals.
But then — a sound.
Clank.
Something echoed faintly above them. Metal against metal.
Sofia froze immediately. Her eyes darted upward toward the ceiling.
"…Did you hear that?"
Carl nodded slowly. "From the ducts."
They all turned toward the ventilation shaft that ran along the ceiling. The sound came again — distant at first, then closer. Crawling. Shifting.
Alia's breath caught in her throat. The image of Arthur and Kaito's father crawling through those same ducts flashed across her mind.
"Could it be…?" she whispered.
Sofia narrowed her eyes, her expression unreadable. "Stay still. Don't draw attention."
Carl raised his weapon slightly. "Should I check?"
Sofia shook her head. "No. Not yet."
The sound stopped. For a few seconds, there was only silence.
Then — a faint thud, as if something or someone had reached the grate just above them.
Alia slowly looked up… but before she could say anything, the emergency lights flickered again — and the room fell completely dark.
The air turned cold. Heavy.
And in the pitch black, all three of them heard it — a single, sharp exhale from within the ventilation ducts.
They froze.
Someone was there.
And then the chapter ends — without them checking the ducts.
---
The corridors above the containment block were strangely calm—almost polite, as if the chaos beneath them belonged to another world.
A single light flickered over the lounge where Alexander, Claire, Kiayara, and Maria sat in a loose semicircle.
Claire's hands were folded on her lap, the tips of her fingers still glowing faintly blue from the healing she'd done earlier. Alexander's coat was torn at the shoulder, blood seeping through the bandage. Kiayara leaned against the wall, tail flicking lazily, claws half-extended. Maria stood near the doorway, listening to the faint hum of the generators.
For a moment no one spoke.
Then Claire exhaled. "You all felt it, didn't you? Regan No. 1's signal just now… that pressure."
Kiayara's ears twitched. "Yeah. Like the air was being peeled away."
Alexander gave a dry laugh. "Scary, isn't it? We rule half of Fern's operations, but the moment No. 1 breathes, the rest of us remember we're ants under a magnifying glass."
Maria nodded slowly. "Even the higher divisions stay quiet when he's mentioned. I once heard he erased an entire district just to make a point."
Claire's tone dropped to a whisper. "That wasn't a rumor."
Silence again. The weight of that truth sat between them.
Kiayara suddenly pushed off the wall and clapped Maria on the shoulder. "Enough heavy talk. My stomach's growling. Come on, Maria—let's grab a bite from the kitchen before the supplies rot."
Maria's eyes widened, then softened. "You never change. Fine, let's go."
The two of them left through the steel door, their footsteps fading down the hall.
Now only Alexander and Claire remained. The hum of the lights seemed louder.
Alexander shifted in his seat. The glow from his white hair intensified for a second, catching the reflection of Claire's eyes. She looked away quickly, cheeks flushing.
"…You shouldn't push your energy like that," she murmured.
He smiled faintly. "It reacts on its own sometimes. Don't worry, I'm not trying to impress anyone."
That only made the silence worse. Both of them avoided eye contact, listening to the soft tick of a broken clock somewhere in the room.
Outside, the wind screamed through cracked vents—reminding them that Fern's ruin was still spreading.
---
POV – Kaito
Far below, Kaito ran.
Every breath scraped his throat raw. Blood matted his hair and trailed down his left hand. Guards appeared from corners, shouting orders, rifles raised—only to be slammed into walls or hurled aside before they could fire.
He didn't even stop to look back. Each strike was instinct, not thought. Each motion sharper, faster. His body was a storm held together by will alone.
A shattered sign came into view through the smoke:
> WEAPON GEAR ROOM – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
He kicked the door open.
Inside, alarms blinked red over racks of metal. The air reeked of oil and ozone. Three guards stood near a control console; two more were patrolling the aisles. They turned in shock as he entered.
"Stop—" one shouted.
Kaito moved first. In a blur he seized the nearest man by the vest and threw him into another. The impact bent a rack sideways. The last guard fired—one bullet grazed Kaito's temple, another tore across his hand.
He hissed, blood splattering on the floor, but didn't slow down. A second later all five were unconscious—or worse.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Crimson streaked across his fingers. "Persistent trash."
The hum of machinery filled the space again as he looked around properly for the first time.
Rows of guns, bullets, swords, spears, chains, injections—even sealed crates labeled BIO-GEAR PROTOTYPE. But what caught his eye stood at the front: ten illuminated slots, each framed in reinforced glass. Brass plates beneath them bore engraved names.
Kaito stepped closer, heartbeat slowing as he read.
> Regan No. 1 – Gloves
Regan No. 2 – [Empty]
Regan No. 3 – Injection
Regan No. 4 – Construction Nails
Regan No. 5 – Fusion Hilts (Restricted)
Regan No. 6 – Boots
Regan No. 7 – [None]
Regan No. 8 – Scythe Edge
Regan No. 9 – Claws
Regan No. 10 – Map
A note scrolled across the top monitor:
> Replica Models — Unauthorized use punishable by termination.
Kaito's eyes narrowed. "Replicas, huh… even the shadows of monsters have weapons."
He leaned closer to read the inscriptions below each slot.
Under No. 1: Focus on your goal.
Under No. 3: Pierce the truth.
Under No. 4: Build destruction.
Under No. 8: Reap with silence.
Under No. 9: Tear until nothing remains.
Under No. 10: Know the path.
Then he reached No. 5 and froze.
The plaque read only:
> Don't touch or I'll f*ing kill you.
Kaito let out a dry chuckle. "That's my kind of warning."
The weapon behind the glass looked simple—two metallic hilts, fused together back-to-back, dull silver with no visible power core. But something about its shape pulled at him.
He pressed his palm against the panel. The glass slid open with a hiss. Energy crackled faintly across the weapon's surface.
The instant his fingers wrapped around it, a surge of heat ran up his arm. The twin hilts twisted, unfolding, metal reshaping like liquid.
Light burst from the seams—blinding white—and when it dimmed, he held a sword with mirrored edges, its center grip balanced perfectly.
Kaito blinked once. A small dial gleamed near the hilt. Numbers 1 through 4 were carved around it.
"Interesting." He turned the dial to 2.
The weapon elongated, the blade curving into a dark scythe with twin arcs of Rim-light tracing its edges. He felt the hum resonate with his pulse.
Dial 3. The scythe condensed, forming a spear—sleek, flawless, the same core shifting color as if tasting the air.
Dial 4. The weapon transformed again into a double-ended sword, Rim-energy streaming from both blades, the handle resting perfectly in his grip.
A faint smile crept onto his blood-streaked face. "A weapon that listens… finally."
He swung once. The air split, leaving a thin scar of light that lingered before fading. Even without full Rim output, its power was undeniable.
He looked back at the unconscious guards, then toward the exit. "Let them chase me," he muttered. "I've already chosen my path."
As he stepped into the corridor, the lights behind him shattered one by one, unable to contain the energy pulsing from his new weapon.
Somewhere deep in the complex, alarms began to wail again—but this time, the sound felt like the heartbeat of something awakening.
---
[Elke's POV]
Elke's footsteps were soundless against the corridor's marble floor. Her breathing was steady, her senses sharpened like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.
Ahead of her, the faint echo of Kuro's steps reverberated — slow, deliberate, unpredictable.
The dim light from the ceiling flickered, brushing faint reflections across her hair — the deep red strands glowed faintly as she trailed him, a quiet ember in the cold, gray hall.
She kept her distance, just far enough to avoid detection. Her eyes tracked every twitch of his hand, every pause of his shoulders.
He wasn't walking like a soldier on a mission — no, it was stranger than that. Sometimes he'd stop for a full minute, standing still as if listening to a voice only he could hear.
Then he would move again, turning corners without hesitation.
Elke narrowed her eyes.
What are you doing ?
He stopped once more in front of a shattered observation window. The dim light from outside painted his figure half crimson, half shadow. He sat on a low metal beam, elbows on his knees, gazing at nothing.
He sits, he thinks, then moves again, Elke thought, gripping her dagger. What's his plan?
The silence that filled the hall wasn't empty — it was alive, breathing with tension.
---
[Kuro's POV]
Kuro's head tilted back slightly. His breathing had grown uneven.
His Rim had been almost drained in the last conflict; his body screamed for recovery, but his will refused to rest.
A pulse of pain surged behind his eyes. The world spun for a moment, colors dimming around the edges of his vision.
He reached for the wall, steadying himself, and then… he saw it.
Through the fractured glass window ahead, the sky stretched wide — three moons hanging over the horizon.
One glowing red, the second a duller crimson, and the third shimmering in cold blue.
The light bled across the clouds like veins of living color.
Kuro smiled faintly.
"…Beautiful," he whispered. His voice was quiet, almost human for once. "Even when everything burns below, the sky still tries to look calm."
The wind brushed through the opening, stirring the dust.
Elke, watching from behind the corner, froze as he turned his head slightly, as if sensing her. But he didn't speak — only exhaled softly and continued walking down the corridor, the echo of his boots fading into the hum of distant alarms.
---
[Guren's POV]
In another section of the facility, Guren stood beside a metal bed. The faint beeping of medical monitors filled the sterile room.
On the bed lay Kaito, motionless, his pulse weak but steady. Tubes ran from his arm into the machine beside them, the crimson liquid flowing through filters and glass cylinders.
Guren held a vial, carefully collecting the last few drops of blood that dripped from the needle's end. He sealed it, slipped it into a small containment case, then leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily.
He had locked the door earlier — no one could interrupt now.
His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, looked dull with exhaustion.
"My Rim's about… thirty percent left," he muttered, glancing at his trembling hand. "Need to use it… carefully."
He closed his eyes, pressing both palms against them, trying to block out the dizziness. For a few seconds, the silence seemed almost peaceful.
Then — images flickered behind his eyelids.
A child's scream.
A street engulfed in fire.
Gunshots cracking like thunder in the night.
Two bodies collapsing in front of him — a man and a woman — their blood soaking into the dirt road.
A small boy stood frozen, tears mixing with ash as flames devoured everything.
Then another flash —
A girl crying for help, trapped inside a burning house, her hand pressed against a shattered window, the orange light swallowing her face.
Guren jerked upright, heart hammering, breath sharp.
The room around him returned — cold, metallic, silent. But the echoes of the past clung to him like smoke.
He stared at his shaking hands, then whispered, almost to himself, "Why now…?"
The beeping of the monitor beside Kairo seemed to answer, steady and calm, as if mocking his unrest.
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance — or perhaps it was the sound of another explosion somewhere in the compound.
Either way, Guren stayed seated, staring into the shadows, until the hum of the machines was the only sound that remained.