John's first sensation was pain.
A deep, throbbing ache spread through his body, each pulse reminding him of wounds layered upon wounds. His head felt like it had been cracked open, the warm, sticky trickle of blood down his temple a constant reminder that he was still alive, though barely.
He cracked one eye open, the world a blurred mess of dim, sterile lighting and unfamiliar metal walls. His ears rang, the muffled echoes of previous firefights reverberating in his skull. His body felt heavy, like someone had strapped iron plates to his limbs.
Then, memories came in flashes—
The fight. The endless waves of Raptures. A sudden, deafening crack beneath them. The world falling away.
The ground hadn't just been artificial. It had been a trap.
John groaned, forcing himself to sit up despite the violent protest of his battered body. The dizziness hit him first, his vision swimming as he braced himself against the cold, metallic floor.
Assess injuries first.
He lifted his left hand, or what was left of it. Two fingers were missing, severed clean at the knuckles. The pain had dulled into something deep and cold, but the sight of it still made his stomach turn.
His right shoulder was worse, a gaping wound, blood still sluggishly seeping through the torn fabric of his jacket. Moving his arm sent a spike of agony through his nerves. Probably deep enough to hit muscle.
And then, his head.
John exhaled slowly, pressing his good hand to his temple. The impact had been bad enough that blood slicked through his hair. No concussion symptoms yet, but the dizziness wasn't promising.
But none of that mattered if—
He snapped his head up, scanning the dim facility around him.
Where were the others?
The vast, open chamber he found himself in was eerily silent, save for the occasional hum of unseen machinery in the walls. Stark, metallic surfaces stretched around him, sterile and unfamiliar. Faint blue light flickered from embedded panels, casting long, sharp shadows.
It didn't look like an ordinary Rapture nest. The walls were too structured, the lighting too deliberate. This was built.
And worse, he was alone.
His breath came shallow as he forced himself to his feet, using the nearest wall for balance. His legs protested, his ribs aching from what he could now tell was at least one cracked bone.
He ignored it.
He had to find them.
Rapi. Marian. Anis. Neon.
Absolute and Matis.
They all fell with him.
Where the hell were they?
John took a slow, measured step forward. Every movement sent fire lancing through his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. His comms were dead, likely damaged in the fall. The only thing he had was the pistol Snow White had handed him.
Blood seeped from his right shoulder, sticky and warm, dripping sluggishly from where his fingers should have been. His head pounded, dizziness creeping in, his vision swaying slightly with each step forward.
Too much blood loss. A concussion. If he collapsed now, he wasn't getting back up.
He pressed his back against the cold, unfamiliar wall of the facility, taking a single precious moment to regain control. If he didn't act, if he let things continue as they were, he'd be as good as dead. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed since he fell. Minutes? Hours? The others. They had fallen with him.
But he was alone.
He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat, fingers curling into a loose fist, nails biting into his palm as he reached inward, focusing on the one thing that could keep him alive.
Ruinous Gambit.
The familiar technique thrummed in the back of his mind, waiting, like a card waiting to be played. Reallocation. Compensation. He couldn't fix his wounds, couldn't undo what was done—his technique wasn't built for that. If he tried to force healing, he'd be rolling the dice on accelerating things he had no control over. Cellular breakdown. Cancer. Aging. It wasn't an option.
But he could stabilize.
His mind visualized his body as a shifting construct, a system, not a body. The functions were interchangeable, not set in stone. He pulled energy away from unnecessary processes, redistributing resources to the areas that mattered.
First, the bleeding. He directed his technique into slowing his circulation—not stopping it, but making the loss manageable. The flow at his shoulder and hand slowed, the throbbing pain dulling slightly. It wasn't a perfect fix, but it would buy him time. He wouldn't bleed out just yet.
Then, the concussion. His equilibrium was shot, his inner ear betraying him, his vision refusing to settle. He couldn't afford to stumble, his balance had to be perfect. He funneled energy into reinforcing his spatial awareness, locking his perception into place, forcing his mind to stabilize. The nausea faded, the dizziness dimmed, the pounding in his skull was still there but muted.
The cost?
His reflexes slowed.
The trade-off was immediate. The usual sharpness in his movements was gone, his limbs slightly delayed in responding, a fraction of a second slower than they should have been. If something jumped him, he'd feel it before he could react to it.
John forced himself forward, every step slow and deliberate. Waiting wasn't an option. If the others were mobile, they would have found him by now. If they hadn't, then either they were trapped like he was or worse, they couldn't move at all.
That left one choice. Find them before something else did.
The overhead lights buzzed softly, the air was still, and the walls were lined with wires and boxes. He needed an edge. Something to guide him. He needed information.
John exhaled sharply, reaching inward, grasping once again at the familiar pulse of Ruinous Gambit.
'I need to hear.'
He pulled at his cursed energy, shifting his body's internal balance. His vision blurred further, darkening, tunneling but in exchange, his hearing expanded.
The facility came alive in sound.
The faint hum of unseen machinery, the soft hiss of air vents cycling oxygen, the subtle creak of metal shifting under stress. But more than that—distant footsteps. Too far to pinpoint, but there.
He wasn't alone.
John pressed forward, relying on the soundscape to guide him. Every corridor stretched unnaturally long, the echoes distorting in ways that didn't feel right. The sealed doors stood silent, as if waiting.
Then, the realization settled in.
This place was massive.
Not just big, it was impossibly big. Far deeper, far wider than anything that should have been beneath the surface.
John exhaled slowly, muttering to himself. "Where the hell are we?"
Darkness.
No floor beneath her feet. No walls to cage her in. Just an endless abyss, cold and suffocating.
Clink.
The sound of chains echoed through the void. Marian tried to move, but her limbs were bound, cold steel coiling around her wrists and ankles, locking her in place. No matter how much she struggled, the restraints held firm, unyielding.
And then, a window.
A fractured, jagged pane of glass floated in the abyss before her. Cracks ran through its surface, distorting the faint reflection staring back at her. Her own face, hollow-eyed, pale, distant. A version of herself that felt both familiar and wrong.
Then, the voice.
Silken, slow, coiling around her like a vice.
"Look at you. So tired. So broken."
Marian flinched, her breath hitching.
"You were always weak, but this?" The voice chuckled, rich with amusement. "This is pathetic."
The chains tightened.
"Struggling, clinging to a life that isn't yours. Why?" The voice feigned curiosity, mockingly gentle. "You don't belong there, Marian. You never did."
Marian grit her teeth. No.
"Oh? Still fighting?" A tsk. "You should know better. After all, what are you without them?"
The cracked window flickered, distorting.
Scenes played across its surface.
Neon and Anis, cracking jokes as they carried supplies.
Rapi, standing firm, unwavering.
John, reaching out—
The image warped, twisted.
John, staggering, wounded, his blood staining the dirt.
Anis, thrown back, coughing from the impact of an explosion.
Rapi, locked in battle, outnumbered, struggling.
And she wasn't there.
"You think they need you?" The voice purred, condescending. "You slow them down. You hold them back."
The chains yanked her downward.
"Face it." The voice was closer now, a whisper at her ear. "They survived without you before. They don't need you now."
The glass cracked further.
Her reflection was fading.
"Let go, Marian."
The chains pulled. The abyss yawned wider.
"Give in."
Rapi observed as the members of Absolute, Counters and Matis got their bearings. The underground facility stretched out before them in eerie silence, an oppressive stillness settling over the squads as they secured their surroundings. The scale of the structure was staggering, far beyond what they had anticipated. High metallic walls loomed in every direction, casting elongated shadows under the dim artificial lighting.
But for all its vastness, something felt wrong.
John and Marian were nowhere to be found.
The thought gnawed at them as they regrouped near a fractured section of the facility floor, where they had plummeted after the artificial terrain gave way beneath them. Despite the mission parameters, despite the need to press forward, the weight of their missing comrades hung heavy over them.
Neon had fallen uncharacteristically quiet, gripping her shotgun a little too tightly as she scanned the area. Anis, her usual quips absent, busied herself with reloading, her jaw clenched tight. Even Eunhwa, typically sharp-tongued and laser-focused, seemed more tense than usual, her gaze flickering toward the collapsed terrain they had barely managed to escape from.
Maxwell exhaled through her nose, crossing her arms. "We need to consider the possibility that they didn't make it."
The words cut through the air like a blade.
Neon snapped her head toward her. "Master's alive." The sheer certainty in her voice made it sound like anything else was unthinkable.
Maxwell sighed, rubbing her temple. "I hope so, but let's be realistic. John wasn't exactly in good shape before we fell." She hesitated before adding, "And we don't know how far Marian fell either."
Anis scowled. "Yeah? Well, John's not exactly normal, is he?"
"That doesn't mean he's indestructible," Maxwell countered, though her voice lacked the usual bite.
Rapi, who had remained silent up until now, lifted her head. Her voice was steady, unshaken. "He's alive."
Maxwell glanced at her, frowning. "You sound pretty sure of that."
"I am sure." Rapi's expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet certainty in her tone. "John and Marian aren't the type to die easily."
There was a pause. No one spoke.
Then Laplace suddenly clapped her hands together. "That's the spirit!" she declared, thumping a fist against her chest. "A hero never assumes their allies have fallen before seeing the proof with their own eyes!"
Maxwell sighed but didn't argue further. "Alright. We focus on regrouping for now. We won't be able to do much of anything unless we figure out where we are and how to get comms back online."
Shifty's voice crackled through their earpieces, sounding more than a little frustrated. "Yeah, about that. I'm still getting nothing on my end. The jamming down there is too strong. No topography readings, no Rapture detection—hell, even communications could drop at any moment."
"Great," Eunhwa muttered, adjusting the strap on her rifle. "We're blind in enemy territory. Just perfect."
Maxwell tapped a finger against her chin. "If we can take out the jammers, we'll be able to get some real readings, but there's a problem."
"Let me guess," Rapi said coolly. "We need to find the jammers first."
Maxwell sighed. "Bingo. Classic catch-22. Without functional scanners, we can't pinpoint the source of the interference, and without clearing the interference, our scanners are useless."
Neon groaned. "So we're basically wandering around in the dark until we trip over it?"
Laplace grinned. "Not to worry! A true hero always finds a way!"
Maxwell rolled her eyes. "We actually do have a way. Drake?."
The so-called villainess of Matis stretched her arms overhead, smirking. "Oh, I could help," she mused dramatically. "But what kind of villain would I be if I didn't make you beg for it first?"
Maxwell pinched the bridge of her nose. "Drake, please. I'll buy you Nutrium."
Drake gasped, clutching her chest in mock astonishment. "Maxie, please—at least let me pretend I have some standards!"
"Two packs," Maxwell added dryly.
Drake immediately perked up. "Three, and you have yourself a deal."
Maxwell sighed, rubbing her temple. "Fine. Just do it."
Drake grinned. "Pleasure doing business with you!"
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she extended her senses. A faint, subtle vibration traveled through her core, the telltale buzz of radio waves filtering into her system. The information was messy—distorted by interference and layered with static—but it was still something.
Shifty's voice came back through the comms, laced with curiosity. "Wait... how the hell are you doing that?"
"Villain secret," Drake said smugly.
"She's got a built-in radio wave detection system," Maxwell explained. "Not as strong as dedicated operator equipment, but it makes her a functional alternative when we're cut off from traditional support."
"Only as seventy percent effective as an operator," Drake said, eyes still shut as she fine-tuned her senses. "But still enough to pick up signals in a place like this."
Rapi absorbed that information, watching as Drake turned her head slightly, her expression shifting as she concentrated. "That's how Matis operates so independently, isn't it?"
Laplace grinned. "Of course! With Maxwell's inventions, Drake's sensors, and my indomitable strength, we are unstoppable!"
Anis raised a brow. "Unstoppable, huh?" She gestured at the still-bleeding wound on Laplace's torso from the earlier ambush. "Yeah, you're real invincible."
Laplace faltered slightly but recovered. "It's merely a scratch! And besides—nothing can keep a true hero down!"
Rapi, however, seemed unconvinced. "Strength alone won't always be enough," she murmured.
Laplace blinked. "What?"
Rapi glanced at her, her expression unreadable. "Against an enemy that constantly evolves, the idea of 'the strongest' doesn't stay the same forever. What worked today might not work tomorrow."
Laplace frowned slightly, but before she could respond, Drake's eyes snapped open.
"Got it." She pointed deeper into the facility. "There's a strong jamming source about a hundred meters that way. Could be one of the jammers."
Darkness swirled around Marian, shifting like ink in water. The chains that bound her felt impossibly heavy, cold steel pressing into her skin, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the voice.
"You don't belong here."
The words slithered through her mind, sinking into every corner of her thoughts.
Images flickered before her, jagged and disjointed, like an old broadcast barely holding together. The past, resurfacing in cruel flashes.
She saw herself—not as Marian, not as she was now—but as Modernia.
A battlefield drenched in fire and blood. Nikkes screaming, running. Some tried to fight back. Others barely had time to react before she cut them down.
A Nikke—barely out of training, eyes wide with fear—raised her rifle, trembling.
"P-please, stop—"
The barrel of her own weapon leveled against the girl. A single shot rang out.
Red.
A body crumpling to the ground, lifeless.
Marian squeezed her eyes shut. I didn't—
"You killed them, Marian. You slaughtered your own kind. And for what?"
The images shifted. The outpost. The place that had become her home.
John's back, walking away into the cold night.
She had watched him leave the dorms more than once, quiet, careful. He thought no one noticed. He was wrong.
One night, she had followed. Not too close, not enough to make herself known, but just enough to see.
A group of figures—intruders, scavengers—had slipped past the perimeter. He had met them alone.
Even with their weapons, even with the advantage of numbers, he had gone through them like a wraith in the dark. No wasted movement, no hesitation. The fight was over before it had truly begun.
Marian hadn't approached. She had just watched.
Watched as he collected their weapons, checking them over, before dragging their bodies out of sight.
Watched as he walked back into the outpost.
"He does everything for them. For you." The voice was insidious, wrapping around her thoughts like a vice. "How much more will you make him bear?"
More images.
The Outpost. The way the other Nikkes looked at her.
She had felt it since the day she returned. The stares. The hushed conversations that stopped when she entered a room. The polite smiles that never quite reached their eyes.
Even among her own kind, she was other.
And then, the screens.
News broadcasts filled with familiar rhetoric.
"Nikkes are dangerous. Unstable. They were created to serve, and yet look at what they've done."
Protests in the streets.
"We can't trust them! How long until they turn on us?"
A man shouting into a camera, veins bulging in his neck from anger. "They're ticking time bombs! We need better control—permanent control!"
The images blurred together, a cacophony of rejection.
Then, suddenly—
Silence.
A darkened hall, metal walls gleaming dimly under faint red light.
Chatterbox, kneeling before her.
"My Queen."
The voice coiled around her like smoke. "You could end this. You could be free."
The image shifted.
John knelt beside Chatterbox. His head bowed, deferring to her.
"You were always meant for more."
The words pressed down on her, suffocating.
The chains grew heavier.
Marian trembled.
The voice whispered, softer now. "All you have to do is let go."
John moved carefully through the sterile corridors, his breathing steady despite the dull, persistent ache in his body. His injuries still weighed on him, his left hand throbbing where his fingers had been severed, his right shoulder stiff and burning with every movement. The lingering effects of Ruinous Gambit left his vision dim and his reflexes sluggish—he had to rely entirely on his enhanced hearing to navigate.
It wasn't ideal.
He kept to the shadows, pressing himself against cold metal walls as he listened intently for any sound beyond the faint hum of the facility's systems.
Then, he heard the faint sound of mechanical chittering.
Raptures.
John exhaled through his nose, slipping behind a stack of storage crates. He crouched low, pressing his back against the metal, listening.
They were close.
Their movements were wrong—erratic, shuffling instead of the usual sharp, purposeful strides. He strained his hearing, filtering out the ambient noise of the facility. Multiple signatures, moving slowly, almost like they were searching for something.
Then they stopped.
John held his breath.
Silence.
The uneasy stillness stretched long enough that doubt began creeping into his mind. Were they still there? Or had they moved on?
He couldn't risk moving yet.
Minutes passed before he finally heard the sound of retreating footsteps, metal scraping against metal.
John waited a moment longer before shifting, exhaling softly as he peered around the crates.
Empty.
He slowly rose to his feet, wincing at the way his head spun from the sudden movement. His blood loss was catching up to him, but he pushed the thought aside. He needed to keep going.
As he turned, his eyes landed on the nearest crate.
A nagging sense of curiosity pulled at him.
This entire place was off. The corridors were too clean, the structure far too deliberate for a typical Rapture nest.
And that uneasy feeling in his gut—the one telling him the facility was shifting—refused to fade.
He reached for the crate's lid, prying it open just enough to peek inside.
A tangle of limbs. Metallic fingers curled inward. Unseeing eyes, glassy and dim.
A twisted, crumpled heap of Nikke corpses, stuffed together as if they were no more than discarded scraps.
The bodies were compressed, packed into the crate like sardines in a can, their armor dented and caved in, their synthetic flesh torn and twisted at unnatural angles. Some still had expressions frozen in time—masks of fear, agony, and desperation.
The air was thick with tension as the combined squads pushed forward, their movements careful yet deliberate. The underground facility's oppressive silence was only broken by the occasional crackle of static over their comms, the signal deteriorating the closer they got to their objective.
Then, Drake's voice cut through the noise.
"Got something," she muttered, her usual dramatic flair absent for once. She tapped the side of her visor, her body practically humming with the effort of processing the radio waves. "Strong interference up ahead. Yeah, that's definitely a jammer."
Maxwell's expression sharpened. "Location?"
Drake pointed ahead. "Thirty meters. Behind that cluster of debris."
"Scans?" Rapi asked, her grip tightening on her rifle.
Shifty's response came through with noticeable distortion. "Proximity to the jammer is screwing with our readings. I can't get you exact numbers, but I can tell you it's swarming."
Maxwell exhaled sharply. "Of course it is."
Anis let out an exaggerated groan. "Wouldn't be a proper hellhole if it wasn't crawling with murderous scrap metal."
"Good news," Maxwell continued, ignoring her. "If we take that jammer out, we should be able to restore some level of comms."
"Then we destroy it," Eunhwa stated bluntly, already adjusting her sniper rifle.
"No objections here," Laplace grinned, hefting her launcher onto her shoulder. "A hero's duty is to smite the forces of evil!"
Emma sighed, her minigun already spinning up in preparation. "Just don't get ahead of yourself."
Before they could advance, Rapi raised a hand. "We need a plan."
Maxwell nodded, shifting gears into tactical mode. "Agreed. We've got two main threats—one is the jammer itself, the other is the Raptures swarming it. We can't afford to get bogged down in a prolonged firefight."
"I can get close," Neon offered, loading fresh shells into her shotgun. "If we can keep the pressure on, I can push up and plant charges directly on the jammer."
Eunhwa frowned. "Risky."
Neon flashed a grin. "Fun."
"We'll suppress while she moves in," Rapi decided. "Laplace, Emma, Vesti—heavy fire, keep their attention divided. Eunhwa, I want you spotting high-value targets for me."
Eunhwa gave a curt nod, already scanning the terrain for vantage points.
Rapi turned to Anis. "Stay mobile. We clear the flank and cover Neon's advance."
"Leave it to us!" Drake pumped her fists.
"Alright then," Maxwell concluded. "We hit fast, we hit hard. No drawn out engagements."
The moment they stepped into position, the silence shattered.
A shrieking mechanical wail tore through the air as the first shots were fired. Laplace's beam cannon roared to life, a blinding streak of energy carving through the nearest cluster of Raptures and sending a wave of molten slag flying. The impact bathed the underground space in an eerie glow, casting flickering shadows along the metallic walls.
Emma followed suit, the barrels of her minigun whirring as a torrent of lead sprayed forward, chewing through the front lines of the enemy forces. Sparks erupted from metal bodies as the overwhelming firepower sent the lighter units crumpling to the ground.
"Push forward!" Rapi ordered, her voice cutting through the chaos.
The squads moved in perfect tandem.
Anis, Vesti, and Drake took the flanks, their heavier firepower keeping the enemy off-balance. Anis's rotary grenade launcher thumped with each shell fired, the explosions sending smaller Raptures flying like broken toys.
Neon and Rapi weaved through the battlefield like ghosts, shotguns and rifles finding weak points in the enemy armor. Rapi's bursts dropped units in precise succession, while Neon moved unpredictably, her movements wild yet effective as she shattered joints and tore through plating at close range.
Eunhwa perched herself atop a higher vantage point, her sniper rifle locked onto key threats. Every time a Rapture readied to fire, a single, well-placed shot ruptured its core, causing it to collapse in on itself.
"Neon, go!" Maxwell barked.
With the path cleared, if only momentarily, Neon sprinted forward. Her boots slammed against the ground, ducking and weaving as stray gunfire zipped past her.
A fresh wave of Raptures emerged from the shadows, but before they could close in, Vesti's rocket launcher howled to life, sending a cluster of missiles hurtling toward the reinforcements. The resulting explosion rattled the chamber, clearing a path straight to the jammer.
Neon didn't waste a second.
She slid the final few meters, reaching into her pouch and slapping a pair of high-explosive charges onto the device.
"Firepower planted!" she called out.
Rapi didn't hesitate. "Fall back!"
Neon spun on her heel and bolted.
More Raptures surged forward, desperate to stop her, but Laplace's cannon let out another earth-shaking blast, carving a line straight through their ranks.
Neon dove behind cover just as the charges detonated.
A thunderous BOOM filled the space. The jammer sparked wildly, its structure warping under the force of the explosion. Then, with a sickening groan, the entire thing collapsed, sending a shockwave of disrupted energy rippling through the underground facility.
And then, silence.
The Raptures froze.
For the first time in hours, their movements faltered. Disoriented.
"Now!" Rapi's voice snapped through the comms.
The squads didn't hesitate.
Emma unleashed another wave of gunfire, her minigun carving through the remaining forces. Maxwell and Eunhwa picked off the stragglers, while Laplace, Vesti, and Anis made sure none would get back up.
When the dust finally settled, only the sound of cooling gun barrels remained.
Shifty's voice crackled back to life. "Reading's clear. I'm getting full signals now—looks like you did it."
Rapi exhaled slowly, lowering her weapon. "Any updates on John and Marian?"
Shifty hesitated.
"…Still no signal."
Rapi's grip on her rifle tightened.
The others exchanged glances, exhaustion evident but overshadowed by the gnawing uncertainty.
Maxwell spoke grimly. "If he's alive, he's either unconscious or cut off. If he's dead…" she trailed
John's breathing was slow, controlled, but his pulse pounded against his ears like a war drum.
He forced himself to turn away from the grotesque contents of the box. He had seen enough. He didn't have time to waste dwelling on what couldn't be changed. The others were still out there, and he wasn't about to let himself spiral.
Steeling himself, he moved forward, his steps deliberately slow, deliberately quiet. The facility was eerily still, and though his enhanced hearing picked up the distant, rhythmic hum of machinery, there was nothing that suggested immediate danger. But that in itself was a problem. The silence felt wrong.
Then, he heard it.
A strained, ragged breath. A choked sound, halfway between a whimper and a growl.
John froze, his senses honing in on the noise. Someone—a woman—was nearby, struggling.
His grip on his wounded shoulder tightened as he forced himself to push forward, following the noise through the dimly lit corridor. The metallic walls around him pulsed with an unnatural hum, and the further he moved, the stronger the sensation became.
A pressure, an unseen force pressing against the air itself.
It wasn't just energy.
It was cursed energy.
His stomach dropped.
He rounded the final corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
Ahead, bathed in the cold, artificial glow of the facility's overhead lights, was Marian.
Her body trembled violently, her fingers digging into the sides of her head as if trying to claw something out. Her teeth were clenched, her breath ragged and uneven. A dark, malevolent aura pulsed from her form in erratic waves, the very air around her distorting like heat haze.
John didn't even hesitate.
"Marian!"
Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. Her crimson eyes locked onto him, wild and unfocused, barely seeing.
"Stay back!" she rasped, her voice raw.
John didn't move. He could feel it now—the sheer pressure rolling off her in waves, radiating instability. Her cursed energy was surging, uncontrolled, lashing out like an exposed wire sparking wildly.
She was losing control.
Marian sucked in a shuddering breath, shaking her head violently. "I—I can't—" Her nails dug deeper into her scalp, her entire body rigid with strain.
John took a careful step forward. "Marian, look at me."
She flinched, her breath catching, but her eyes remained locked onto him, burning with something between desperation and fear.
"It's happening again…" she whispered. "I can feel it—pulling me back—"
John clenched his jaw. He didn't need her to explain. He already knew.
Modernia.
It was clawing at her, trying to drag her under.
And if he didn't do something fast, she wouldn't be able to resist it.
John kept his stance firm, but his voice was soft, careful. "Marian, listen to me. You're not alone. You're still you."
Marian's breath hitched, her nails dragging against her scalp as her entire body trembled. "No… No, I—"
"You can fight this." John took another step closer, slow and deliberate, ignoring the warning alarms screaming in his head about the cursed energy flooding the air. "You're stronger than this. You proved that already."
Her crimson eyes flickered, something shifting in them—hesitation. Uncertainty.
"What if I'm not?" she whispered. "What if I was never meant to stay? What if I—"
"You are." John's voice was steady, resolute. "You chose to be here. That means something. You mean something."
The words seemed to hit something inside her. Her breathing slowed—still ragged, but no longer gasping like she was on the verge of breaking apart.
Her hands loosened from her head, dropping just slightly. The cursed energy lashing from her form flickered, the violent pressure in the air dimming.
John exhaled quietly, taking the final step forward.
And then, before he could say another word, Marian moved.
She collapsed into him.
John barely had time to react before her arms wrapped around his torso, her fingers clutching the fabric of his coat like a lifeline. He stiffened at first, caught off guard by the sudden contact—but then he let out a slow breath, hesitating only a second before bringing his good arm up to steady her.
Her entire body was still shaking.
"…You're okay," he murmured, his voice low. "You're still here."
Marian took a deep, uneven breath against his chest.
And then—her entire form froze.
John felt it the instant she did.
Something wrong.
Her hands twitched against him. "The tentacles."
John pulled back slightly to look at her. "What?"
Her eyes were wide, realization flooding into them like ice-cold water. "The ones that stabbed us. They…" She swallowed thickly. "They corrupted me."
John stiffened. "What?"
Marian gritted her teeth, her fingers clenching against him. "I can feel it now. It's in my body. I didn't notice before because—" She exhaled sharply. "Because I was already altered. But it's spreading—slowly. I can feel it crawling under my skin."
John's stomach dropped.
His mind immediately raced back to the others.
Maxwell. Laplace. Drake. Eunhwa. Emma.
They had all been impaled.
"Shit." John took a half-step back, gripping Marian's arms. "We have to go. Now. We have to warn the others before—"
He turned sharply, ready to move—only to realize Marian wasn't following.
He barely had time to process why before a soft, strangled gasp left her lips.
John's blood turned to ice.
A black light—dark, pulsing, unnatural—was seeping from her body, flickering like corrupted static. She clutched her stomach, her breathing hitching in silent pain as the glow grew.
John's mind went blank.
"Marian?"
She sucked in a sharp, shallow breath, her entire body trembling. Her fingers clawed weakly at her own form, as if she was trying to stop whatever was happening.
John moved.
His hand found her shoulder, trying to steady her. "Marian! Stay with me—what's happening?"
Her lips parted—no words came.
And then—
The black light surged.
"Shifty, can you track them?" Rapi's voice was as level as ever, but there was an edge beneath it, a sharpness that told everyone just how much control she was forcing into her tone.
There was a brief pause before Shifty responded. "Give me a second… patching into the last known location…" A few beats of silence, then "Hold on."
The shift in her tone sent a ripple of unease through the squad.
Shifty's voice came back through the comms, this time laced with urgency. "I'm picking up a large energy signature, 250 meters west. It matches Marian's readings."
Rapi didn't hesitate. "Move."
They ran.
Boots pounded against the metal flooring, the sharp clatter of their movement echoing through the cavernous facility. The air was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by their hurried footfalls and the distant hum of unseen machinery.
Rapi led the charge, Absolute close behind, Matis weaving seamlessly into the formation despite their usual posturing.
They sprinted through corridor after corridor, turning sharp corners, pressing forward with singular focus.
A minute passed.
Then another.
And yet the distance didn't feel right.
Something was wrong.
"Shifty, update." Rapi didn't slow her pace, but her voice carried a note of urgency now.
There was another pause before Shifty's voice returned, this time carrying something worse than urgency— confusion.
"Uh… okay, so this is weird."
Rapi narrowed her eyes. "Clarify."
Shifty hesitated just long enough to make everyone feel it. "According to tracking, you guys have barely moved."
The squad stopped dead in their tracks.
A tense silence fell, broken only by the sound of their own ragged breathing.
"What do you mean 'barely moved'?" Eunhwa's voice was sharp, her sniper already being lifted as if she could shoot the answer out of the walls. "We've been running at full sprint."
"Yeah, I know," Shifty shot back, frustration creeping into her voice. "But my data says otherwise. Your positioning barely changed at all."
Maxwell was already moving, bringing up her own HUD. "That's impossible, unless…" Her eyes narrowed behind her visor. "No. No, no, no. That shouldn't be possible."
Rapi's jaw tightened. She turned slowly, scanning the corridor, eyes sharp and calculating.
She didn't miss it. The walls, the way they felt subtly off now. The way the corridors stretched just a little too long, as if something had shifted behind them when they weren't looking.
Her fingers curled slightly around her rifle. "It's the structure."
Laplace frowned. "What about it?"
"It's moving," Rapi answered, her voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. "This entire place is shifting around us."
A heavy pause fell over the group.
"…You're telling me," Anis finally spoke, slower than usual, "that this place is one big giant Rubik's cube of bullshit?"
Rapi didn't bother responding. She didn't need to.
Understanding was already dawning across their faces.
"This facility," Rapi continued, her voice low, "it's designed to disorient. It's meant to separate us, keep us lost. This is its weapon."
"This isn't just a stronghold," she murmured, realization clicking into place. "It's a trap. A trap meant for Nikkes."
Anis let out a sharp breath. "Great. Love that for us."
"That explains the lack of Rapture signals," Maxwell added, still analyzing her data with a sharp eye. "They don't need to be everywhere. The facility itself does the work."
Vesti exhaled, adjusting her grip on her launcher. "Then we have to break it."
"Exactly!" Laplace slammed a fist into her palm, grinning. "If it's a Rapture, it can die!"
Anis groaned. "Oh my god. Of course you'd love this."
"Heroes overcome challenges!" Laplace declared proudly. "It's all part of the hero's journey!"
Vesti, standing beside her, nodded in agreement, eyes flashing with determination. "Even if this entire base is a Rapture, we just have to kill it to get out."
Despite the looming very real risk of being trapped forever inside a shifting metal labyrinth designed to psychologically break them down, neither of them looked remotely worried.
Anis stared at them like they were insane.
"…Are you two seriously not concerned about the fact that we could be stuck in here forever?" She gestured wildly. "Like, I don't know, actual people with functioning self-preservation instincts?"
Laplace just grinned wider. "Absolutely not!"
Vesti pumped her fist. "We'll win."
Anis groaned again, rubbing her temples. "Oh my god, I'm surrounded by lunatics."
Rapi remained silent through the exchange, her mind already shifting past their antics, past the immediate problem of the moving facility.
John and Marian.
If they were still somewhere inside—if this was what had taken them—then time was against them.
Her grip on her rifle tightened.
They had to find them.
The comms crackled to life again, Shifty's voice cutting through the tension with an urgency that sent a fresh wave of unease through the squad.
"Rapi, we've got another problem."
Rapi's grip on her rifle tightened. "Clarify."
Shifty hesitated, something rare for her. When she spoke again, her voice was edged with concern. "Marian's energy signature—it's surging. It's unstable."
Silence fell over the group, heavy and weighted.
"What does that mean?" Eunhwa demanded, already moving to recheck her sniper's scope as if that would help make sense of the situation.
Before Shifty could respond—before anyone could react further—a deep, guttural boom echoed through the facility.
The walls shook.
The ground trembled.
Dust rained from the ceiling as the entire base lurched, a violent tremor that felt less like a natural earthquake and more like something massive had just detonated deep within the structure.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Anis shouted over the roaring vibrations, stumbling as she caught herself against a wall.
"Shifty, report!" Rapi barked, forcing her balance steady as the tremors slowly started to subside.
Shifty's voice came through, distorted by static. "That explosion—Marian's signal just spiked before it happened! I don't know what's going on, but—"
The sound of metal shrieking against metal cut through the comms like nails on glass.
Then came the skittering.
Fast. Too fast.
It came from everywhere.
A hollow silence fell over the group as every single Nikke instinctively lifted their weapons, eyes darting down the various hallways around them.
The flickering lights cast jagged shadows against the walls, the dim illumination stretching long and warped against the twisting corridors.
Then—
A horde.
Raptures, dozens of them, pouring from the hallways, an endless flood of mechanical bodies scrambling over walls, ceiling, and floor. The distinct forms of multiple unit types were visible—ahead of the pack were the fast-moving Husk-Class raptures, their appendages clicking as they raced forward with unsettling speed. Behind them, the heavier Servant and Master-class raptures lumbered, priming their payloads. Mixed into the horde were suicide units primed to leap and detonate the moment they got close enough.
Anis sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, that is WAY too many."
Eunhwa didn't hesitate. "FIRE! FALL BACK!"
The hall erupted in gunfire.
A wall of bullets, rockets, and beams tore into the first wave of Raptures. Laplace's cannon obliterated a cluster of Hunters in a single shot, leaving behind a crater of smoldering parts. Maxwell fired precise, calculated bursts, targeting the Master-class raptures before they could get a chance to fire. Drake and Neon moved in tandem, shotguns roaring as they shredded through the suicide units before they could get close enough to detonate.
Yet, despite the destruction—more kept coming.
For every Rapture they put down, another took its place, the mechanical tide surging forward without hesitation, without fear.
Vesti fired a rocket down one corridor, blasting apart an entire cluster. "There's no end to them!"
"FALL BACK!" Rapi's voice rang out over the chaos.
They moved as a unit, firing as they retreated, backing down the only path that wasn't currently swarming with enemies.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning metal and gunpowder, the symphony of destruction ringing loud in their ears.
Eunhwa cursed under her breath, firing a precise shot through the core of a Sentry. "Shifty, give us a damn exit—NOW!"
Shifty's voice crackled over the comms, urgent and strained. "I—I can't! The structure keeps shifting! I don't have a clear layout anymore!"
Anis let out an exasperated growl. "Fantastic! Love that for us!"
A sudden whump sent Neon staggering forward as a missile detonated just behind them, sending heat and force rolling over the squad.
Laplace caught her by the arm and yanked her forward before barking out, "We have no choice, we have to follow the only path open!"
No one argued.
There was no time to argue.
They pressed on, keeping the Raptures at bay with relentless firepower. The corridors twisted and turned, forcing them into an unpredictable path, deeper and deeper into the unknown.
The facility was leading them somewhere.
And they had no choice but to follow.
John's consciousness stirred, but something was wrong.
He felt light. His body had no weight, no pain, no strain. The dull ache in his limbs, the burning throb in his shoulder, the sharp absence of his missing fingers—gone.
His breathing was steady. His vision was clear.
But when he tried to move, there was no resistance, no sensation of muscle and bone working in tandem. Instead, he simply... drifted.
The world around him was black. Not the darkness of a night sky, nor the abyss of the underground tunnels, this was a void. Empty.
A place that wasn't.
Then he saw it.
A lone figure in the distance.
Marian.
She stood far from him, her form barely visible, a silhouette against the nothingness, suspended in the void.
John frowned. "Marian!"
No response.
He tried again, louder this time. "Marian!"
Still, nothing.
The distance between them felt wrong. He wasn't sure if she was actually far away or if the space itself refused to let him close the gap.
Frustration simmered beneath his skin. He pushed himself forward—willed himself to move—and instead of walking, he glided. Not through air, not across solid ground. He simply... shifted.
And that's when he felt it.
A sensation. Familiar yet utterly foreign.
John froze, his body instinctively reacting to the presence of something unseen. A ghostly, lingering touch brushed against his senses, not physical, but there all the same.
Then, just in his periphery, something moved.
Slowly, he turned his head.
A faint wisp of energy curled in the darkness. A remnant, flickering at the edge of his awareness. It had no form, no structure, but it felt alive. Not like cursed energy—this was different.
He knew this sensation.
He had felt it once before—briefly, fleetingly—when his fists had moved on their own, when his rage had ignited something beyond him.
When he had fought Mahito.
John's heart pounded in his chest, his fingers twitching instinctively, as if trying to grasp something that wasn't there.
His mind raced to make sense of it.
That power had been different from his own. It had surfaced suddenly, then vanished just as quickly, as if it had never existed. It hadn't come from him, but from something else.
This feeling…
This presence…
It was the same.
The remnant pulsed faintly, as if responding to his realization. It didn't reach for him. It simply existed, lingering in the air like a dying ember refusing to fade.
A remnant of a soul.
A remnant of someone else.
John swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
"…Who are you?"
The wisp didn't respond. It only flickered once—almost expectantly—before fading into the void.
John's fists clenched at his sides. His breathing steadied.
His focus snapped back to Marian.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what that presence was.
But none of that mattered.
Right now, he had only one goal.
He had to reach her.
As John moved forward, the wisp did not fade away completely. Instead, it drifted alongside him, a silent guide in the empty void.
With each step—or whatever this movement was—he could feel something shifting.
A deeper understanding.
A sensation that tickled the back of his mind, whispering to him.
The space around him wasn't just darkness—it was her.
Marian.
This place, this void, wasn't a separate reality. It wasn't an illusion.
It was her soul.
Somehow, he was inside her.
The realization sent a shiver through him, but there was no time for hesitation. He pressed forward, moving instinctively toward her still figure.
And with each step, more knowledge flooded in—not in words, not in thoughts, but in something older, something primal.
It was like cursed energy, but different—the same power that had surfaced against Mahito, the one that had moved his body before his mind could even register it.
John exhaled, his fists tightening as he processed the implications.
He could target the soul.
Not just manipulate his body through Ruinous Gambit.
Not just reinforce his strikes with cursed energy.
But hit something deeper.
A weapon that didn't just break flesh and bone—but the very essence of a being.
He was starting to understand.
This power was not just some random ability. It had a purpose. A function. And it had awakened in the presence of Mahito.
And now?
Now it was here with him.
Guiding him.
He was close. He could feel it.
Marian was just ahead.
Her presence pulsed in the void, as if calling out to him. The chains that bound her shimmered faintly in the nothingness, stark against the darkness.
He reached out.
Then, they came.
Like vipers striking from the abyss, heavy chains erupted from the void, snapping toward him with blinding speed. Cold metal clamped around his arms, his torso, his legs—binding him, dragging him backward.
The fear lasted only a second.
The knowledge was there.
The wisp pulsed beside him, as if urging him forward.
Divergent Fist.
He clenched his fists.
And struck.
The moment his knuckles met the chains, a pulse of energy surged from his fists. The chains shuddered, their form flickering, as if destabilized. Cracks spiderwebbed along the metal, the energy vibrating through them, through their essence, until they shattered.
John twisted mid-motion, driving another blow into the chains at his side. They fractured at the point of impact, a second shockwave of energy cascading through them before they dissolved into nothing.
The last bindings snapped away, leaving him free.
Then, something in the darkness moved.
His head snapped up.
And he saw them.
A pair of red eyes gleamed in the distance.
Watching.
Not attacking. Not interfering.
Just... observing.
John's pulse quickened, his fists still clenched. The presence behind those eyes wasn't just something random. It was aware. It had been here.
Had it always been here?