Steven and One reached the outer boundary of the Sanctuary.
The noise reached them before they even made it past the gates.
Voices, movement and trade.
Life inside controlled chaos.
But just before stepping fully into view,
One stopped.
Steven almost walked past him before noticing.
"What is it?" Steven asked.
One looked down at the heads he carried.
Blood had dried along the edges of torn flesh. The metallic scent lingered heavily. One of the abomination's skull was partially cracked, its inner structure still faintly glowing beneath damaged tissue.
"These will attract too much attention," One said calmly.
Steven glanced at the grotesque trophies.
He understood immediately.
These would create more troublesome problems like random questions and interference.
He scratched the side of his jaw lightly.
"Even if we hide them, we'll have to bring them out again for the transaction."
He paused.
"There's no real point in avoiding the attention."
One remained silent.
Steven continued, his tone steady but firm.
"And if anyone wants to cause trouble…"
His voice carried a faint edge.
"Don't underestimate our group."
He looked ahead toward the inner Sanctuary.
"With me here, nothing will happen."
Then after a brief pause,
"And if something does happen, your teacher will be there to settle it."
One considered it logically and emotionally.
Then his expression shifted slightly, the look of someone who had finished calculating and accepted the result.
He nodded.
They continued forward.
The moment they crossed into clearer view, everything changed.
Gasps.
Sharp whispers.
Startled exclamations.
Eyes widened across the street.
The cracked abomination's head was unmistakable.
Several mutants instinctively stepped backward.
"That's" "No way…" "Is that from outside the borders?"
One mutant leaned closer, voice shaking slightly.
"That's a special-class wanderer…"
Murmurs intensified.
"Those things kill in one shot." "My neighbor died to one like that." "They roam beyond the Sanctuary limits…"
Fear mixed with awe.
Some stared at the burned interior of its skull, remembering friends and family who had never returned from outside missions.
Then attention shifted to the second head.
The assassin-type abomination.
Sleeker. Less visually overwhelming.
Several mutants frowned.
"Don't recognize that one." "Probably weaker."
"Doesn't look as dangerous as the first one though."
They underestimated it immediately.
Meanwhile, Steven's expression did not change.
As they walked deeper into the Sanctuary, the streets grew narrower, more crowded and more chaotic.
But something shifted in the air around them.
Steven's presence expanded subtly.
His face became colder and indifferent.
Unmoved by the noise, he radiated a silent presence of violence.
It wasn't loud nor exaggerated.
But it was clear.
Anyone who blocked their path felt it instantly.
Mutants who had initially leaned forward with curiosity quickly stepped aside under his gaze.
Some lowered their heads.
Others pretended sudden interest in nearby stalls.
The path cleared slow and naturally without a word being spoken.
By the time they reached the central gathering area,
The crowd had already thickened.
Brant noticed them first, then Veronica and Anna.
One stopped when he saw her.
She was standing beside Veronica, not hiding behind her father, nor shrinking away in fear.
One's expression shifted into mild surprise.
He did not understand the reason why Veronica suddenly became so friendly and welcoming, but he also did not question it. Maybe she got interested in the girl.
As long as nothing had happened to her, it was acceptable.
The mutant father stared in disbelief.
"They're back…?"
"So soon?"
Murmurs erupted again.
"That's impossible." "He's just a kid."
"There's no way he killed that muscled abomination."
Several turned suspicious eyes toward Steven.
"Maybe it was him."
"He must have assisted in hunting em."
"The boy's just carrying the heads."
The speculation spread rapidly.
But then,
From within the crowd, a few stronger mutants stepped forward.
Their expressions were far less casual.
They had followed Steven and One earlier.
With different intentions.
Malicious ones.
They had expected to exploit any sign of weakness or opportunity to snatch the prize without any effort.
Instead, they had been stopped outside the sanctuary. They didn't dare to follow, afraid that the bulky stern faced man will recklessly attack them. They could only wait outside, listening to the continuous sounds of battle.
One of them spoke quietly, but firmly.
"The Man never left the outskirts of sanctuary, He held others back from following the kid."
He added
"The kid went alone in some kinda mechanical armor."
The crowd froze.
The implications settled heavily.
Alone?
Against a muscled abomination and he returned.
Even after knowing about the mechanical armour, the mutant crowd didn't really care about it.
A collective sharp intake of breath echoed across the area.
Eyes shifted toward One.
The same boy they had mocked hours ago, and expected to die.
He was now standing calmly with proof hanging from his hands.
Some felt fear and respect, while others, something darker.
If even the youngest member of Steven's group possessed this level of strength,
Then what about the others?
During the early days of the Inkforce Pollution, statistics had quickly become survival knowledge.
Children had suffered the worst.
The conceptual pain and emotional instability. The overwhelming psychological pressure of forced mutation.
Nearly ninety percent of them had failed to withstand it.
They had not adapted nor stabilized.
They had become Mindless abominations, distorted and Broken beyond healing.
Another eight percent survived through animal-based mutations.
Fox's, Dogs, Cats, and Serpents.
Instinct-driven evolutions that anchored their unstable minds through borrowed essence.
They were considered fortunate, stable and manageable.
But the final two percent,
They were something else entirely.
They survived without animal anchoring, didn't mentally collapse and partial mutation pathways.
And the result?
They became monsters of raw power.
Recklessly strong.
Unpredictable and terrifying.
No one in the Sanctuary ever spoke lightly about that two percent, because every single known example of them had rewritten local power structures.
No one dared provoke nor test them.
But now,
They looked at One.
He did not possess visible animal traits, fur, claws, and no instinctive aura.
But he also did not radiate the oppressive, overwhelming pressure associated with the infamous two percent.
He appeared…
Normal but too normal.
He had no mark of mutation on him.
And yet,
He had walked alone beyond the borders, faced a special-class strength type abomination and successfully returned alive carrying the proof.
In a world where survival depended on understanding the dept of strength of an individual, it was terrifying and unsettling.
Something that did not fit into known categories and was far more dangerous than something that did.
The hushed whispers lowered, mockery and ridicule gave way to fear and uneasyness.
Because what stood before them was not simply a strong child.
It was an anomaly, and anomalies were unpredictable.