The room was full of other agents.

It was the first time Cynthia had seen so many gathered together in a long time. Since being made Sylvester's partner (which hadn't really been that long, but it sure felt different), she'd gotten used to fighting in pairs, but normal people needed more support usually.

She'd say she was glad, but they hadn't gotten together for a good reason.

Well. There was no chance they would get together for a good reason. They weren't friends, so they only had one reason to meet.

In this case, it was for a recording before jumping into the lion's den.

They saw Sylvester being surrounded by more than a dozen mirrors and disappearing. They saw the mirrors then disappear as well. You know, there was no trace left of whatever the hell had happened.

It was creepy.

"Is he dead? "Those words were out of her throat before she knew it.

Cynthia knew it might have been best to keep her mouth shut, not to give voice to the fear they all harbored. But she couldn't help it. She had to know. Not because of what it meant for humanity, but because they had fought together for so long, after all. She simply had to know.

"We don't know for sure," the informant replied. "We think the mirrors are a way to seal him in. They didn't think they could defeat him, so they managed to build or maybe find that. How it works, how we can get him out of there, whatever it is? We don't know. But we don't think he's dead.

We believe. The syndicate didn't believe, or didn't want to believe, just like the rest of them. What was that belief based on? If they had managed to contact Sylvester after his disappearance, they would have said so, clearing everyone's doubts instantly.

So... there was no basis for it.

Now that she couldn't say out loud. She'd said enough already.

"In any case, humanity needs us. This is why we exist. With or without Sylvester, we must put this situation to rest. The higherups have even contacted other countries for help. We have to give it our all. We have to stop this, no matter what."

Yes. He didn't need to say it. Even if this was an isolated accident, the future of humanity depended on the outcome.

Sylvester dead or alive. They would only know when they looked at the cat inside the box. Whether it was a terrible answer or a hope that would light up the night, they had to go find out and tear those creatures apart with their bare hands.

Sylvester, without a doubt, was the most important member. The glue that held together not only the syndicate, but the entire world. The world was destined to fall apart without him.

"Yes, sir."

A chorus of voices. Hearts beating in unison. Human beings united for a single purpose.

They too were warriors. They could do without him for a while... and rescue him, even at the cost of their lives.

They wouldn't be here if they weren't willing to sacrifice everything.

——

Cold.

This place was dark and cold.

Where was he? How had he gotten here? He couldn't remember things that should be so simple, his head was exploding just trying.

Was he dreaming? It was just a cold, dark place. When he dreamed, or at least when he managed to remember his dreams, they were as blurry as this nothingness. Disjointed sensations and flashes of what seemed like memories.

So it fit. In that sense it fit. But not once had he realized he was dreaming before he woke up, and it really was too cold.

The wind was blowing through him, biting at his bones. Shaking his whole body. It seemed too real. That's right, it couldn't be a dream.

Then what? Then what the hell was it?

He wanted to get the hell out of here as soon as possible, but how could he do that if he wasn't even able to remember how he'd gotten here? There were no steps to retrace. There was nothing...

Not in front, not behind, not around.

Neither future nor past. Nothing but cold darkness.

He couldn't stand this. Rather, he could, but he didn't want to do it for another second.

There had to be someone. An enemy to fight, a friend to shake hands with, a complete stranger. He didn't care what. SOMEONE was enough for him.

Sylvester stepped into the darkness. It would be more correct to say that he floated or swam through it rather than walked. The feeling of being as light as if he didn't have a body was nauseating, or as close as possible when you didn't even have guts that could churn.

Cold. When it was that cold, it was like pure pain. The cold would dig into you all over your body.

After a few seconds, or after several hours, he finally found something. He stepped on something, more precisely. The glass of a mirror.

He was glad simply because it was something apart from him.

Sylvester's footstep had cracked the glass. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He couldn't think clearly under these conditions.

Lifting his head, he saw that the darkness was still the same, but now there were mirrors everywhere, not just under his feet. Mirrors that, of course, only reflected him. That was all there was in this place, was it really?

He kept moving forward through the darkness. He decided to approach one of the mirrors when he noticed something even stranger than all this. Sylvester put a hand on the glass. The 'reflection' did not follow his movement.

It wasn't that it was doing the opposite of what he was doing. If he moved his arm to the left, the reflection didn't move it to the right. He did whatever he wanted, he was independent.

Worst of all was that withering look. His scowl and the darkness that bubbled up in there like cancer. It was like an evil spirit came to life. He was sure that if he could, he would....

He didn't complete the thought. Before he knew it, Sylvester slammed a closed fist into the mirror, shattering the glass. When the mirror frame became empty, he realized he had been wrong all along. They weren't mirrors.

They were doors.

Sylvester stepped through to the other side.

He wasn't back where he had been before all this. He still didn't remember what had happened, but for some reason he was sure of that. Once again his intuition was proven right. He saw a Lunar Remnant that looked like a praying mantis chasing a kid that looked younger than he was.

He remembered this. How could he not?

There was no mystery to it. The Lunar Remnants had appeared one day, as had his powers. He hardly ever thought about it, but how could he forget this? His first time.

The first time he had killed another living being with his bare hands.

The thing inevitably backed him into a corner. He couldn't run far, not with that cut on one leg. There was no one who could defend him. If not for fate, Sylvester would have been nothing more than the first meal of that incomprehensible monster.

It looked like any other animal, but it was still incomprehensible.

When his first ability, and perhaps the most important of all, was activated, Sylvester thought he was simply seeing things due to the loss of blood.

[Mind of steel, body of steel] [Level 1].

[Your body will do its best to adapt to whatever is thrown at you].

His steel body and mind. That was what he had been doing all this long decade, with or without the aid of that skill.

In any case, Sylvester didn't intervene. This was a memory, and he knew it was going to end well anyway.

Bottom line, any piece of flesh the creature ripped off of him regenerated very quickly. Little Sylvester realized this and got the most important thing: a little bit of the light of hope in such a dark, dark world.

He fought back.

He attacked it with his bare hands as it tried to devour him and in the end the stronger one emerged victorious.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Because I am strong.

I am strong.

I am strong, stronger than anyone else, strongstrongstrongstrongstrongstrongstrong"

The memory disappeared.

Everything disappeared, and Sylvester returned to the cold darkness populated by mirrors. No, no. Of doors. One had led to his memories. One had to hold the exit, that seemed logical to him.

Anything was better than sitting around, as if someone was going to rescue him. He could only depend on himself.

Sylvester tried another of the doors, breaking the mirror that was in his way, not giving the thing inside time to look like him to try something.

It sounded crazy, but his life was crazy, and, well....

And it gave him the feeling that his reflection was now closer than before. Closer and closer.

In any case, he walked through the door. Would it take him back to the past again or into the future?

He wanted to believe in his future, in the future of humanity, but just because he believed it wasn't going to come true. The world wasn't that simple. Like a fairy tale where evil was defeated and the good guys live happily ever after.

If only.

——

The back door of the plane opened, giving them a glimpse of the massacre going on inside, of the sheer hell those poor people were going through. Desperately trying to survive, but with no chance to flee or hide.

And also of the holes in the barrier.

The engineers had not been able to deactivate it.

Somehow, the enemy had taken control of the satellite. But they had been able to open holes in the barrier for them. That would have to be enough.

As for what they would do when they were done to get out, well, time would tell.

In any case, if they failed Cynthia wouldn't be able to live with her head held high. Too many people had died already, but anyone they could save was a treasure. Each person was a world.

At the signal, Cynthia jumped.

They all jumped. The syndicate forces, the agents who were fighting to prevent the end of the world. Not at the hands of these monsters, but at the hands of humans themselves. The nuclear option.

They jumped and spread their wings. Nothing like what their boss had, it was a simple gliding machine. It should take them all the way inside the barrier but not much more.

It was the first time she'd ever done anything like this and....

It wasn't that she didn't like heights. She didn't have that kind of phobia, or at least she thought she didn't. What was so phobic about being aware that if she fell from a certain height she would die?

Cynthia went through one of the holes. They were all big enough for several people to glide through at once, so they did just that.

They landed on the other side. In the middle of that living nightmare.

In the middle of a hellish horror, a glimpse of the end of the world. Cynthia drew her revolvers. Maybe that was the only thing the self-proclaimed protectors of humanity could do.

Choose the way they wanted the world to end.

Maybe this wasn't a war they could win, but....

She would fight.

Yes, she did.

There were too many innocents in danger. Protecting one specific person would be useless, even though she was accompanied by so many agents. While saving one person or a group together, a dozen more would die violently.

The only way to protect them was to kill the creatures faster than they killed the civilians.

She didn't like that idea, but it was the truth. It was the only thing they could do.

There was no sign of Sylvester anywhere. Was he really dead? Or rather, if he was dead, what chance did they have of getting out of here, unless that mirror thing could only be used once?

What chance did humanity have in the near future?

What would be the point of saving these people if they would die soon when the governments decided that now that Sylvester was dead, there was no hope, and finally blew the moon to smithereens?

It was a terrible thought. She wanted to punish herself just for allowing it to cross her mind, but she couldn't help it.

Worst of all, perhaps, it was only a hypothesis.

To be sure, it had to do with the moon, obviously, considering the strange changes. But nothing assured that this nightmare would stop even if they destroyed the moon.

A world destroyed by floods and rising waters. A broken world still besieged by these nightmarish creatures. In an attempt to fix it, they could end up creating the worst possible situation.

That's why Sylvester had to be alive.

Too much depended on it.

Cynthia did everything she could. She fired as fast as she could with the extra effort of not accidentally hitting a civilian, in the middle of this chaos full of innocent people. She jumped, dodged and even flew, taking advantage of the glider to cover some distance faster.

No matter what she did, nothing seemed to be enough.

It was like swimming against the current.

Nature itself was against her, and she felt as if she was continually sinking. Drowning. As if she'd never see the surface again.

Ah, when would she be allowed to stick her head above the surface? Breathe fresh air?

Pour water into her lungs and fill them with oxygen?

She really was drowning. This was too much.

Hadn't she been doing that all her life?

Swimming against the current.

How many people had told her she was crazy, that she couldn't do this? Many, but most importantly her mother, of course. In their last conversation, she had yelled at her while crying that if she insisted on doing this, she should never come back home.

Cynthia understood her. Of course she understood her, no mother would appreciate her daughter putting her life in danger like this.

Everyone told her that someone else would risk their life for her, for all of them. But if everyone thought that way, who exactly would?

It wasn't revenge or anything like that. She hadn't lost anyone important to the Lunar Remnants. She had no special, tragic reason, just a strong sense of justice. A belief that someone had to do it.

She had swum against the tide of so-called common sense.

If she fell here, she would have nothing to be ashamed of. She had fought proudly for humanity. But...

Would her efforts really end in this? Here?

——

What was on the other side of the door?

Neither the past nor the future. The only thing he knew, the only thing that had changed, was that he was no longer alone in this cold darkness. It was by no means a change for the better, of course.

Sylvester felt a chill.

No one with good intentions would remain hidden in the dark without coming forward. Ha, would it be whoever or whomever had led him into this void? Or a trap?

In any case, he knew he had to get rid of it. But something froze him. Something deep inside him told him that seeing him would be a mistake.

His instinct hadn't failed him yet. How to fight an enemy he couldn't look at was a good question, but it could wait.

"What are you?"

There was no answer. There was no attack either, but.... He felt breathing on the back of his neck.

"I don't care what kind of Skill you have. Worse monsters than you have tried to kill me. You think I can't kill you with my eyes closed?"

Even after those provocations, he didn't attack. He was still behind him, his breath icy cold as the dead on the back of his neck. The coldness of this darkness... Was it natural or did it come from the creature behind him?

What was he saying? Nothing about this situation was natural. The cold, the mirrors, the darkness of the void. All of that had to be flowing from the Lunar Remnant.

Was this the way out he had been looking for? If he killed him, would all this madness stop? He supposed it would. Rather, it had to be so.

"Okay. If you don't want to take the initiative, I'll do it."

Sylvester closed his eyes. He wasn't going to disobey his instincts and risk instant defeat. There were many ways to see even with his eyes closed. His other senses, as keen as sight, would make up for that lack.

He turned away, wielding the katana as if it were a part of his body. Just as naturally. And he knew it without opening his eyes.

The monster lurking in the darkness had dodged the attack with no trouble. He certainly hadn't felt the blade cutting into his body, the resistance of the flesh. That was the most obvious thing. It couldn't have hit him without noticing, unless it was made of something else.

If it was nothing but smoke...or darkness.

What was it? What the hell was it? The only proof of its existence was that damn cold breath, he hadn't even heard it move to dodge.

The creature attacked.

He didn't hear it, but he did feel something, and he dropped to the ground to dodge it. That something went over his head. He had the feeling that his head would have exploded if he had been even a tenth of a second slower. Once again, his instinct had pulled his head out of the fire.

How long could he go on?

He launched another attack that went nowhere. He didn't have time to execute a second attack before he was forced to dodge. That exchange was repeated more than a dozen times.

Writers liked to say flowery nonsense like a fight was like a dance, but in this case it was pretty close to the truth. It was like it was choreographed and they were taking turns doing what they were supposed to do. It was a very strange feeling.

"Are you playing with me? Is that it? You think this is a game? Okay, if I can't see you...

His head was hurting more and more, but that wasn't going to stop him from thinking of the simplest solution. The lack of vision was only a problem if he needed to be accurate. But an area of effect attack, to follow the video game terminology of his powers, would solve that problem.

He punched the ground.

[Mountain of Needles] [Level 3].

The energy filling his body sailed across the ground and exploded under the creature's feet, creating a mountain of spike"like branches. Or shall we say, needles, according to the name. It didn't look much like and had nothing to do with Buddhist hell, but come on. If he could decide the names, they wouldn't be much better probably or they wouldn't have names but just numbers.

In any case, an attack so fast that no one should be able to dodge it. It should shatter anything in an area that stretched more than ten meters.

But he knew with the same certainty as all the other times. It hadn't hit him.

It hadn't been fast enough or destructive enough.

How? How the hell was that possible?

For a moment, he thought about checking it out with his own eyes. Fortunately, the moment passed.

Impossible. He would die as soon as he opened his eyes. He couldn't explain how he was so sure of that, but he also couldn't explain how he had gotten here in the first place.

Since that day ten years ago, his life had been one inexplicable thing after another. Was he going to start questioning it now?

The headache. It was impossible to think clearly when his head hurt like this. It was as unnatural as anything in this place, somehow it hurt more than some of the injuries that had threatened his life.

Could that be what it was about?

Was he hurt, unknowingly? Was he dying?

Not here, in the dark, but in the real world. He couldn't rule out that possibility, but it didn't matter much either. The only way out, as always, was to crush his enemies. He would smash that shadow creature or whatever it was made of before its life was snuffed out.

"Do you think you can take me? No matter what tricks you use, I haven't leveled up in years because you are nothing to me, nothing but insects. And you thought bringing me into this void where it's just the two of us was a good idea? With no innocents to hurt, I don't even have to restrain myself.

Maybe because of that terrible headache, he said things he shouldn't have. Things he hadn't told anyone for ten long years. But that didn't matter either.

After all, 'it' wouldn't live to tell anyone shit.

——

Cynthia hadn't drowned yet.

She was still fighting, but also in the process of drowning. The two went hand in hand. Inseparable. The water pressure was getting stronger and stronger, in fact.

Because, despite their efforts, the number of innocents dying violently by the minute was only increasing.

The syndicate had pulled all the agents toward the problem. The cavalry hadn't yet arrived from other countries and states, but by the time they finally arrived, what would be left of them?

What would be left of Kaleidoscope City?

She saw another plane approaching the barrier, the gate opening. It wasn't the cavalry he'd just been thinking about. Not so soon, but he realized he had been wrong.

Not all the agents were here. One was missing.

They slid the cage over the edge, knocking it over. It fell through the hole and into the middle of the battlefield, or torture field in hell. It didn't break when it hit the ground, but it was shattered a little later.

By Ryan, still in his Lunar Remnant form.

Imposing, bigger than most of the enemies here. Counting the dead and those still standing.

Cynthia laughed. She couldn't help it, for some reason.

She was drowning. But at least she wasn't fighting 'alone' anymore. Cynthia dropped what she was doing to approach Ryan, who hadn't bolted, springing into action, yet.

Perhaps because he had spotted her.

"Yes. Let's show them what we're made of..."

Before she finished the sentence, she climbed up his back and mounted on his shoulders, as if Ryan was a beast to ride onto the battlefield.

"Partner."

But she made it clear that her mindset was changing, albeit slowly.