The siren wailed.

  Sharp. Unrelenting.

  It should have felt distant. Background noise. Just another sound in the storm.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was inside me.

  The Whisper shivered in delight.

  And then I saw him.

  The Man In White.

  Not standing beyond the rain—within it.

  The downpour slid off him unnaturally, as if the rain itself refused to touch him. His robes, impossibly white, billowed without wind.

  Unmoving. Watching.

  Not the mask.

  Me.

  I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry.

  He stepped forward.

  I didn’t hear his footsteps. But I felt them. A shift in the world around me.

  The air warped. My bones ached.

  The Whisper recoiled.

  For the first time, it felt… small.

  His voice, when he spoke, was soft. Deafening.

  “I will not be avoided again.”

  My breath caught.

  He was closer.

  I didn’t see him move.

  I didn’t blink.

  A whisper curled against my ear—not in my mind. In the rain.

  “You cannot run from what you already are.”

  The pressure around me cracked. Something unseen wrapped around my throat. Tight. Not choking—just holding.

  My scream built in my throat—

  A sharp slap cracked through the air.

  My vision snapped sideways.

  The pressure vanished.

  I staggered, gasping. The weight in my lungs gone.

  The man was gone.

  Only the rain remained.

  Zara stood in front of me, her hand still raised, her face pale.

  Her voice, usually sharp with humor, was flat. Serious.

  “What the fuck was that, Mari?”

  I blinked, swallowing back the nausea curling in my stomach.

  He had been right there.

  Hadn’t he?

  I turned back to where he stood, my pulse hammering.

  Nothing.

  No footprints. No sign of anyone at all.

  The sirens still blared.

  The warriors were still watching.

  No one else had seen him.

  No one else had heard.

  Zara’s fingers dug into my shoulder. Hard.

  “Mari, you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

  I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

  She didn’t let go.

  “Mari,” she said again. But this time, her voice was smaller.

  I looked at her.

  Her usual sharp confidence was gone. Her eyes flicked past me—to where he had been.

  She hadn’t seen him.

  But she had felt him.

  Her fingers dug in harder, like she was grounding herself as much as me.

  “Let’s go.” Her voice was quieter now. Strained.

  She didn’t look back.

  Neither did I.

  I blinked hard, forcing my breathing to slow. The weight in my chest didn’t leave.

  But I moved.

  We turned.

  And there he was.

  Angelus approached.

  No hesitation. No words.

  His eyes drifted downward—to the mask still clutched in my hands.

  A flicker of something in his face. Not fear. Not concern.

  Calculation.

  For a second, I thought he might say something.

  He didn’t.

  His gaze lifted, meeting mine. Unshaken. Unreadable.

  “You’re late.”

  That was it.

  Then he walked past me.

  The warriors were already in formation.

  Zara and I stepped into line. Desire hovered at my side, silent.

  Angelus stood before us.

  A shadow against the firelight.

  His voice was steady. Unshaken. Unyielding.

  “Tonight, we strike back.”

  No flourish. No ceremony. Just fact. A decree, not an invitation.

  “Provenance wanted to send a message.”

  He let the words settle, their weight pressing into our bones.

  Then—the truth.

  “They found our 18th Stealth Warrior Squadron in the forest district.”

  A pause. A beat of silence that felt too loud.

  “Their heads were impaled on wooden stakes.”

  The air stilled. A ripple of unease moved through the warriors, stiffening spines, tightening jaws.

  Angelus did not let it fester.

  “Provenance believes this will make us hesitate.”

  His eyes swept over us—calculating, cold as a blade pressed to the throat.

  “They are mistaken.”

  “We strike the Roaring Dragon.”

  A Provenance-owned casino. A financial artery that pumps life into their war machine.

  “We will sever it. We will burn it. We will turn their wealth into their grave.”

  His voice did not rise. It did not need to.

  “By nightfall, we strike.”

  The warriors saluted, voices rising in perfect unison.

  “Yes, sire! May the blood of Angelus guide us!”

  The words echoed through the cold air like a prayer, like a curse. A final ritual before war.

  Angelus gave a single nod, then turned away.

  A designated warrior stepped forward, his voice sharp, precise. “Gather here by nightfall. Arm yourselves for a prolonged battle. We infiltrate through the shadows. We annihilate the casino and seize their funds. No survivors.”

  No hesitation.

  “Warriors, dismissed.”

  The formation dissolved. Soldiers faded back into the barracks, movements swift, purposeful. But as I walked, I could still feel it. The weight of their stares on my back.

  They weren’t just looking.

  They were watching.

  Waiting.

  I forced my steps forward. One foot in front of the other. Zara walked beside me, humming under her breath, but the sound was different now. Lighter. Forced.

  Desire settled on my head, his small weight grounding me more than I cared to admit.

  I barely heard Zara’s voice when she sighed.

  “Arghhh! I really don’t wanna do this shit. I just got to lie down, too.”

  She flopped onto her bed, groaning, the tension in the air cracking for a brief second.

  I didn’t respond.

  I should have laughed. I should have said something.

  But all I could hear was the Whisper.

  The weight of the mask in my hands.

  The knowledge that it was still inside me.

  Waiting.

  I exhaled sharply. Focus. Keep moving. Keep pretending.

  The barracks buzzed with tension. Weapons clicked into place. Boots stomped across the floor. The weight of the mission pressed against the air, thick and suffocating.

  Desire hummed softly atop my head, the sound too neutral. Too…studied.

  Then—three sharp knocks.

  I opened the door.

  A woman stood before me, a tightly wound coil of discipline and purpose. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes flickered over me once—too long.

  She was wary.

  She knew.

  “Warrior,” she greeted, crisp and direct. “Angelus ordered me to deliver these to you.”

  She thrust a box forward. I took it without a word, my arms straining at the unexpected weight.

  “Stealth Corporal Jia Korna. Call me Korna. You’re with my squad now. Meet at the 8th barrack when you’re ready.”

  Her gaze lingered. I felt the pause before she spoke again.

  “That is all. May the blood of Angelus guide you.”

  She turned on her heel and was gone.

  I stared at the box.

  Zara whistled low. “Damn. She’s got a stick up her ass, huh?”

  I didn’t respond. My fingers curled against the rough material of the box. Too heavy. Too real.

  Inside, the gear was sleek—dark fabric laced with something metallic, something that shifted against the light. It felt like liquid steel against my skin.

  Beneath the armor, two pistols gleamed.

  Zara grinned, tossing one in the air before catching it with ease. “I’ll stick with my compact. You take these, kid. Or, actually…” She flicked her gaze to Desire.

  “Think you can do something with ‘em?”

  Desire floated down, inspecting the pistols.

  For a moment, he was silent. Then, softly:

  “These are Roa Tech models. Photon Rounds. Interesting.”

  His voice was different. Calculating. Almost…pleased.

  A strange glow pulsed through him, and then—

  A sharp hum.

  Something shifted inside me. My cybernetic arms shuddered, twisting, reshaping—

  No. Not just reshaping. Becoming.

  The pistols vanished. The scythes unfolded from my hands, but this time—this time they hummed. A purple glow pulsed along the edges.

  And at the top—

  A hole.

  Small. Circular.

  A barrel.

  I stared.

  Desire’s voice was quiet. “Think of them as an extension of yourself, Mari.”

  A flicker of instinct—not my own.

  I barely thought—

  The shot fired.

  A blast of energy shot past my face, slicing through the ceiling like paper.

  Zara jerked upright. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

  I blinked. My breathing was too fast. My pulse pounded against my ribs.

  “I—I didn’t know that would happen.”

  Zara exhaled, rubbing her temple. “Goddamn, kid. First the blades, then the gravity thing, then the tentacles, now this? You’re a walking fucking arsenal.”

  I swallowed. The scythes pulsed, humming softly.

  Not a weapon.

  Becoming one.

  Zara rolled her shoulders, glancing back at the box. “Alright, let’s see what else Angelus stuffed in here. Might as well know what we’re working with.”

  She picked up the chestplate, whistling low. “Oh damn. Light as hell. Feels solid, though—what do you think, kid?”

  I didn’t answer.

  She stripped off her clothes without hesitation.

  I turned away so fast my neck almost snapped.

  Silence.

  I stole a glance.

  Zara was built like she was carved from war itself. Strength coiled beneath her skin, lean muscle honed by battle and brutality. Scars marred her body, pale streaks against tanned flesh, each one a silent record of pain endured and overcome. One in particular stretched jagged across her back.

  A wound that should’ve ended her.

  Because of me.

  I swallowed hard.

  I’m glad it didn’t.

  Then there were the mechanical limbs.

  A second skeleton of metal and tubing, woven seamlessly into her body where flesh had failed her. The joints flexed with an eerie precision, neither entirely human nor machine, something in between.

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  My gaze trailed up—

  And locked with hers.

  Zara smirked, tilting her head. “Kid’s got wandering eyes.”

  Heat crawled up my neck. I spun away. “N-no! I wasn’t— I didn’t mean—”

  She let out a sharp laugh, stretching her arms over her head like she had all the time in the world. “Damn, Mari, you that into scars? Or is it the muscle? You got a type?”

  “It’s not—!” My voice cracked. “I wasn’t looking like that!”

  “Sure, sure.” Zara took a step closer, voice dipping into something playful. “No shame in it, kid. If you’ve got a thing for rugged warriors, just say so.”

  I groaned, face burning. “You’re insufferable.”

  “And you’re hilarious.” She patted my shoulder, still chuckling. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see if that armor actually fits you or if I have to watch you drown in it.”

  Still muttering under my breath, I grabbed the armor from the box. The moment I slipped it on, the material adjusted—shrinking, shifting, molding itself to me like a second skin. Lightweight. Flexible. Strong.

  I flexed my fingers. The fabric moved with me.

  “Fits like a damn dream,” Zara said, nodding approvingly. “Alright, let’s go meet that Korna chick before she comes kicking down the door.”

  We stepped outside.

  The air was sharp, cold biting through the night. The camp pulsed with movement—warriors checking weapons, tightening armor, murmuring quiet strategies. Tension hummed in the air.

  We made our way to the 8th Barrack, the steel door marked with a faded number 8. Inside, soldiers moved with the efficiency of people who had done this too many times before. Checking gear. Sharpening blades. Loading magazines. No wasted movements.

  At the front of the room, Corporal Jia Korna stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the dim light. The second we stepped in, her eyes landed on us.

  “Mari. Zara. Desire. With me.”

  Her tone left no room for argument.

  We followed her through the barracks. The air was thick with the scent of oil, metal, and gunpowder. The armory was darker, lit by a few flickering bulbs casting long shadows over racks of weapons.

  Korna turned, pressing something into our hands—small, dark red crystals, pulsing faintly with a low, steady glow.

  “Communication crystals,” she said. “Syncs to your brainwaves. Think a message, and it transmits. Silent. Secure. Crucial for this mission.”

  Her gaze flicked to me.

  Too long.

  “I’ve heard about you.”

  I tightened my grip on the crystal.

  “We’re counting on you.”

  The night was thick with anticipation. The cold air bit at my skin, the weight of what we were about to do settling deep in my bones.

  Angelus stood before the assembled warriors, his figure rigid and unmoving. The firelight flickered against his face, casting shadows that made his expression unreadable.

  “This mission is absolute.” His voice cut through the cold. “No hesitation. No mercy.”

  The warriors saluted, fists over their chests. A silent promise.

  Then, without another word, they vanished into the dark.

  The Infiltration

  The forest blurred past us. Shadows raced beside me—warriors moving with impossible speed, darting from branch to branch, barely making a sound.

  Zara and I didn’t run. We flew.

  The wind howled past my ears as I soared above the treetops, keeping pace with the others. The city loomed ahead, its neon skyline breaking through the darkness like an open wound.

  We descended, rooftops crunching under our weight as we landed. Below, the Roaring Dragon pulsed with golden lights, its red neon dragon curling around the entrance like a serpent guarding its lair.

  Korna raised her palm. Stop.

  We crouched low, hidden in the rooftop’s shadows.

  “That’s our target,” she murmured. “The restaurant is a front. The real operation is underground.”

  Her eyes flickered toward the back entrance. A single door. Two guards posted outside.

  I exhaled. Too easy.

  She gave the signal. Move.

  We slipped through the shadows, the warriors moving ahead with near-invisible precision. Korna took point.

  The guards didn’t even see it coming.

  Two blades. Two bodies. No sound.

  I started to follow when—

  “Hey—who’s there?”

  I froze.

  A drunk patron stumbled into the alley, his glass half-full, eyes glassy. Too close.

  He squinted into the dark. My heartbeat hammered in my ears.

  Please just turn around.

  For a second, it seemed like he would. Then—

  Zara grinned. Loudly.

  “Damn, I could go for a drink.”

  I whipped my head toward her. You idiot—

  The drunk man blinked. Stared at her. Then at me.

  I saw the exact moment he realized.

  Fuck.

  Korna moved first. A blur of motion.

  A blade to the throat.

  The man barely had time to gasp before he crumpled.

  I inhaled sharply. No time to dwell. Keep moving.

  The underground smelled of money and sweat. Cigars and desperation.

  The doors opened, and the Roaring Dragon Casino came alive—golden chandeliers, roulette wheels spinning, laughter and shouts of men throwing their wealth into the abyss.

  A bartender polished glasses, eyes dull. Dealers shuffled cards with well-practiced movements. Women in shimmering dresses curled around high-rollers, whispering sweet nothings meant to bleed them dry.

  None of them knew what was coming.

  Then—

  A guard turned. Eyes locking onto us.

  He reached for his gun.

  BANG.

  Korna’s bullet found his skull before he could scream.

  The moment his body hit the floor—

  Hell broke loose.

  Gunfire erupted. The music was drowned by screams. Patrons scrambled for the exits, bodies slamming into each other in blind panic. Guards flooded the room, weapons drawn.

  Zara grinned, flames igniting along her arms.

  “NOW we’re talking.”

  She lunged, fire exploding from her fingertips.

  I followed.

  Steel met flesh.

  The casino became a battleground.

  I moved through the chaos, my scythes tearing through enemies like whispers through the dark. My heart pounded, my movements a blur—strike, dodge, strike again.

  Desire hovered beside me, his voice calm amidst the carnage.

  “Mari. Keep moving. We need to push forward.”

  I nodded. Focus.

  Then—

  A deafening crash.

  The floor shook as something enormous stepped into the room.

  A machine.

  Shaped like a man. Built from iron and death.

  A Provenance war mech, its red eyes locked onto me, a predator analyzing its prey.

  I didn’t wait.

  BOOM.

  I thrust my palm forward, activating the repulsive force field.

  A shockwave detonated between us, raw gravitational energy slamming into its chest. The ground cracked under the pressure. It staggered.

  But only for a second.

  Then it came again.

  The axe cleaved through the air. I shot straight up, a gravitational pulse sending me skyward. Wind ripped past me.

  I had the high ground.

  I flipped my scythes into gun mode and fired. Photon rounds streaked toward it.

  The bullets hit dead center.

  They did nothing.

  The kinetic barrier flared, absorbing the shots like a sponge.

  My stomach dropped.

  It was completely immune to projectiles.

  It was tracking me.

  The shoulder cannon whined to life.

  Oh, shit.

  I twisted my hand toward the ground.

  The world lurched.

  I shot sideways, the energy blast barely missing.

  Another shot.

  I pushed my hand out—

  A force field flickered to life—

  It didn’t hold.

  The blast shattered it instantly, sending me spinning out of control.

  Too fast. Too strong. Too precise.

  I crashed onto a wall.

  The mech landed in front of me.

  Axe raised.

  I threw everything I had at it.

  Nothing.

  It adapted.

  It was learning.

  It wasn’t just a machine.

  It was a hunter.

  Breaking. Bleeding. Dying.

  The axe came down.

  I ducked. Dodged. Spun.

  Too slow.

  It caught my arm.

  A searing explosion of pain tore through me. Metal met flesh.

  Blood splattered across the wall.

  It didn’t cut through.

  My vision blurred.

  I barely had time to register it before a metallic fist slammed into my gut.

  I flew back, crashing into a roulette table.

  Ribs cracked.

  I choked.

  More blood.

  I forced myself to my feet. My legs shook.

  The mech advanced.

  Gravity stabilizer—failing.

  Force field—shattered.

  Gunfire—useless.

  I gritted my teeth, forcing my body to move. Pain screamed through my ribs, but I ignored it. I wasn’t finished.

  I reverted my weapons, the scythes folding back into my cybernetic arms.

  And I charged.

  Fists clenched.

  The mech’s sensors flickered—adjusting, recalculating. But I was already moving.

  I swung.

  My knuckles slammed into steel.

  A hollow clang.

  Nothing.

  It was like punching a goddamn mountain.

  The mech didn’t even flinch.

  Instead—

  It punched back.

  A metallic fist collided with my jaw.

  White-hot pain detonated through my skull.

  My vision snapped sideways.

  Everything spun.

  I barely registered hitting the ground before the second strike came.

  I threw up my arms—

  Too slow.

  A steel boot crashed against my ribs.

  CRACK.

  I skidded across the pavement, choking on blood.

  Vision shaking. Limbs numb.

  The mech loomed over me.

  I tried to push up. My limbs wouldn’t obey.

  System error.

  The Whisper stirred, but even it felt… distant.

  I begged for my scythes.

  Nothing.

  A flicker of command—an instinct, a desperate plea for my body to shift—

  Denied.

  My fingers twitched, metal joints stiff, unresponsive. My arms locked in place.

  Not gone. Not failing.

  Something was stopping them.

  The mech stepped forward, its metal frame casting a monolithic shadow over me.

  It wasn’t rushing anymore.

  It knew I was defenseless.

  The axe raised, glinting under the flickering casino lights.

  I gasped, tried to roll away—

  A steel boot crashed down on my leg.

  Snap.

  Pain. Blinding. Distant. Like it was happening to someone else.

  I barely even screamed.

  The mech pressed down.

  System override detected.

  A hunter finishing its kill.

  This time, I wouldn’t be getting back up.

  “LET US IN.”

  No.

  “YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.”

  I clawed at the pavement, fingers trembling.

  “YOU CANNOT WIN.”

  I coughed. Blood stained my lips.

  I had nothing left.

  The mask hovered before me.

  Waiting. Watching. Wanting.

  The axe came down.

  In slow motion—

  The Man in White stood behind the mech.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here.

  But he was.

  He raised his hands, both index fingers tracing a grin on his mask.

  A silent mockery. A cruel reminder.

  “You could never avoid us.”

  The mask on his face twisted, shifting into something inhuman.

  A grin. Wide. Hollow. Endless.

  The whisper swelled inside me. Not urging. Not pushing. Just waiting.

  It didn’t beg. It didn’t force.

  It already knew.

  The Man in White tilted his head, a slow, deliberate movement.

  He did not command me.

  He only watched.

  The mech’s axe whined through the air.

  A heartbeat. A single moment of hesitation.

  Then, softly—

  “Welcome home.”

  I put it on.

  Tendrils erupted from my back.

  The axe stopped inches from my head.

  I caught it.

  Then—

  I crushed it.

  The metal groaned, warping under my grip.

  The mech hesitated.

  I didn’t.

  I moved.

  It never stood a chance.

  The mech stumbled back.

  Not attacking. Not moving.

  Because now?

  It was afraid.

  Good.

  The Provenance members watched in horror.

  I tilted my head, exhaling softly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Silence.

  I moved.

  Too fast.

  Too inhuman.

  The mech swung its fist—

  I caught it with my bare hands.

  Then I tore it in half.

  The screams around me became something else.

  Not battle cries.

  Not orders.

  Fear.

  The guards didn’t move at first.

  They just stared.

  One of them opened his mouth—then closed it.

  He dropped his weapon.

  Not in surrender.

  In acceptance.

  I tilted my head, watching them.

  One. Two. Three.

  Then I smiled.

  “Run.”

  They broke.

  Scrambling. Tripping. Shoving past each other.

  I let them go.

  Let them feel like they had a chance.

  Then I moved.

  “Mari! That’s enough!”

  A hand grabbed my arm.

  I turned.

  Zara’s face was pale.

  Her eyes—wide. Terrified.

  She wasn’t afraid of the mission.

  She was afraid of me.

  I felt my scythe twitch.

  For a second—just a second—

  I thought about cutting her down.

  The Whisper laughed.

  “You never needed a mask.

  You have always been ours.”

  I hesitated.

  Then—

  I let go.

  The battle was over.

  The war wasn’t.

  The casino stood in ruins.

  Smoke curled from the wreckage.

  Bodies—scattered.

  The scent of blood and burning metal filled the air.

  The screams had stopped.

  But the silence was worse.

  Then—footsteps.

  Slow. Measured. Unhurried.

  The air changed.

  A pressure—thick, crushing, suffocating.

  From the second floor, a man and a woman emerged.

  Unscathed.

  Untouched.

  Their clothes—pristine.

  The moment they appeared, the world held its breath.

  Zara stiffened. Not in fear. In reverence.

  Korna’s breath hitched.

  She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

  Didn’t breathe.

  Then, softly—

  “It’s them…”

  The man stopped at the railing, tilting his head.

  Studying me.

  A sigh—long, slow. Disappointed.

  As if I were a broken creation.

  “Hmm. Curious.”

  His voice wasn’t cold. It didn’t need to be.

  It was final. Absolute. A statement, not a question.

  “I disabled you.”

  A pause.

  His gaze didn’t waver.

  “Stripped you of your weapons. Overrode your system. Reduced you to nothing.”

  Another pause. Longer this time.

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

  “And yet…”

  His fingers curled against the railing.

  “Why do you still stand?”

  His head tilted.

  “You were designed to obey.”

  His voice lowered, soft as a whisper.

  “Who permitted you to resist?”

  The Whisper coiled.

  Something inside me clenched.

  The woman beside him smiled.

  Not with her lips. With her eyes.

  Korna’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

  “The body and voice of God.”

  The woman stepped forward, her movements slow, deliberate.

  She didn’t need to rush.

  There was no need.

  Korna swallowed hard.

  “Adam and Eve.”

  And for the first time since the mask touched my skin—

  The Whisper didn’t speak.